Scene on the Schuylkill
"She's gone, as true as you live! The carriage was at the door for herself and baggage before I knew a word about it."
With these exclamations, Mrs. Cheevers met her husband the day after the events of our last chapter. He had come to dinner with the cheering news that there was to be an ovation given to Colonel Hamilton at the Girard House on his arrival, but found his wife too much excited to appreciate the honors thus to be conferred on her pet.
"That looks squally. Perhaps she has good reasons for skulking, but it does not look to me like her original shrewdness. It would have been more natural to see her stand by and fight it out. But let her go; there is more room for the new-comers."
The matter being thus disposed of, quiet was again wooed to the peaceful home of the good uncle and aunt, who had nothing to do now but to anticipate coming pleasures. Colonel St. Clair was to remain with them also for a short rest, before finishing his journey up the Hudson.
"Lillian has told me so much about him that he will not seem like a stranger."
"Lillian's lovers are our friends, my good wife; so he will come in for a share of attention."
The hour came when a carriage containing the happy trio rolled up to the door of Mrs. Cheevers' very inviting home on Race street, where Mrs. Cheevers unceremoniously rushed out with open arms to greet them. The host was not far behind. When the first joyous greetings had partially subsided, he took Colonel St. Clair under his kind protection, and helped him gently to an easy chair in the warm, cheerful parlor.
"You will excuse me," called out Colonel Hamilton, as he stepped back into the carriage; "there is a little woman down on Twentieth street who wants a kiss from her soldier boy. I'll be back in time for that roast beef!" And the carriage turned the corner and was out of sight.
"Well, that is cool! But, wife, we are not so smart as we take ourselves to be. Why did we not have that mother who wants to be kissed up here, so that it could all be done at once? It is terrible to have such things dragging."
"I did ask her and insisted, but she said 'No' every time. 'Pearl will come right here,' she declared, 'and it is in his own home where I want to give him welcome.'"
"Noble woman!" interposed St. Clair from his chair by the grate.
"You say she is gone?" asked Mrs. Hamilton in her aunt's dressing room, where she had been escorted by the hostess herself.
"We tried hard to have her remain, but no amount of persuasion could accomplish it. She is dreadfully troubled about something. I attempted to draw her out, but you know how difficult sucha thing would be. And, having watched her manner and face, I do believe that something weighs heavily on her mind."
"She need not have flown from me. My mother's reputation is sacred to her daughter. She should have known this. And you have no idea where she has gone?"
"Not in the least. She said she had been waiting for letters before going to her winter quarters, and was surprised that she received nothing from Charles."
"It is too bad! But, Auntie, I have much I want to pour into your dear heart, for somehow I feel that in stirring up its pure waters, I may step in and, perhaps, be healed a little!" and she kissed the smiling face. "What should I do without you? But I fear the gentlemen though will think we have deserted them."
There was so much to be said; so much calling to be done, and such a large circle of friends to receive, that it was not until the third day, when the dinner was being given at the Girard in honor of the wounded soldier (to which Colonel St. Clair had been officially invited), that Mrs. Cheevers and Lillian found an opportunity for the "stirring of the waters."
"Do not let me frighten you, Auntie; and may the dear Father keep me from injustice and wrong! How shall I tell you? There is no use in trying to smooth it over; I do believe that up to six months ago my child lived!"
"Lillian!"
"Yes, I do believe it! George St. Clair, and the whole family saw her! She was just sixteen, and had the same eyes and ways that I have!It was remarked by all, and my mother, at times, betrayed an unusual degree of interest in her."
"Where was this?"
"In Savannah. She was the adopted daughter of a Mrs. Gaylord, who was visiting friends in that city, and farther down in the country. I did want to see my mother so much! A dark suspicion oppresses me!"
"Lillian!"
"I cannot help it; and you will not blame me when I have told you all! My mother took that child into a carriage, with only one servant, a dastardly coward, and drove one evening down the river, in sight of the beach; then, getting her to alight, that (as she said), a better view of the sea might be obtained, the child was kidnapped in the darkness and borne away; and with every effort that could be made, no trace has ever been found of her! O, Auntie,that was my child! Will God permit such a deed to remain uncovered? Will not his anger search it out?"
"But, my dear Lillian, you must have greater proof than this before you so grievously accuse another! There is some mistake; shecouldnot have done such a deed! Why not write to Mrs. Gaylord and learn where she found the child, and all that she knows about her?"
"I did, Auntie, but was answered by her husband, who said that his wife had very unexpectedly taken it into her head to go north while he was away, and could not say when she would return, etc. Now where that 'north' is, cannot be ascertained, as he was to immediately return to his post, in the army, I suppose."
"Have you told Pearl?"
"No, I cannot. If Mother had remained here, it may be that she could have cleared away the cloud, but how can I breathe this most humiliating suspicion into his ear? He knows of her transaction in regard to our separation, and was magnanimous enough to bury it; but it would be agony to tell him more. He does not know of that heart-breaking curse, that would be almost unendurable, were it not for the great joy that has come to me. But, Auntie; what do you think? Was Lily Gaylord my child? My Lily-Pearl?" Her large eyes were fixed with a burning gaze on the troubled face before her.
"Your child, Lillian? I do not wonder at your earnestness! yet I cannot tell you; but confide in Pearl, he will know better how to counsel."
"I cannot! This work I must do myself! But one thing is certain; my heart shall be satisfied! If alive she is mine; if dead I must know it! This poisonous canker-worm has been for years gnawing at my very soul! My convictions have been, and still are, that there was a grievous wrong done me when I was told that she had been transplanted to a purer clime! It was not death that stole her from me!"
Where was the subject of all this anxiety and solicitude on this calm, hazy October day? In Boston; as happy and peaceful as a young girl of sixteen ever desired to be.
Mrs. Gaylord had received letters from her husband saying that he was glad she had taken it into her silly head to go north, and it was his opinion she might better remain until the immediate danger that was threatening Western Virginia hadpassed. His brother's widow, with her children, could take care of "Birch Wood." Acting upon these suggestions she had returned to Boston and hired a suite of rooms, and, taking Willie with them, was ensconced amid all desired comforts and luxuries. Tiny was entrusted with extraordinary responsibilities and her yellow face grew brighter when enstalled as mistress of the kitchen, while Lily superintended the whole establishment. Willie was exuberant and Mrs. Gaylord peaceful. Rover had at all times his full share of attention, and his bed by the kitchen stove was soft and warm.
Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft often called, with their sunny faces, during the long winter months, but Mrs. Gaylord seldom left her warm rooms.
"Here we will stay until the war is over," said that lady one evening as they gathered around the table preparatory to an hour of reading and listening. The wind roared threateningly up from the "Bay" and the snow beat outside against the windows, but within that comfortable home reigned peace and love. Lily was again by the great sea, and, when she sat at her chamber window and looked over the dark waters and watched the rolling waves as they dashed upon the piers in the harbor, the old days came back to her; the dreams of her childhood; the longings of her restless heart while she thought of the beautiful lady who had picked her up from the billows; of the pearls deep down in the waters, where she had grown, and called her "Lily Pearl." Should she ever know how she had come by that name? She was "Lily Gaylord" now; the Phebe of other days had been put aside among the disagreeables of the past; except with Willie, who declared that shemust ever be his own precious Phebe, or the brightness would be all taken out of the sunny memories; and she had answered "call me what you will, my brother, only let me live in your heart and thoughts:" and so the days went on.
Lillian
It was a damp and chilly morning when George St. Clair left the home of the Cheevers. A shadow of pain had settled down upon the handsome face of the heroic officer, and as Pearl Hamilton saw it he exclaimed with all the fervor of the brotherly love which had grown up between them: "You shall not go alone, even to New York, for you look as disconsolate as a rejected lover; and what if your father should miss you in that terrific hub-bub? I can get back to-night, so please excuse me to my mother at dinner, Lillian;" and snatching his hat and coat from the rack he took the arm of his companion and went with him down the marble steps.
"Please, George," called out Lillian from the door; "do not let Pearl get lost by the way. My heart tells me to throw the old shoe of good luck after you, with the wish that your visit at the North may be as productive of joy as was mine nearly eighteen years ago, without any of its shadows!" It was a bright face that now beamed from the carriage, and as St. Clair waved his hand to the ladies it rolled rapidly away.
"I am glad after all that he was not obliged to go alone," remarked Mrs. Cheevers as they turned to enter the house. "I am fearful his poor backwill never be strong again! In my opinion his days of fighting are over."
"I wish those days were ended for all," said Lillian, thoughtfully. "The papers bring us sad records of late. So many precious lives lost; so many loving hearts desolated! I liked Dr. Wadsworth's sermon yesterday morning from the text 'show thyself a man,' but I could but think that David meant in his living rather than in his dying! It may be noble in one to lay down his life for the preservation of his country's honor, but love is as surely bereft after all!"
They were seated now by the warm grate where the red coals were piled up in a cheerful glow, and while the aunt took some work from the basket on the table her companion gazed pensively into them. At last turning quickly around, while a smile lighted up her face she remarked: "I am dizzy! I am reminded so often of our little trick of 'whirling' in childhood, until, unable to stand we would drop down on the green grass and wait for the sensation of giddiness to pass off. But what is to be done, Auntie, when the whirling never ceases?"
"Fall down upon the grass my child and wait, but be sure that in the falling you gain the power to wait!"
"True, Aunt; and yet how like Peter we are prone to look about us while walking over the waves, until our faith gives way and we begin to sink!"
"And what did Peter do? Sit down on the first billow he met and declare 'he was dizzy' and perplexed?"
Lillian laughed. "Not much like Peter am I after all?"
While this conversation was going on in the little parlor the two colonels were crossing the Delaware, and were soon in the cars rolling rapidly towards the great metropolis.
"But, Colonel Hamilton, you must confess that it was not pleasant while receiving the sympathies and kindnesses of the people, to remember I was wounded in the army that would, if they could, annihilate yours."
"But they cannot!"
"That does not take away my chagrin! Here I am in the midst of those whom I once hoped, it may be, to conquer or slay, and from their hands receiving the 'coals of fire' that are scorching my heart instead of my head. It is this that makes me wish to bury myself away from it all."
"But, my dear fellow; you are not the only one who ever changed his convictions! Just make yourself comfortable! See how rapidly we are getting along! Here is Burlington. I wish there were a boat going up the river as soon as you arrive in the city, so that you could lie down the rest of the way."
"I am getting so 'yankeeized' that I could never wait for the slow motion of a steamer. I must take the lightning express."
"And be at your destination before tea-time?"
"So Ellen has written me."
"Well, take good care of your heart. This mixing up of fractions makes very serious troubles sometimes."
"But in the final union of whole numbers there is bliss! Why not work out the sum and hand over the product in your advice?" A merry laughfollowed this query, while the long train whirled on.
There was a happy reunion in the widow's cottage when Mr. St. Clair returned with his son to occupy the easy chair that had been especially procured for him. The mother had not seen him since the time when in his rebel uniform he had bid her good-bye in the far-away home, and her eyes were swimming with tears as she looked upon his changed face.
"They did not tell me you were so thin and pale," she said as she kissed him tenderly.
"But I am very weary now; you have no idea what a night's rest will do for my good looks." Still the mother's heart beat with a low, sad throbbing.
Anna was placid and reserved. Her greetings were cordial, while none save the maternal eye peered beneath the external calm.
"Well this is cozy," he remarked, as the two young ladies drew his chair close to the table. "Still it is a little mortifying to my masculine dignity—this being waited upon by ladies instead of slaves!"
"It is the way with us up here," replied the sister; "and all you can possibly do is to submit with as much grace as you can muster for the purpose. Where is Toby?" she continued, as though missing him for the first time.
"Taking good care of his liberty. I have not seen him since he concluded to use his privileges as a free man."
The days sped rapidly by. The cool winds came sweeping up from the broad Hudson, while the frosts painted the trees with gaudy tints, blighting the flowers and searing the green grass.
"Are we not imposing upon good nature?" the son asked one morning, as, leaning on the arm of his father, they walked out among the fallen leaves that were carpeting the smoothly shorn lawn. "It seems to me we must be burdensome. Why do we not go to our rooms at the hotel?"
"Are you not more comfortable here? Mrs. Pierson is so kind, and we have all become so fully domesticated at a home fireside that it would be a sad change to take up our quarters at the public inn."
"But Ellen wrote—"
"Ah, yes—'that she had secured rooms at Maple Grove,' which, after all, meant here under these maple trees. But if you desire it, my son—"
"I am not the only one to be considered. It seems that the mother and daughter have altogether too much work to do, with only one servant in the kitchen, and she a white girl."
The father laughed. "You have no idea how easily they perform their labor. Even the servant sings as cheerfully as though she was mistress of all, and indeed it would be hard to tell who fills that important position in this home. But I will do just as you and Ellen shall decide."
They had reached the door, and were entering as the last sentence was being finished.
"Decide what?" interrogated Ellen.
"About those rooms at the hotel;" laughed the father.
"They will remainin statu quoas long as they are paid for, will they not? As for me, I am in no hurry to leave my present quarters. My diploma is not yet secured in bread and pie making, and it would be unmanly in you to be the means of crushing my ambition."
"I think it my duty to nip in the bud any attempt at conspiracy. So while you all remain here in this pleasant sitting room, I will go into the parlor with my easy chair. Will you, my sister, invite Miss Anna to join me there? Unless your influence has diluted her frankness, she will reveal the whole matter. At any rate, this must be settled."
"A capital suggestion! Anna shall be judge, jury and all, and we poor subjects will cheerfully abide by her decision." And Ellen darted away after the young lady in question.
"For shame, to put me in such a dilemma!" exclaimed Anna, as she placed the flakey crust she was preparing on the pie tin; but the crimson wave that rolled over neck, cheek and brow did not escape the notice of her companion.
"O, you need not appear so much shocked at the thought of meeting him, for he will not make love to you. Never fear! The little foot of Lillian Belmont crushed all the romance out of his heart a long time ago. So, away; I can finish that pie while Rhoda is making the pudding."
Anna obeyed without a word, and we will let her enter alone that quiet, pretty parlor where the wounded soldier was waiting.
"Two hours as I live!" exclaimed Ellen, as the clock on the mantel struck twelve.
"It takes time to settle long accounts," replied the mother, quaintly.
"He is determined to go, I reckon;" interposed the father, cheerily; but Mrs. Pierson was silent.
"Dinner is all ready, and I am just as hungry! Can't I go and see how the matter stands?" This question was addressed to the widow, who wassitting by the window, looking out on the seared and fading grass.
There was a sad expression about the mouth, and a tremor in the voice not usually there, as she answered: "Yes, dear; Rhoda does not like to wait without a cause."
Amid laughing and jesting, the easy chair was drawn out, still containing its occupant, while Anna disappeared through an opposite door, and was not seen until the family had gathered around the well-filled table.
"Well, how is it, my boy?" queried Mr. St. Clair. "How about Maple Grove Inn? Are we to leave such delicacies as these for others untried?"
"Anna is chairman of that committee, and is to hand over the report," replied George.
There was an expression on the face of the young lady thus appealed to that caused Ellen St. Clair to look quickly towards her brother, who met her wondering gaze with a comical smile very significant in itself, and made the sister exclaim: "I should think both of you are 'chairmen,' if one was to judge from the amount of knowledge that seems lurking in your eyes. Out with it! What is the report?"
"Patience is one of the cardinal virtues, my dear," suggested the father, gravely. "Such an extended consultation requires much thought in the summing up."
"I conclude by Miss Anna's silence that the pleasing office of 'reporter' is conferred upon her unworthy servant; therefore listen to the 'summing up;'" and laying down his fork, with folded arms, George St. Clair leaned back in his easychair. "The question propounded, with its prelude, was something after this sort: I said, My dear girl, when I was well and strong I gave into your love and tender watchful care my two honored parents and one pretty little sister, and most faithfully have you regarded my trust; and now a fourth comes creeping and hobbling into your paradise of peace and comfort, and although he has nothing to recommend him, would pray to be admitted, not to your care, but to your heart and enduring love. Will you as cheerfully grant my petition in this, as in the former instance? And her reply, after brushing away a few of the cobwebs of the past, was 'I will, with the permission of my mother, who has a right to be consulted upon all such articles of transfer.'"
"I do declare!" burst from the lips of the sister. "The great subject of remaining as honorary members of this most hospitable family, I believe, was not broached by the committee."
"As to myself," interposed the father, "I am very naturally inclined, after placing in the hands of our hostess a sufficient sum for every expense, including the perplexities such an increase of family would cause, to remain in our present quarters until further developments."
"Very likely!" interposed the mother with with a beaming face.
Anna had left her seat at the head of the table at the very commencement of this little speech, and the hostess sat with folded hands pale and trembling as one in a troubled dream. Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair looked at each other with surprise written all over their good-natured faces, but the sister was lost in amazement. She had not oncethought such a union possible, and was not ready to give it sanction.
"Mrs. Pierson, tell me frankly, do you wish that the bullet which so ignobly tore my back had finished its work, so that the present summing up would have been avoided? It would not, however, have saved your daughter's heart, for she loved me before all that."
The widow looked calmly into the face of the speaker as she answered tremulously: "My daughter's happiness is my highest ambition. Not so much as to the comforts of this life as to the assurances of the life to come. Wealth or honorable position socially have not been included in my aspirations for her. Congenial companionship and a true heart are the highest blessings of life I could wish." Tears came into her eyes and she arose from the table to hide them.
"I am not going to let my dinner spoil at any rate!" exclaimed Mr. St. Clair, with a composing laugh: "This roast lamb is capital."
"And you would like some coffee;" suggested Anna, appearing at her post, while Mrs. Pierson returned to her seat at the table.
"Now that is sensible. Let us appoint an hour for congratulations and proceed with present duties unmolested. George, my boy, replenish the stomach if you would restore the back. For my part I think this a most capital arrangement. With the old homestead, 'West Lawn' and 'Rosedale,' which I shall be obliged to take into my possession, will yield us all what bread and butter we shall require—not as good as this perhaps, but it will do. By the way, I would like to know where Mrs. Belmont is."
"Gone back to Rosedale!" suggested Mrs. St. Clair with emphasis.
"Not a bit of it! If she could indulge in such an unwomanly sneak as to fly from the presence of her daughter, she would never risk her neck down among the bullets that are whizzing so near her home. No—no!"
He rattled on as a merry accompaniment to the monotonous sounds of knife and fork; but the responses were few and subdued. A hush had fallen upon more than one heart in that little circle around the well-filled board, yet to none was it dark or gloomy. There were sunbeams streaming through bright golden tints lighting them up, but Ellen St. Clair did not raise her eyes. She loved Anna, but had not thought of her as the bride of her peerless brother. "And what would Bertha say?" It was so unexpected!
So intent were they with their own thoughts that no notice had been given to the dark cloud that had suddenly risen up from the south, spreading itself over the sky, until a fearful gust of wind dashed against the windows and made all start to their feet in alarm.
"A regular southern hurricane," remarked Mrs. St. Clair. "See how those trees bend and what a shower of bright leaves are in the air."
The rain dashed against the panes, while the gale blew the clouds at a rapid speed northward, stripping the branches of their gaudy dress and strewing the faded grass with a carpet of gay colors. George St. Clair watched it with mingled emotions. It was noonday, yet the darkness was oppressive. He saw the dense cloud sweep over the sun, leaving in its trail the hazy blue of anautumn sky. He listened to the fitful wail of the angry blast and thought of the tornado that was at that moment devastating the beautiful fields and groves of his sunny land, and the spirit of rebellion arose in his heart. "What was the need of this noonday storm? Why must war rifle the land of its beauty and crimson the earth with the shed blood of thousands?"
Plantation Scene
Only a week and Colonel Hamilton was ordered back to Washington. The right wing of the army was to swing round over West Virginia, to intercept, if possible, the progressive movements of General Lee's forces that were threatening a northern aggression; and every officer able for action was ordered to report at headquarters. Lillian would not remain behind. How could she fold her hands and wait? She must work; her mind must be employed or the dizzy whirl would overpower her. Besides, she had a mission, of which all others, unless it was her Aunt Cheevers, were ignorant. The plan of operation had been secretly marked out by herself, and she must go.
"I can never let that Mason and Dixon line divide us again," was her closing remark after listening to a long list of reasons why she should remain in her comfortable surroundings amid friends and luxuries.
The fond husband could not refuse, and together they entered the National Capital, and were greeted cordially by sympathizers and army officials. As, however, we are not writing the history of the rebellion, but only narrating incidents gathered during its progress, we will not trace the march of Colonel Hamilton's corps, but will meet him againwhen the warm days return to deck the blood-stained land with beauty and breathe freshness once more into the trampled vegetation.
There had been skirmishes along the line of march, fightings, repulses and victories; and Lillian had not been permitted to fold her hands. There were the sick to be attended to, and wounded to be dressed; while the 'cup of cold water' and the 'oil and wine' were needed everywhere: Whether friend or foe; Confederate or Unionist, it made no difference, in each she discovered a brother, and withheld no comfort or ministration in her power.
"You seem young to be in the army," she said one day to a beardless youth who had been severely wounded by a sharpshooter and was placed under her care.
"Eighteen, ma'am," was the laconic reply.
"Will you tell me your name?" she asked, while tenderly bathing the pale face and combing the rich brown hair from a full rounded forehead.
"Rufus Gaylord."
She started.
"Gaylord!"
How her thoughts flew! What a sweep over they took in that intervening moment of silence!
"Is your father's name Hudson Gaylord?"
"No; he is my uncle. Do you know him? I thought you were a Northerner!"
"I know him only by reputation. Where is he?"
"Down in Richmond,talkingabout arming the niggers, I reckon;" was his answer, while a sneer curled his lip. "Beechwood is only a few miles from here and I want to be taken backto it as soon as I can ride so far, as Mother does not know where I am."
Here was an opening to the cloud; should she enter it? How she trembled at the thought.
"Is your aunt at Beechwood?" she found breath to inquire at last.
"No, she is in Boston, and Uncle Hud says will stay there until the army leaves Virginia. I don't reckon she cares how long she stays though, for she has her girl back again, every one thought was drowned, and——"
"Her adopted daughter! did you say?"
"Well, y-e-s! But what do you know about her? I'll be hanged if I shouldn't think you were her sister; I never saw eyes more alike. She is splendid, and I am glad she has come to life again;" and in spite of a deep wound in the shoulder, and the presence of a bullet somewhere in the chest, his cheek flushed with boyish admiration as he talked of his foster cousin, and Lillian did not fail to discover the cause of the deepening blush.
"Are you sure of what you have been saying?"
"Sure that Aunt Nell is in Boston, and that she has Lily with her; but not quite sure as to you being her sister." In spite of her emotion, Mrs. Hamilton smiled at the ingenuity of this remark. Her resolution was taken. She would return to Washington, and, as soon as possible, go to Boston, and find this girl who bore such a striking resemblance to herself. She arose to answer a call and found that her trembling limbs refused to do her bidding. As she reseated herself the boy said kindly.
"I reckon you are not feeling very well. I would rest a bit, for it must be dreadful taking care of such a lot!"
True to her purpose, within a week she had communicated with Colonel Hamilton and obtained a leave of absence, and was on her way to Philadelphia. A little breathing spell was necessary; she would stop and tell auntie all about it!
It was night when she reached the city, and, taking a carriage, she was soon in Race street. Stopping at the corner, she had a fancy to go alone to look in upon the peaceful home-scene, if perchance the curtain was left up at the side window. Was auntie thinking of her? She would give her a pleasant surprise.
How little we know what is to fill the next moment that sweeps through our eventful lives! The curtain was left up, as she had imagined, and sitting by the table in the center of the room were two ladies, instead of the one she had expected to find alone. The gas shone directly upon the face of Mrs. Cheevers, but the head of the other was turned away. Still there was no mistaking that imperious posture and stateliness of form, or the braids of jetty hair. It was her mother! They were talking, but she could not distinguish a word. What caused that guilty mother to move so uneasily in her chair, and turn towards the spot where her daughter stood trembling in the shadows? Had conscience touched a note of warning?
"I must enter," thought Lillian, and passing around to the front door, rang the bell. Mrs. Cheevers answered it in person. "Do not speak, Auntie; it is I," she said, hurriedly, as the dooropened. "My mother is in there; I saw her through the window. How shall I meet her?"
"Promptly and boldly, my child. Come right in."
She led the way, while her visitor followed trembling in every limb. "What has brought you back at this time?" she went on cheerfully to ask. "You said nothing about it in your last letter." Mrs. Belmont arose as they approached, and stood pale and haggard before her injured child.
"My mother!" Lillian exclaimed, with outstretched arms. "How I have wanted to meet you! Why did you flee from me?"
"You wanted to see me? Lillian, is that true?"
"It is true, Mother. Why do you look so sternly? Has your daughter committed the unpardonable sin because she felt disposed to forsake all others, if need be, and cleave to her husband?"
"Well, do you understand it? See where I now am! Look at the shame, the disgrace, the poverty, you have brought upon me! I am a wanderer without home or country, a pauper in a strange land, and you have done it. Once I would have died for you; but what have you sacrificed for me?" She turned slowly and reseated herself by the table.
"This is my mother! Cold, stern and unloving!" And sinking down upon the sofa her pent-up feelings found vent in tears.
"It is my opinion, Charlotte," said Mrs. Cheevers, calmly, "that the day will come when you will repent the injustice of this hour. If all you have said is true in regard to yourself, howcan you afford to throw away so wantonly a daughter's proffered affection? If she can overlook the wrongs of her mother, that mother ought to clasp her tightly in the arms of love."
"What do you mean, Mrs. Cheevers? What have I done to her that should call forth such a remark from a third party?"
"O, you need not take the trouble to tell me to mind my own business; for whatever affects my brother's wife or his child is my affair; and I repeat, it is your duty to lay aside that stately indignation, and if Lillian will extend the hand of filial love, it is yours to clasp it."
Mr. Cheevers coming home from the store, turned the current of conversation into another channel.
"Well, well!" he exclaimed, as he recognized the bowed figure on the sofa. "Mrs. Hamilton, as I live! Just put down that little white hand and kiss your old uncle. Just as glad to see you as though you were my own daughter. How is Pearl? Now, look here, Lillian," he continued, as he perceived the quivering lips attempting to answer; "none of that toward me! Anybody who draws the moisture out of those beautiful eyes while I am around must answer for the offence. There isn't another in this great city to-night who has more reason to laugh and be glad than have you, so be about it! Let that statue of dignity mump it out if she is determined to do so, but the wife of Colonel Hamilton has no good reason for tears."
"Hiram!" interposed the wife, and she shook her head menacingly at him.
"It is all very well; but what brought you to us so unexpectedly?"
"A little business, Uncle," Lillian replied, finding voice to speak. "I am going farther north, perhaps to Boston, and shall return here when my object is accomplished."
Mrs. Belmont turned hastily in her chair, and glared at the speaker with dilated eye balls.
"To Boston!" cried Mr. Cheevers. "Well, now if I were a woman I would ask 'What under the sun are you going there for?'"
"But as you are a gentleman you will wait patiently until I can tell you all."
"Just so. Did you come on the eight train?"
"Yes."
"Have you thought, wife, of food and rest?"
"Stupid as ever! I will go immediately."
Mrs. Belmont soon followed the lady out of the room. An hour afterward, while sitting at the table, where a bountiful lunch had been prepared, Mrs. Cheevers told Lillian that her mother had retired to her room feeling very unwell.
"Probably!" retorted her husband, with a merry twinkle in his eye.
"That is not fair Hiram; she has been sick ever since she returned; and I think she was fearful of an approaching illness or she would not have come here. I went with her to-day to see Dr. Kehn about her head, and it was his opinion that there was some trouble with the brain that might prove serious, and you know that you have spoken of the wild look in her eyes."
"And have not wondered at it, wife; but you are looking well, Lillian, field life agrees with you."
"Tired though, and have come to Uncle Hiram's for a little rest."
"That's right, my child. I only wish you could have brought Pearl along."
There was a long talk in an upper room that night not far from the guest-chamber to which Mrs. Belmont had retired; for Lillian had desired to tell her aunt all about it, and the good lady listened and wondered.
"Boston is a great city, my child, and what if you could not find Mrs. Gaylord?"
"Her husband mentioned in his letter the name of a Mr. Bancroft, merchant I believe, and through him I thought to learn all I desired. At any rate I must try to find this girl! It is not because I am told that her eyes are like mine, as there is nothing remarkable in this; many have large dark optics," and she laughed, "but because something continually goads me with the conviction that she is my child."
"And have you not told Pearl?"
"No, I could not bear to trouble him as my poor heart is agitated; and it would be an additional grief to have him treat the matter with incredulity. He too must wait for the unfolding."
"But your mother? How will she ever account for the young lady's disappearance? How can either of you forgive what she has done if it is proven that Lily Gaylord is your child?"
Lillian started to her feet, while Mrs. Cheevers looked wildly towards the door. A low, wailing cry as if a heart was being crushed had reached them from the outside, and their cheeks blanched as they listened. For a moment the two listened to their heart's throbbings as the stillness ofdeath settled down about them; then a sound as of one falling broke the silence. Lillian rushed to the door in time to clasp the inanimate form of her mother before the poor head struck the floor upon which she was kneeling. It was true!She had been listening!The upper part of the door did not close tightly, and it was to this opening that her ear had been placed until the brain reeled and she sank upon her knees.
"O my mother!" almost shrieked the distracted daughter as she attempted to raise her.
Mr. Cheevers heard the cry and came rushing up the stairs, and the wretched woman was soon carried to her bed, where, in a short time, the family physician was in attendance. For many weeks the proud, erring Mrs. Belmont lay tossing upon her bed in wild delirium, and Lillian stood by and listened to her ravings.
"I did not do it! Look—there is no blood on my hands! It wasshe! It was she! Let me look again; yes—the same purple spots; Lillian! Lillian! Why won't you come to me? I did not do it! It was the sea—the wicked, cruel sea! O my curse! It has fallen back upon my poor head! It is burning up my brain! O God! But he won't hear! The fires—the fires!"
In vain did the untiring watcher breathe into her ears the words of sympathy and forgiveness, but the whirling brain caught them not. The tenderest of hands bathed the burning brow and administered to her every necessity. It was a long, a fearful struggle between life and death; but when the spring days were all past, and the warm summer sun shone down upon the fresh young grass in the public squares, Mrs. Belmontlay with folded hands and worn-out frame in quiet helplessness upon the bed, where for so many weeks she had tossed in frantic delirium. The poor clogged brain had been relieved of its heavy load and the burdened conscience quieted, and now the reaction had come and Lillian again prayed and waited!
"If she would but speak to me or show some signs of recognition," Lillian had said one day to her aunt, as they stood looking at the pale, wan face upon the pillow. "It is so hard to see her lying there day after day so still and passive, taking all that is given her without a word or gesture! Terrible fears at times take possession of me—what if she never recovers her reason! The doctor has hinted such a possibility if I am not mistaken, and I dare not ask him if my suspicions are correct." The quivering lids were slowly raised for one moment from over the large eyes, where a most pitiful pleading look was hidden, and the longing glance fastened itself on the troubled face beside her.
"Mother, dear Mother, do you know me? Speak just one word to your poor Lillian;" and she kissed tenderly the firmly set lips. Again the lids slowly fell and the dark orbs were shut in with their unfathomed mysteries.
"This is dreadful!" and with tears streaming down her face the aunt turned and walked from the room.
Weeks passed away and Mrs. Belmont was able to sit for hours in her easy chair, but the once active, energetic and massive intellect was weak and inefficient as that of a child. The large eyes would follow the flitting forms about her with a weird wistful look, yet she seldom spoke, and when she did, the words revealed the sad truth that the powers that had long sat enthroned in the realm of reason ruled no more.
"I must go," Lillian said to her aunt one day, as they drew the invalid chair close to the window where a cool breeze from the Schuylkill could fan her pale face, and, as the words fell on the ears of Mrs. Belmont a quick flush overspread it. The daughter noticed the change with joy and a strange wondering. "Mrs. Jackson can do all that is needed to be done now," she continued, without removing her gaze from the placid features. "I will not be absent more than a week at most, and Pearl, you know, writes that if he can obtain leave for a few days will be here by my return."
"Pearl?"
"Yes, Mother; would you like to see him?"
There was a struggling among the buried memories which were not dead but sleeping, for the eyes gleamed with a new light, and the faceresumed its look of intelligence. It was only for a moment, however, and then the former inertness returned, as she repeated, "Pearl!"
"He loves you, Mother; shall I read what he wrote last?" There was no response, and taking the letter from her pocket, she read slowly and distinctly. "She is our mother, Lillian, and, no matter what she has done, it is the duty of her children to forgive, and never refer to the past. I am anxious to meet her for her daughter's sake. My heart opens wide to take in her love and bury the whole hateful past. Whisper my name to her gently, familiarize her brain with associations concerning me."
"He is coming to see you, Mother, to love you; are you glad?"
"Forgive? Did he say forgive?"
"He certainly did, and he is true to his word. Shall I tell him to come?" The large eyes fixed intently on the beaming face before her, as if endeavoring to pierce the shadows.
After a moment's silence the mother slowly answered "Tell him come," and settled back in her chair wearied and exhausted.
Lillian was exuberant. "She is better," was her conclusion as she adjusted the pillows and brushed back the thin hair from the white temples. The heavy braids were gone, and the queenly bearing lost in helpless weakness.
It was finally concluded that Mrs. Hamilton should leave her mother in the care of the efficient nurse who had been in attendance during her long sickness, and, without speaking to her upon the subject, proceed on her journey to Boston, to return as soon as possible. Thereforeon the following morning she started on her exciting mission. What a threefold cord was drawing her! The mother, to whose helplessness her filial love was clinging; the idolized husband for whom her heart was pining; and now the living tendrils of a buried affection had sprung up, and were twining themselves with an unseen power around the vibrating cord that bound her life to earthly loves and earthly hopes. The mother-love had awakened with its pleadings and would not be hushed. A little more than a year ago, and the brittle thread that held her was feeble, and the fibres frail; now other strands had been added, and as the car rolled over the space that separated her from the consummation of her long-cherished hopes she thanked God for the tender hand that had led her. The great joy, however, that would sweep over her soul, as she recalled the reasons of her present mission, was not without its gloomy apprehensions. What if, after all, Mrs. Gaylord's adopted daughter was not her Lily? How was she to be sure? and then the mother's ravings, her wild confessions; her cries of innocence; certainly these must have come from the hidden consciousness of an appalling truth! She sat by the open window and watched the receding fields, the trees and villages, as the train sped through them, with a sensation of alarm, for she realized that every puff of the tireless engine brought her nearer and nearer to the acme of her hopes or to disappointment.
How her limbs trembled when, on reaching Boston, she entered a carriage and gave orders to be driven to the Parker House! In Boston atlast! In this boiling cauldron of living souls should she find her child? What a thought! What a hope! She must rest. Sleep alone could give her strength of body for the trying ordeal. She partook of a hasty lunch and retired to her room. What if Mrs. Gaylord had left the city. It had been so long since the boy had told her she was here. Here was a new agony! She had not thought of that; and ringing the bell asked for a directory.
Bowing, the servant turned to bring it.
"Stay, perhaps you can tell me how far it is to Mr. Bancroft's store."
"Peter Bancroft, ma'am?"
"I do not know."
"He is just one block away, ma'am: Shall we send your card?"
"Yes." She had not known before what were her wishes, and she wrote her address opposite her name and requested an interview. In a half hour the servant returned.
"Mr. Bancroft is in the parlor, ma'am, and will meet you there. Will you be kind enough to come immediately as his business is pressing?"
Lillian arose quickly and followed the servant.
"I beg your pardon for troubling you, but I am anxious to find a Mrs. Hudson Gaylord. Are you the Mr. Bancroft with whom she is acquainted?"
"O, yes, if you are her friend I rejoice to meet you;" and he extended his hand.
"I am not acquainted with her, but would like to learn if she has a young lady whom she claims as an adopted daughter?"
"Lily? Certainly! But they are not in the city." She started and he hurried to say: "She is only an hour's ride away. You can get to her before ten in the morning. There is a little hotel out in Kirkham where she has a fancy to spend her summers rather than at a fashionable watering place, and I believe it was in that vicinity where she found her two protegees. If I can assist you in any way I shall be happy to do so." He arose to depart. Lillian extended her hand; with many thanks and exchanging good-nights they separated, the merchant to forget perhaps the trifling incident in the press of business, the other to her lonely room and rest.
"Yes—I am glad," she thought as she closed and bolted the door; "she—my child—is not here and her mother has an hour's ride to get to her!" Peacefully she rested on the threshold of a new experience. Her heart throbbed wildly with hope and fear as it peered through at the coming possibilities, with new loves clamoring to be fed and old ones struggling for precedence, and yet she slept! The morning came and looked in through the narrow aperture of the closed shutters, but she did not wake. The gong sent its warning echoes up through the broad halls but she slept on. Eight o'clock and a loud knocking upon the door awoke her, and bounding from her bed she answered the summons.
"A gentleman in the parlor, ma'am, and wishes to see Mrs. Hamilton."
"In just one moment!" and she hurriedly made herself ready to meet her visitor.
"The train would leave for Kirkham in a half hour, and Mr. Bancroft would be happy to see her safely upon it." This was the word he sent her.
"Mrs. Hamilton is grateful and will be ready after a hasty cup of coffee."
So soon! The time had come but how strong she was! Not a tremor shook her frame; not an emotion quickened her pulse! Mr. Bancroft assisting her to a seat in the carriage, entered and took one beside her.
"We shall not be late? I slept so soundly. Really I forgot to wake this morning, and must thank you for reminding me of it."
Mrs. Hamilton laughed and Mr. Bancroft looked into the beaming eyes and thought "how like Lily Gaylord's they are!"
"You spoke last evening of two protegees?"
"Yes, a brother of the young lady—and a cripple."
"A brother, did you say?" and the heart of his listener gave a great bound of pain. The carriage suddenly wheeled up at the station, and "all aboard for the West" was shouted.
"This way Mrs. Hamilton," and her escort handed her into the car, and wishing her success waved his adieus as the train moved on.
"Her brother! Then she is not my child! Have I been led thus far only to find the fruit that allured me with its golden brightness nothing but ashes? Can it be?" With fearful apprehensions the hour flew by; the junction was reached at last.
It was a short ride to the hotel, and as she entered the spruce-looking village inn sensation of suffocation caused her to throw back her veil that she might breathe more freely.
"Is Mrs. Gaylord in?" she asked of a sweet-faced little woman who appeared.
"They have gone for their morning ride, but will be back in a half hour at most."
"I will take a room and wait their coming," was Lillian's response, and the hostess was ready to conduct her thither. It was a pleasant chamber overlooking the maple grove where the "lady from the south" had found so many cool breaths, and which now presented its most winning aspect to her who was gazing with anxious agitation into its shades. They had gone! In half an hour! Could she wait? And yet how she dreaded its passing! But the wings of time never cease their rapid motion, and before she had bathed her face or removed her bonnet a rap upon the door announced that her hour had come. Mrs. Gaylord was ready to receive her visitor.
"Will you ask her to grant me the favor to come to my room?"
This request was made with trembling voice, and the hostess wonderingly went with her message. Then a step was heard along the hall and the door again opened, and the same gentle voice to which she had twice listened announced "Mrs. Gaylord."
Lillian arose and the two ladies stood face to face with a world of hidden mysteries between them. Mrs. Gaylord extended her hand, and Lillian smiled as the door closed behind the retreating figure of the curious landlady.
"You are surprised at this intrusion from a stranger, but you will neither wonder or blame when you have listened to my story, and as it is a long one let us sit by the window."
Mrs. Gaylord affably obeyed.
"Have you a young lady with you; an adopted daughter, I believe?"
"Yes." The lady moved uneasily in her chair.
"Will you tell me what you know about her history?"
"She can do this better than I. Shall I call her?"
"No, no! I want to talk with you; but first answer this one question: Has she a brother?"
"A foster-brother as she calls the noble cripple, who is now with her in our private parlor."
A gleam of joy darted into her beautiful eyes at this clearing away of the shadows, and she proceeded.
"Another question; by what name was she called before you bestowed your own upon her?"
Her listener laughed. "In her years of babyhood she gloried in the appellation of 'Phebe Blunt,' and in six years or thereabouts this was changed to 'Phebe Evans;' at fourteen it was again changed to 'Lily Gaylord,' the one to which she will now answer."
"Why Lily?"
"Because of a little fanciful dream of her early childhood. She was born near the sea, and lived in a fisherman's cabin, but somehow learned that somebody had called her 'Lily Pearl,' and from this she drew the conclusion that a beautiful lady had picked her up off the waves where the pearls had thrown her."
The speaker looked up to behold the face of her listener as ashy pale as though the hand of death had chilled it with its icy touch, while the pallid lips were vainly endeavoring to speak; and, darting from her chair, Mrs. Gaylord exclaimed withalarm. "What is the matter with you? Are you dying?"
"No, no!" she answered feebly, as the reaction came and the blood rushed back to face and brow. "Not dying, but entering a double life. Mrs. Gaylord, your adopted daughter is my child! My Lily Pearl! Oh, how can I explain! How prove to you or her my assertion! How my heart has hungered and starved for the love my baby awoke in it! Seventeen years have I endured this thirsting which cruel hands imposed upon me. O, for strength to bear the change!" And she raised her clasped hands supplicatingly, while her companion looked on wonderingly.
"Let me explain," she added, and went on to tell as well as she could, without reflecting blame on the weak, helpless one far away, the story of her wrongs and years of suspicion.
"Is Mrs. Belmont, of Rosedale, your mother?" was the abrupt question that startled the narrator, and caused her folded hands to tremble under the soft pressure those of her interrogator placed on them.
"Yes; she is my mother, and is now in Philadelphia, a wreck of what she was when with you in Savannah."
"The mystery is explained, the problem solved! Lily, my Lily, is your child! I might have known such a blessing could not be retained by me. I am selfish, and, although I pity you, would rejoice at your continued thirst if the sweetest luxury my heart has ever known could have been spared to me. You have a husband to adore, a mother to forgive, a God your soul worships, while I am starving, with none of these things to satisfy myundying cravings. Is there no pity in your woman's heart for such as I?"
"Certainly. You have a husband, wealth and position. More than this, God waits for you. How then can you be so desolate?"
"Ask your daughter by and by why she never ceased to pine for the 'beautiful lady' that picked her up from off the sea where the pearls had thrown her? Did the bright picture that cast its glittering rays only on the surface of her unsatisfied heart feed or nourish the cravings of her growing love? Can such cold star-beams warm the frozen fountain? Do the fleshly ties of life unite the aspiring soul with its higher destinies? Love is the strong cord that draws us heavenward. Can woman with her immortality be happy when its drawings are all earthward? But I am troubling you with my individual perplexities when I ought to be lifting yours. I cannot, however, tell you how much anguish and desolation your story has thrown into my prospective future. I was lonely and sad, and she came to fill the void. I am childless, and her presence has satisfied my heart's longings. But it is over now. Come with me while with my own hand I tear the brightness out of my life. Come!"