"Like yourself, I presume!" said Helen, with a slight sneer.
"Oh, no! oh no, dear Helen; did I say any thing like that? I did not mean it, for I am very often angered and impatient, and on the very eve of breaking out; but I don't."
"And why don't you? Do you expect to inherit the old man's gold?"
"Helen, I never think of it. I have a higher motive, I trust. My peculiar trials give me so many opportunities of learning the rudiments of Christian virtue; therefore, after the first sting is over, I feel thankful and happy."
"Help us all! I shall never attain such perfection."
"Nor do I ever expect to arrive at perfection. Oh, no! I am too imperfect; too full of infirmities and faults!" said May, earnestly. "But shall I read the night prayers, or do you prefer reading them alone?"
"Oh, read them by all means; but don't begin until I get on my cloak—it is freezing cold here," said Helen, shivering.
May read the beautiful prayers and litany of our Blessed Lady with such fervor and piety that Helen was touched in spite of herself, and responded with heartfelt earnestness; and at theDe Profundis, she thought of her dead father, and wept bitterly.
"I am very, very sad, May," said Helen, when May kissed her good-night.
"To-morrow, dear Helen, we will seek a heavenly physician; He who comes to the lowly and repentant, and dispenses healing and divine gifts from his throne—the altar!" whispered May.
Helen sighed deeply, but made no reply.
The great bell of the cathedral was just tolling theAngelus, whenMay, laying her hand softly on Helen, awoke her.
"Rise, dear Helen; it is six o'clock."
"It is not daylight yet, and I shan't rise, I assure you," she said, in a fretful tone.
"Yes you will, I am sure. Uncle Stillinghast will be quite displeased if you do not. He said yesterday morning that you should rise when I do, and lo! you have slept an hour later. Come! it is hard I know to get up in the cold, but you'll soon become accustomed to it."
"I declare, May, you are as bad as your uncle. Heavens! what a pair to live with. One as exacting as a Jew, the other obedient as a saint, and obstinate as a mule! I never was so persecuted in my life!" exclaimed Helen, rising very unwillingly.
"That is right," said May, laughing, "be brisk now, for there is a great deal to do."
"What is it, May? Are you going to build a house before breakfast?"
"Come and see, and I promise you a nice time. The fire is already made in the kitchen-stove. Hurry down, I want you to grind the coffee."
"Grind the coffee! What is that?" asked Helen, with amazement.
"I will show you. Really, I would not ask you, only I have rolls to make."
"Coffee to grind, and rolls to bake, for that horrid old man—"
"And ourselves. I tell you what, Helen, he could get on vastly well without us, but how we should manage without him I cannot tell," said May, gravely, for when occasion offered, she could so inflate and expand her little form with dignity, and throw such a truthful penetrating light into her splendid eyes, that it was quite terrifying.
"Go on, then; I shall follow you in a few moments. I have some prayers to say." Helen's prayers were soon over. Religion was no vital principle in her mind. It is true she held the germs of faith in her soul, but they were like those bulbs and grains which are so often found on the breast of mummies—which, unless exhumed, and exposed to sunlight and air, never develop their latent life. So with her; swathed, and wrapped, and crusted over with evil associations, artificial feelings, and the maxims of the world, the germ was hidden—buried—until the angel of repentance should reveal to her the pearl she held, and lead herbeyondthe vestibule of faith. She had looked no farther; poor Helen; to the splendors, the consolations, and rapture beyond, she was a stranger. It is not remarkable, then, that when she encountered the stern changes and trials of life, the burden galled and fretted her.
"How are you, ma'am; you are very welcome!" laughed May, when Helen came down; "come near the fire, and while you warm yourself, take this coffee-mill on your knees—turn the handle so, until all the grains disappear, then begin the second stage."
"The what?" asked Helen, tugging at the handle, which she turned with difficulty. Her hands, unaccustomed to work of any kind, held it awkwardly; while May, with her hands in the dough, which she worked vigorously, laughed outright at her fruitless efforts.
"It's no use, May," at last she broke out, "I can't do it; and I've a mind to throw the thing out of the window and run away."
"Where, dear Helen?"
"I don't know. I will hire out as lady's-maid, companion, governess—any thing is preferable to this sort of life!" she exclaimed, flushing up.
"You would find greater difficulties than a harmless coffee-mill to contend with, I imagine!" said May, quietly, while she shaped her rolls, and placed them in a pan.
"WhatshallI do?" cried Helen, in a tone of despair, after another fruitless effort.
"Grind the coffee. Come, you are quite strong enough; put it on the table, here—steady it with one hand, and turn with the other—so; now it goes," said May, pleasantly.
"How ridiculous! what now?" said Helen, laughing.
"The second stage!" replied May, looking mysterious; "pull out that little drawer, and empty the powder you will find in it into the coffee-pot, which I have just scalded—that is it; now pour on a littlecoldwater; put in this fish-sound; fill up with boiling water—there, that is enough. Now comes the third, and last stage. Set the pot on the stove, and watch it; when it boils up the third time, throw in a small cup full of cold water, and take it off to settle. It is ready then for immediate use."
"Gracious! what an indefatigable, old-fashioned little thing you are, May," said Helen, obeying her directions, and, after all, rather enjoying the novelty of the thing, than otherwise. May's cheerful face flitting about; the bright sunshine gushing in; the warmth of the room, and the feeling that she had really done something useful, inspired her with a healthful sentiment of enjoyment which she had never experienced before. Breakfast was ready; the rolls were light, and nicely browned; the coffee was clear and fragrant, and the idea of a good breakfast was no mean consideration with Helen.
"My uncle has not yet returned from market, and we can run in and arrange the sitting-room," said May.
And they flitted round, dusting, brushing, and polishing up, until they were both as merry as crickets. The morning paper was opened, and spread on the back of a chair to air; the cushioned arm-chair was wheeled into its accustomed corner; and, just as every thing was complete in their arrangements, Mr. Stillinghast came in. Helen was in the hall when he came in with a well-filled basket on his arm.
"Shall I help to draw off your coat, sir?" she asked, timidly.
He looked up a moment, and she seemed such a vision of loveliness that his cold, dull eye, opened and brightened with astonishment. It was the first time he had really looked at her. A low, chuckling laugh, burst from his lips, which Helen thought frightful, and he handed her the basket, saying, "I can do it myself; take this to the kitchen." She dared not excuse herself, but holding it with both hands, and feeling as if her wrists were breaking, she passed through the sitting-room with such a doleful countenance, while a red angry spot burned on her forehead, that May could not forbear laughing even while she went to assist her.
Mr. Stillinghast's humor was not quite so rasping as usual that morning, although he cast more than one angry look towards May, and scarcely noticed the remarks she made to him. When she told him that Helen had made the coffee, he nodded towards her, and with a grim smile told her that "she had made a good beginning;" but to May, never a word was uttered. Notwithstanding which, it was very evident that a pleasant thought, by some rare chance, had taken possession of his bleak heart, like birds, which, sometimes in flying, drop from their beaks the seeds of beauteous and gorgeous flowers into the crevice of some bare grey rock. He did not again advert to May's adventure down town, and shehopedhe had forgotten it; but he was one of those whonever forget.
At half-past eight, all her domestic affairs in order, May and Helen prepared to attend the 9 o'clock mass at the cathedral. Helen's worldly heart was pleased with the grandeur of the building, the dignity with which the ceremonies were conducted, and the appearance of the congregation, who appeared to belong to a better class than she had been accustomed to see in the Catholic churches North. And so they did. They were mostly individuals of fortune and leisure, who had their time in command. And there were those whose age and infirmities would not permit them to come out at an earlier hour; feeling thankful to know that He, the wonderful and humble Jesus, would be there to receive their homage, and dispense His blessings to their waiting hearts. Her old feelings would have triumphed, had she attended the earlier masses, when the artisan, the toil-worn, the laborer, with his habiliments covered with the moil and toil of earth; the tattered poor, who were ashamed to come out into the full light of day; the halt, the cripple, and the blind, led by little ones; the widow and orphan, the bereaved, who seek to hide their anguish from all eyes but His who can heal it; the dark children of Ethiopia, the slave, the outcast, had congregated there; all equal in HIS eyes, as they will be in the valley of Jehosaphat when the judgment is, to receive the divine manna and the vital heavenliness which His presence afforded; when, like pilgrims refreshed by pure water in the desert, they went forth to encounter again the heat, the simoon, the thirst and weariness of the way, but with renewed courage.
"Shall we go in to see Father Fabian a moment?" said May, after mass.
"No, not now, May. I think, perhaps I shall go to confession soon; and I do not wish to know him, or be known to him," she replied, shrinking back.
"Let it be soon, very soon, dearest Helen!" said May, pressing her hand.
"Perhaps," she answered, vaguely.
"Now, dear Helen, can you find your way back? I have to go a little way on business," said May, when they came within two squares of home.
"Oh, yes; but really, you seem to have a great many mysterious visits on hand!" observed Helen, rather sharply.
"You shall come with me soon, if you wish to;" replied May. Then they separated; Helen dissatisfied, and a little angry, and May rejoicing like a miser who goes to visit his treasure. Full of happy thoughts, she went on until she came to old Mabel's cottage, at the door of which stood a small, close carriage. The door was ajar, and she went in. There were two ladies in silks, velvets, and plumes, standing before Aunt Mabel, and both were speaking in an excited tone.
"A Roman Catholic!" they exclaimed.
"Yes, misses," was the meek reply.
"Why, don't you know you peril your eternal salvation, by becoming a papist?"
"No, misses, I don't know it, neither does you. I been living on and on, and never was a professor, and I'm gwine to do jest what is right at the 'leventh hour. It's a 'ligion that's older than all, and was know'd and practised afore any of yourn was ever thought on."
"Did you ever hear such preposterous ignorance!" exclaimed one; "why, old aunty,whohas been tampering with you?"
"Nobody, honey, only them that's got a 'ligion that larns them to give bread to the hungry, warm clothes to the freezing, and fire to keep life in their bodies; and tells the poor ole nigger that God loves her soul as well as he do buckra folks. So I'm gwine to be one," replied old Mabel, striking her stick on the hearth.
"You are a poor, benighted creature, and I hope God will pity you on the score of your ignorance," said one of the well-meaning ladies.
"I hope he will, misses, I hope he will," she said, humbly.
"We had some things for you; but, of course, we cannot leave them now; the papists must take care of their own poor—wehave enough of our own," observed one.
"Thank'ee, misses."
"Downright impudence!" they muttered, flouncing out to their carriage, without seeing May, who had taken refuge behind the bed, which was hung round with some faded patchwork, to keep out air.
"And so you're bearing testimony for Christ already, Aunt Mabel," saidMay, coming towards her with outstretched hands.
"Bless your dear face, honey, it seems best for me. I ben so long without sarving God, that I shall 'quire all the help I can get in this world and the next. Them ladies, honey, is well-meaning, I reckon. They 'tended me a little while last winter, but they wanted to send me out yonder—I wouldn't go; I'm mighty poor and helpless, Miss May, and was friendless then, but I couldn't go thar!"
"Where, Aunt Mabel?"
"To the poor-house, my child. But, honey, arter you went away yesterday, I all at once remembered a Catholic woman—she was a half-Indian, half-nigger, from the West Indies—that I used to do a good turn for now and then. She was dying with consumption, and she used to talk to me about the saints in glory praying for us, the blessed mother of Jesus Christ, and purgatory, in her broken lingo, till I b'lieved every word she said. I was trying to recollect, arter you left me, and it all come pat into my head at once."
"These are consoling, helpful, and holy doctrines, Aunt Mabel; but tell me if you are satisfied that the Roman Catholic Church is the true Church of God?" said May, smoothing her withered hand.
"I can't 'splain myself, honey; but thar's something in here that tells meit is," said the simple old creature, laying her hand on her breast.
"And thatsomethingis a great and glorious gift, Aunt Mabel—the gift of FAITH. But hear what our dear Lord said, before he ascended to his Father; here is your old Protestant Bible, which your good mistress used to read to you so long ago. I will find it in this," said May, taking down the shattered old copy of the Scriptures from its shelf. "First of all, our Lord established his Church on earth. It was the object of his divine mission. Then he endowed his apostles with heavenly gifts and authority to do even as he had done; and declared that his Church was 'founded on a rock, against which the gates of hell should never prevail.'"
"And his word and his promise never fail, honey, because he is the LordGod," said the old woman.
"No, never, never fail," said May, fervently; "and now listen. Here He, Infinite Truth, tells us himselfwhythis Church can never be overcome, or err, or do wrong: 'I will pray the Father!' said Jesus Christ to his disciples, 'and he will send you another comforter, that he may abide with you for ever—eventhe SPIRIT OF TRUTH;' and again he says: 'When He, the Spirit of Truth, is come, he will guide you in all truth.' And this spirit was the Holy Ghost—the Spirit of God! Oh, Aunt Mabel, only think! the Spirit of the Eternal God—promised not only to the disciples, but to theChurch for ever! Do you understand me?"
"I understand, honey; and it's the same now it was then, and will be for ever. Oh, no, Satan,youcan't break up your master's inheritance! You may worrit His sheep, and steal off His stray lambs now and then, but, bless God, you'll get no furder, 'cause the Master is thar hisself. Oh, Miss May, lead me in, quick as you please!" cried the old woman, while tears streamed over her face.
"Dear Aunt Mabel, your wish will soon be gratified. I will see Father Fabian to-morrow morning, after mass, and he will come to visit and instruct you in many things, which it is necessary for you to understand. Were you ever baptized?"
"No, honey; my mother was a Baptist, and they don't baptize babies; and after I growed up, I didn't like 'em, somehow, and so it's never been done."
"In this case, I am glad it was not done," said May; "for now, when, after due preparation, you receive holy baptism, your soul will be washed white and stainless as that of a Christian babe. You will have a clean and beautiful banqueting room to receive the Lord Jesus when he comes to you, under the sacramental veil; and, being near the end of your pilgrimage, it is not likely that it will be again defiled by sin. Oh, how happy is the thought of going up through faith and repentance, without a stain, into the presence of our divine Lord!"
"Me, Miss May!allthat for an old crippled nigger like me?" exclaimed Aunt Mabel, wiping her eyes.
"Yes, all that, and more—ten thousand times more. But now, Aunt Mabel, you must begin to examine carefully your past life; to remember the sins which have blotted it, and beg of Almighty God the grace of true repentance, sincere, humble repentance, that you may make a good general confession. And here," continued May, taking off her own medal, and hanging it around Aunt Mabel's neck, "say the little prayer on this a hundred times a day, if you can remember it: 'Oh, Mary, conceived without sin, pity me, a poor sinner, who have recourse to thee.' It is a medal of our Blessed Lady, who will obtain from her divine Son, for you, all that you may need. Can you say the prayer?"
"Oh, Mary, conceived without sin, pity me, a poor sinner, who have recourse to thee," repeated the old woman.
"Say it over and over again, until you know it perfectly," said May.
"I got it in here, honey, fast," replied the old woman, pointing to her heart.
"That is right. Now, can I do any thing for you?"
"No, my misses, only call my grandchild as you go 'long. I let her go out to have a run in the sunshine this morning."
"I will send her to you; and to-morrow I think you will see Father Fabian," said May, before she closed the door. And she went away, wrapped as with a royal mantle,in the blessings of the poor.
In a small and elegantboudoir, which opened into a conservatory, and was crowded with articles of taste andvertu,—the gleanings of a tour through Europe,—a lady, somewhat past the prime of life, leaned over anOr-molutable, arranging with exquisite touches, a quantity of splendid flowers in a basket of variegated mosses which stood on it. There was a look of high-bred indolence about her, and an expression of pride on her countenancesoearthly, that even the passing stranger shrunk from it. And, while with a fine eye for the harmony of colors, she blended the gorgeous flowers together, weaving the dark mosses amidst them, until they looked like a rare Flemish painting, the door opened, and a distinguished-looking young gentleman came in—called her mother—kissed her on the cheek, and threw himself with an easy air into afauteuil.
"You see how busy I am, Walter, and until I am disengaged, look over these new engravings. They are just from Paris," said the lady.
"I see, dear mother, that you have the affairs of a nation on your shoulders. I hope, for your health's sake, you have no other momentous concerns to look after this morning," he said, playfully.
"One more, Walter; my goldfinch is half-starved, and the mocking-bird is really on his dignity, because he has not had egg and lettuce for his breakfast; but,apropos, what success had you with old Stillinghast?"
"Faith, mother, it is hard to tell. He is a tough personage to deal with. I got in, however, and saw the two nieces."
"Well?"
"One of them is extremely beautiful. I shall have no objections to making her Mrs. Jerrold, provided—"
"The old miser makes her his heiress," interrupted Mrs. Jerrold.
"Exactly. The other one is a nice, graceful, little thing, withsucha pair of eyes! She has a spirit of her own, too, I fancy."
"I have been thinking over our plan to-day, and it really seems to be a feasible one, Walter, if you can only win Mr. Stillinghast's confidence. How do they live?"
"I presume they consider it comfortable;—it would be miserable to me. The old man appeared quite flattered this morning, when I got him to invest that money for me; and shook my hand warmly when I inveighed against the present mania for speculating in fancy stocks."
"You havetactenough, Walter, if you will only use it properly andprudently. The mortgage on Cedar Hall has nearly expired; I have not a solitary dollar to pay it, and the consequence will be—a foreclosure, unless some miracle occurs to redeem it.Yourbusiness must not be broken down, by drawing on your capital!" said Mrs. Jerrold, pressing the yolk of a hard-boiled egg through the gilded wires of her mocking-bird's cage.
"I'll move heaven and earth, mother, before Cedar Hall shall go out of the family. If I can bring things to pass with old Stillinghast, I might, on the credit of marrying one of his heiresses raise the money at a ruinous interest. At any rate, Cedar Hall, goes not from the Jerrolds," he exclaimed.
"But, Walter, I understand that both of those girls are Catholics?"
"That's bad; but I fancy I shall be able to put down all that sort of thing, in case I win the lady," he said, twirling an opal seal.
"Andwhoare they? I have a horror of low families."
"Make yourself easy on that score, they are our equals, I imagine. I am very certain that none of them have been hung, or sent to the penitentiary; and I presume there have been moregentlemenin the family, than self-made men, from the simple fact, that both of those girls have been left quite penniless, and dependent on their uncle. I believe, however, that the father of one was a major in the army; the other, a captain in the navy," said Mr. Jerrold, laughing.
"I am glad to hear it. I assure you thatfamilyis no unimportant consideration with me," observed the lady.
"Dear lady mother, I had not the remotest suspicion that it was; but I must be off," he replied, while he consulted his watch. "I got a private despatch this morning from New York, giving me the very pleasant information of a failure in the coffee crop; and I am going to attend a sale atteno'clock, and expect to purchase largely at the present prices. Atone, my investment will double its value."
"You were fortunate, indeed," said Mrs. Jerrold. He kissed her cheek once more, said "good-by," and was gone. Neither mother nor son imagined they had been saying or doing any thing contrary to the laws of honor or morality. Had any one suggested such an idea,hewould have felt grossly insulted; and that red spot of pride onherforehead would have glowed into a flame of resentment. They were only keeping a sharp eye on their interests. Thus, at least, they would have defined their plans. Protestants, practical and nominal, think of the judgment as an idea too remote to influence the acts of their daily life. They have no confessionals for ever reminding them of the right principles of a true rule of faith; and no spiritual guides, whose duty it is to probe the erring conscience, and heal, with divine gifts, the repentant soul. But we will leave Mrs. Jerrold'srecherché boudoir, and accompany May from the Cathedral to Father Fabian's parlor. She was disappointed at not finding him there, but determined to wait, as the servant informed her that he had been sent for just as mass was over, to carry the Holy Viaticum to a laborer who had fallen from a scaffolding in the next square, and was dying from the effect of his injuries.
"I will go Into the church and wait. Will you please to call me when Father Fabian comes in? I have something of importance to say to him," said May, while awe and tender charity filled her heart.
"I shall certainly call you, ma'am," replied the respectable domestic.
And May went back and knelt in her accustomed place near the altar—that altar, which, to her clear faith, was a throne of majestic and clement love, where the Shepherd of souls was for ever present, to make intercession for those who, through His bitter passion and death, hoped for eternal life. Earnestly she besought His mercy for that soul in its last sudden agony. She besought the Queen of Sorrows, by the pangs she endured on Calvary, to come to his aid and obtain from her divine Son the grace of a good death! She implored the saints, who had gone up through much tribulation, and who pity those who suffer and weep in this valley of tears, to pray for him, that he might not be overcome in the hour of trial by the enemy of souls. In her earnest charity she took no heed of time, and was startled when the servant, kneeling beside her, informed her that Father Fabian had returned, and would see her. When she went in, he was taking a cup of coffee and some toast, which it was very evident, from his pale, excited countenance, he needed. His Breviary was lying open near him.
"Ah, my dear child!" he said, holding out his hand to May, "I am very glad to see you. How are you?"
"Quite well, father. But do not let me disturb you; you need refreshment after the late melancholy scene," she replied.
"Melancholy, indeed; but oh, so full of consolation!" observed Father Fabian, while his eyes filled up. "We priests, like physicians, are called on to witness a great many distressing scenes, which many a time appal our weak human nature, and almost overcome our charity by terror. This affair was truly heart-rending. When I arrived at the spot, I found the poor man lying on the sidewalk, crushed, and almost speechless. A crowd, collected together by curiosity, surrounded him. I asked a physician, who was examining the extent of his injuries, 'whether or not he could be removed?' 'He has not fifteen minutes to live, poor fellow,' was his reply! I threw on my stole, requested the crowd to stand back a little, and knelt on the bricks beside him, and bowed my ear close to his lips. He had recognized me, and his eyes already dim, lit up with joy; and in faltering and whispered words, he made his short confession. Happily, his conscience was not burdened with mortal sin. He was one of my penitents, and I knew how regular and pious his daily life had been. Quickly I gave him absolution, after which I administered the Holy Viaticum, which he received with great fervor. 'I am resigned; but, sweet Jesus, pity my little ones,' he whispered. Then, in a little while, with our dear Lord to conduct him, he passed into eternity. I doubt not that his sentence was full of mercy." There was a pause of several moments, during which May dashed more than one tear from her cheek.
"But who, think you, I saw, when I lifted my eyes from that dying countenance?"
"I cannot imagine, father."
"Your uncle. Yes, indeed! he stood watching the scene with a most intent and singular expression of countenance," said Father Fabian.
"It is, I believe, one of the firstpracticalfruits of the Catholic faith he ever saw," said May, quite forgetting her own humble, patient example.
"Probably!" said Father Fabian, smiling; "but tell me now what is it you want. I have to run away out to the north-western limits of the city."
"That will suit precisely, dear father. It is a poor, paralytic old woman, I wish to direct you. She has determined to become a Catholic, and wishes to see you. She needs instruction; but her faith is so docile, that I do not think you will hesitate long to grant the ardent desire of her soul, which is, admission into the church of God."
"And where does our neophyte live?" asked Father Fabian.
"In the first of those small cottages west of Howard's Woods; but please, Father Fabian, don't mind any thing she may say about me," said May, blushing, and looking embarrassed. "She is so very grateful, that she imagines that I have done a great deal for her, and really makes me ashamed of the trifling amount of good I have extended to her. Will you give me your blessing, father?"
"I shall certainly go, my dear child—meanwhile, pray for me," saidFather Fabian, as she rose up from receiving his blessing.
"Will you pray for my uncle's conversion, father? and, oh! I had almost forgotten! My cousin has arrived; shall I bring her to see you soon?" said May, standing at the door.
"Whenever you please to;" and May went away, feeling quite happy.
Mr. Stillinghast had not forgotten May's refusal to explain the cause of her appearance, the day before, on the wharf; and being determined to discover it, he stopped, on his way down to his counting-house, at the wood-yard office, and inquired "if a young lady had been in there to purchase wood yesterday?"
"Well, sir, I hardly know how to reply to your question;—but I believe there were several young ladies in here to buy wood yesterday," said the young man, looking highly amused.
"But there was one who came with old Copeland; she had on a purple merino dress—and—something, I don't know what else she had on," said Mr. Stillinghast,feelingridiculous.
"Was she very small, sir, with bright hazel eyes?"
"I know nothing about the color of her eyes, but she's something higher than my walking stick," replied the irascible old man.
"The same, sir.Shecame with Mr. Copeland; and if her eyes didn't make me dance in and out, it's a wonder!" observed the clerk.
"Well, what in the deuce did she want here?"
"She bought a quarter of a cord of oak wood, and paid for it!"
"What didshewant with oak wood?" cried Mr. Stillinghast, becoming more impatient every moment.
"To burn, I presume," replied the young man, paring off a chew of tobacco; "but the fact is, sir, we didn't ask her. We always take it for granted that people buy wood to burn."
"Whodoes know any thing about it?" was the sharp response.
"The sawyer, I fancy, if he can be found. I have not seen him about to-day, however," said the young man, with a broad grin, which he speedily changed, when his strange visitor burst out with,
"When he comes, send him to me.—My name is Stillinghast."
"Certainly, Mr. Stillinghast, certainly. Excuse me, sir, for not recognizing you," stammered the clerk.
"I'm determined," muttered the old man, going out and slamming to the door, without noticing the young man's apologies, "I'm determined to sift this matter. If I had a feeling of humanity left, it was for that girl—papist though she be; if I loved or cared a tithe for any living being, it was she! I intended—but never mindwhatI intended. She has been doing wrong and I'll find it out. She has tried to deceive me, butI'llconvince her that she has mistaken her dupe. Where did she get themoneyto buy wood with?" And at that thought, such a fierce, sudden suspicion tore through that old, half ossified heart, that he paused on the flags, and gasped for breath. "My God!" he murmured, "has she robbed me?" And during the remainder of that miserable day, his ledgers were almost neglected. Foul and ungenerous suspicion held possession of his mind; and inflamed with a malicious anger, he plotted and schemed his revenge until he had defined a plan that well suited his present mood. "If she plots," he muttered, rubbing his dry, yellow hands together, with grim delight, "I willcounter-plot. It is not the wrong,but the person who inflicts it, that stings me. But theserpent's toothhas been gnawing these many years at my heart—why complain now?"
But several days passed, and he had obtained no clue to the mystery, which increased his anxiety, and made him more fretful and testy than usual. He allowed no opportunity to escape, to make May feel his displeasure. Bitter and contemptuous speeches, coarse allusions to her religion, fault-finding with all she did, and sudden outbursts of unprovoked fury, were now the daily trials of her life. Trials which were sore temptations, and full of humiliation to a proud, high spirit, like May's; and sharp were the struggles, and earnest the prayers, and many the scalding tears she shed, ere she subdued the storm of wild and indignant resentment, which swept like whirlwinds through her soul. But her talisman—the Cross of Jesus Christ—was her safeguard. Its splinters inflicted many a sharp wound; but none so sharp, that the balm it distilled could not heal and beautify them.
Helen, in a fright, kept as much as possible out of sight. Towards her, Mr. Stillinghast's manner was inconsistent, and variable in the extreme. At one time almost kind, at another, captious and surly. Sometimes he called on her for every thing, and perhaps the next moment threatened to throw whatever he had ordered, at her head. Once he told her, in bitter tones and language, that "but for wishing to make use of her to effect certain ends, he would turn her into the street." He had a new lock and key, of a peculiar construction, fitted on his chamber door, which he locked every morning carefully, and carried the key away with him.
"This is awful, May.Howcan you bear it as you do, for you do not seem the least afraid of him?" said Helen, one morning.
"I am afraid of offending our Lord by spitefulness, and returning injuries to one who is my benefactor," replied May.
"Youdofeel spiteful, then, sometimes? Really, it is quite refreshing to know that you are not perfect," said Helen, in her sneering way.
"Yes Ifeelso very often. I am full of imperfections. I amnotpatient, or humble, or even forgiving. I am onlyoutwardly—outwardly calm and silent, because I do not think it right to fan up resentments, and malice, and bitterness, all so antagonistic to the love of God. I hope! oh, I hope my motive is, singly and purely to avoid offending Him," said May, humbly and earnestly.
"I heartily wish the old wretch would die!" exclaimed Helen.
"Oh, Helen! so unprovided as he is for another world! Unsay that, won't you?" cried May, clasping her hands together.
"No, May; I mean it. I think he is as much fit to die now as he ever will be. He has doubtless spent his life in tormenting others, and it will only be fair when he is tormented in his turn. But, spare those looks of horror, and tell me, who do you think passed by here this morning, and looked in, and bowed?"
"I cannot tell," said May, sadly.
"That handsome Jerrold. I hope he may prove a knight-errant, and deliver me from Giant Despair's castle," said the frivolous girl, while she twisted her long, shining curls around her fingers.
"Take care, Helen. Romance does very well in books, but it is a mischievous thing to mix up in the real concerns of life."
"My dearest May, I shall never want a skull to grin ghastly lessons of morality at me, while I have you," replied Helen, with a scornful laugh.
"Pardon me, Helen; I fear that I do say too much; but let my good intention be my excuse," said May.
"Yes, it is intolerable. My old Tartar of an uncle swearing and scolding down stairs, and you preaching and praying, up. It is more than human nature can bear.—Where are you going?"
"To confession," replied May, in a low tone.
"Very well; but, my dear 'wee wee woman,' don't stay long, for I believe this rambling, musty old house is haunted."
"Come with me, then?"
"Not to-day; I have an idea of exploring it, and should like, of all things, to get into the very room which Blue Beard keeps locked up. Is there any possible way of getting in?"
"Yes."
"How? tell me, quick!"
"Ask Uncle Stillinghast for the key," said May, while a flash of merriment lit up her eyes.
"Excuse me, ma'am," said Helen, curtseying:
"I leave all such exploits to people who are anxious to become martyrs.Ihave no such ambition."
"Where are you gadding to now?" said Mr. Stillinghast, who had encountered May and Helen at the hall-door, on their way out to church. "Where are you both going?"
"We are going to mass, sir," said May, in her usual quiet, pleasant way.
"One of you stay in. I won't have the house left so; doyoustay, for you are for ever gadding," he said sharply to May.
"I will remain at home, Uncle Stillinghast," said Helen, quickly; "doyougo, May."
"Doyougo, miss, and let her stay at home; d'ye hear me?" he exclaimed.
"Indeed, sir, I wish to remain at home. I have no desire at all to go this morning," expostulated Helen.
"Ar'n't you a papist?" he inquired, turning suddenly, and confronting her.
"I am a Catholic, sir, but—but," she stammered.
"Butwhat?" he asked, sharply.
"I do not care so much about going to church as May does," she replied, lifting her handsome brown eyes to his angry countenance.
"Oh, Helen!" exclaimed May, with an imploring look.
"This is quite my affair," said Helen, with a haughty air.
"You've got more sense than I gave you credit for," said Mr. Stillinghast, with a low, peculiar laugh. "Don't go any more unless you choose."
"No, sir."
"Oh, uncle!" cried May, losing all dread of her uncle's displeasure,and laying her hand on his arm; "you are tampering with her soul!Helen! Helen, you are trampling under foot your birthright in theChurch of Christ!"
"Fool!" exclaimed Mr. Stillinghast, shaking her off. "Be silent. Go your ways, but dare not interfere with her."
"I can only pray, sir, foryouand for her," said May, after her first wild and indignant emotions had subsided.
Another low mocking laugh sounded in her ears, then she found herself alone. "This is dreadful, and hard to bear," she murmured, as she went out; "but Father Fabian says, thattrialsare divine and royal gifts! If I lived only forthislife I would never—I couldnotbear it, but living for eternity, I cannot afford to lose a single lesson of the rudiments of perfection."
"That girl," thought Mr. Stillinghast, "is a mystery. She is either a profound hypocrite, or an honest Christian. This scene, however, has fixed my resolves. That Helen may be a fool, but she's not much of a papist. Odds, it will hardly require the temptation of a handsome husband, and a splendid settlement, to make her forswear her creed. I will see Jerrold this very day." When he arrived at his counting-house, he went directly to his desk, and penned a note, which he directed and sealed, then handed it to his porter to take to Mr. Jerrold. Then he perched himself on his high writing-stool, and opening his books, attempted to go on as usual with the business of the day. But there was something unquiet tugging at his conscience, which did not allow him to do so. He paused frequently, with his pen poised over his inkstand, or paper, and fell into reveries, which ended with expressions which burst out like shots from a revolver. It was now "Pshaw!" then, "I hate it worse than I do the synagogue;" or, "it isnotinjustice! Have I not a right to do as I please with my own property?" and "I'll do it as sure as my name is Mark Stillinghast."
"Mr. Jerrold was away at bank, sir," said the porter, who had returned; "and, sir, I left the note."
"All right, Michael.Businessis the master we must serve first, and best. Hoist out those bales there ready to ship."
"The devil 'll fly away wid that ould haythen some of these days! I should like to know intirely if he ever hard of the day of judgment and the Master that's to take an account of howhe'sbeen sarved. I reckon, bedad, he'll find out thin, if not sooner, that he's the one that ought to had a little waitin' on," muttered Michael, rolling out a heavy bale of cotton.
Ere long Mr. Jerrold, anxious to conciliate the millionnaire, and full of curiosity, did not lose a minute after he read the note in going to him.
"Good morning sir. I hope I have not kept you waiting," he said, holding out his hand to Mr. Stillinghast.
"No, sir; you are in very good time," he replied, shaking hands, and offering his guest a chair. "I see that you are not one who will let grass grow under your feet."
"I have my fortune to make, sir," replied the young man, laughing; "but can I serve you in any way, Mr. Stillinghast?"
"Michael! No, sir—no— Here Michael!" cried Mr. Stillinghast.
"Here, sir," answered the porter at the door.
"I wish to have a private conversation with this gentleman, and do not want to be interrupted; do you hear?"
"Bedad, sir, I'm not deaf no more than the next one; but suppose somebody comes to pay up rents, et cetera?"
"Well—well, they can wait," he replied.
"And supposin' theywon't?" persisted Michael.
"In that case, rap at my door, and I will come out. Now, be off."
"I never waste time, Mr. Jerrold," said Mr. Stillinghast, after he had closed the door, and resumed his seat; "I never waste any thing—time or words. I am blunt and candid, and aboveboard. I hate the world generally, because I have been deceived in every thing I ever placed faith in. I am a bitter, harsh, penurious old man."
"Your life has been without reproach, sir," observed Mr. Jerrold, who wondered what strange revelation was to be made.
"No compliments; they nauseate me. I sent for you this morning to propose something which you may, or may not, accede to, there being a condition annexed that may not be altogether agreeable. But however it may be, I wish you to understand distinctly that I do it to suit my own ends and pleasure, and if I could do otherwise I would."
"I am very confident, sir, that you will not propose any thing to me incompatible with honor and integrity," said Walter Jerrold.
"No, sir. No; it is a fair bargain—a fair, honest, business transaction I offer, by which you will gain not only credit, but profit. In view of this object, I have been for two days engaged in an investigation of your character."
"Really, Mr. Stillinghast!" began the young man, with a haughty look.
"Investigating your character, sir. I have made inquiries of your friends and foes concerning your habits, your business associations, your antecedents—"
"For what purpose, sir?" inquired Walter Jerrold, flushing up.
"To see if I might trust you."
"And the result of this strange procedure?"
"Is favorable throughout. I congratulate you, sir, on being without reproach in your business relations. You will suit me to a nicety. I lost two years ago the old man who sat at this desk for the last forty years. He was the only friend I had in the wide earth. He was my prop and support, and now that he is gone, I feel tottering and weak. I want some one to assist me in the cares of my immense business; a partner, young, active, and possessed of just the requisites which you have."
Walter Jerrold's eyes lit up with an expression of wild triumph. He could scarcely believe his own ears; he thought it was a cheating dream that the millionnaire, Stillinghast—the bitter, inaccessible old man, should offer him something so far beyond his most sanguine hopes; advantages which he had intended to intrigue, and toil unceasingly for, but which were now thrown into his very hands.
"Do you understand me, Mr. Jerrold?"
"I hear you, sir, but really fear you are jesting at my expense."
"I never jest, sir. It has been so long since I jested that the word has become meaningless to me. But, as I said, there is a condition—"
"Allow me to hear it, Mr. Stillinghast," said Walter Jerrold, fearing at least it might be something dreadful and impossible.
"I have," said the old man, as if talking to himself, "I have gathered together large sums. I scarcely know the exact amount myself. There is principal, interest, and compound interest, still heaping up the pile. I do not intend it shall be squabbled over when I am in the dust, or left open to the rapacity of lawyers. I shall dispose of my concerns while I have reason and health, in such a way, by Heaven! as Heaven itself cannot interfere with my plans!"
Why did not that boastful, gold-withered, shrivelled up old man, pause? How dare he throw such defiance in the face of Almighty God over his unrighteous gains!—yes, unrighteous gains, for mammon held them in trust. None had ever gone into the treasure-house of God to relieve the suffering, or aid the indignant. The few good acts of his life had beenwrestedfrom him, and the recollection of them filled him with bitterness instead of joy.
"That is wise and prudent, sir," observed Mr. Jerrold.
"Of course it is. But now to the point. I will take you into partnership on condition that you, as my successor, marry my niece, Helen Stillinghast, and promise on your honor to endeavor to overcome her Catholic tendencies. She is not very strong in her faith, but as I intend to leave her a considerable amount of property, I do not wish it to go to the support of a creed I detest—not one copper of it. What do you say?"
"What amount of capital do you require, Mr. Stillinghast?"
"Whatever you have, sir. If it is much, well; if nothing, it makes no difference: but, do you hesitate? I suppose the girl is an obstacle."
"None in the least, sir. But I am overwhelmed by your generosity, sir; the advantages you offer place me in a position which it would have taken me years of toil to attain, and I must confess, that I am quite thrown off my balance. Will you allow me at least a few hours tothink?" said Walter Jerrold, highly excited.
"Your caution is no discredit to you. I see that I am not deceived," said Mr. Stillinghast, with a grim smile. "To-morrow evening I shall expect an answer; at which time you can come to my house, and take your tea, and look at my niece."
"You will certainly see me then, sir, and hear my decision." And the young man, with steps that scarcely felt the earth he trod on, hurried away, nor paused an instant, until he reached home. Mrs. Jerrold was standing on her marble carriage-step, just ready to get into her luxurious coach to take a drive. He whispered a word or two to her; the carriage was dismissed, and mother and son went up stairs to analyze the sudden promise of fortune which had burst, like the bow of heaven, around them. And together we will leave them—the worldly mother and the worldly son, to grow elate, and almost wild, at the prospect which Mr. Stillinghast's eccentric liberality had opened to their view. At any rate, it was eligible in every respect, with, or without a matrimonial appendage; and Cedar Hall was secured to the Jerrolds.
Father Fabian, true to his promise, had visited old Mabel, and found her so well disposed, and of such docile faith, that he had promised, as soon as he finished her general confession, to give her holy baptism. Two or three times a week he dropped in, and was much edified by the fervor and humility with which she received his instructions. It all seemed like a new world dawning around her, as if through the chinks of her lowly dwelling bright visions of heaven stole in to gladen her, while her soul in its humble love traversed back and forth with angel messengers. May had not seen her for some days, and now went to take her money to pay the rent of her poor cottage, and purchase a supply of provisions. Mrs. Tabb had disposed of her fancy knitting, and sent her son early that morning with the proceeds, some six or seven dollars, to May. Rejoicing in the power to do good, and leaving all her vexations and trials at home, she sought old Mabel's lowly dwelling, to impart and receive consolation.
"That's Miss May! Here, Nellie, fetch that stool over thar for Miss May," exclaimed the old woman, as soon as the door opened. "How is you, honey?"
"I am quite well, Aunt Mabel. I think you are looking better," repliedMay, sitting down beside her.
"Oh, honey, it's blessed times with me now. I bin blind all my life; I never see nuffin till now. Ah, honey, that good priest you send me aint like the buckra parsons I used to know.Heaint too proud to sit down by a poor nigger, an' take her lame hand in his'n, and rub it with some sort of liniment he fotch. And thar's a bottle of wine he left 'cause the doctor said I must have some.Hedon't stand off as if he was afeard I would pizen him, and fling the gospel at me like stingy people throws bones to dogs. He makes mefeelthat I'm a child of God as well as white folks, bytreatingme like one, honey."
"I'm very glad, Aunt Mabel, that you are comforted by Father Fabian's visits," said May, smiling at her unsophisticated statement.
"Yes, he comforts me mightily, Miss May; and he talk so simple and beautiful, that I understand every word he says."
"What does Father Fabian tell you, Aunt Mabel?"
"He read one thing to me out of my ole Bible thar. You know I can't read myself, Miss May, but I keep it 'cause it belonged to my missis. He asked me if I ever been baptized?' I told him, 'No, sir.' Then he ask me how I knew, and I tell him that too. Then he read what Jesus Christ said, 'Unless you be born again, of water and the Holy Ghost, you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven;' and, honey, it was enough, for me to know he said it. And then he told me about the power our Lord left with his Church to forgive sins, and I didn't dar doubt it, 'cause who can be so presumptuous as to contradict Jesus Christ when he lays down the way and the truth? But oh, Miss May, when the day comes for me to receive in my ole heart the dear Lord hisself—my poor ole tired, aching heart—then I lived long enough, 'cause the glory of God will be with me."
"It will be a most happy day, Aunt Mabel," said May, dashing a tear from her cheek. "Now tell me something about our Immaculate Mother. Do you ever think of her?"
"Oh, Miss May! how can I think ofJesus Christ—how can I love him, without thinking of, and loving her? If I go down to the manger, thar she is, watching over him, or holding him on her bosom; if I go through Salem's marble city, honey, thar she is, close by her divine Son; if I go to Calvary, what do I see?" said old Mabel, lifting her shrivelled hand, and dim eyes to heaven, while tears flowed over her swarthy cheeks; "I see the Son of God, and the Son of Mary—Jesus Christ, hanging on the rough wood; his head, his hands, his feet, his side, dropping blood from the torn flesh. I see him dying for me; and down at his feet, his mother suffering with him. Ah, honey, it was a heavy burden she bore that dark day! The suffering of her son—her own pangs—the sins of the world, for which both suffered, as it 'pears to me, was too much for one human heart. Oh, don't any body talk to me 'bout not loving the Blessed Virgin! With one breath, I say, 'Have mercy on me, sweet Jesus!' with the other, I say, 'Pray for me, Virgin mother, without sin!' It's the last thing I say at night, and the first I say in the morning."
"But you don't worship the Blessed Virgin, Aunt Mabel?" said May, with a smile.
"Worship her, honey? No! but God honored and loved her. SHE was the mother of the dear Jesus; the 'mount of her sufferings was for him and us, andIlove her—Ihonor her, and I go to her like a little child, and ask her topray for me, and ask Him, who never refused her any thing, for what I want."
"She is a tender friend—the refuge of sinners—the health of the weak—the help of Christians!" said May, astonished at old Mabel's language; "and I am glad you have recourse to her. She will lead you along until all is well with you. Shall I read to you now? Father Fabian requested me to read over the catechism to you. To-day I will read the instructions on Confession and Baptism."
"I can't hear too much, Miss May," said the old woman, leaning forward to listen, with an eager and anxious expression. May read, and explained, until she heard the cathedral bell toll the Angelus. It was time for her to go; so kneeling down, she said with heartfelt devotion the beautiful prayer, which celebrates so worthily and continually the wondrous mystery of the Incarnation. After which she left her purse with old Mabel, containing the amount of her rent, which would be due the next day, and promising to send her tea, sugar, and other necessaries, called little Nellie in, and telling her to sit with her grandmother, hurried away with a lighter heart than when she came out. She made her purchases on her way home, and left directions where they were to be sent. After assuring herself that there would be no mistake, and obtaining a promise from the clerk who weighed the groceries that they should be delivered in the course of an hour, she proceeded homewards. She found Helen haughty and silent, evidently determined to avoid all conversation on the event of the morning. Two or three times May endeavored to expostulate with her, but found herself rudely repulsed.
That night, when Mr. Stillinghast came in, Helen officiously placed his chair in its usual corner, and handed him his slippers. May made two or three observations to him in her own cheerful way, but he barely replied, and desired her not to interrupt him again. Her heart swelled, and her cheeks flushed, but she remembered theaim of her life, and was silent.
"Do you play on the piano?" said Mr. Stillinghast, abruptly, to Helen.
"No, sir; I play on the harp," she replied, amazed.
"Do you play well?"
"My master thought so, sir."
"I will order one for you to-morrow. I expect company to tea to-morrow evening, so put on any fandangos you have got."
"Yes, sir," she replied, while her face sparkled with delight; "I can never thank you, sir."
"I don't want you to, so be quiet, and do as I bid you," he replied, roughly.
"Poor Helen!" thought May; "poor—poor Helen! 'they seek after her soul,' and she, oh, weak one!howwill she resist without the sacraments?"
After Mr. Stillinghast retired, and they were left alone, Helen again opened a French novel to resume her reading, without exchanging a word with her cousin. Thoughts and emotions were flooding May's soul with impulses she dared not resist. She must warn her. She must stretch out her arm, weak though it was, to save her.
"Helen! dear Helen, listen to me!" she said, kneeling before her, and throwing an arm around her neck, while she laid her hand on her cousin's. Helen, astonished, dropped her book, and remained passive, while May besought her by her hopes of heaven to accompany her the next morning to confession, or go alone, as both could not leave home together; then set before her in eloquent and soul-touching language the peril into which her prevarications were leading her.
"You are mad, May.—decidedly mad; I intend to better my condition if I can, and be a Catholic too. I am only conciliating this crusty old wretch, who has us both in his power; then, you know, we may bring him around after awhile," she said, carelessly.
"Oh, Helen! wecannotserve two masters, even for a season; nor can we handle pitch without becoming defiled. Believe me, this kind of conciliation, as it is called, is fraught with evil," said May, earnestly.
"You are right about the pitch, May. He is truly as disagreeable as pitch; but, indeed, I will endeavor to handle him with gloves on," said Helen, laughing; "and Iwon'tgo to confession until I am ready."
"I alluded to my uncle's opinions and principles, for, Helen, he is an unbeliever!" said May, sighing, as she turned away to go up to bed.
"Don't make any more scenes, little dear; really, you startle one almost into spasms," continued the heartless and beautiful one. "I have a very strong, high spirit, and awill; no iron or rock is harder."
"Be warned, Helen! I have a will, too, and shall not cease to admonish you—to warn you—to pray for you, until life ceases."
"Pshaw! you are a fanatic. Good night, my dear."
When May awoke the next morning at her usual hour, she discovered, to her great surprise, that Helen was up and dressed; but how occupied she could not conceive, until rising, she saw her sitting beside her open trunk, with a lighted candle on a chair near her, looking over various ornaments and articles of dress which it contained. With a small hand-glass she tried the effect of jet and pearls in her ears; of black velvet, or satin rosettes, in her soft wavy brown hair; of white crape and illusion on her throat and wrists—glancing all the time with an expression of pleased triumph at the reflection on her faultlessly beautiful face.
"Thank God, I amnotbeautiful," thought May, without a dash of envy. "I might—yes, I am so weak—I might worship myself instead of God." But she said nothing, and performed her morning devotions, and made her meditations as usual; then dressed quickly and neatly, and asked Helen if she was ready to go down.
"I declare, May, you are a perfect little mouse. I did not know you were up. Yes; I am ready now. I had quite forgotten that it was my morning to make breakfast," she replied, returning the things to the trunk without the least possible hurry.
"If you have any thing else to do, dear Helen; I mean—if—you have not said your prayers yet, I will go down and get things in train for you," said May, timidly.
"Thank you, May, but I keep my own conscience. I have no time for my prayers now—after breakfast will do," she replied, carelessly.
"Dear Helen, consider—"
"Dear May, Iwon'tconsider," she interrupted her, "for I am in such a ferment of delight, what with the idea of company, and having a harp once more, I am really half wild, and could not pray for the life of me—at least, as peopleoughtto pray. Oh, what different times we shall have! Really, May, I have an idea that I shall have our old savage dancing the Tarantula before to-morrow night," she exclaimed, almost shrieking with laughter.
"Helen," began May, but checked herself, and burst into tears, which she endeavored to conceal—such tears as angels shed over the derelictions of the souls they are appointed to guard. Helen did not observe them; giddy and selfish, she derived amusement from that which was luring her soul further away from God; and, while May wept over her peril, she thought only of the transient and fleeting enjoyments of the present. Gayly humming theTarantula, she ran down to the kitchen, where she got breakfast, or, rather claimed the reputation of getting it, by assisting May, who was really the practical cause of its being made at all tolerably.
"What sort of gimcracks must one have for supper? I have invited a friend with whom I have business relations of some importance, to tea, and I wish to know what is usual," said Mr. Stillinghast, addressing Helen, after breakfast.
"I don't know, sir," she said, looking down, with the half-frightened expression her face always wore when he addressed her; "people generally have cake, and other nice things."
"Very well, make a supper to suit yourself," said Mr. Stillinghast, tossing her a five dollar note.
"Weoughtto have silver forks, sir," she suggested.
"Silver devils! well, wait—" He went up to his chamber, and returned with a package, which he laid carefully on the table, saying, "There they are—be careful with them," and went out without noticing May even by a look, who felt the neglect more keenly than any trial he had ever caused her. To find that Helen, who hated as much as she feared him—whose life was so aimless and useless—preferred before her, caused sharp and bitter emotions. The flagrant injustice of his treatment galled, as much as his unmerited contempt humiliated her. For a little while her feelings bore her along on their rough but silent torrent, while the hot winds of evil heated her veins with fire, and caused a hot flush to burn on either cheek. Ho! how exulted the tempter now; he had long laid in wait for her soul, and now, while it oscillated and wavered, how triumphant he was; how defiantly he lifted his lurid brow towards the Almighty, while he spread out the snare for that tempted, trembling one! but let us listen—for angels guard her, and watch, with sorrowful eyes, the dread conflict, while they pray for heavenly strength to sustain her—let us listen to the words which go up from that heart, so stilly and whispered that they scarcely reach our ears, while in Heaven they ring out clear, and sweet, and sorrowful,—"Sweet Jesus! merciful Jesus! suffering, calumniated dying Jesus, pity me—rescue me," she murmured, folding her cold hands together. Far away fled the powers of darkness, and left only the sweetness and peace of that potent deliverer, JESUS, in her soul. Once more the angels of her life looked up rejoicing, and spread their wings of light about her way.Without, there had been an exterior calm; but it was like that gray, sad stillness, which mantles the storm. Now there was sunshine as well as calm.
"What shall I do, May?" said Helen, who had been reading the paper.
"We must try and make a nice supper, as my uncle wishes, Helen. I will make waffles and tea-biscuits, if you wish it, and we can order cake from Delaro's. I think this, with chipped ham, tea, and coffee, will be sufficient."
"Thank you, May. I am so ignorant; if you will only do it all for me, I shall be so obliged to you. You know I shall have to dress, and it takes me so long to arrange my hair gracefully. I wish, sometimes, that I had none—it is so troublesome," said the selfish girl.
"Yes," said May, after a little while, "I will attend to it. My dress is such an every day affair, that I shall be able to have every thing ready, to take the head of the table in time."
"The head of the table! I rather expect Mr. Stillinghast intends me to preside."
"Possibly. If my uncle wishes it, Helen, I will certainly resign it to you; but, as I have always sat there, I shall continue to do so until he requests me to do otherwise," said May, with becoming firmness.
"Oh, of course! It is quite indifferent to me, my dear;—but what have we here?" said Helen, taking up the bundle which Mr. Stillinghast had laid on the table. "See, May, what splendidly chased silver forks! How heavy they are; and see! here is a crest on them."
"They are very old, I presume," said May, examining them with interest.
"As old as the hills! Where on earth has the old curmudgeon kept them all this time?" exclaimed Helen. "Do you think he bought, or inherited them?"
"Inherited them, doubtless. My mother had the same crest on her silver. Our grandfather was an Englishman of good lineage; but see, Helen, they require a good cleansing and rubbing. I will go to mass now, after which I will attend to your commissions. While I am out, you had better get down the old china, which you will find on that closet shelf, with some cut glass goblets. You can wash them up with the breakfast things; or, if you would rather wait until I return, I will assist you," said May.
"Oh, no! I like such work; but, May, could we not hunt up your old maummy, if she is not too old, to come and wait?" asked Helen.
"She died two years ago, Helen," said May, turning away her head with a quivering lip.
"How unfortunate! But, May, have you any fine table linen?"
"Yes; a number of fine damask tablecloths."
"And napkins?"
"None."
"Thank fortune, I have some four dozen East India napkins; they will look quite splendid on the table this evening. But hurry on, May, I wish to clear up to make room for my harp; I expect it every moment."
That evening, if Mr. Stillinghast had looked around him, he would scarcely have recognized the sitting-room as the one he had left in the morning. The round table, just large enough to seat four comfortably, was elegantly spread with fine white damask, and crimson and old gold china, of an antique and elegant pattern; sparkling cut glass, and silver. Two wax candles burned in the old-fashioned silvercandelabrasin the centre, on each side of which stood two clusters of geranium leaves and winter roses, arranged in small rich vases. The grate looked resplendent, and a harp, of a magnificent pattern, heavily carved and gilded, stood in a conspicuous place. Helen looked exquisitely lovely. Her dress was the perfection of good taste, and well did its elaborate simplicity suit her style of beauty. A single white rose, and a few geranium leaves in her hair, with a pearl and jet brooch, which fastened the velvet around her throat, were the only ornaments she wore. But Mr. Stillinghast came in growling and lowering as usual, and without noticing any one, or any thing, threw himself in his arm-chair, which May had taken care should be in its place; drew off his boots, and replaced them with the soft warm slippers she had worked for him some months before; then called for the evening paper, and was soon immersed in the news from Europe, and the rise and fall of stocks. About a quarter of an hour afterwards the front door-bell rung, and May, who happened to be in the hall, went to admit the visitor, who was no other than Mr. Jerrold. He bowed courteously, and "presumed he had the pleasure of speaking to Miss Stillinghast?"