TWO GENTLEWOMEN.
Thesquare brick house with many windows, in the little village of W., was called the “Mountain Place,” both from the name of one of its occupants, and also from its situation, which was the most conspicuous point in town.
The owner was a rich manufacturer, who had for many years placed it at the disposal of his two widowed sisters less prosperous, financially, than himself.
Mrs. Letitia Mountain’s family lived on the lower floor in a commodious suite of “apartments,” hardly known as such in that day,when any respectable person was supposed to occupy, or furnish, an entire dwelling, but the idiosyncracy was in this case excused on ground of a peculiar attachment existing between the sisters.
The double parlors, with high ceiling and heavy folding doors, were forever resplendent in white china paint and velvet paper, and the visitor felt almost obliged to observe the extreme complexity of the figure on the carpet, evidently designed for homes of heroic proportions.
The upper rooms were far less imposing, and thus better suited to the smaller purse and household of the elder sister, Mrs. Honora Plum. This poor lady endured much from the companionship of a stepdaughter, ill-tempered and idle, and reflecting the blaze of an ancient escutcheonstained by vice, for Mrs. Plum had married the younger son of a titled English gentleman.
Nothing of the regret from which she must have suffered ever passed her lips, and her patient smile sweetened the loaf which she so generously shared with the woman whose only claim was the name she bore.
Mrs. Mountain’s past, on the contrary, was delightful to contemplate. A happy marriage in early life shed a halo over even the long illness and death of a beloved husband; but neither this break in the tide of joy, nor the sorrows of Honora, ever darkened the light of true sister love that doubled their present portion of helpfulness and cheer.
Both ladies were short and dark, with large brown eyes which never lost their sparkle, and well-formedlips that kept a rosy color into late years.
Fashion forever stamps some part of Nature’s work as reprehensible, and at the period of which I write, the gray locks that represent intensity of feeling as often as age were considered unfit to be seen by the world. So the heavy silken bands that graced the brows of both sisters were closely covered with beribboned caps, and bordered with “false fronts” of dusky hair, coiled on each side over two small combs, forming stiff and ungainly puffs that did not seem to belong to the little women, but to which they were so much attached that one never admitted the other to her chamber until the structure was erected, or a huge nightcap entirely concealed the absence of it.
Far more suitable would havebeen the simplicity of the Friend’s costume, which bore a wondrous charm for them, as the dress of their beloved mother. But the sisters had wandered from the fold, each had married “out of meeting” and thereby forfeited her birthright membership; and having renounced the worship of their fathers, they also felt it incumbent to robe themselves somewhat according to the fashion of the world’s people, but the “Stranger” air which marked their devotions before a “hireling ministry” also clung to their garments.
It was a little pitiful, this estrangement from their early religious associations, and perchance it might have been their greatest pleasure to return to the fold when the days of their widowhood came, but the meeting was held in a remote district of thetownship, and neither of the sisters was robust. For this reason they made a church home in the nearest house of worship, and carried thither so much of their elementary religion as wrought daily miracles of love and patience.
They were charitable to a degree almost beyond praise, and the fine bearing, the impressive presence of the little pair, could have come from nothing else than a realization of noble attributes.
The annals of New York indeed would be incomplete without mention of the exceeding service rendered the State in time of need by a rich Quaker, who steadfastly refused any public recognition, but whose death was everywhere heralded as that of a man combining in his character modesty and rare worth.
Perhaps it was the consciousnessof being heir to these virtues that led Honora into a false conception of the inheritance of her husband, but the painful knowledge of her error never lessened her understanding of the motto “Noblesse oblige.”
Everybody forgave the sisters their touch of pride since both its source and outcome were of such purity, but it was almost pathetic to hear their personal disavowal of merit, attributing all things of worth in their admirable womanhood to their ancestry, and when, in the days of her children’s youth, Mrs. Mountain found it necessary to chastise them, the rod was considered far less severe than a reminder that through misdemeanor they were sullying the family record.
It was a matter of deep regret to both Honora and Letitia thatthey had no sons. The former was childless, and the latter had buried her boys in infancy, but it was a consolation that the marriage of their brother, late in life, had resulted in securing a continuance of the honored line.
Hospitality was one of the inherited virtues. The fruit cake jar was never allowed to become empty, and on such holidays as were not bespoken by their brother, their separate tables were surrounded by the impecunious old and young of their acquaintance.
So long as Mrs. Mountain’s daughters remained unmarried there was an abundance of merrymaking, but after they had gone to homes of their own this youthful element was greatly missed. Mrs. Plum’s stepdaughter was too grim to be social, and graduallythe lives of the sisters fell into a routine.
Certain days in the month were devoted to family visits. The rector was entertained by them alternately, at stated periods, and once every fortnight they dressed themselves in stiff silks and real laces, and went through the formality of returning calls. No doubt the conversation was as little varied as the wardrobe, yet it was a pleasing duty, faithfully performed.
They had been educated like the majority of well-to-do women of that period, but this was far from developing a love of study—that progressive intelligence which furnishes the ladies of the present with unfailing entertainment.
Nothing, therefore, was a greater satisfaction to them than the daily visits of an old and respected colonel, living on a largefarm just beyond the border of the town.
He rode to the post office every morning on a white horse, quite as stiff in his joints as his master, and it was one of the duties of the postman to respond to the timely cough of the colonel by carrying out the scanty mail, if such there chanced to be. The soldierly salutation repaid him a hundred-fold for this small attention, while the colonel turned his horse toward Mountain Place.
He was so prompt in all his proceedings that the servant prepared herself, at ten o’clock, to answer the summons of the enormous brass knocker, and with as much dignity as if he had come with a message of state, the ruddy man inquired for “the ladies.” Then, as he entered the hall, he graciously relieved any embarrassmentby mentioning “Mrs. Mountain’s parlor, if you please,” or “Mrs. Plum’s drawing room,” alternating day by day. Immediately the lady presiding arose and greeted him as though he was recently returned from a foreign mission, and in the next breath spoke to the servant, who had long ago learned to await this direction: “Ask Mrs. Plum if it will be convenient to come down, Colonel Gray is here,” or “My compliments to Mrs. Mountain.”
The newcomer then formally welcomed the second sister, carefully asked after her health, and conversation became general.
An hour, sometimes two, the colonel’s horse stood in the wind and weather awaiting his agreeable master, but if, as rarely happened, the latter limit was transgressed, a loud neighing broughtthe gentleman to his feet. “Ladies, I have had a most entertaining morning; duty alone calls me from your side. Allow me to wish you good-day.”
In the afternoon as the sisters sat by the front window knitting socks for the poor, or daintily stitching some fine muslin for a baby’s outfit, they discussed the Colonel’s visit.
“Letitia, I am sorry brother does not like the Colonel.”
They never disagreed, and from a constant desire to emphasize, each the opinion of the other, there had grown a habit of repetition.
“Yes, Honora, I wish brother did incline toward the Colonel.”
“I cannot understand his objection. Colonel Grey is a gentleman, and an excellent provider.”
This term embraced a multitudeof small virtues, chiefly that of generosity toward his immediate family, and to Mrs. Mountain and Mrs. Plum, the man who failed in this respect had better not be alluded to.
It was a little strange that they knew the Colonel’s household habits, for he lived alone with an aged housekeeper and her husband, and it was only at long intervals that he opened his doors to his friends, albeit he was justly proud of the frequent honor he enjoyed of “drinking a dish of tea” at the Mountain Place, and on these occasions he never forgot to be strictly impartial in his attentions, and addressed his conversation first to one, then to the other of the sisters.
Like the entire village population, he was well aware that to these ladies everyone looked foradvice, and indeed for intelligent nursing. So frequent were the midnight calls for services that one of the servant’s regular duties was the disposition at nightfall of their hoods, cloaks, and lantern conveniently near the front door.
A reference to this formed a staple joke between the friends, and Letitia frequently asserted (and it was repeated by Honora) that in case of illness at “Moss Farm,” they would consider themselves engaged.
Perhaps the good Colonel had more than a jest at heart when he referred to the matter, for the ills of life come surely in train of age, and the summons reached Mountain Place on an early morning of September. It was a shock to the ladies, this forerunner of a parting from one who had been so stanch a friend, and so inconsideratea visitor, as their brother insisted.
Just as the carryall came in sight of the Colonel’s homestead, the first twitter of awakening birds brought a new sense of life and activity into the world. The dark forest behind the house sent forth a thousand notes of welcome to the day, and the clear spring, where the old horse turned to drink, added its gentle murmur.
Mrs. Mountain was touched, her eyes moistened.
“Alas!” she said, noting the movement of the old gray, “the world never stops for any of us. The birds sing, the horse wants to drink, the sunlight flashes over the farm, just as if the good man that has lived so long to lighten the cares of others, was not passing away.”
“Passing away! Yes, passingaway,” and the solemn voice of her sister, seemed like an echo from the hills.
It was the usual trouble, a shock of paralysis, and the faithful doctor gave little encouragement, yet he thought it possible the Colonel’s speech might become clear again, and when the stupor that enthralled the poor man had passed, the pale eye wandered about the room. Words were unnecessary, the watchers understood that he wanted a hand laid in his own, and Letitia gently slid her soft palm beneath the chilled fingers. Honora as promptly took her place at the other side, stroking the withered arm that lay motionless upon the bed.
The doctor opened the window, and as the delicious breath of the pines crept in, the sick man stirred. He moved his head restlessly.But when Mrs. Mountain would have left her place to rearrange his pillows, suddenly his tongue loosed and he spoke, feebly indeed, and with an effort, but the words fell distinctly upon the listeners.
“Years ago, I wanted—I intended she should be my wife if——” He stopped. Presently he gave evidence that the same thought was still in his mind.
“Yes,” he murmured, “but I love her just as well.”
The doctor moistened the dry lips, and the sisters both moved as if to assist, but one lifeless hand pressed heavily, and the poor member with a little vitality motioned Mrs. Mountain not to stir.
So they remained, while hour after hour went by.
The noonday was upon themwhen again the old face brightened and the quavering voice said slowly:
“Yes, yes, I love her just as well.”
The silence that followed was not broken again, and soon the faithful sisters spread the white sheet over the dear dead.
That night, as they sat together in Mrs. Mountain’s stately parlor, Honora said with a sigh:
“Perhaps, Letitia, it is just as well the Colonel never spoke to you about marriage. His family was not so good as our own, but I thought it strange he could see you so often and not love you.”
And Letitia startled Mrs. Plum by contradicting her.
“Child alive, Honora! I always knew the Colonel loved the ground you trod on.”