"I am sorry for you, my dear Perry," replied the captain. "Rose is a glorious, little creature, and you are a whole-souled fellow, and I wish I could pilot your boat into the port of matrimony; but women are queer things, you can no more tell which way they'd be likely to jump, than I can tell what wind will next blow my vessel. Now, I should have thought she is all alone so, and unprovided—but it is no use talking, cheer up, Perry. I will do all you ask; I'll disburse the funds for you, and she shall never know where it comes from; you are a good fellow, Perry; there are not many rejected suitors that would act as magnanimously as you have; but do you suppose when you get to New Orleans you can watch over her, without her finding it out?"
"Yes," said the doctor. "I think so, with the aid of a little disguise, false whiskers, etc. At any rate, it is no use for me to try to fix my mind on any thing. I never was in love before, never saw a woman whom I did not shudder to think of, in the light of a life-companion. Perhaps you marvel that I can overlook, whatto most men would be an insuperable obstacle to marriage with Rose; and yet, viewing it through the world's spectacles, why should you? Do not priests and parents every day legalize the prostitution of youth to toothless Mammon? Beside Rose has been deceived. She is at heart pure. In God's sight, she is innocent. I would stand between her and the scorn of the world. She has been more sinned against than sinning.
"True," said the captain, "and loves the rascal in spite of it."
"Because, with a woman's generous devotion, she does not believe him false; she looks yet to have the mystery cleared up, and to find his honor untarnished."
"God grant it, for her sake," replied the captain.
"Amen!" exclaimed Perry; for in truth his love for Rose, surpassing the love of men, was capable even of this magnanimity.
"Shipwreck me!" exclaimed the captain, consoling himself with a bit of tobacco, "if I can make out how it is, that the finest women invariable throw themselves away on these good-for-nothing fellows. It is always so, Perry."
"Not always," said the doctor. "Not in your case, at least," and he grasped the captain's hand.
"Thank you—thank you," replied Captain Lucas, with emotion. "I believe my Mary is a happy wife."
And this was New Orleans! its hot breath swept across Rose's cheek, as she stood upon the deck of the Neptune, gazing upon its nearing spires, roofs, and chimneys. The city's distant hum even now falls upon her watchful ear. Amid its motley population should she find him whom she had come to seek? Would he take the pain from out her young heart? claim her, and his boy? or should she walk the crowded streets day by day, reading faces, measuring forms, listening to voices, and return at nightfall with eye, ear, and heart, dissatisfied.
"Rose?"
She turned her head. "A few words with you," said Captain Lucas.
Ah—that was what she had been dreading, payment for her services, and they had been so slight, so interrupted by Charley's sickness, and so she told the captain with her usual ingenuousness, for she had begun to fear latterly that Captain Lucas had not needed them at all, and that his engagement with her was a delicate cover for his charity. But it was useless talking; the captain was as peremptory as if he were on quarter-deck among his sailors, instead of talking there in the cabin to a little woman four feet high; he said "he was in a hurry," he said (presenting her with Doctor Perry's roll of bills after he had himself paid her) that "that was a present from himself for Charley," and he said that as she was all alone, she must let an old manlike him direct her where to find proper lodgings; so he penciled on a card the address of an old lady, whose quiet house he thought would just suit her; and then he said, kissing Charley, "God bless you both," and drew his hand across his eyes.
Good Captain Lucas! when was ever a sailor's heart callous to the touch of sorrow? May there not be something in the strong brave element on which he rides to quicken what is grand and noble in his nature?
Rose found the new quarters to which Captain Lucas had directed her, very comfortable. Her French landlady seemed altogether too busy, attending to her domestic matters, and nursing her poodle, to trouble herself about Rose's private affairs. This of itself was an infinite relief, for she had learned to shrink from the scrutiny of strangers. Her apartment was furnished neatly, and Charley's delight was unbounded to be able to pursue his educational baby instincts, untrameled by the pitching of the vessel. But Rose counted every moment lost, in which she was not pursuing her search for Vincent; a night of broken slumber, a hurried breakfast, a hasty toilet, and she started with Charley in her arms on her almost hopeless errand, she scarce knew whither.
Past the large hotel, on whose broad piazza strangers and citizens congregated, past the busy stores, past the quays and wharves, turning hastily the street corners, gazing into shops, now startled by the tone of a voice, now quickening her pace at the deceptive outline of a distant form. Fear found noplace in her throbbing heart, and if it had, was there not an angel in her arms? It is a sweet thought, that the presence of a little child is often to an unattended woman the surest protection. The abandoned idler recognizes and respects this holy tie. He, too, was once a pure and stainless child—the lisping little voice seems to whisper in his sin-dulled ear, "Go and sin no more."
Rose could not have told why, of all the Southern cities, she had selected New Orleans for her search for Vincent. Had you asked, she could have given no reason for the magnetism which had drawn her thither.
Still she pursued her search day after day, spite of discouragement; still the great busy human tide ebbed and flowed past her, bearing on its surface barks without ballast—barks without rudder or compass—drifting hither and thither, careless how surely Time's rapids were hurrying them on to the shoreless ocean of eternity.
It was evening. Rose had put Charley in his little bed to sleep, and sat at the open window, as she had done many an evening before, watching and listening. It was now a fortnight since she came to New Orleans, and still no clew of Vincent. She could not always live in this way; she had not the purse of Fortunatus; she must soon again seek employment. Rose's heart grew sick and faint with hope deferred.
A low moan of pain fell upon her ear. She started to her feet and ran up to the little bed. It was notCharley; he was quietly sleeping. She looked out of the window; a woman had fallen upon the pavement beneath it. Rose ran down the steps to her assistance. She had only turned her ankle, but the pain was so acute that she was unable to rise unaided.
"Lean on me," said Rose, as she gently placed her arm at her disposal, and guided her up the steps and into her little parlor; then kneeling before her, she gently drew off the stocking, and laved the pained foot with cold water. It was a pretty foot, small, white, and if a high instep, as some would have us believe, is proof of "blood," an aristocratic foot. The stranger might have been twenty-five years of age, and had the remains of great beauty.
"You are very kind," said she, at length, opening her large eyes; "very kind—and beautiful too; more's the pity. I was once beautiful; look at me now. You don't believe it, perhaps.Hethought so; he said, 'my eyes were stars, my teeth pearls.' Did you ever love? It is very sweet to be loved. My mother died; my father had a new wife. In their happiness they forgot me, and in my loneliness I prayed for death. Thenhecame. Oh,nowI prayed to live! he made earth so fair to me. I was glad that I was beautiful for his sake. He asked me to be his wife. So one night, when the stars came out, I put my hand in his, and looked on my home for the last time. I knew my father and his new wife would not miss me. Oh, I wasso happy! I did not see the face of the priest who married us; it was down by the old church, and the stars were the only witnesses. That night I slept on my husband's breast, and I wished my mother were living to know how blest was her child. You are glad I was so happy; you think some dayyouwill be happy too; you think you will madden some fiery heart with love. So you may; and then you will be the blighted thing I am; for our marriage was a mockery; the priest was his servant. One night, as I sat at the window watching for him, I heard voices; I heard him, my husband, speak my name lightly to this servant. I, who believed myself his wife; I, who had thought to turn my back on misery forever, and hug happiness to my bosom; I, who had trusted all, given all, and asked for no surety! I heard him plan with his servant to decoy a young school-girl to his arms, and blight her as he had me. The roof over my head stifled me; I did not stay to upbraid him; I could not have taken a drop of water from his hand had I been dying. I fled from the house;—but oh! not as I left my childhood's home! I sought labor; for I loathed sin. None would employ me; I hungered for bread; all turned coldly away. Then one saw me, who knew my story, and wherever I turned, scorn pointed her finger. The 'good' closed their doors, and said, 'Stand aside, I am holier than thou;' the bad opened theirs, and said, 'Eat, drink, and be merry.' ThenDespair took me by the hand, and led me in. Sin fed me, clothed me; sin baptized my child.
"One night, with other revelers,hecame to that unholy place;he, my 'husband!'—oh, it was gay! He smiled the old smile; he said, 'Right, my girl, a short life and a merry one; there is no future—we die and there's an end!' My tortured soul gave these false words the lie; but I smiled back—he was to bemyvictim now! Peace was lost, heaven was lost; what should hold me back? The wine cup went round. 'Pledge me,' I said, 'here's to your happy future!' He drained it, poison and all, to the dregs—why not? Men make the laws to suit themselves, so they make no law for the seducer. I had to be judge and jury; oh it was gay! He writhed—why not? What was it to the writhings of my spirit every hour in that accursed gilded prison-house! He died, my seducer; then I fled hither.
"Down—down—down I am going; beauty buys me no bread now; down—down!" and the fire died out from her eyes, and her head drooped upon her breast.
"Dreadful," said the horror-struck Rose, "don't talk so, I am a stranger here; but surely," and the crimson flush overspread her cheeks, "there must be Magdalen Asylums here."
"Oh, that's gay," said the half-crazed woman, laughing hysterically, "gay; they write 'Magdalen' over the door where you go in and out, they tell visitorsyou are a Magdalen,' when you want to hide your shame, and be good. They drag youawayfrom heaven, and then tell you to go there. Listen," and she lowered her voice, and laid her thin hand on that of Rose. "Listen, and I will tell you a story. Once, at the Magdalen Asylum, a young girl, half starved, and out of employment, came and asked for a shelter. They asked her 'if she was virtuous,' she said 'yes,' then they shut the door in her face, saying 'that their house was for Magdalens;' she wept, and wrung her hands, as she turned away into the dark night. Next day she came back, and said, 'take me in, now, I'm a Magdalen, now I shall have a shelter.' Oh it was gay; children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of light. Satan is too busy; down, down. If Vincent sees your pretty face you'll go down, down, too, but Vincent's dead. Good-by, you are beautiful, more's the pity."
The poor, half-crazed creature pressed Rose's robe to her lips, and limped away, and like one under the influence of night-mare, Rose sat gazing spell-bound, after her retreating form without the power of speech or motion.
Shine on, as ye have shone, gentle stars!
Look down upon crushed innocence and triumphant guilt, upon ragged virtue, and ermined vice—upon the wretched who pray to die, and the loved and lovingwhose uplifted hands, and tears of agony, fail to stay death's dart.
Roll on, gentle stars!
Shall not He, who feedeth your never-consuming fires, yet make every crooked path straight, every rough place plain? What though the tares grow amid the wheat until the harvest, shall not the great Husbandman surely winnow them out, and gather the wheat into the heavenly granary?
Roll on, gentle stars!
Mr. John Howe sat comfortably in his easy-chair, smoking his chibouk. Mrs. Howe sat opposite to him, dressed in a fashionable suit of black, with her gaiter-boots on a bronze hound.
"John?"
John smoked away as imperturbably as if he were a bachelor.
"Mr. Howe?"
"Well," replied John, complacently regarding the curling smoke.
"Do you know this is the last day of June?"
"Well," repeated John.
"'Well—well!' Mr. Howe, I do wish you'd stop thinking of that contemptible political paper you are reading, and attend to me. But before I begin, I wish to say that Ishouldlike a paper in the house that has something in it. There is not an account of the fashions in that newspaper from one year's end to the other; in fact, there is nothing in it but politics—politics; it is the stupidest paper I ever read. Why don't you take the 'Lady's Garland,' now, or 'The ParlorWeekly,' or some such interesting periodical, with those lovely fashion-prints, and cuff and collar patterns, and crochet guides? One would think you imagined a woman's mind needed no nutriment at all. What are you laughing at, Mr. Howe?"
"Your thirst for knowledge," replied John.
"Laugh away—it is a great point gained to get one's husband good-humored. Now, listen: Mrs. St. Pierre has gone into the country, so has Mrs. Ralph Denys, and Mrs. George Cook goes to-morrow."
"What the deuce has that to do with us?" asked John.
"It is so vulgar to stay in the city in summer," replied Mrs. Howe. "Nobody does it but tradespeople, and those who can not afford to migrate. I tell you it is indispensable for people in our station not to be seen here in the summer months."
"I don't want to be seen," said John, still puffing. "Shut the front window-shutters; let the silver door-plate grow rusty, and the cobwebs gather on the blinds and front-door; live in the back part of the house; never go out except in the evening. That's the way half the fashionables 'go into the country;' confounded cheap way, too," and John laughed merrily.
"Now, John," said his wife, "where did you pick that up? I took good care not to tell you that, because I knew I should never hear the last of it; but even that is better than to be thought unfashionable. Still, it is not like having a country seat."
"A country-seat!" ejaculated John, wheeling square round, so as to face his wife; "catch me at it! Eat up by musquitos, kept awake by bull-frogs, serenaded by tree-toads, bored to death by riding-parties from the city, who devour your fruit, break off your flowers, and bark your trees; horses and carriages to keep, two or three extra servants, conservatory, hot-house, stables, barns, garden-tools, ice-house—shan't do it, Mrs. Howe;" and John turned his back, put his heels deliberately up on the window-seat, and resumed his chibouk.
Mrs. Howe smiled a little quiet smile, snapped her finger, as if at some invisible enemy, and tiptoeing up behind her husband's chair, whispered something in his conjugal ear.
Thesecondtime that magic whisper had conquered Mr. Howe!
Slowly Rose regained her consciousness. Had she been dreaming about Vincent's death? The dim light of morning was struggling in through the vines that latticed the window. She raised herself from the floor. Ah, now she remembered. It was only the incoherent ravings of the poor crazed being who had been in the evening before; how foolish to let it make her so miserable! As if there were not more than one person of the name of Vincent in the world. She tried to shake off her miserable thoughts; she knelt by the side of little Charley's bed, and kissed his blue eyes awake, although it was scarcely daylight; for she felt so lonely, just as ifherVincent werereallydead, and the wide earth held but one. She took Charley up and held him in her arms, and laid her cheek to his. Strange she could not shake off that leaden feeling. It must be that she were ill, she was so excitable; she would be better after breakfast. Sad work those trembling fingers made with Charley's toilet that morning. Still she kept tying, and buttoning, and pinning, and rolling his curls over her fingers—for the restless, unquiet heart findsrelief in motion; ay, motion—when the brain reels and despair tugs at the heart-strings. Oh, Time be merciful! bear swiftly on the restless spirit to meet its fate; torture it no longer, suspended by a hair over the dread abyss!
It had commenced raining. Rose believed it was that which made her linger on that morning, forgetting through how many drenching rains she had patiently traversed those streets.
She walks back and forth from the window irresolutely. She thinks she will wait till the skies clear. Poor Rose! will thy skyeverbe clear? Now she listlessly takes up a newspaper, with which Charley has been playing. She smooths out its crumpled folds, and reads mechanically through advertisements of runaway negroes, sales of slaves at the auction block, ship-news, casualties, marriages, deaths. Ah! what is that?
"THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED."It is at length ascertained that the young man who was poisoned in Natchez, in a house of questionable reputation, by an abandoned female, was Vincent L'Estrange Vincent. The deceased was about twenty-five, of splendid personal appearance, and will doubtless be much regretted by the large and fashionable circle in which he moved. The murderess has not yet been apprehended."
"THE MYSTERY EXPLAINED.
"It is at length ascertained that the young man who was poisoned in Natchez, in a house of questionable reputation, by an abandoned female, was Vincent L'Estrange Vincent. The deceased was about twenty-five, of splendid personal appearance, and will doubtless be much regretted by the large and fashionable circle in which he moved. The murderess has not yet been apprehended."
The arrow has reached its mark—the bolt has sped—the weary search is ended—Vincent is found. Rose's Vincent?
No, nothers.
The idol is dethroned forever: the Vincentherinnocent heart loved was good, and pure, and true. Rose suffers, but she no longer loves. There is a deep sense of wrong and injury, a hurried look back upon all that is lost, a shuddering look forward, from youth's blighted threshhold, at the long, dreary years yet to come—a helpless folding of the hands at Fate—a hopeless, tearless, measureless grief.
Blessed tears come quickly; lighten that heavy load; moisten those burning eyelids; unclasp those icy hands; give to those dumb lips speech; take from young life death's stony semblance!
Speak to her, Charley. Stir the deep fountains of a mother's love, poor fatherless one! Nestle close to her desolate heart. Bid her live forthee, Charley. Tell her that 'mid thorns roses are found. Tell her that to thenightalone, many a dew-gemmed flower yields up its incense.
"That will do, Mrs. Macque, thank you; now a small wine-glass and another tea-spoon, if you please, for the light stand. I think we can leave nurse Chloe with my patient now," said the speaker, turning to a tall negress. "You understand, Chloe, give her the drops at four in the morning, if she should waken; if the effect of the opiate lasts longer, do not disturb her. I shall be in by six in the morning," and Doctor Perry took his leave.
No, not his leave; he might not stay with Rose, but he could pace up and down beneath her window; he could see by the faint light of the shaded night-lamp, the shadow of the nurse's figure on the muslin window-curtains, and know that she was faithful at her post; yes, he could walk there, and the time would not seem long while he thought of Rose.
Did she think, poor child, that his love could be chilled by aught but unworthiness?
Did she think it could die out though no encouraging breath of her's fanned the flame?
Did she think he could leave her to traverse thecrowded streets of that great Sodom, with no defense but her helplessness?
Did she think that a rejected lover could not be a trustworthy, firm, and untiring friend?
Did she think that, like other men, he would mete out his attendance, only so far as it met with an equivalent?
Dear Rose!
How often he had longed, as he had followed her at a distance through the crowded streets, and seen her slight form bend under Charley's burden, to offer her his protecting arm. How he had longed, when the day's fruitless tramp was over, to go to her in the little parlor, and bid her lay her weary head, fearlessly, as if on a brother's breast, and now, when the heart's tonic;—hope—had been suddenly withdrawn, would the drooping spirit sink? Medicine, he knew, could do little for the soul's malady, but what it could do, she should be benefited by.
The old colored nurse Chloe drew aside the bed-curtains to look at her charge. How still she lay—how white and wan. "Berry sick," she muttered, with a shake of her turbaned head, "missis berry sick," and she moved gently a long tress of hair which lay across Rose's forehead. "Missis berry young," she muttered, "no wrinkles dere; missis' heart is wrinkled, pr'aps; young face an' ole heart; some trouble been dere," and the old negress touched the little snow-flake of a handwhich lay upon the coverlid. "Most see trough it," she muttered, following the tracery of the blue veins. "No ring on de wedding-finger; ah! pr'aps dat's it," said the old negress, "den she'd better nebber wake up again. Black skins and white skins, de Lord sends 'em both trouble to make it all even. Some one ting, some anodder. My ole missis Vincent berry rich, but had berry bad son; handsome, but berry bad; lub nobody but himself; die like a dog wid all his money. De Lord he makes it all even, dis nigger knows dat; ole missis Vincent good to gib ole Chloe her freedom, but missis' son berry bad. De Lord sends some one ting, some anodder," and Chloe folded her arms philosophically, and leaned back in her chair.
The door of Gertrude's studio was ajar, for the day was warm, and the lady had sat persistently at her easel, as was her wont (when the glow was on), since early day-light.
Pictures and picture frames, canvas and brushes, sketches in oils, engravings and crayons, were scattered round, with as little regard to housewife-ly order, as if the apartment had been tenanted by one of the disorderly sex; the light was fine, and that was the most Gertrude cared about.
She was a picture herself as she sat there, and though a woman, was not aware of it. The loose, white wrapper she wore had become unfastened at the throat, and fallen partially off one shoulder, revealing as perfect a bust as ever set a sculptor or lover dreaming. No prettier ornament could have been found to keep back her light brown tresses than her tiny white ears. And as the light fell upon the arm and hand which held her palette, one ceased marveling, with such a model before her, at her successful reproductions of it in the female pictures.
There are some kinds of hair which always look poetical, whether arranged or disarranged; their glossy waves changing in the sun's rays like the arched neck of the peerless golden pheasant; now brown, now golden, beautiful whether in light or shade. This was one of Gertrude's greatest charms. And yet Gertrude was no beauty; but somehow there was a witchery about her which made you think so. It might have been the play of expression on the flexible lips, the warming up of the complexion, the sudden kindling of the eye with smiles, to be as suddenly quenched by tears; the rapid transitions from pensive sadness to mischievous mirth. When she spoke, you thought the charm in her musical voice, when she moved, in the symmetry of her form; every dress she wore you wished she would always wear, every thing she did struck you as being most perfectly and gracefully done; every thing she said was pertinent and piquant; she had thought much, and read little, hence she was always fresh and original; she was an independent thinker, and though strong-minded and clear-headed, was strictly feminine. You looked your watch in the face incredulously when you left her, as ifit, notshe, were at fault.
"I really do not think I can do better than that," she soliloquized, laying down her brushes, and stepping back to look at her picture, "that is a success; I feel it."
"Saints and angels!" she exclaimed as the door creaked slightly on its hinges; "where did you come from, you delicious little cherub?"
Well might she exclaim. There was Charley, the little truant, just as he had crept out of bed, looking (as a babe always does when it first wakes) like a delicate morning-glory, whose dewy beauty the first sun's ray will exhale. His little white night-robe hung loosely about him; his large lustrous eyes were full of childish wonder, his dark hair curled in moist rings round his white temples, and his cheek was yet warm with the flush of sleep.
"Where did you come from, you beautiful creature?" said Gertrude, snatching him up, and kissing first his cherry lips, then his bare, dimpled foot, with its pink-tipped toes, then his ivory shoulders; "I never saw any thing half so beautiful—whoareyou, you little dumb angel?"
Charley only replied by cuddling his little curly head on Gertrude's shoulder, for even infancy's ear may be won by the musical sweetness of a voice, and Gertrude's tones were heart-tones.
"You trusting little innocent," said Gertrude, as her eye moistened, "you are sweet and holy enough for an Infant Saviour. There, sit there now, darling," said she, placing him on the middle of the floor, and scattering a bunch of flowers about him by way of bribe,"sit there now, while I sketch you for one," and she flew to her easel.
"Yah—yah," said a voice at the door, as another model presented itself, in the picturesque turbaned head of Chloe, "yah—yah—you cheat ole nurse dis time, Massa Charley—"
"Oh, don't take him away," said Gertrude; "lend him to me a little while—whose child is it? I almost hoped he belonged to nobody."
"Missis, down stairs," answered Chloe; "I don't know her name; she berry sick, I only came las' night to nurse her, and while I busy here and dere, Massa Charley take hisself off."
"Your mistress is sick?" said Gertrude; "then of course she does not want this little piece of quicksilver squirming round her; I want to make a picture of him like those that you see," said Gertrude, pointing to her sketches about the room;—"he is as handsome as an angel; leave him with me, never fear, I can charm babies like a rattlesnake, and bite them too," she added, touching her lips to Charley's tempting shoulders.
"But my missis—" remonstrated Chloe.
"Oh, never mind," said Gertrude, with her usual independence; "no mother ever was angry yet because her child was admired. I will bring him down to your door when he gets weary—there, do go away—he grows more lovely every minute, and I am losing time."
It was not strange that Gertrude should have beenunaware of the presence of the new lodger, rarely leaving her studio and the little room adjoining, where she had her meals served, except in the evening, when Rose was shut up in her own apartment, a prey to sorrowful thoughts.
Gertrude was as unlike other women in her dislike of gossip as in various other items we might name. Provided she were not interfered with, it mattered nothing to her who occupied the rooms about her. It is only the empty-minded who, having no resources of their own, busy themselves with the affairs of their neighbors. It was unaccountable to her how the number of another woman's dresses, or bonnets, the hours and the places in which she promenaded, the visitors she had, or refused to have, her hours for rising, eating, and retiring, or the exact state of her finances, could be matters of such momentous interest. Living contentedly in a world of her own, she had neither time nor inclination for such petty researches.
A month had elapsed since Rose's sickness; she was now convalescent, and able to part with the faithful Chloe, who claimed the privilege of calling in occasionally to see Massa Charley. Rose was again alone—no, not quite alone, for Gertrude had made her acquaintance, to explain her capture of Charley, and ask the loan of him till the picture should be finished.
Gertrude was at a loss to comprehend Rose's manner: at one moment frank and sisterly, at the nextcold, silent, and repellant. Rose was struggling with two contending feelings; her straightforward ingenuousness made her shrink from the idea of concealing from one of her own sex, who thus sought her acquaintance, her real history. She shrank from a friendship based on deception.
Simple, straightforward Rose! as if half the friendships in the world would not snap in twain, placed on any other basis! If each heart, with its disingenuous trickeries, its selfish purposes and aims, were laid bare to its neighbor, if the real motives for seeming kindness, the inner life, whose pure outward seeming is often in direct inversion to the hidden corruption were as transparent to the human as to the Omniscient eye, who could stand the test?
A few interviews with Gertrude served to dispel, in a great measure, these feelings. Her ready tact, and quick, womanly sympathies, served to bridge over the chasm to Rose's naturally trusting heart.
Oh, that parting with the life-boat of faith—that unsettled, drifting, sinking, weary feeling—that turning away even from the substance, for fear of the mocking shadow—that heart-isolation which makes a desert of the green earth, with all its fragrance, and music, and sunshine—who that has known misfortune has not deplored it? Who has not striven in vain to get anchored back again where never a ripple of distrust might disturb his peace.
"Tell me how you like it," said Gertrude, placing Charley's finished picture in the most favorable light. "Now don't say you are no connoisseur, that is only a polite way of declining to give an unfavorable opinion. Find all the fault you can with it; you at least should know if it is true to life."
"It is perfect," said Rose, delightedly; "it is Charley's own self; heisa pretty boy," said the proud mother, looking alternately from him to the picture.
"You must remember," said Gertrude, "that of all the different expressions of a loved face, which the heart has daguerreotyped, the artist can catch but one, and that one may not always be to friends the favorite expression; hence you see, with all our good intentions, the craft sometimes labor to disadvantage. However, I seldom paint portraits; my forte is 'still life;' so, of course," she added, laughing; "your mercurial littleCharleywas quite out of my orbit, but thanks to flowers and lump-sugar, I think I may say there is his double."
"A mother's eye sees no flaw in it," said Rose.
"Thank you," said Gertrude, with a gratified smile. "It has already found a purchaser. A gentleman who was in my studio this morning thought it a fancy sketch, and would not believe me when I told him that there was a beautiful living type; he offered me a sum for it that would at one time have made my heart leap; I can afford to refuse it now."
"How early did your artistic talent develop itself?" asked Rose.
"I was always fond of pictures," replied Gertrude; "but the 'talent' which prosperity 'folded in a napkin,' the rough hand of adversity shook out."
"Adversity?" repeated the astonished Rose, looking at Gertrude's sunny face.
"You are skeptical," said Gertrude. "I forgive you, but I have learned not to wear my heart dangling like a lady's chatelaine at my girdle, to be plucked at by every idle, curious, or malicious hand.
"Listen!" And she drew her chair nearer to Rose.
"When I was about fifteen, I lost both my parents with an epidemic, which raged in the neighborhood. Up to that time, I had known poverty and sorrow only through an occasional novel, which fell in my way. My dear father, whose silver head I never can think of without involuntarily and reverentially bowing my own, had made my child-life one dream of delight. I felt free to think aloud in his presence. I feared no monastic severity at my childish blunders, or indiscretions; he was my friend, my play-fellow, as well as my teacher and guardian.
"I had an only brother, who had imbibed an unconquerable passion for travel and adventure, and the only mistake my father ever made educationally, was shutting him off from any mention of the subject. He thought himself right in this, and meant it kindly; but it resulted in my brother's secretly leaving home in disguise for a foreign port; he has never since been heard from, and was probably lost at sea.
"Upon the death of my parents there was found nothing left for my support, and I was left to the careof a distant relative. It was an unexpected and unwelcome legacy, for Mrs. Bluff had five children of her own, and though in comfortable circumstances, desired no addition to her family. The knowledge of this added poignancy to the grief which already burdened my heart. Upon entering this new life, I made many awkward attempts, with my city-bred fingers, to propitiate Mrs. Bluff on such occasions as baking-days, cleaning-days, washing-days, and ironing-days. Mrs. Bluff's daughters were as round as pumpkins, and as flaunting as sun-flowers; could spin and weave, and quilt, and bake, and brew, and had the reputation of driving the best bargain at the village store, of any customer for miles round; they pushed me this way and that, laughed at my small, baby hands and pale face, wondered where I had been brought up that I never saw a churn; 'swapped off' my dear books, my only comforts, unknown to me, to a traveling peddler for some bright-red ribbon, and voted me on all occasions a most useless piece of furniture. As for Mr. Bluff, provided his horses, hens, cows, pigs, and chickens, fulfilled their barn-yard destiny, and Squire Tompkins's rabbits did not girdle his young trees, and his mug of cider was ready for his cobwebbed throat as soon as his oxen's horns were seen turning down the lane, the world might turn round or stand still.
"Every effort I made to conciliate the Bluffs, or torender myself useful, met with a rude rebuff. I could not understand it then. I see now that it was the rough but involuntary tribute which uneducated minds involuntarily paid to a more refined one. Yet why should they feel thus? If I could have taught them many things I had learned from books, they, on the other hand, could have initiated me into the practical duties of every-day life, without a knowledge of which any woman is in a pitiable state of helplessness, for though she may be rich enough to have servants, she is yet at their mercy, for if she chooses to order a certain pudding for dinner, they may make a reply, which her ignorance can not controvert, as to the time necessary to prepare it, or the quantity of ingredients, not on hand, to make it.
"Deprived of my books, my mind preyed upon itself. I wandered off, in my leisure hours, in the woods and fields, and built such air-castles as architects of sixteen are apt to construct. So fond I became of my wood-rambles in all weathers, and talking to myself for want of company, that an old lady in the village asked Mrs. Bluff, with the most commiserating concern, 'if it wasn't a heap of trouble to look after that crazy critter?'
"I had been at Greytown about a year when a new pastor was settled over the village church. It was an event commensurate with the taking of Sebastopol. There was not an unwedded female in the parish, mycousins included, who did notgive him a callin the most unmistakable manner. What with utter disgust at these open advances, and renewed signs of hostility on the part of my cousins since his advent, I resolved to absent myself on the occasion of every parochial call, and to confine my eyes to the pew crickets on Sunday.
"The barriers which my obstinacy thus built up chance threw down. City bred as I was, I had an extraordinary gift at climbing trees and scaling fences. In one of my rambles, trusting too much to my agile ankles, when climbing over a stone wall, I lost my foothold, and was precipitated to the ground, bringing down a large stone upon my foot. The pain was so great that I fainted.
"When I came to myself, the minister was bathing my face with some water he had brought from a brook near by. I roused myself, and after making several ineffectual attempts to bear my own weight, was obliged to accept his offered arm. I was vexed to have been seen in so awkward a predicament, vexed that the dread of the storm that was sure to burst on my head on my appearance with him at my aunt's, should render me incapable of even the most common-place conversation. For some reason or other, he seemed equally embarrassed with myself, and I shut myself up on reaching home, to give full vent to my mortification. From that moment I endured everyspecies of persecution from my aunt and cousins, who, with their scheming eyes, saw in it only a well-planned stratagem, and drove me nearly distracted by speaking of it in that light to those who would be sure to report it to the party most concerned. Whether this suggested thoughts in the young minister he would not otherwise have entertained, I can not say—certain it is, that he very soon invited me to become mistress of the parsonage, and from its flowered windows, a few weeks after, with my husband's arm about me, I could smile on my parishioners, both male and female.
"Never was a wife blessed with a truer heart to rest upon—never was a wife nearer forgetting that happiness is but the exception in this world of change. What is this modern clamor about 'obedience' in the marriage relation? How easy to 'obey' when the heart can not yield enough to the loved one? Ah, the chain can not fret when it hangs so lightly! I never heard the clanking of mine. Oh, the deep, unalloyed happiness of those five short years! I look back upon it from this distance as one remembers some lovely scene in a sunny, far-off land, where earth and heaven put on such dazzling glory as dimmed the eyes forever after, making night's leaden pall denser, gloomier, for the brightness which had gone before. These are murmuring words; but Rose, if you ever loved deeply; if after drifting about alone in a stormy sea of trouble, you gained some gallant vessel, saw the port of peacein sight, and then were again shipwrecked and engulfed—but you are weak yet, dear Rose; I should not talk to you thus," said Gertrude, observing Rose's tears.
"It eases my heart sometimes to weep," was Rose's low reply. "Go on."
"I left the roof under which no sound of discord was ever heard, my child and I. The world is full of widows and orphans. One meets their sabled forms at every step. No one turns to look at them, unless perhaps some tearful one at whose hearthstone also death has been busy. And so we passed along, wondering, as thousands have done before us, as thousands will in time to come, how the suncouldshine, how the birdscouldsing, how the flowerscouldbloom, and we so grief-stricken! I found the world what all find it who need it. Why weary you with a repetition of its repulses—of my humiliations, and struggles, and vigils? Years of privation and suffering passed over my head.
"Amid my ceaseless searches for employment I met a Mr. Stahle. He was a widower, with two little boys who were at that time with his first wife's relatives. He proposed marriage to me. My heart recoiled at the thought, for my husband was ever before me, I told him so, but still he urged his suit. I then told him that I feared to undertake the responsibilities of a stepmother. He replied that was the strongestargument in favor of my fitness for the office. He told me thatmychild should be to him dear and cherished as his own. These were the first words that moved me. For my child's sake should not I accept such a comfortable home? Often he had been sick and suffered for medicines not within my means to procure; was I not selfish in declining? I vacillated. Stahle saw his advantage, and pursued it. A promise of employment which had been held out to me that morning failed. I gave a reluctant consent. Mr. Stahle's delight was unbounded; his buoyant spirits oppressed me; his protestations of love and fidelity pained me; I shrank away from his caresses, and when, after a few days, he, fearful of a change in my resolution, urged a speedy union, I told him that the marriage must not be consummated—that my heart was in my husband's grave—that I could not love him as I saw he desired, and that our union under such circumstances could never be a happy one.
"He would listen to no argument; said I had treated him unkindly; that my promise was binding, and that I could not in honor retract it; that he did not expect me to love him as he loved me, and that if I could yield him no warmer feeling than friendship, he would rather have that than the love of any other woman. Perplexed, wearied, and desponding, I ceased to object rather than consented, while Stahle hurried the preparations for our union. Worn out in mindand body, I resigned myself as in a sort of stupor, like the wretch whom drowsiness overpowers in the midst of pathless snows. Oh, had Ibut thenwoke up to the consciousness of my own powers! But I will not anticipate.
"Mr. Stahle took a house much larger than I thought necessary, for he had only a limited salary. I begged him to expend nothing in show; that if his object were to gratify me, I cared for none of those things. He always had some reason, however, which he considered plausible, for every purchase he made; and skipped from room to room with the glee of a child in possession of a new toy, giving orders here and there for the arrangement of carpets, furniture, and curtains, occasionally referring to me. On such occasions I would answer at random, memory picturinganotherhome, whose every nook and corner was cherished as he who had made it for me an earthly heaven!
"One morning early, Stahle came to my lodgings in great haste, saying, 'Gertrude, we must be married immediately; this very morning; see here,' and he drew from his pocket a paper, in which he read: 'Married, last night, by Rev. Dr. Briggs, Mrs. Gertrude Deane to John H. Stahle.'
"'Who could have done that?' asked I, no suspicion of the truth crossing my mind.
"'It is impossible to tell,' replied Mr. Stahle; 'at allevents, there is only one course for us to pursue; here is the marriage-license—the clergyman will wait upon us in fifteen minutes. Never mind your dress,' said he, as I cast my eye down upon my sable robes—(alas! they were all too fitting)—'you always look pretty, Gertrude,' and he took my hand in his own, which trembled with agitation.
"I was bewildered, paralyzed; for up to that moment I had hoped for some unexpected deliverance. I was hardly conscious during the ceremony. I remembered the face of my child, and of a friend who was witness. I remember Stahle's convulsive pressure of my arm against his side. I remember how like a knell fell these words upon my ear, 'I now pronounce you man and wife.' I remember my dread of the clergyman's taking leave of us; and I remember that the gleam of Stahle's eye, as he did so, made me shiver.
"Stahle was mentally infinitely my inferior; still I believed him a conscientiousChristian. Now when I look back, I only wonder that I did not lose my faith in the very belief he so disgraced by his professorship. His external religious duties were most punctiliously performed. He never was absent, how inclement soever the weather, from church or vestry-meeting; he never, under any circumstances, omitted family devotions; the Bible was as familiar to him as A, B, C, and as often on his lips. I myself was religiously inclined; itwas this alone which had buoyed me up when wave after wave of trouble dashed over me. I had thought sometimes that on this ground we could meet, if on no other. This alone inspired me with confidence that his promises to me and my child would be conscientiously kept.
"How can I describe to you my gradual waking up from this delusion? The conviction that came slowly—but surely—that he was a hypocrite, and a gross sensualist. That it was passion, not love, which he felt for me, and that marriage was only the stepping-stone to an else impossible gratification.
"Now I understood why that, which, to a delicate mind, would have been an insuperable obstacle to our union, was but a straw in his path. It was not thesoulof which he desired possession, it was not that which he craved or could appreciate. I was wild with despair. O, the creeping horror with which I listened to his coming footsteps! I sprang from my seat when his footfall announced his approach—not to meet him, as a wife should meet her husband, as I in happier days had met Arthur—but to fly from him—to throw out my arms despairingly for help, and then to sink back into my chair, and nerve myself with a calm voice and shrouded eye to meet his unacceptable caresses.
"O, what a fate—and for me! I who had soared with the eagle, to burrow with the mole!
"How aggravated the misery that one must bearalone! My perfect self-control could not be penetrated by Stahle's imperfect vision;—to him my disgust was only coyness, and served but as fuel to the flame. This was my penance, for a sin against God, of which every woman is guilty who goes from the altar with perjured lips. But alas! little by little, as a drop of water may wear away the stone, had poverty, and sorrow, and discouragement robbed me of my energy, and made me the helpless tool I was. Still it comforted me that I had not deceived Stahle;—he knew my heart was not his, and but for the trick to which I was now sure his fears and passion had alike urged him on that fatal morning, I might have roused myself ere too late, from the benumbing spell of despair.
"Still, before God I resolved conscientiously to perform the duties I had assumed. The more my heart recoiled, the more strict was my outward observance. I patiently repaired the dilapidations of Stahle's widower wardrobe; I attended to his minutest wishes with regard to the management of his household; I saw that his favorite dishes were set before him.
"Dutyin place ofLove! O, the difference in the two watchwords! The irresistible trumpet tones of the two combined!
"During the day, the labor of my hands served as an escape-valve for the restlessness of my heart; but the evenings—the long, long evenings!—for Stahle never left my side. I proposed his reading to me, as areprieve from his caresses. I did not care what, so that his arms were not round my waist, or his lip near mine. The plan succeeded but very indifferently; the books which I had on hand were not suited to his understanding, or his taste. I then procured some novels, involved him in tracing the fates of distressed lovers and their adjuncts, and succeeded better; not but that even then there were occasional parantheses which recalled me from the dream-land into which I had wandered away from the book and its reader, while employed with my needle. This reading also served as a pretext for lengthening the evenings—which, paradoxical as it may appear, was very desirable to me.
"I have said Stahle had two absent children. I had urged him ever since our marriage to bring them home. His reply always was: 'I can not leave you yet, Gertrude, to go for them.' I urged their separation from him, and the necessity that probably existed for those who had passed through so many different hands, of some system, as to their government and education. He seemed quite insensible to these appeals, having only one thought, that of leaving me, although the journey required but one day.
"I am, as you have seen, Rose, very fond of children. I determined, God helping me, to fulfill my duty to the utmost in regard to his. I hoped to make this a pleasant duty.
"It was evening. I was alone; a cheerful fire blazedupon the hearth; the tea-table was spread, the lamps lighted, and my little Arthur was amusing himself making rabbits with his fingers upon the walls. I sat in my little rocking-chair thinking. It was so blessed to be again alone with only my little Arthur. Lip, eye, and brow to be out of school! True, my bill of sale every where met my eye; the roof over my head washis—I could not sayours.
"Hark!—away with such thoughts—that step was Stahle's! He had returned from his day's journey. He came in, leading by the hand two little boys. My heart warmed toward the motherless; these little ones, still clad in the badge of mourning for her whose loss, with my best efforts, I could never hope to repair;—these little ones, looking wonderingly about them, in their meek helplessness, at the strange aspect of every thing! It was to me an inexpressibly touching sight. Before I could caress them, Stahle stepped between us, and threw his arms passionately about me. It was so like him, that mistake. The children felt supplanted, cast frightened glances at me, and nestled closer to each other. I lost not a moment in disengaging myself from Stahle, and took them both in my lap.
"Fragile little things they were. They had outgrown their scanty garments, the brush had not brought out the gloss on their silky locks, their little finger-nails were all untrimmed, their flesh outof sight not scrupulously clean; in short, they looked as childhood ever looks when the watchful eye and busy hand of the mother is cold in death.
"We soon became friends. The searching glances they bent on me, in which I felt they were, to the best of their childish ability, taking my measure, I returned with looks of heartfelt pity and love.
"The next day, and many succeeding days, I busied myself in supplying their wardrobe. I had a natural skill in cutting and making children's garments, which, in my search for employment, I had sometimes hoped to turn to account, and which rendered it a matter of little expense to Stahle. This was a great gratification to me; it seemed to me to repay, in some sort, an irksome obligation. I worked diligently and assiduously, and had the satisfaction of hearing Stahle say that 'he had not thought his children were so pretty;' and yet I expended nothing in ornament, so unnecessary on childhood; but their limbs had free play in their clothes; the colors of which their dresses were composed were suited to their complexions; their feet were not compressed with tight shoes; their hair was nicely kept, and they gradually lost that shy, startled look which so distressed me when they first came.
"I taught Arthur to yield his natural rights in his own property to them. It was a lesson I was desirous early to teach him, who was in danger of becoming selfish from always having played alone.
"Children have quick instincts. Little Edgar and Harry soon learned to love me, whom they knew to be their friend; they would put their arms about my neck, and call me 'dear mother.' This troubled me; it seemed as if it must painher. I never taught them to call me so. I never taught my child to call Stahle father. It seemed to me this should not be forced, but should flow out spontaneously; even then I almost shrank from accepting the sacred appellation. I talked to them often of their own mother, lest years should efface the indistinct recollections of infancy. I learned from their childish prattle, that she was 'always sick.' I could readily believe it, for they had inherited her fragility; also that she 'taught them a little prayer,' which they 'could not remember,' though I repeated several which childhood oftenest lisps.
"They said mother's hair was not curly, like mine, and that she was 'ever so much little-er'; and that she coughed very bad, and could not play with them much. Consumption then was the enemy I was to ward off; so I protected their little lungs with flannel. I dressed them warmly, and then tried to inure them to all weathers, as I had always done my own child.
"I found a sort of quiet happiness in thus attempting to perform my duty, for I really loved the children, who were quite as good as they could be, after havingpassed through so many different hands. We had been some time married when all the little ones were seized with scarlatina, and after a painful prostration by it, and a partial convalescence, the doctor advised a change of air, and we accordingly commenced all needful preparations for the journey.
"Up to this time I had not been into public with Stahle; even in my first married life I had never done this, (why should I have done so whenhomewas Paradise?) and now—what availed change of place, when, go where I might, the arrow was still quivering in my heart?
"Occasionally we had callers, business friends of Stahle's, to whom he requested me to be, and to whom I was, punctiliously civil.
"But we were now to move out of this orbit into a wider one; we were to meet more than one class of persons, for the facilities of travel have made north and south, east and west, mere nominal terms.
"One day, on our journey, I took my seat at a public dinner-table with Stahle. Some gentlemen were already seated, and engaged in conversation. As we entered, one of them glancing at us, said to his companion, 'Look there, Howard, how in the name of —— did such a fellow,' nodding at Stahle, 'get such a fine-looking woman as that for a wife?'
"Stahle overheard it; his lips were livid with suppressed rage, while in spite of all my efforts to keepthe tell-tale blood from my face, it was quite crimsoned. From that moment he became changed; for the first time the disparity between us seemed to dawn upon him. He thought every body else was looking at us through the same pair of spectacles. He grew moody, silent, and abstracted; was ever on the alert when we were in company, overhearing every word, watching every look, noticing every motion, magnifying every thing into an affront to him, or an overture to me.
"I have not described Stahle's physique to you. He was under-sized, with a pale complexion, and light brown beard. He wore his hair long, and parted on the left temple, its sleek, shining look, giving him a meek appearance; his lips were thin, and, in a woman, would have been called shrewish; this tell-tale feature he dexterously concealed with his beard. I have never seen such a mouth since, that I have not shuddered; his eyes were a pale gray, and were always averted in talking, as if he feared his secret thoughts might shine through them. He appeared to great disadvantage in company, both from his inferior personal appearance and his total inability to sustain a conversation on any subject. Of this he seemed to be unaware until we appeared in company together. I soon found that the monosyllabic system to which he was necessarily confined, it would be necessary for me also to adopt, when addressed. This, apart from the tyranny whichprompted it, was no trial to me, for I never liked going into company, and never was at a party which paid me for the bore of dressing.
"Of course I saw all these things as though I saw them not. I was perfectly aware of my position, and I resolved, under all circumstances, to control myself, and never descend, whatever might transpire, to a war of words. I appeared in public as seldom as possible, lest Stahle should find cause of offense. I was as scrupulously attentive to him and his interests as if I did not know that my best endeavors would now be misconstrued. I felt no faltering in my desire to make his innocent children happy and comfortable. I spoke to no one of my discomfort. I said to myself, I have made a great mistake, and must bear the consequences with what fortitude I may.
"I little knew the deadly malignity of Stahle's disposition. I little knew the penalty I was to pay for the difference which nature and education had made between us.
"One day Stahle came home looking unusually moody and sullen. He found his dinner nicely prepared, and the children neatly washed and dressed. The parlor was tidy, I was courteous; there was nothing to find fault with, nothing to irritate, not the most slender foundation for a quarrel.
"Stahle saw this—he could have wished it were otherwise. He was at a loss how to proceed. Aftertaking one or two turns across the room, he said, 'Gertrude, I want all the children's clothes packed in a trunk, and ready by noon to-morrow.'
"'The children,' asked I, in surprise, 'are you going to send the children away? Where are they going?'
"'That's my affair,' he rudely answered.
"I asked no questions; I simply said 'The trunk shall be ready,' and went on with my sewing. I did not know then as I do now, that it was the first of a projected and deliberate series of attempts to injure me, by creating the impression that the children were not well cared for. He could not well have wounded me more deeply. I—who had so conscientiously striven to perform my duty to the motherless. I—who, when any little question between the children was to be decided, gave the preference tohischildren, lest I might wrong them even in a trifle—those 'trifles,' which, to childhood are matters of as grave importance as our adult affairs.
"The cunning malignity of this act was worthy of Stahle. I made no complaint, I asked the children no question which I was too proud to ask the father. The little trunk was packed, and Stahle remarking that he should be gone two days, the carriage drove off. It was some comfort that the children ran up to me, and put up their lips spontaneously for a kiss, as they were leaving; it was more still that my conscience acquitted me before God of any intentional sin of omission toward them.
"I had just begun to see the good effect of systematic training on natures sweet and good, though neglected and misdirected. Their wardrobes were amply supplied, the books purchased to teach them—and now—well, I bore the cross uncomplainingly at least, and when Stahle returned, no trace of what had occurred was perceptible in my manner, or habits. He was evidently as much at a loss to understand my self-control, as to cope with it. He had expected a scene—an outburst of indignant feeling—an angry altercation in which his nature might vent itself in a brutal reply. He judged me by the women whom he had all his life known. He was at fault.
"His next step was to break up housekeeping and board out; for this also, he gave me no reason. Whole days he passed without speaking to me, and yet, at the same time, no inmate of a harem was ever more slavishly subject to the gross appetite of her master. It was now midwinter; I had a bad cough, and was suffering from want of flannels and thick under-clothes; he furnished me with no funds for the purpose. This was to compel me to do what would give him some advantage over me—run in debt. I foresaw this, and avoided it, confining myself to my insufficient clothing.
"Stahle always selected a boarding-house for our residence, the mistress of which washer own mistress—(i. e., a widow or a single woman). Immediately upon going to such a house, a privateunderstanding sprung up between Stahle and herself, and the servants taking their cue from their mistress, I found it quite impossible to get any thing I wanted. This was less of a trial to me than it might have been, had I not been accustomed to wait upon myself; but one is necessarily circumscribed in a boarding-house; the cellar may not be visited for coal, or the kitchen for water, if the landlady does not see fit to have the bells answered; neither, if she chooses to decree otherwise, and your husband is in the conspiracy, can you be waited on at the table till every one else has been served. Stahle often finished his dinner and rose from the table while my plate and Arthur's, had not been once filled. He studiously insulted me by this public neglect, and to make it still more marked, helped every one else, even the men, within reach. Of this, also, I took no outward notice.
"One day the landlady came to me with a manner so bland that I was instantly on my guard. She complimented my hair, my figure, my manners. She wondered I never came down out of my room into the public parlor. She intimated that the gentlemen were very desirous of making my acquaintance, particularly one, by the name of Voom—with whom, by the way, I had seen Stahle leave the house, arm in arm. I saw through the plot at once—but received it as if I did not, treated her just as civilly as if she were not a female Judas, and resolutely kept my own apartment.
"To show you the pettiness of Stahle's revenge, I will mention one or two incidents:
"One evening, while walking my room, a needle penetrated the thin sole of my slipper, and was at once half buried in my foot. Three times, with all my strength, I tried to extricate it; the fourth, and I was still unsuccessful; both strength and courage now failed me. Stahle, from the other side of the room, looked coolly on, and, with a Satanic smile, said, 'Why don't you pull again?' With the courage inspired by this brutal question, I seized the protruding point of the needle with my trembling fingers, and finally succeeded in withdrawing it.
"That evening sharp pains commenced shooting through my foot, extending quite to my side. I began to grow uneasy as they increased, and requested Stahle to send for the doctor. This he peremptorily refused to do. I waited a while longer, my limb in the mean time growing more and more painful. Again I requested Stahle to go for the doctor, or I should be obliged to send some one. At this he put on his hat and coat, and went out. After a prolonged absence he returned, not with a doctor, but a bottle of leeches, which he said 'had been ordered,' and set down the bottle containing them on a table at the further end of the room.
"It had become by that time quite difficult for me to step, as the needle had penetrated the sole of myfoot; but, by the help of chairs, I pushed myself along until I reached the bottle.
"I am not given to faintings or womanish fears, but from my childhood I have had a shuddering horror of any thing like a snake; so unconquerable was this aversion, that I was forced to date it back prior to my birth.
"Stahle was aware of this weakness, and as, with a strong effort at self-command, I took up the bottle and then set it down again in a paroxysm of terror at the squirming inmates, he laughed derisively. That laugh nerved me with new strength. I uncorked the bottle, holding its mouth close to my foot, that the leeches might fasten on it, without my touching them with my fingers.
"As the first one greedily struck at my foot, I fainted. The effort at self-control in my nervous, excited state, was too much for me.
"When I recovered, the broken bottle lay upon the floor, the leeches had disappeared, save the one which had fastened upon my foot, and Stahle had gone to bed.
"Not long after this, unable to go out myself, I sent my little Arthur of a necessary errand. He had attended to it successfully, and was returning, when a gig, furiously driven by two young men, turned rapidly a street-corner, ran against and prostrated him. Arthur was a very spirited little fellow, and, beside, had much of the Spartan in his temperament. A policeman who saw the transaction, stepped up and raised him upon his feet, the brave child stoutly maintaining that he was'not much hurt.' With all this bravery, Arthur was also shy and sensitive, and the gathering crowd and the immediate proximity of the policeman annoyed and mortified him. The policeman, however, true to his duty, would not leave him, and Arthur, whose love to me no thought of self could ever obliterate, gave him the number of Stahle's place of business instead of our residence, lest I should be distressed or frightened in my invalid state by their sudden appearance.
"The policeman accordingly left him there, satisfied that he would be kindly cared for by a father. After he had gone, Stahle put his pen behind his ear, his hands in his pockets, and, surveying my boy a moment, said, 'Well, sir, go home to your mother.'
"Child as he was, he would have died rather than ask for the conveyance which he so much needed, or even for Stahle's helping hand on the way—for it was a long distance to our lodgings—and Stahle saw him limp out without offering either.
"The door opened, and with white lips my brave boy staggered into the room, and briefly narrated his misfortune, still persisting, though the pain was even then forcing tears from his eyes, that he was 'not hurt.' I took off his clothes, and found his side already quite black with the bruise he had received, and so sore that, though he still refrained from complaining, he winced at the lightest touch of my finger.
"I had not a cent in my possession. I had not hadfor a long time, for I never had asked Stahle for money. This Stahle knew, and that day and night, and half of the following day he purposely absented himself, leaving me to get along in these circumstances as best I could with the child. On his return he asked no questions and took no notice of the occurrence, although Arthur was still a prisoner to the sofa. Not a word passed my lips either on the subject, though this, to my maternal heart, had been the heaviest trial it had yet been called to bear.
"Time passed on, and Arthur had become convalescent. I was now so extremely nervous from mental suffering, that I found it impossible to sleep unless I first wearied myself with out-door exercise.
"Tying on my bonnet, I went out one afternoon for the purpose. The noise and whirl of the street was an untold relief to me.
"Motion—motion—when the brain reels, and despair tugs at the heart-strings!
"On my return I was not obliged to ring at the front door, as some persons were standing upon the steps talking; I passed them and my light footfall on the carpet, being noiseless, I entered the door of my room unheralded.
"Judge of my astonishment when I saw Stahle standing with his back to me, quite unaware of my presence, inspecting (by means of false keys) the contents of my private writing-desk! opening my husband'sletters, sacred to me as the memory of his love; reading others from valued friends, received before my marriage with Stahle—not one of which, for any stain they cast on me, might not have been bared to the world's censorious eye.