"So slim and elegant, Miss, in your black clothes, and that jaunty little cap, and your hair so smooth and tight to your head; nothing in the way, nothing flying," said Kitty, with a gesture signifying her aversion to the decorated style of equestrian costume, so popular with our contemporaries. "And that skirt!" she exclaimed, smothering her laughter, "who would think it was the very one Mrs. Roberts had on, day before yesterday, when she was all dressed to go to the Parsonage! Wouldn't her hair stand on end, Miss, if she could see it trailing along the floor! The precious dress she always takes off before she'll go down to the kitchen, even to give an order!"
"Oh, I'm really sorry, Kitty! Indeed, I've a great mind not to wear it."
"Why, Miss," she said, in alarm, "don't think anything about it. It won't hurt it a bit; I'll have it just as good as when she gave it to me, if I sit up half the night to fix it!"
And Kitty buttoned my boots with greatempressement, and as Madge's hoofs struck on the stone walk below, she hurried me off, thrusting my gloves and handkerchief into my hand, and wishing me a very nice time.
"Thy steps are dancing toward the boundBetween the child and woman,And thoughts and feelings more profound,And other years are coming."SIDNEY WALKER.
If I say that my heart beat a little quicker, as I came in sight of the group before the steps, I shall acknowledge to no inexcusable weakness. Mrs. Roberts stood a little at one side, with a darker, more gloomily prophetical cast of countenance than ever, and seemed to be giving some unwelcome advice to Mr. Rutledge, who, saying briefly, "I cannot disappoint her now," turned uneasily to Michael, who held the horses, and who was to accompany me, and appeared to give him some emphatic directions, to which the man, from time to time, nodded assent.
And the mare herself! Michael's whole strength was but sufficient to control her under the unaccustomed restraint. She was a beautiful animal, glossy black, clean-limbed, and delicately made, with a head and neck that told "she came of gentle blood," as plainly as aristocratic lineaments ever spoke. The insane absurdity of my controlling such a fiery, powerful thing as she, rushed sickeningly over me, but I never for a moment entertained the idea of giving up. If I had been ten times surer than I was, that I should be thrown within the first half mile, I should have rejected with scorn the advice of Mrs. Roberts, who now came forward and favored me with her views on the subject of the proposed expedition. I had more than one reason for desiring to keep her at a distance; so raising my skirt as carefully as I could, I ran down the steps to where Mr. Rutledge stood. When he saw me, he immediately cleared his brow of the shade of anxiety that had been contracting it during his conversation with Michael, and said, smilingly:
"Madge Wildfire is as impatient to be off as her mistress."
"Pretty creature!" I said, patting her neck with a hand that trembled visibly; then, with a voice that was meant to be very cheerful and unconcerned, I added:
"What a perfect afternoon it is! I wish you were going."
"I wish I were," he said, taking in at a glance the unsteadiness of the hand that patted Madge's neck, and the direful whiteness of the lips that spoke. After a moment of reflection he turned to Michael and gave him some order that sent him rapidly toward the stable, while Thomas was summoned to hold the horses, and telling me to wait a moment, Mr. Rutledge hurried into the house. I did not rightly comprehend the reason of this delay, till I saw him reappear, with riding gloves on and a whip in his hand followed by Mrs. Roberts, whose astonishment and anxiety were undisguised.
"It's madness sir! With one hand you can hardly guide your own horse, let alone that creature she's to ride; and if you'll forgive me for being so plain, you may have to pay dearly for it! You are humoring a foolish girl at the risk of your life!"
Mr. Rutledge stopped short. "My old friend," he said in a tone of decision, "you know I will always bear with more from you, than from almost any one else; but you must remember, there is such a thing as going too far. I cannot be interfered with in this way, even by you," and he descended the steps.
Mrs. Roberts groaned, and turned away, silenced temporarily. Michael reappeared with Mr. Rutledge's horse, Madge was soothed, and brought to where I stood, and Michael tossed me up on her back. Before I could realize the dizzy height, or get the reins fairly in my grasp, she was off with an eager bound that showed how great had been her impatience at the delay. I kept my seat—more I did not attempt to do, as at a tearing pace she darted down the avenue. The reins were in my hands, but they might as well have been around her neck, for all the use I made of them. Fortunately the gate was open, but before we reached it Mr. Rutledge was by my side.
"To the left," he said, as we dashed through it. It was, however, because Madge's fancy lay that way, that she took it; I cannot flatter myself that my faintly suggestive touch on the left rein had anything to do with influencing her decision. Andonwe flew, Michael clattering behind us. It was a pretty clear straight road, bordered on both sides by trees, and slightly descending ground. In a moment, Mr. Rutledge spoke, but so quietly and unexcitedly that I felt soothed even by the tone.
"You sit very well; don't lean forward quite so much; that's better," and in a few minutes he added, "keep a steady rein, don't pull suddenly or hard, but just firm. She is perfectly kind, and you can manage her very nicely after you get used to her."
A confidence in Madge's good disposition, certainly was encouraging, and as Mr. Rutledge didn't seem to feel any alarm or discomposure of any kind, but on the contrary, an assurance that I was equal to what I had undertaken, perhaps, after all I was; and under these influences, something like composure began to return to my startled nerves and something like strength to tighten my hold upon the reins. Still we were tearing onward, Michael now left far behind, and the question ofstoppingbegan to exercise me painfully. I knew from the pull upon the bridle, and the eager bounds of the animal beneath me, that as yet, it formed no part ofherintention. Presently Mr. Rutledge said, quite nonchalantly—
"I think, when we begin to ascend that hill on our right, we'd better pull up a little. Keep a steady rein till we get there. Let Madge know who's mistress; the lower one's the curb; now, pull; whoa, Madge!"
And Madgedidwhoa, that is, she slackened in a slight, a very slight degree, her frantic pace, checked perhaps by the new determination of her rider's rein, and the startling emphasis of that decided "whoa."
It was but a very slight symptom of irresolution on her part, but it gave me the advantage; from that moment I determined to be mistress, and before we reached the brow of the hill, Madge had quieted to a walk. I was as white as a ghost, and shook all over, but my companion was considerate enough not to notice it, and checked with a look, Michael's exclamations of alarm, as with open eyes and mouth, that attendant galloped up.
Several miles of country had been got over, before I began, in any degree, to realize that I was out for the purpose of enjoying myself, or before I was able to think of anything in heaven or earth, save the beast I rode.
At last, however, I began to feel, with a sense of exultation the more elating in proportion to the struggle I had had to gain it, that I had my horse under entire control, and with that consciousness, color came to my cheeks, and warmth to my numb hands and feet; I could laugh and talk then, could see that the sky was clear and sunny, and the country we were crossing, the very prettiest and most picturesque imaginable; could feel the wind blowing fresh against my face, as we galloped rapidly over the open road; or listen, with an ear keenly awake to every phase of pleasure, to the rustling of the dead leaves beneath our horses' feet, and the clear ringing of our voices in the still air, as we sauntered along woody passes, or threaded our way through unfrequented bridle-paths.
"How delightful it is!" I exclaimed, and my exclamation was echoed in my companion's look of intense enjoyment. There was a freedom from restraint, an abandonment to the pleasures of the present, that I had not seen in him before. Ten years of care and trial seemed lifted from his brow; a glow of health on his face, and a clear light in his eye, made him almost handsome; and for the time, it was easy for me to forget the differences of age and circumstances; it was an involuntary thing to look upon him as the companion whom most I liked of all I had ever found; the readiest, the keenest, the kindest; one who understood me, himself, and all the world; who could govern me, but whose very tyranny was pleasant; who was, in fact, so far and unquestionably my superior, that it pleased him to lay aside all differences, and be, for the time, the companion and equal of a child, whose very youth and ignorance, appeared the passports to his favor.
For the first time, during this ride he talked to me of himself, and of his past life, but a past far separated from all association or connection with Rutledge. He recounted, for my entertainment, travels and adventures, that had the most exciting charm to my crude ear, at least. And indeed I doubt whether an older and more critical taste could have found anything but pleasure in his vigorous sketches of scenes and incidents that had impressed themselves upon his memory. He was, indeed, an excellentraconteur, and had, beyond any one I have ever known, the power of bringing up, in bodily shape and presence, the places and characters he chose to recall. Whether it was a sunrise among the Alps, or a scene in a French café, it was equally distinct and life-like; I saw the glittering of the sharp cloud piercing icy peaks, as, one by one, they caught the rosy sunlight; or, the men and women in their foreign dress and eager manner, lived and spoke before me, gesticulated, rattled off their voluble absurdities, and vanished from the scene, to give place to pictures of quiet English villages, with sunny meadows and long green lanes, grey churches and mossy gravestones, or quaint old Flemish towns, with their "cathedrals vast and dim," and tall, gloomy houses overhanging the narrow streets; or the rich warmth of some Italian landscape; or the vastness of the illimitable plains of Granada, that stretch away on all sides from the ruined Alhambra; Constantinople, with its mosques and minarets; the Holy City, with its mongrel population and half profaned associations, all were distinctly realized by me, as if I had in very deed been there. Mr. Rutledge rarely exercised his talents for description, and my enraptured attention seemed to surprise him.
"You are an admirable listener," he said, laughingly; "no flattery could be subtler than that attitude of interest. I should grow positively garrulous if you were with me much. I must send you away! I hate a talking man; with such an eloquent face before me, I shall learn to talk hours at a time."
"I won't look at you if you don't want me to, only don't stop talking. Ah! please!" I exclaimed, as he pointed to the rapidly sinking sun, and turned his horse's head toward home. "I cannot go home yet."
"But it will be dark before we reach it, as it is," he said.
"There's a moon!"
"I shall never let you come again, if you are not 'good' about going home. Come!"
His tone wasn't alarming, and I said: "I've just got in the spirit of it; and that's the best piece of road we've seen yet. I couldn't think of going back under another mile; indeed I couldn't."
Mr. Rutledge still persisted in refusing permission, though, as I said, his tone was not alarming; not, for instance, as it had been last evening, when he called me in from the terrace. Though his face was perfectly serious, there was a look of smothered merriment about his mouth, that quite recalled the crayon sketch in my trunk. He was a good horseman, and no attitude could have been more advantageous to him than his present one, sitting easily and gracefully on his fine horse, and indicating with a turn of his head, the direction which he desired, nay, commanded me to take. We were just on the summit of a hill; the sunset was lighting up the woods behind, the road stretched smooth and broad before us. I turned my head us decidedly in that direction, saying:
"There's another road turns off to the left of that bridge toward Rutledge, I know, for we drove there the other day; and it isn't more than two miles further. That's the wayI'mgoing home. 'They'll have fleet steeds that follow.'"
And, touching Madge, I was off, without a look behind. It was, indeed some minutes before I turned around to see how near Mr. Rutledge might be; but what was my chagrin on finding myself alone, Michael only visible descending the hill at full speed. I paused to wait for him with ill-concealed impatience.
"Where's your master, Michael?"
"Gone back, miss."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, miss. I think he's going home by way of the village, and that he's going to get the letters from the office on his way."
"Couldn't we overtake him possibly?"
"I'm afraid not, miss; we've got two miles further to go, and the horses are not as fresh as when we started, miss."
That was a very palpable fact; indeed, both Michael's arguments seemed equally invincible; but I evaded them by exclaiming:
"Isn't there any shorter way back to the village? Think quick, Michael, I know there must be."
Michael thought, as quickly as he could, no doubt, but very slowly, it seemed to me.
"Yes, Miss," he said, meditatively, after a moment's pause, "yes, Miss, there is another; but it's but a wild road for the like of you to be travelling—so late too."
"Which way is it?" I said, with an impatient wave of the hand.
"To the right, Miss, about a quarter of a mile further on; it strikes off through Hemlock Hollow. It's a lonesome road, though, Miss, and there may be one or two pairs of bars to take down before we get to the end."
"You're sure, however, that you know the way, and that it's shorter?" I asked.
Michael thought he was sure.
"Then, my man, we'll try it; and keep as near to me as you can."
And turning Madge's head, I gave her liberty to do her best. Michael had much ado, I fear, to keep in sight of me; but I cared very little for his guardianship, or indeed for any other circumstance or occurrence whatsoever, so long as I reached the village and the post-office before Mr. Rutledge quitted them.
Michael was nearer right than he generally had the good fortune to be, when he described the Hemlock Hollow road as a wild and lonesome one. It was an unfrequented wood road; the trees met above it; there was neither foot-path nor fence on either side; it was just a way hewn down and cleared for one wagon to pass. Lying in a hollow, it was always damper, and colder, and darker, than anywhere else, and as I pressed on, I couldn't help being struck with the chilliness of the air, and "the rich moist smell of the rotting leaves" that lay thick upon the road. How fast the light had faded! I never knew twilight to come on so rapidly.
"Never mind," I reasoned, "it cannot be long before we are out of this hollow, and then we shall be so near the village that I shall not mind the dark, and after that Mr. Rutledge will be with us. He will not be angry, I know; there was too much laughing about his mouth, when he motioned me homeward. I am sure he won't be angry; but I almost wish——Michael!"
"Yes, Miss," called out my attendant in the distance.
"How long before we are out of this wood?"
"I don't rightly remember the length of it, Miss," gasped the panting esquire, as he reached me.
"Well," I said, "it's growing dark so fast, you must whip up, and make all the haste you can."
"Saving your presence, that's exactly what I've been doing for the last three hours; and though I'm as anxious to get on as yourself, Miss, my horse is just a bitexhausted."
I had to suppress a laugh at his dejected looks. Melancholy had marked for her own both horse and rider.
"Well, Michael," I said, encouragingly, "it cannot be very long before we reach the village, and then you shall have time to rest. Keep up as well as you can, meantime."
And unable to control my own impatience, I rode on, and in a little while was again out of sight, or rather out of hearing, for sight was fast becoming a useless gift, so rapidly had night descended, and so effectually did the thick trees shut out what of light might have been still left in the sky. I again called to Michael, who again was far behind, and again had to be waited for. I was certain we had gone three or four miles, and yet there was no sign of an opening, no change in the monotonous, narrow road.
"Are you quite positive, Michael," I said, "that this is the right road? Are you certain it leads to the village?"
He had never been over it but once, he said, and that was two years ago, but he thought he knew it; it didn't seem so long to him before, though, he must confess.
A genuine pang of fear crossed me as I saw the man's bewilderment and uncertainty, and as I realized that I must depend on myself, for he knew no more about the road than I did, it was plain, and seemed, indeed, fast losing his wits, from sheer fatigue and terror.
"Think a minute, Michael," I said, in a firm voice, "how ought the road to terminate? Does it come directly out on the turnpike, or do we have to cross any fields before we reach it?"
If he remembered right, there was a field to cross—no—he couldn't be sure, on the whole, that the road didn't open right into the turnpike, after all. Perhaps it didn't, though; it was two years since he had been over it, and how could he remember—so dark as it was, too!
A moment's reflection told me that there was no use in going back till we had tried a little further, for the turnpike could not be very distant. I thought I had a general idea of where the village lay, and that we were going toward it. So cheering up my attendant as well as I could, and suiting my pace to his, I endured another half mile of pretty uncomfortable suspense before an opening in the trees, and a patch of cloudy sky, sent a ray of comfort to my heart.
"Courage, Michael!" I cried, "here's the end of our troubles—here's an opening in the woods. Is this the way the road looked, do you think?"
Michael sprang down from his horse with great alacrity, to let down the bars that retarded our progress. Ah, yes! This was all right—just as he said; he knew we had to cross a field.
Quite reassured, I told him to ride on in front, as he seemed to know the way now, and he valiantly led on, along the edges of what seemed to me a ploughed field; but Michael being positive that there was a beaten road along it, I submitted to his judgment. By and by, we came to another pair of bars, which Michael confidently took down, and conscientiously put up after we had passed through, and again led the van.
In the meantime, I watched the sky with anxiety. The wind was rising, and swept cold across the fields; the clouds, though broken and flying, obscured the light of the moon, yet low in the east. I had no way but to trust to Michael, and I tried to do it without any misgivings, as he seemed so confident; but it was not long before he began to waver again. After a pause, and a moment's bewildered gaze around, he struck his hand upon his forehead, and exclaimed:
"Upon my honor, Miss, it's my opinion we're in a dreadful fix! I know no more than the dead where we are!"
"Fool!" I cried, starting forward in an agony of apprehension, "why didn't you say so before?"
Michael gave a miserable groan, and seemed utterly confounded.
"Let us go back as fast as ever we can!" I exclaimed.
"That's just what I can't see how to do," whined my hopeful guide, "for between letting down, and putting up bars, and crossing backward and forward, I can't seem to to remember where we did come in."
It was too true; the place we had entered seemed a wild open common, fenced on two sides, while on the others, it stretched away into woods and hills; but since we had entered it, we had ridden so irregularly, that I was, as well as Michael, at a loss to tell on which side we had come in, and if there was a wagon track, it was too dark to see it. I made a strong effort to command myself, and said concisely, "The best way, Michael, is for me to ride along the fence here, and see if I can't find something that will direct me to the place where we came in, while you ride across the fields, there, on the left, and see if you can't find a road through the woods, and come back as soon as you've found any, and tell me."
Michael obeyed, and spurred off toward the woods, while I picked my way back along the irregular fence, which in some places was quite hidden by the high bushes, that grew thick on either side, while in others, it was quite open and unobscured. But the uncertain light, the similarity of one pair of bars, and one side of the common to another, completely baffled me, and I was as much bewildered as Michael himself. I tried, however, to be brave and keep up my courage, trusting momentarily that Michael would return and report favorably of a road on the other side, which would leadsomewhere;anything was better than this pathless common.
I tried to be patient as the moments passed without any signs of his return. I walked my horse up and down beside the fence, and struggled manfully to be calm. There was not light enough left to see him till he got near me; all I could do was to wait. And I did wait; hours, it seemed to me, till every nerve throbbed with fear, and the nameless horrors that night and solitude always bring to those who brave them for the first, crowded so upon me, that I would rather have ridden into certain danger, than have waited there another moment; and I dashed across the common, toward the dark woods that skirted it. I halted and called as loudly as I could, but no answer came. Then riding along the edge of the wood, I called again, with all my strength, and waited for the reply as if my life hung upon the sound of a human voice. None came, and half wild at the dawning of this new terror, entire isolation, I whipped Madge to her utmost speed, and flew along the whole length of the wood, then back again, shouting Michael's name.
At that moment the moon came out from behind the shifting clouds, and halting suddenly, I looked around me; the common, as far as I could see, was bare; the woods were before me; I had halted at the entrance of a road that led into them. Perhaps Michael was wandering there, and calling once more, I waited in vain for any answer but the swaying of the boughs in the night wind, and the panting of my tired horse. At this renewed disappointment, all my firmness gave way, and all the perils and horrors that fancy suggested rushed upon me; dropping the reins upon the horse's neck, and covering my face with my hands, I uttered a cry of despair. Startled by it, and by the sudden relaxing of the reins, the horse gave a bound forward, and dashed terrified into the woods. That I was not unseated, is the strangest part of all my strange adventure; but conscious of nothing, save an agonized fear of losing this my only living companion, I clung tightly to her neck, as brushing against the overhanging boughs, and swaying from side to side of the narrow road, she tore onward in her headlong race. Of the length of time that passed before, spent with fatigue and shuddering in every limb, she paused suddenly before a fallen tree that blockaded the road, I can form no idea. It was all, as then in acting, so now in recalling, one wild dream of terror. It may have been moments, or perhaps only seconds, before, raising myself from my crouching attitude, I looked around, and saw the position of the horse, and the fright that she was in. The moon was shining fitfully through the naked branches of the forest around us, and right across the road, lay the giant trunk of a fallen tree; while the only sound except the moaning of the wind, was the brawling of a stream that ran beside the road. Madge shook violently, while I tried to soothe her, but in vain.
I slipped down from the saddle, still holding the bridle over my arm, and almost fell, from the dizzy feeling on first touching the ground after being so long in one position. I regained my feet, and approaching her, patted her neck, and tried to urge her to make the leap; it was unbearable to think of staying an instant here! But it was hopeless; with her feet planted in the earth, and eyes dilated with terror, she refused to move. A groan of misery escaped me as this last hope was cut off; I tied the bridle to a low branch, and sitting down upon the fallen tree, buried my face in my hands, in hopeless, stupefied despair. The cold night-air was chilling me to the heart; my habit was, at best, but barely warm enough in the day, and when heated with exercise; now, the wind seemed to strike through and through me; and I crouched down, hiding my eyes from the ghastly, fitful dancing of the moonbeams, and shook from head to foot.
Look in whatever way I might, there was nothing but terror staring me in the face. How many miles I was from any human habitation, I did not dare to think; but indeed it mattered little; I could not, benumbed and aching as I was, have walked half a mile, even with the certainty of help before me; and I doubted whether, if the horse could have been coaxed over the cruel obstacle that stopped her course, I could have mounted her again. I was bound, helpless, hopeless! My exaggerated fancy refused all hope, and seized all that was frightful, and held up before me the dread that, unless some unforeseen help should come, I should perish during the slow waning of the awful night that had but just begun. I saw life and youth,
"And time and hope behind me cast,"
and one black shadow creeping toward me, slowly, but with unswerving tread; silently, but with intensest gaze, freezing me with horror. And with a sort of mockery, the words that had seemed so soothing and peaceful, when, life was sure and unthreatened, rang in my ears:
"Death comes to set thee free—O meet him cheerilyAs thy true friend."
Starting to my feet, I cried aloud, as if stung with sudden pain: "No, no! not such death as this; I cannot! Oh, is there no help!" And calling passionately Mr. Rutledge's name, I listened as if it were impossible that I could call on him in vain. But no voice nor answer came; the swaying branches moaned loudly as the angry wind swept through them; the swollen stream rushed by with a mournful sound; the dead leaves fluttered in the fitful blast: this was my answer—this was all the help my appeals would gain. With a cry of anguish, I cast myself down upon the earth, and sent to heaven such a prayer as only despair and mortal terror can wring from the heart. Not as people pray at home, morning and evening, with Death at worst a distant enemy, and Terror and Temptation just so many words; not as people pray from duty, or from habit, or out of respect to religion, I prayed then. Not as I had often asked for mercy, Sunday after Sunday, in the Litany, and thought I was in earnest, did I ask for it now; but with such agony of earnestness, such wild entreaty, as those ten men in the Samaritan village put into their prayer for mercy; a De Profundis that came from the lowest depths of abasement and despair. It was a fearful struggle, but it passed over, and left me calmer.
Whether it was that hope was dead, and the quiet that crept over me was the quiet of despair, or that really faith and resignation had come at last, I could not tell; but exhausted, benumbed, half dead, I lay motionless upon the ground, while the moments, crept slowly on, and formed themselves into hours; and still, with an ear that never lost a note of all the dirge that sounded through the forest, I lay, face downward, indifferent and apathetic. Consciousness never slept a single moment of the dreadful hours that passed over me, but Fear and Excitement did; and these terrible enemies only woke, when a sound that was not brawl of stream or roar of wind, profaned the ghastly solitude. It was a sound far fainter and less appalling than those I had been listening to, unmoved, so long, but it roused the keenest terror. Far down the road, I first caught it, so low that it might have been the falling of a nut the high wind had shaken from its tree; again, this time nearer, and the leaves rustle, and a chance bough crackles. I do not stir a hair's breadth from where I lie—the step approaches—I do not raise my head nor move a muscle—I do not think, nor wonder what it is, but all faculties absorbed in one, all energies concentrated in that one effort, I listen for the approaching sound. Nearer and nearer; and the quick terror shoots through every chilled vein. In another moment—but with resistless power, horror sweeps over every sense, and in one wild surge, blots out reason, memory, and consciousness.
"O, I have passed a miserable night,So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,That as I am a Christian faithful man,I would not spend another such a night,Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days;So full of dismal terror was the time."RICHARD III.
A shapeless tissue of dreams follow this dark warp upon the web of memory—how much the flashes of half-received truth, how much the fabric of distorted fancy, I cannot say. Into some such form as this, they have shaped themselves: mixed up in a confused way with the sights and sounds of that wild solitude, comes the recollection of being clasped in arms whose familiar hold inspired no terror; of hurried words of endearment, and a kiss upon my forehead that lulled the returning pulsations of fear into repose again; then a blank; then shouting voices, and the sound of footsteps, many and heavy, rouse me once more into faint and fitful consciousness, and dim and spectral as a graveyard dance of witches, appear strange men with lanterns, who cluster round me; and as I close my eyes in shuddering fear, Michael's face, in distorted ugliness, takes a hundred ghastly shapes, dances before my eyes, and keeps out everything else, for a space of time unspeakably frightful, as it is immeasurably long.
At last, dull stupor overpowers it; and long, long, after that, comes a woman's kind face and gentle touch; then a hand and voice that are unfamiliar and unwelcome; cat-like and soft, from which I shrink in aversion. Then, they too vanish, and when next the uncertain mist of oblivion rolls up, I am lying in a long low room, strange and new to me, but not unpleasing, even by the dim light that burns upon the table, shaded from me by a painted screen. My eyes wander around inquiringly upon the simple furniture of the room, the dark, low walls, the piles of books and pamphlets that heap the shelves irregularly, till they rest upon the two figures at the other end of the room. A fire burns low on the hearth, and beside it sits a man, stooping his head upon his hand. Another in an attitude that is familiar to me, stands with his arm upon the mantelpiece shading his eyes from the light. They talk low and earnestly; sometimes the one standing by the mantelpiece strides impatiently backward and forward, across the room, and resumes his former attitude. He by the fire never moves. I try to listen, but the effort confuses me; and it is a long while before any of their words reach me, and then only in a broken, uncertain way. The first I catch are those of the voice that is familiar to me:
"It is the first time I ever rejected your counsel; the first time I ever put aside your warning. Do you believe me when I say it pains me to the heart, after so many years of steadfast and close friendship, to rebel against the sacrifice it requires of me? But you do not know what you ask, indeed you do not!"
"Perhaps not, Arthur, perhaps not," answered his companion, in a low voice. "Do not think again of what I said; it was an over-anxiety for your happiness that prompted me to speak; and now forget the words, and remember only the love that moved them."
"No, Shenstone, I will not forget them," the other says, warmly; "I know too well the value of your counsels. I will remember what you have said, and keep the caution by me, when there is need for caution. But you must not blame me, if I cannot put aside at once a hope that has got so strong a hold upon me. I promise you to do nothing rashly, to let nothing blind my judgment, to put the test of absence, change of scene, change of interest, upon us both; years, if you will, shall pass before I dare attempt to realize my hope; years that shall prove its possibility, or show its folly; but do not ask me to give it up at once."
Mr. Shenstone shook his head. "Will it be easier to tear up the cherished hope of years, than to put down the fond fancy of a day, my friend, do you think?"
"I am not a man given to fancies, am I, Shenstone? A life as cold as the last twenty years of mine has been, does not look much like the pursuit of fancies. You have known—who better?—the bitterness that poisoned the very fountain-head of my youth; you have seen how it has tainted the current of my whole life; how that after years of suffering and self-denial, it only needs a word, a recollection of the past to bring the bitter flood back upon my heart. You know all this, and yet you deny me the only charm I see in life; the only light that gilds the dark future! Is this kind?"
He walked impatiently across the room, then came back to his place. The other did not look up nor speak.
"I know what you would say," continued his companion, after a moment; "I know you would remind me that the same blow that blighted my youth, struck deeper at your heart; that you have learned to live without what was life to you once; that I can learn the same hard lesson. I have tried, oh, my friend! I have tried to gain your heights of faith and hope; but still the unconquered flesh drags me down: the curse that generations of godless ancestors have laid upon me is unexpiated yet. You stand now where I cannot hope to stand till
"Death comes to set me free."
Death, that I shall have won! And hoped for, you know longingly, in the old days of wretchedness."
"That's past, Arthur, thank God's good grace; and life is no longer a penance to you; and that it never may be again, God in His mercy grant, and spare you what I dreaded for you. God bring you higher than I stand, but by a gentler way, if it be His will! Arthur, it was a fiercer struggle than even you can understand, in which my faith was born. It was a conflict that lasts through most men's lives, that I passed through at one dire struggle, and died unto the world forever. But, looking backward, oh, Arthur, I can look back now and see how
——"One dead joy appearsThe platform of some better hope."
Better, as heaven is than earth, as peace is than temptation, as the service of God is than the weary bondage of the world!"
He lifted his head a moment, as if in involuntary triumph, then bent it again, and was silent.
At that moment the door softly opened, and the woman I had seen before stole up to where I lay, and bending down, looked in my face with anxious inquiry, while the friends at the other end of the room hushed their earnest tones, and one (my head was throbbing too much to see which) started forward, and said anxiously:
"Has the doctor come back yet, Mrs. Arnold?"
"He is in the hall at this moment, sir," she answered, with preciseness of manner, and a peculiar sweetness of voice.
Again the door opened, and again I heard the cat-like step, and felt the velvet touch that sent a shiver through me; and then succeeded a throbbing pain in my temples, dull aching in every limb, a high fever coursing through every vein, and I lived over again in delirium the scenes from which I had just escaped. Again I was lying beneath the roaring forest trees; again the sharp throes of mortal terror wrung from me the cry that I had uttered then, this time to be soothed by a tender and familiar voice; then restless with pain, and burning with fever, only pacified from that dream to be hurried off into another, wilder and more terrible. With glaring eyes and demoniac faces, the crowd of men, with Michael at their head, were in mad pursuit of a flying horse and rider; with hideous jeers and yells they urge them on, and closing round the frantic steed, they tear me, clinging round her, from Madge's neck, and holding me down upon the ground, wrench from my arm the bracelet, that resists, at first, their strongest efforts, till the warm blood flows, and the torn flesh quivers, as staggering back, a ruffian lifts the bloody prize, and with a wild cry I wake, only to drop into another broken slumber, and to dream another hideous dream.
This time it is Mrs. Roberts, who, with rigid, cruel face, holds me down, and binding my powerless hands, thrusts me, struggling and frantic, into the dread, mysterious darkness ofthat room. And choking with terror, the agony is dispelled by the low voice that says, "What is it now, poor child?" and panting with fright, I cling to the hand that soothes me, and only from its steady grasp gain anything like peace. And so the night wears on. How much of these wild dreams revealed themselves in speech I know not, and how much of the history of that night belongs to fact, and how much to fancy, it is beyond me to decide.
"Oh! what a tangled web we weave,When first we practise to deceive!"SCOTT.
Emerging from this sea of dreams tumultuous, I seemed, on a certain cold, grey morning, to be stranded on the shores of reality by an ebbing tide of water gruel and weak tea. Having, from my extreme youth, entertained undisguised aversion to these articles of food, I had steadily refused to let a spoonful pass my lips; consequently, my nurse and doctor not having relinquished a hope that in time I would come to terms, many separate editions of these invigorating compounds stood upon the table by my bed, in bowls of larger growth, in teacups and saucers, and every variety of earthen and china vessels, all covered and arranged with consummate care and skill.
These observations I made with great interest, as after a long period of dreamy stupor, the "keen demands of appetite," or some indignant protest of nature against such indolent inactivity, roused me; and raising myself upon my elbow, I looked around with much curiosity and some bewilderment. The room was entirely unfamiliar, long and old-fashioned looking. The bed and the one window were curtained with white dimity; the walls and ceiling were white-washed to a painful whiteness; the counterpane, the pillows, the sheets, were one drift of snow. Indeed, so forcible was this impression, that for a moment it was a question with me whether I had not just waked up from a nap in one of those snow-houses, so called, which it had been the delight of my childhood to construct, being excavations in some adjacent snow-bank, achieved with the help of a friendly spade, in which I would lie and dream of icy palaces, and frosty fairy fabrics. The idea that I had been napping it in one of these juvenile architectural devices, was favored by the lowness of the white ceiling, which seemed almost within touch, and the long, narrow shape of the room, terminating in a small, white-curtained window, through which I caught a glimpse of cold grey sky, that suggested snow and chill.
A tiny fire, however, in a tiny grate, and a woman sewing by what I had conceived to be the mouth of the cave, but which, I was obliged to confess, was unmistakably a window, quite dispelled the illusion, and I had nothing left me but to come down to cold reality again, after a sojourn in dream-land so long as to render me a little uncertain and bewildered on all mundane matters. I looked quite attentively for some time at the woman by the window, then startled her very considerably by saying suddenly:
"Are you the one they call Mrs. Arnold?"
She dropped her work, started up, and approached the bed, saying, in her precise manner and sweet voice:
"That is my name, Miss. Can I do anything for you?"
"No," I said slowly, looking at her, "I don't think of anything, thank you."
And while Mrs. Arnold, after arranging the pillows, and in a neat, quick-handed way, straightening and tidying everything on the table and around the bed, returned to her work, I watched her very attentively, and I am afraid very rudely, from the slight color that arose in her pale cheek as she caught my eye again and again fixed on her inquiringly. She was a middle-aged woman, about middle-size, with nothing peculiar in dress or manner, except a scrupulous precision and neatness. Her hair was very grey, but her face was a younger one than you would have expected to see, after looking at her slightly-stooping figure and white hair. Her skin was unwrinkled and clear, her eyes soft and brown, and the sweetest possible smile sometimes stirred her lips. But it died very quickly always, and never seemed to come voluntarily; only "when called for," and then to cheer or comfort some one else—never because of any happy emotion within, that found that expression for itself. She conveyed the idea of a woman who had been a very high-spirited and impetuous one, but who was now a very broken and sad one; a soul
——"By nature pitched too high,By sufferings plunged too low,"
but now past struggle and rebellion, subdued and desolated, waiting patiently for the end. This much I read, or thought I read, in her quiet face, as still leaning on my elbow, I watched her movements. I was irresistibly attracted to her, and essayed to continue our brief conversation, by saying:
"Hasn't 'that Kitty,' as Mrs. Roberts calls her, been here since I have been sick?"
"She has been here, and went away only half an hour ago, to get some of your things. I expect her back every minute."
"I thought I'd seen her," I rejoined, meditatively. "And how about Mrs. Roberts, has she been here?"
"She has; she was here all yesterday afternoon."
I lay quite still for a little while, then said, rather abruptly:
"I can't exactly make it out—where am I, and whose house is this?"
Mrs. Arnold smiled kindly, and turning toward me, said:
"You have been too sick to know much about anything; you are at the Parsonage, and this is Mr. Shenstone's house, and I am Mr. Shenstone's housekeeper. And now do not puzzle your head with any more thinking; ask me any questions you want to know, and then try to lie quiet."
"I think I've been quiet long enough in all conscience!" I said, with energy. "I feel a great deal better, Mrs. Arnold."
"I am very glad to hear it, Miss. Will you have something to eat?"
"What can I have?"
"Some very nice gruel, Miss, or some"——
"Wait a minute, Mrs. Arnold," I said, rising up and speaking very impressively; "there is no use, indeed there is no use, in asking me to take such things; I never can, and you will only have to give it up at last. Miss Crowen had to; I stood it out till she thought I was going to die on her hands, I believe, and had to give me something decent at last. People are always trying to make me eat gruel, and farina, and arrowroot, and beef-tea, and such miseries, just as soon as I'm in the least bit sick, and begin to care what I eat. Now don't you be so unkind, will you, dear Mrs. Arnold?"
Mrs. Arnold smiled; it was the doctor, she said, who had prescribed the gruel; if he was willing to give me something nicer, she should be very happy to prepare it for me.
"Do you know," I said, mysteriously, "that as a general thing, I don't think much of doctors? Country doctors least of all. One's common sense is the best guide in most cases. Why, it stands to reason, that I know better what I ought to have to eat, when I'm not well, than a great strong man does, who never lost his appetite in his life, and doesn't in the least care what he has to eat, as long as there's enough of it! I am the best judge, you must see plainly, Mrs. Arnold."
Mrs. Arnold shook her head; doctors mightn't know what we would like, she said, always, but it was just possible they might know what was best for us, being disinterested judges. Didn't I think so?
"By no means," I exclaimed, "unless they are peculiarly intelligent men, and not like that odious Dr. Sartain, who nearly frightened me to death, and nearly killed Mr. Rutledge, by setting his arm badly. Mr. Rutledge himself is ten times better a doctor. He can tell what's the matter with people by just looking at them; and," I continued, coming abruptly back to the point of interest, and hoping to carry it by the suddenness of the attack, "he would never make any one eat water-gruel if they hated it. I'm positive, if you asked him, he'd say, 'let her have what she wants, of course, it cannot do her any harm.'"
Mrs. Arnold shook her head again, and said:
"Ah, Miss, it's very hard to say 'no;' but it must be, till the doctor comes, whom I am expecting every minute."
"What's the doctor's name?"
"His name is Hugh, Miss; a very fine young man they say; he is just settled in the village, and every one is very much pleased with him; he is getting all the practice away from Dr. Sartain, who, though he lives so far away, has been for a long time the nearest physician. But here's his gig at the door now," continued she, coming up to the bed. "Are you ready to see him?"
"Yes, quite," I answered; and she hurried down to usher up the doctor.
Now I had my own views regarding this gentleman, and all Mrs. Arnold's commendation could not change the current of my feelings toward him; so when he approached my bedside, it was a very slight and stiff recognition that his arrival elicited from me. He did not seem a whit annoyed by it, however, and with unruffled blandness, laid down his hat and gloves, and seated himself, while Mrs. Arnold stood at the foot of the bed, unobtrusively attentive.
The new doctor was a good-sized, good-looking man, with reddish hair and whiskers, and very white teeth and very light eyes. That he "hailed" from New England no one could doubt after five minutes spent in his society; equality and fraternity, go-a-head-i-tiveness and go-to-the-deuce-if-you-get-in-my-way-itiveness were still visible to an impartial eye, under all the layers of suavity, professional decorum and good breeding, with which his educational residence in the metropolis had plastered over the native roughnesses of his rustic breeding. If the chill penury that usually represses the noble rage of the New England youth, had not been defeated of its cruel purpose by a "little annuity" from his maternal grandfather, elevating him from the plough to the practice of medicine, one could not help thinking how fine a specimen of the genuine Yankee he would have been. How he would have risen from a boyhood devoted to whittling, swapping, and carting lumber, to a youth engaged in itinerant mercantile transactions, and an early manhood consecrate to science and literature, in the onerous post of common-school teacher. The hero he would have been at quiltings and at singing-schools! The bargains he would have driven in tin and garden-seeds, exchanged for feathers and rags! The matchless cuteness, the inherent cunning, that would have marked his career!
"But whither would conjecture stray?"
The little annuity ($150) had intervened, and Dr. Hugh stood before the public a professional gentleman in the midst of a growing practice, a rising man in a country where, once started, it is easier to rise than to sit still. He was, at the moment when I was making these reflections on his character, suavely regarding me, and had softly laid two fingers upon my wrist, and, with head slightly inclined, was counting my pulse. The result gratified him; for looking up with a complacency that indicated very plainly the source to which he attributed the improvement, he said, addressing Mrs. Arnold:
"A marked change for the better, madam—a marked change."
It was an involuntary thing for me to pull my hand impatiently from his continued touch, and to turn my head away, so disagreeably did his manner impress me. No change of tone, however, indicated any resentment as he said, in apology for me, as it appeared:
"A little restless and feverish yet, I am afraid."
"On the contrary," I said, with great distinctness, turning toward him again, "on the contrary, I never felt quieter or less feverish in my life. I am quite well, except a little weakness, which will be remedied by allowing me suitable and nourishing food; and Mrs. Arnold is only waiting for your permission to get me some broiled chicken and roast oysters, which I have no doubt you are perfectly willing to allow."
The doctor looked astonished at this emphatic declaration and proposition, and for a space seemed inclined to resist such unheard of demands; but seeing, no doubt, the hopelessness of bringing me to reason, and the fear of alienating irretrievably so important a patient as the guest at the great house, he thought it best to yield as graciously as possible. The idea of losing the chance of the Rutledge patronage was not to be entertained for a moment, and it is my opinion that, with a view to averting such a blow to his success, he would have conceded me an unlimited grant of lobster-salad and turtle soup, if I had been pleased to fancy those viands. As it was, however, I bore my triumph very unexcitedly, merely giving Mrs. Arnold a significant look, which indicated as much hungry complacency as was consistent with my dignity; upon which she proposed descending to prepare my meal, and Kitty entering just then, she considered herself no longer necessary, and withdrew for that purpose. The doctor being engaged in writing a prescription, I had nothing to distract my attention from Kitty, who overwhelmed me with congratulations upon my improved condition; which congratulations, however, I could not with sincerity return, for having, in her eagerness, run every step of the way to Rutledge and back, her condition was best described by the inelegant term, "blown."
"But oh, Miss," she exclaimed, in panting incoherency, "it is so nice to see you opening your eyes and taking notice! Mr. Rutledge will be so glad!"
"How is he, and why didn't he come?" I asked.
"Well," said Kitty, candidly, "I wasn't to tell you, butIdon't see the harm. Mr. Rutledge's arm has been bad again, and he can't go out of the house. But here's a note for you from him."
And Kitty pulled from her apron-pocket a note, that I seized eagerly. And forgetting doctor and maid, with flushed cheeks and parted lips, I read and reread the brief note—very brief, but very characteristic—kind, almost tender—concise, pithy, and vigorous, with just a dash of humor and raillery at the close, and "Always your friend, Arthur Rutledge." With a pleased smile, my eyes lingered over the words, till raising them inadvertently, they encountered the doctor's, fixed searchingly on my face. He averted them in an instant, however, but not before he had caught a sight of the quick blush that mounted to my temples.
"I was thinking," he said, apologetically, "I was thinking that the light was rather strong for your eyes. Shall not the young woman darken the window a little?"
I rejected the proposal contemptuously, and the medical gentleman, after an abortive attempt at a compliment, and a bow that was a shade less complacent than usual, took his leave.
"I hate that man!" I exclaimed, as the door closed behind him. "I never shall learn to treat him civilly."
Kitty shrugged her shoulders.
"The people in the village think there's nobody like him. He's got a very taking way with all the common folks, putting his arm around the women's waists, and patting the men on the shoulder, and talking to everybody alike. But I don't like the look of him, for all his fair-and-softly ways. And he's been watching you, Miss, for the last five minutes, as a cat watches a mouse."
I bit my lip, but merely said:
"No matter, Kitty; he may be a good doctor for all that, and he will not have a chance to watch me much longer, I hope. You may darken the window; I believe he was right about that matter, and I'll try to sleep a little till my breakfast, or whatever it is, comes up. In the meantime, perhaps you had better go and see if you cannot help Mrs. Arnold."
Kitty obeyed, and in a few minutes I was left alone, but unluckily with no very pleasant thoughts to keep me company, and no overtures from tired nature's sweet restorer either, to put them to flight. I was very much irritated at the doctor's manner, and a good deal annoyed at having expressed my irritation so warmly to Kitty; and compunctious visitings also troubled me about my self-will on the subject of the broiled chicken and oysters, to which was added a confused sort of penitential alarm about the purloined riding-skirt, and to crown all, a startling discovery, that made me absolutely weak with fright.
The miniature, which for some time past had been vacillating between my pocket and my trunk, as its safety demanded, had, on the afternoon of my ride, being lying on the table before me, while I was dressing, but on an alarm of Mrs. Roberts' approach, I had thrown the ribbon around my neck, and hid it in my bosom, whence, in my hurry and excitement, I had forgotten to take it, and it had remained there during my ride, for I remembered feeling it, with no pleasant association at the time either, while I was waiting for Michael on the common. This I distinctly remembered, and—now it was gone. That was all I knew; that was enough to make me sick with fright. I covered up my face, and lay quiet, but very miserable. What would I not have given if I had never touched that miniature, or worn that skirt. The business of deceit was new to me, and in proportion it looked black. I had almost fretted myself into a fever, when Mrs. Arnold reappeared with mygoûté, most temptingly arranged upon the cleanest of china and whitest of napkins. She placed it by me, and announced that it was ready.
I looked up in her face, my own rather flushed, no doubt, and said:
"You see he let me have it, Mrs. Arnold."
"I see he did, Miss," she answered, quite gravely.
"I knew he would; I was right after all."
"I hope so, Miss."
Her grave looks troubled me. I did not take the knife and fork she offered me, but looking at her earnestly, I said, abruptly:
"Mrs. Arnold, honestly, do you think that's bad for me?"
She looked somewhat startled by my question, but answered quietly:
"Honestly, Miss, I think it is a risk; but the doctor has consented, and I have nothing to say."
"Very well," I said, pushing the table back, "I am sorry to have given you so much trouble for nothing. Will you warm that gruel for me."
Mrs. Arnold paused in the act of raising the cover from the oysters:
"Do you mean, Miss, that you do not intend to eat this?"
"Yes," I said, concisely, "I will take the gruel, if you'll warm it, please. There's fire enough there."
She gave me rather a curious look; then quietly removed the tray into the hall, and proceeded to warm the gruel. I swallowed the tasteless compound without flinching, while Mrs. Arnold watched me silently, and took away the emptied bowl without a word of comment. I lay very silent but very sleepless till Kitty came up; then watched anxiously till Mrs. Arnold should leave the room, which she was very long in doing. When at last she did, I started up, exclaiming:
"Bolt that door, and come here, Kitty!"
She obeyed, but not very cheerfully, I fancied; indeed there had been a shade of anxiety on her face for some time.
"Kitty," I said, hurriedly and gravely, "I've lost the miniature; do you know anything about it?"
She did not look surprised, but very unhappy, as she answered:
"I know it's gone, Miss; but where, I know no more than the dead."
She then explained—that that night, just after she had been sent for, and arrived, as she came into the study where I was lying, she found Mr. Shenstone and the doctor both standing by me, Mrs. Arnold at the fire, preparing some medicine; Mr. Rutledge had just passed her in the hall. I seemed delirious, for I started up and exclaimed something incoherently, then fell back, and Mr. Shenstone stooping down, said something soothingly, but instantly started back, with an exclamation of dismay and astonishment, which of course did not escape either the doctor or Kitty. The latter hurried up, and stole a glance at me, and she could scarcely repress a similar cry when she saw the guilty miniature, which had slipped from my dress, lying in full view. Mr. Shenstone's face was pale, and he put his hand to his forehead, as if in pain. Her only hope was, that the light being dim, he had not seen it distinctly, and now the thing was to get it away before either he or the doctor had had a second look. Giving the table-cover a sudden jerk, she precipitated the lamp upon the floor, and involved the room in sudden darkness. Deprecating her awkwardness, she hurried to pick up the lamp. While the others were engaged in remedying the accident, and finding a light, about which there seemed much difficulty, she stole to where I lay, and attempted to rescue the miniature; but, alas! in vain. Some one had been there before her, and a cold hand on my breast touched hers, as she groped for it, and was suddenly withdrawn. It was not my hand, for mine were burning with fever; and when, after a moment more of delay, a light was struck, Mrs. Arnold and Mr. Shenstone stood in the middle of the room by the table, and the doctor at the opposite end, by the mantelpiece, looking for some matches that Mrs. Arnold had said were kept there. She looked down at me; I lay quietly, one hand under my head, the other at my side. An end of blue ribbon hung from my dress; it had been cut off hastily, for a glance told her the edge was too smooth to have been torn.
Kitty was a keen observer, and her whole heart was in this mystery; she watched, as if her life had depended on it, to see who should betray the least sign of guilt, but she was completely baffled. Certainly not Mr. Shenstone; he even looked curiously at the ribbon, and then sternly at Kitty, as if supposing she had taken it; not the doctor, for he was at the other end of the room, and was more unconcerned and indifferent than any one present; not Mrs. Arnold, for not having been beside me when the miniature slipped from my dress, she could not have seen it, and consequently she could not have taken it in the dark, and so readily too.
"Ah!" Kitty exclaimed, "I passed a dreadful night, Miss; I didn't know what it was to close my eyes; such awful thoughts as would come!"
"What do you mean?" I said hurriedly. "Which of them do you think has it?"
"Ah, Miss!" she exclaimed, with a burst of tears, "I wish I thought any of 'em had it! I've had enough of meddling with dead people's things for the rest of my life, that I have!"
"I wish you would speak intelligibly; what do you mean?" I exclaimed, angrily.
Kitty answered by fresh tears, "Oh, don't make me talk about it! Indeed, I cannot!"
"I shall be very much displeased if you act in this way any longer," I said, with emphasis, as Kitty still shook her head. I heard footsteps in the hall; catching her arm, I exclaimed:
"Tell me instantly what you mean!"
"Oh, Miss!" she whispered, white and trembling, "that hand, that awful hand! It was colder than any stone, and sent a chill through me when I touched it; I never, never can"——
"You foolish girl," I exclaimed, impatiently, "I didn't think you were so silly"——
But at that moment some one knocked at the door, and Kitty, wiping her eyes and smoothing her hair, ran to open it. It was only Mary, with some coal; but it interrupted our conversation, which could only after that be resumed by broken snatches, wherein I urgently impressed upon Kitty my certainty of the miniature's being in possession of one or other of the parties in the room at the time of its disappearance, and the entire contempt in which I held her superstitious theory in regard to it. Kitty's belief on that point, however, could not be shaken, and I grew weary of reiterating my arguments. At last I found an opportunity, when we were alone, to propound another question:
"What has been done about the riding-skirt?"
"Oh, Miss," exclaimed Kitty, uneasily, "why do you worry about those things now? It will make your head ache to talk; I know master wouldn't like it."
Kitty soon saw the futility of attempting to evade the matter; so she gave me a plain commonsensical statement of affairs, commencing from the moment I dashed down the avenue on Madge Wildfire's back; from which time it appeared, her difficulties began. Mrs. Roberts, after watching us out of the gate, the storm on her brow blackening every instant, turned away with a determined step, and entering the house, called to Kitty, saying she was in a great hurry for the dress she had given her to press off; she had important business at the Parsonage, and there was no time to lose.
"I don't think you'll find Mr. Shenstone home, ma'am," Kitty had volunteered. "I saw him passing along the road toward Norbury, when I was down at the lodge half an hour ago."
This information had appeared to give great disquietude to Mrs. Roberts, and in consequence of it, she had given up her plan of going out, and had retired misanthropically to her room, while Kitty had danced down to the kitchen in great glee, to communicate to Sylvie her narrow escape. But in half an hour, Mrs. Roberts' bell rang hastily, and Kitty apprehensively went up to answer it.
"I have concluded, after all," said that lady, "to go to the Parsonage, and leave a note for Mr. Shenstone if he is not in; so get my dress for me as quickly as you can."
"Yes, ma'am," Kitty had answered; but in passing the window, she had cast a look out. "It's most five o'clock now, ma'am, you'll be caught out in the dark; hadn't Thomas better run down with the note for you? Or maybe I could go?"
But Mrs. Roberts was quite firm. "No, she did not care to trust to any one but herself in this case." And again she desired her to get the dress with all haste. Haste she certainly did make, in getting to the kitchen and calling Sylvie into consultation; which measure, however, did not tend to elucidate in any great degree the problem that at present perplexed her brain. Sylvie was one of the "raving distracted" kind, and invariably lost her wits on occasion of their being particularly required, and the only assistance she attempted to render, in this trying emergency, was ejaculatory and interjectional condolence on the apparent hopelessness of the case. Kitty, in disgust, slammed the door in her face, put her hands to her head in a wild way for a moment, then bounded upstairs again.
"Oh, dear Mrs. Roberts," she exclaimed, as she entered the room, "it struck me on my way down, that perhaps you'd rather wear your old black silk instead of that nice bombazine, as it is getting so late, and the road is so dusty. We haven't had rain, you know, for an age."
Mrs. Roberts drew herself up. Was she or was she not capable of judging what clothes she was to put on? Would it be necessary for her to go down and get the dress she wanted herself?
"Bynomeans," Kitty said; and starting forth again, sat herself down on the third step of the stairs, in direst perplexity. But time pressed; there was no leisure for deliberation. She flew to a closet where some superannuated garments of the housekeeper's hung, selected the most presentable of the series of black bombazine skirts suspended in funereal rows upon the pegs; darted back, and with great composure, laid it on the sofa, while, with officious zeal, she proceeded to divest Mrs. Roberts of her house-costume, and invest her with her walking-dress. By skillfully interposing her person between the dress and the strong light, and putting it on and arranging it entirely with her own hands, she escaped detection. And arrayed in this ancient garment, the housekeeper sallied forth on her way to the Parsonage.
Too anxious to be triumphant this time, Kitty stole out after her, to see the effect of the sunlight upon the foxy, faded black; but Mrs. Roberts was too much engrossed with cankering cares of a sterner kind, to think of her bombazine.
At the gate, however, to her great content, she encountered Mr. Shenstone on his way from Norbury, and stopping him, held a long and anxious consultation with him (in which, said Kitty,par parenthèse, "I overheard her say some pretty things about you; but no matter)." She then parted from the clergyman, and returned slowly toward the house, Kitty following anxiously behind the hedge. The setting sun threw the most dazzling beams down the avenue. Kitty's heart beat, as she saw the housekeeper cast her eyes meditatively upon her dress; then, as the sunlight struck full upon it, she stooped a little down, and paused, and looked again, and again adjusted her glasses. She began, in truth, to "smell a rat," for passing her hand rapidly over the front breadth, she shook her head doubtingly, then lifted the suspicious garment to the sunlight, then holding it at arms' length, uttered an exclamation of surprise, turned it up, and examining the hem all around, dropped it; turned the pocket inside out—felt of the band around the waist—recognized its unfamiliarity—and with a low muttering of suppressed wrath, gathered herself up, and hastened toward the house.
"It's all up!" groaned poor Kitty, as, by the back way, she darted into the kitchen, and awaited with trembling the pull of Mrs. Roberts' bell.
"Kitty Carter," said Mrs. Roberts, in an awful voice, as she entered the room, "you have been practising upon me in an abominable manner. I have borne your saucy ways for a long time, but the end has now come. You can't deceive me; I'm too quick for you, and you shall be exposed. It's my intention to make Mr. Rutledge acquainted with your deceitful practices; and that, you are aware, is just the same as giving you warning; for Mr. Rutledge has never been known to endure anything of the kind in his house."
Kitty quailed under this attack; but, rallying in a moment, asked Mrs. Roberts if she'd please tell her what was the matter? Her answer was a peremptory order to bring up the dress she had given her in the morning. For once in her life, Kitty had nothing to say; while Mrs. Roberts exclaimed:
"It's my belief, Kitty Carter, that dress is lying where I put it this morning, and that you haven't touched it."
"I wish from my soul I hadn't," thought the unlucky girl.
"Now go down this moment and fetch it to me, finished or unfinished, or you forfeit your place."
The only way that opened for Kitty, was to assume a position, good or bad, and maintain it through thick and thin. Therefore, with staunch determination, she replied:
"I have not done the dress, ma'am; I didn't think you'd want it so soon; and I had rather not bring it up till it's finished."
"This minute, or you lose your place," said the exasperated housekeeper.
Kitty respectfully resisted the demand; it was contrary to her principles to give up work half finished. If Mrs. Roberts would give her time, she would do it; but before the dress was in order, she must decline bringing it up.
Then the storm burst in all its fury. Sylvie was called up; Mrs. Roberts made a descent in person upon the kitchen, which was placed under martial law, Thomas and two of the stable-boys guarding the different entrances, while Dorothy and one of the farm-hands accompanied Mrs. Roberts in her inquisitorial progress through the lower departments. Altogether, such a tragedy had not convulsed the basement of Rutledge for many a long year; not, indeed, since the pranks of Kitty's childhood had been the scandal of the place. Kitty remembered with comfort, that she had weathered more than one storm there; and remembering this, took heart again, though, it must be confessed, things looked black enough. The dress not being and appearing anywhere, "from garret to basement," Kitty Carter was formally pronounced suspended from her duties, until such time as Mr. Rutledge, being informed of her offences, should himself dismiss her from the house.
To that dark crisis had succeeded the alarm produced by the non-appearance of the equestrian party; then the consternation consequent upon the arrival of Michael, several hours later, announcing that the young lady had been lost, hunted for, and found, by all the men in the village, and was now lying, half dead, at the Parsonage; and, finally, that by order of Mr. Rutledge, Kitty, her maid, was to repair thither immediately to attend upon her. This materially changed the look of affairs; and it was hoped, by the anti-administration party, that the storm had blown over, and, in the new excitement, would be forgotten. But such hopes were futile indeed, and entertained by weak minds, not capable of sounding the depths of a resentment such as rankled in Mrs. Roberts' recollection. The very next day, in a solemn interview in the library, Mr. Rutledge was informed of the nature of the complaint against Kitty, and distinctly declared, that unless the matter was very shortly cleared up, he should be under the necessity of dismissing her from his service. And this sword was now hanging over poor Kitty's head; and Kitty's stout heart was sinking at the prospect of the only punishment that could have had much terror for her; for Rutledge was the only home she had ever known, and the only place she loved.
"But it doesn't signify," she said bravely, dashing away a furtive tear; "I can get another place, and I'll look out that there's no Mrs. Roberts in the family."
"But, Kitty," I exclaimed, "why didn't you tell? Mr. Rutledge would have overlooked it, I know."
"What,tell!" cried Kitty, scornfully, "and get you into trouble, too? No, indeed, I know Mr. Rutledge well enough to know he'd have been angry with you as well as with me; and if you take my advice, Miss, you won't say a word about it. One's enough to take the blow; it won't make it any easier to have another getting it too. Just let the matter stand as it is; it will be all right. There, don't fret!" she exclaimed, cheerfully; "it worries me to death to see you mind it so! Why, Miss, it's nothing; how need you care?"