"And there was light around her brow,A holiness in those dark eyes,Which showed, though wandering earthward now,Her spirit's home was in the skies."
"And there was light around her brow,A holiness in those dark eyes,Which showed, though wandering earthward now,Her spirit's home was in the skies."
"And there was light around her brow,A holiness in those dark eyes,Which showed, though wandering earthward now,Her spirit's home was in the skies."
Two years had passed and gone.
wo years had passed and gone.
It was drawing toward sunset of a clear, bright, breezy day, when a crowd of people "might have been seen," and were seen, too, hurrying down to one of the wharves of B——, to watch the arrival of the steamer from Europe. Throngs of people who had friends on board came trooping down, and watched with eager eyes the stately vessel as it smoked and puffed its way, like an apoplectic alderman, to the shore.
Among these lounged a young man, good-looking and fashionably dressed, and evidently got up regardless of expense. There was a certain air of self-complacency about him, as he stroked a pair of most desirable curling whiskers, that said, as plainly as words, he was "somebody," and knew it. Another young republican, puffing a cigar, stood beside him, and both were watching, with the careless nonchalance of sovereigns in their own right, the throng of foreigners that stood on the steamer's deck.
"A crowd there—rather!" remarked the hero of the cigar, as he fastidiously held it between his finger and thumb and knocked the ashes off the end. "Our European brethren have arrived in time to see the elephant to goodadvantage. Young America will be out in great force to-night."
"To cheer the new governor—ye-es," drawled the other, as he, too, lighted a cigar, and began smoking like a living Vesuvius.
"What a thing it is to be the people's favorite—a man of the people, that style of thing, you know—isn't it, Curtis?" said the first speaker.
"I believe you!" said Mr. Curtis, emphatically, for our old friend it was. "It is the sovereign people's pleasure to go mad about their favorite just now, and, like spoiled children, they must be humored. What a thing the mob is, to be sure! They would shout as heartily and with as good a will if Wildair were to be hung to-night as inaugurated. Since the days when they shouted 'Crucify Him! crucify Him! Release unto us Barrabas!' they have remained unchanged."
"I hope you don't mean to insinuate that there is any resemblance between the Jewish malefactor and the American governor—eh, Curtis?" said his friend, laughing.
"By no means, Captain Arlingford. Wildair deserves his popularity; he is a great statesman, a real friend of his admirers, the people, and with genius enough to steer the whole republic himself. He has fought his way up; he has fought for equal rights, liberty, fraternity, equality—the French dodge, you know—and deserves to be what he is, the people's idol. Never in this good Yankee town was a new governor greeted so enthusiastically; never did the mob shout themselves hoarse with such a right good will. By Jove! I envied him to-day, as he stood on the balcony of the hotel, with his hat off, while the sea of human beings below shouted and shouted, until they could shout nolonger. It was a reception fit for a king; and never did a king look more kingly and noble than at that moment of triumph did he."
Captain Arlingford laughed.
"Whew! there's enthusiasm for you! My sober, steady-headed friend, Dick Curtis, starting off in this manner, and longing for public popularity! I confess I should like to have witnessed his triumphal entry to-day though. I have heard that the ladies absolutely buried him alive in the showers of bouquets from the windows."
"Didn't they!" said Mr. Curtis laughing at the recollection. "As his secretary, I sat in the carriage with him, and, 'pon my honor, I was half smothered under the load of fragrant favors. Such a waving of cambric handkerchiefs, too, and how the crowd doffed their hats and hurrahed! It excites me even yet to think of it; but there sat Wildair touching his chapeau, and bowing right and left, 'with that easy grace that wins all hearts,' to quote our friend and your admirer, Miss Harper, a little."
"That last bill about the people's rights did the business for him," said Captain Arlingford, meditatively; "what a strong case he made out in their favor, and what an excitement it created! Well, it's a famous thing to be clever, after all; I knew it was in him, but it might never have come out so forcibly, had it not been for that loss of his two years ago. And it appearssheis a genius too. To think she should have painted that blood-chilling picture of Hagar, and found a brother in that poet, Randall. Don't things turn up strangely, Curtis? I wonder where she has gone, and if she will ever come back."
"Don't know! Like as not," said Mr. Curtis, sententiously.
"Splendid-looking girl she was, wasn't she, Curtis?" continued Arlingford, pursuing his own train of thought.
"Magnificent eyes, a step like an empress, and the smile of an angel."
"Come, don't draw it quite so steep, my gallient saileur boy," said Curtis; "recollect you're speaking of another man's wife, and that man not a common mortal either, but the Governor of B—— and future President of these Benighted States. Besides, what would Miss Harper say?"
"Miss Harper be—hanged!" exclaimed Arlingford, with such impatient vehemence that Curtis laughed; "that's enough about her. Are you going to the inauguration ball to-night?"
"Of course—what a question! Do you think they could have a ball fit to be seen without the presence of the irresistible, the fascinating Richard Curtis, Esq., to keep it moving? Do you think any lady as is a lady would enjoy herself if I was absent? Echo answers, 'Of course, they wouldn't;' so don't harrow my feelings again by such another question."
"Well, I see humanity and vanity are not among your failings. I suppose all theeliteof the city will be there?"
"You had better believe it. Thecreme de la cremeof B——. All the beauty, and wit, and gallantry of the city, as the newspapers have it. I have engaged with the editor of theSky Rocketto write him an account of the sayings and doings, for a 'consideration,' as the delicate phrase goes, which, being translated from the original Hebrew, means that he will puff our party on every occasion and no occasion, and if you don't see 'among the guests was the gallant young Captain A——, U. S. N., who paid during the evening the most marked attention to the lovely andaccomplished Miss H——, whom it is whispered he is about to lead to the hymeneal altar——' Hello! stop that! I say, Arlingford, don't choke a fellow!"
"Confound you!" said Captain Arlingford, catching him by the collar, and fairly shaking the cigar out of his mouth; "will you forever continue harping on that string? I say, let's get out of this; I hate to make one in a crowd."
"No; wait," said Curtis, laughing and adjusting his ruffled plumage. "I want to see if there is any one I know on board the steamer; I expect some friends. Here come the passengers. What a wretched, sea-sick, sea-green-looking set. The amount of contempt I have for the ocean is something appalling."
"You had better mind how you express it before me," said Captain Arlingford, decidedly. "I—but look there, Curtis, at that lady! Oh, ye gods and little fishes! what a Juno! Eh? how? what? By the Lord Harry, Curtis!" he exclaimed, springing up excitedly, as the lady in question turned her face fully toward them; "if ever I saw Mrs. Georgia Wildair in my life, there she stands!"
"Where? where? where?" fairly shouted Curtis, catching him by the arm, and staring round in an excitement far surpassing his own. "Where? which? when?"
"Whither? why? wherefore?" said Arlingford, laughing in spite of his surprise and excitement. "There, man alive! don't you see? That tall lady in black on the deck beside that intensely foreign-looking young gentleman. Why, where are your eyes? don't you see?"
"I see! I see! It's she! Hip, hip, hurrah!" shouted Mr. Curtis, waving his hat, and electrifying the crowd around him, and then, before Captain Arlingford knew what he was about, he darted off, played in and outthrough the crowd, dug his elbows into the ribs of all around him, and so forced his way aboard the steamer, amid the stifled shrieks and groans, and curses of his victims.
"That's what you call a summary proceeding," said Captain Arlingford, laughing; "what a living galvanic battery that fellow is—a broad-clothed barrel of gunpowder; touch him and off he goes! Well, here's to follow his example."
So saying, but in a less impetuous manner, he made his way through the throng to where stood a lady, "beautiful exceedingly," and dressed entirely in black, after the fashion of the Spanish Creoles, for one of whom, in her dark, rich beauty, she might easily have been mistaken.
"Mrs. Wildair! Good gracious, Mrs. Wildair, howdoyou do?" exclaimed a breathless voice. "To think that you should come this day of all days! Oh, scissors! Well, Iamglad to see you! Upon my word and honor, I am."
"Mr. Curtis!" exclaimed the lady, with a little cry of surprise and delight. "Why, what an unexpected pleasure to meetyouhere! Dear Mr. Curtis, how glad I am to see you!"
"So am I, just as glad!" said Mr. Curtis, seizing the little hand she extended, and wringing it until she winced. "Good gracious! to think of it. Howdoyou do? Well, if it isn't the most unexpected—to think that you should come home to-day of all days! Good gra—— Hey? what now?"
A vigorous slap on the shoulder that staggered him, as well it might, had jerked the last words out of him, and turning fiercely round, he saw the laughing face of the lady's companion turned toward him.
"Why, Curtis, old fellow, have you a greeting for no one but Georgia? Come, you have shook her hand long enough; try mine now."
"Randall, my boy, how goes it? Well, Iamglad, and no mistake. Good gracious! what the mischief kept you so long in those barbarous foreign parts, anyhow?"
"Don't know, really," said Mr. Randall, laughing at his vehemence; "the time passed almost imperceptibly. But you—what brings you here? I thought you were in New York."
"Well, I am not, though you mayn't believe it. Hello! Guess who this is, Mrs. Wildair?"
"Captain Arlingford!" exclaimed Georgia, delightedly, holding out her hand; then, as the recollections of the past arose, the color mounted for an instant to her very temples.
"Yes, marm; nothing shorter," said Curtis, rubbing his hands gleefully. "Je-rusalem! only to think of it! Well, the astonishing way thingswillpersist in turning up! Just to think of it. Why, it's like a thing in a play or a novel. Now, isn't it, Arlingford?"
"What! our coming home?" said Randall. "What do you see so extraordinary about that, Curtis?"
"No, it is not that," said Mr. Curtis, chuckling; "it's the remarkable coincidence of your coming to-day of all days—not you, but your sister. There, don't ask me now, everybody's looking—a set of ill-mannered snipes. Arlingford, run and call a coach, there's a good boy, and I'll tell Mrs. Wildair all about it. Good gracious! if it isn't the funniest thing!"
Mr. Curtis' excitement and delight, as he danced up and down, rubbing his hands and chuckling, were so irresistible that all three, after watching him an instant, burst into animmoderate fit of laughter, and, beholding his look of dismayed surprise, laughed until the tears stood in their eyes.
"Eh! why, what the—— what are you laughing at? Don't act so, don't; everybody's looking, and they'll think you're crazy," said Mr. Curtis, imploringly. "Wait a minute, I'll call a coach myself—you just hold on."
Off darted Mr. Curtis, leaving them still laughing and unable to stop, and ere five minutes he was back, and whipped them off like a living whirlwind—pushed them into a coach, jumped in after, and banged the door.
"Dixon's Hotel!" he bawled to the driver, and away they rattled over the pavement.
"Now we're comfortable," said Mr. Curtis, surveying them complacently, "and, only for me, you might have stood there all night, for coaches are in demand, and hardly to be got for love or money. Oh, Jehosaphat! just to think of it! why it'sdroll!" said Mr. Curtis, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and, as the absurdity of it struck him for the first time he leaned back in the carriage, and burst into a peal of laughter that was perfectly terrific, and from the effect of which he did not recover until they reached the hotel.
"It's lucky for you, in more ways than one, that you met me," said Mr. Curtis, as he got out and offered Georgia his arm, "for the city's full, and you wouldn't have got a room in a hotel from one end of it to the other—no, not if you went on your two blessed, bended knees and prayed for it. Here, these rooms were engaged for the governor and his suite, and this is mine, and is quite at your disposal, Mrs. Wildair."
"But, oh! Mr. Curtis, I cannot think of depriving you——"
"There—not a word! not a word!" said Mr. Curtis, briskly, as he ushered them into a sumptuously furnished apartment. "I'll camp with somebody else. And now the very first thing I want you to do is to dress and come to the ball to-night."
"The ball! What ball?" said Georgia, in surprise.
"Why the inauguration ball, to be sure! Oh, I forgot you did not know. Well, then, the astonishing news is, that Mr. Richmond Wildair has this day entered B—— as its governor! Now don't faint, Mrs. Wildair, because I won't understand your case. And, as usual, there is to be a ball, and I want you to come and be presented to his excellency the governor."
Georgia had no intention of fainting. A flush of pride, and triumph, and delight, lit up her face, and, with the step of a queen, she arose and paced up and down the room.
"And so he has been elected," said Mr. Randall, thoughtfully. "I knew he would rise rapidly."
"What says Georgia—will you go?"
"Yes," she said, with a radiant smile.
"Hooray!" exclaimed Mr. Curtis; "Mrs. Wildair, you're a brick! Maybe Mr. Wildair won't be astonished some, if not more, and aleetledelighted! It's getting dark fast, and I ought to be off to the executive mansion; but I'll let etiquette go be hanged for once, and wait for you. You had better have tea in your own room, Mrs. W.; sha'n't I ring? It will take you two or three hours to dress, you know—it always does take a lady that long, I believe. Here, my man, supper for four up here; be spry now."
It was impossible to be serious and watch Curtis, as he flew round impetuously, asking a thousand questions in abreath about what they had seen abroad, and then interrupting them in the middle of the answer to tell them something about Richmond, that had not the slightest bearing on the matter.
In his excitement he found it impossible to sit still, but kept flying round the room, rubbing his hands in an ecstacy of delight, and laughing uproariously as he thought of the surprise in store for the young governor. During supper he monopolized the whole conversation himself, and kept the others in fits of laughter, while his look of innocent astonishment at their mirth would, as Captain Arlingford said, "make a horn-bug laugh."
After tea the gentlemen took themselves off to dress, and Georgia's maid, who had arrived, remained to superintend her mistress' toilet. Those two years of absence had restored the bright bloom to Georgia's dark face, but the old flashing light had left her dark eyes, and in its place was a sweetness, subdued, gentle, and far more lovely. The haughtily curling lips were tender and placid, the queenly brow calm and serene, the dark, beautiful face almost seraphic with its look of inward peace. Oh, far more sweet, and tender, and lovable was the Georgia of to-day than the haughty, fiery, passionate Georgia of other years! As she stood before the mirror, in her rich, showy robe of gold-colored satin, under rare old point lace, with diamonds flashing in rivers of light around her curving throat, flashing in her small ears, gleaming in her midnight hair, and glittering and scintillating like sparks of fire on her rounded arms and small dark fingers, she looked every inch a princess, a "queen of noble Nature's crowning."
And so thought the gentlemen as they entered, in full dress—in "glorious array," as Mr. Curtis pompously said—if one might judge by her brother's look of pride and pleasure, Captain Arlingford's glance of intense admiration, and Mr. Curtis' burst of rapture.
"Why, you're looking splendid, absolutely splendid, you know; something quite stunning, Mrs. Wildair! Ah! I should like to be as good-looking as you. I never saw you looking so well before. Now, did you, Randall?"
"Georgia is looking her best," said Mr. Randall, smiling.
"Looking her best! I guess so! It's astonishing how handsome women can make themselves when they choose. Now, I might try till I was black in the face, and still I would be the old two-and-sixpence at the end. I wish I knew the secret. Suppose we go now; we're behind time three quarters of an hour as it is. The carriage is waiting, Mrs. Wildair."
"I am quite at your service, Mr. Curtis," said Georgia, flinging a shawl over her shoulders, and trying to smile, but her heart was throbbing so rapidly that she leaned against the table for a moment, sick and faint.
Who, when about to meet a dear friend from whom she had been long separated, does not feel a sort of dread mingling with her pleasure, lest she should find him changed, altered, cold, different from what she had known him in other years?
So felt Georgia as she took her seat in the carriage and was whirled as rapidly as the crowded state of the streets would admit toward the executive mansion. Her color came and went, now that the crisis was at hand, and the loud beating of her heart could almost be heard, as she lay back among the cushions, trembling with excitement and conflicting emotions.
A gay scene the streets presented that night. Neverhad a governor received such an ovation as had this young demi-god of the dear public. Every house was illuminated from attic to basement; flags were flying; arches had been erected for him to pass under, as if it were the reception of a prince. Thousands of gayly dressed people thronged the pavements, bands were out playing triumphant marches, and an immense crowd congregated around the governor's house, watching the different carriages as they passed, bearing their freight of magnificently dressed ladies on their way to the ball. But not to behold them was the dense crowd waiting, but to catch a glimpse of the young governor when he should arrive.
As the carriage conveying our party approached the arched gate-way of the executive mansion it was stopped, blocked up by a crowd of other carriages. The people had pressed before, and it was in vain they tried to get on. Drivers swore, and shouted, and vociferated, the mob laughed and bandied jokes, gentlemen in commanding tones gave orders that were either unheard or impossible to be obeyed, and a perfect Babel of confusion reigned.
"Come, this won't do, you know," said Mr. Curtis, "we must get on somehow. Here, you fellows," he said, thrusting his head out of the window, "get out of the way, I want to pass. I'm the governor's secretary, and must get on."
A derisive laugh from a group near followed, and a voice in the crowd inquired anxiously whether his mother had many more like him, and also whether that venerable lady was aware that he was out.
Mr. Curtis showed symptoms of getting into a passion at this, but his voice was drowned in a cry from a band of loafers near, who shouted:
"We want to see the governor! You won't pass till we see the governor!"
There was a plain dark carriage right in front of them, and now the glass was let down, and a clear, commanding voice, that rang out above all the din, calmly said:
"I am the governor! Stand aside, my friends, and let me pass!"
That voice! Georgia half-sprang from her seat, and then fell back.
Such a cry as arose—such a mighty shout, at the voice of their favorite! The crowd swayed to and fro in their struggles to get near. The driver whipped up his horses, a passage was cleared, and carriage after carriage passed on and entered the crowded court-yard.
"Hurrah for Wildair! Hurrah for Wildair! Hurrah! Hurrah!Hurrahfor Wildair!" shouted the crowd, till the welkin rang.
"Hurrah for Richmond Wildair—theMan of the People!" exclaimed a loud voice, and instantly the cry was taken up, and "Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" rang out like the roar of the sea.
And now on the balcony, clearly revealed in the light of myriads of lamps, stood the kingly form of Richmond Wildair himself, his princely brow uncovered, his calm, commanding face looking down on them, as a king might on his subjects.
And then once again arose the mighty shout, "Hurrah for Wildair! Hurrah for Wildair! Hurrah for the Friend of the People!" until, hoarse with shouting, the swaying multitude relapsed into silence.
And then, clear, calm, and earnest, arose the commanding voice of their favorite, as he addressed them.
A dead silence fell on that great crowd the moment his first word was heard. Short, and well chosen, and to the point, was his speech; and hats flew off, and again and again the hoarse cheers of his listeners interrupted him. Having thanked them for the enthusiastic reception they had given him, he begged them to disperse for the present, and then, having bowed once more, he retired.
With three times three for the speaker they obeyed, and, save a few who remained to watch the brilliantly illuminated mansion and listen to the music of the band, the crowd soon dispersed through the thronged streets.
"There's popularity for you!" said Mr. Curtis, as with Georgia leaning on his arm he entered the brilliant ball-room, blazing with lights and crowded with splendidly attired ladies. "I should admire to see them cheering me that way. How would it sound, I wonder? Hurrah for Curtis! That's not bad, is it, Mrs. Wildair?"
She did not reply—she did not hear him. Her eyes were wandering through the glittering throng in search of one, the "bright, particular star" of the evening. Yes, there he was, at the upper end of the room, surrounded by a throng of the most distinguished there, bowing, and shaking hands, and smiling, and chatting with the ladies. She strove to calm herself and listen to what her companion was saying, but in vain, until the mention of Richmond's name attracted her attention.
"I won't bring you over among that crowd," he was saying; "I'll wait till he's a little disengaged. They'll begin dancing presently, and then the coast will be clear. Just see how everybody is looking at you and whispering to one another. I guess they would like to know who you arejust now. Ah! what would you give to know?" said Mr. Curtis, making a grimace at the crowd.
And now an audible whisper might have been heard among the throng:
"Who is she? oh, who is she?—that beautiful girl with Mr. Curtis. I never saw her before."
"Nor I. Nor I. Who can she be?" ran around the room. "Howdistingueshe is! how surpassingly beautiful! and how magnificently dressed! Oh, I must get an introduction. See, he is bringing her up now to present her to the governor. I'll ask him to introduce me. She is certainly destined to be the belle of the evening."
Meantime two or three quadrilles had formed, and the group surrounding the governor had thinned, and he was left as much alone as he was likely to be during the evening. Leaning against a marble pillar, he stood talking to a starred and ribboned foreigner, and when Curtis approached with Georgia, he was so engrossed with the topic they were discussing that he did not observe him until his voice fell on her ear.
"Mrs. Wildair, your excellency!" said Mr. Curtis, in the most emphatic of voices, standing right before him.
He started up, staggered back, grew deadly pale, and grasped the marble pillar for support.
Yes, there before him, radiant in her beauty, with serene brow and calm smile, stood his long-lost wife—face to face at last!
"Do not spurn me in my prayer,For this wand'ring ever longer, evermore,Hath overworn me,And I know not on what shoreI may rest from my despair."
"Do not spurn me in my prayer,For this wand'ring ever longer, evermore,Hath overworn me,And I know not on what shoreI may rest from my despair."
"Do not spurn me in my prayer,For this wand'ring ever longer, evermore,Hath overworn me,And I know not on what shoreI may rest from my despair."
Browning.
From his pale lips dropped one word:
rom his pale lips dropped one word:
"Georgia!"
"Dearest Richmond," she said, looking up in his face with her radiant eyes.
"Oh, Georgia, my wronged wife, can you ever forgive me?" he cried, passionately.
"I have nothing to forgive, my husband," she said, sweetly. "It is I who should be forgiven."
"Oh, Georgia, where have you been? Do I really see you, or do I dream? So often have I dreamed you were restored, and woke to find it a dream. Is this a delusion like the rest?"
"Shake hands, and see."
She held out hers with a smile, and he took it, and gazed into her face with a doubtful, troubled look.
"Yes, it is Georgia; it must be she; the same, yet so different. You never looked like this in the days gone past, Georgia."
"I have been new-born since," she said, with a serene smile. "You shall learn all soon, Richmond. Do you know I have come to stay now?"
"See here, Mr. Wildair," said Curtis, giving him a poke "don't you keep looking so; everybody's staring and whispering, and our friend here, Whiskerando," pointing to the starred foreigner, "looks as if he thought he had got into a lunatic asylum by mistake. You take Georgia—I mean Mrs. Wildair—off into that conservatory, for instance, where you can stare at her to your heart's content, and learn all the particulars since she cut her lucky—I mean since she ran off and left you in the lurch. Go; I know it will take you an hour, at least, to settle matters, and beg each other's pardon, and smoke the pipe of peace, and so on; and, meantime, as it is necessary the company should know who it is, I'll whisper it as a great secret into the ear of the first lady I meet, and get her to promise not to tell. There! vanish!"
Passing his hand across his eyes, as if to dispel a mist, Richmond offered her his arm and led her toward the conservatory, followed by the wondering eyes of the guests.
But Mr. Curtis had no need to tell. Miss Harper was there, and recognized her with a suppressed shriek; and in an instant after, like wild-fire, it ran through the room that this dark, beautiful stranger was the mysterious wife of Mr. Wildair.
Dancing was no longer thought of. Everybody flocked around Mr. Curtis, and such an avalanche of questions as was showered upon him human ears never listened to before. Had he possessed a thousand tongues he could hardly have answered one-half. But he did not try to answer them. Mr. Dick Curtis was a sensible young man, and never attempted impossibilities; so he only folded his arms and looked around him complacently, listening with the profoundest attention to all, but answering never a word; until,at last, when quite tired and breathless, there was a pause, he lifted up his voice and spoke:
"Ladies and gentlemen: On the present interesting and facetious occasion allow me to say—(ahem!)—to say——"
[Here a voice in the crowd, that of Mr. Henry Gleason, if you remember that young gentleman, reader, interrupted with, "Youhavesaid it! Push along, old boy!"]
"To say," pursued Mr. Curtis, casting a withering glance at the speaker, "as that very polite youth, whoever he may be, has falsely informed you I have already said, that Mr. Wildair, his excellency," said Mr. Curtis, with a dignified wave of his hand, "has commissioned me to say—I beg your pardon, sir; you're standing on that lady's dress—to say that the lady you beheld this evening is his wife, who has been indulging in a little trip to Europe with his—(ahem!)—full approbation, while he was seeing after the great, glorious, and immortal Union in Washington, and scattering political oats—to use a figure of speech—before that tremendous bird, the American eagle; and the lady arriving quite promiscuously, if I may be allowed so strong an expression, he was slightly surprised to see her—(ahem!)—as you all perceived, and has just gone to have a little friendly chat with her over family matters and kitchen cabinet affairs generally. And so, ladies and gentlemen," concluded Mr. Curtis, laying his kid glove on his heart and bowing gracefully, "I hope his temporary absence will not plunge you intotoodeep affliction, or cause you to feel too dreadfully cut up, but that you will set seriously to work and enjoy yourselves, while I represent his excellency, and during his absence receive your homage. And to conclude, in the words of Demosthenes, the great Latin poet, whobeautifully observes, 'E Pluribus Unum,' a remark which I hope none of you will consider personal, for I solemnly assure you it was not meant to be, as I haven't the remotest idea of what it means. If any further particulars are needed," said Mr. Curtis, drawing himself up, and casting another glance of withering scorn upon Mr. Henry Gleason, "I must refer you to the young gentleman who was good enough to interrupt me, and who stands there now, a mark for the finger of scorn to poke fun at. Ladies and gentleman, I have spoken! Long may it wave."
And with this last "neat and appropriate" quotation, Mr. Curtis bowed and blushingly retired, leaving his audience in convulsions of laughter, for his unspeakably droll look and solemn tone no pen can describe. It had the good effect, however, of diverting their attention from Mr. Wildair and his wife for the present; and Mr. Curtis the center of a laughing group, while his own face maintained its expression of most doleful gravity, became for the time being the lion of the hour. With edifying meekness did Mr. Curtis stand, "his blushing honors thick upon him," until getting rather tired of it, he made a signal to the band to strike up, and selecting Miss Arlingford for his partner, a quadrille was formed and dancing commenced with real earnestness, and the business of the evening might be said to have begun.
But when an hour passed and the lady whoseentreehad created such a sensation did not appear, impatient glances began to be cast toward the conservatory, and petulant whispers to circulate, and pouting lips wondered why they did not come. In vain Mr. Curtis was "funny;" his popularity was waning as fast as it had risen, and it was all a waste of ammunition. His jokes were unattendedto, his puns were unlaughed at, his most dolorous looks had no effect on the risibles of any, except those who had averykeen sense of the ludicrous. At last, in disgust at the fickleness of public favor, he got dignified and imposing, andthathad the effect of making sundry compressed lips smile right out loud, but it is uncertain whether even this would have lasted any time had not, suddenly, Richmond Wildair appeared with his wife leaning on his arm.
In an instant a profound hush of expectation reigned throughout the room; the music instantaneously stopped; the dancers one and all paused, and every eye was bent upon them. A low, respectful murmur of admiration ran round the room at her queen-like beauty, but it lasted only an instant, and all was again still.
"My friends," said the clear, powerful voice that a short time before had dispersed the surging crowd, "this lady, as you are all probably aware, is my wife. There is not one here who has not heard a thousand vague, floating rumors why we were separated, and now I feel it necessary to say a few words of explanation, and silence the tongue of scandal forever. A misunderstanding, slight and unimportant at first, such as will arise at times in all families, was the cause. No blame, not the faintest shadow of blame, attaches to this lady; if blame there be, it solely belongs to me. A mutual explanation and a perfect reconciliation have ensued, and if any one for the future shall canvass the motives which caused us for a brief time to part, I will consider that person my willful enemy. Ladies and gentlemen, let this pleasant but unexpected incident not interfere with the amusements of the evening, and as example is better than precept, I shall join you. Come, Georgia."
He motioned to the musicians, and the dancers again formed, with Mr. and Mrs. Wildair at their head. And then, when the quadrille was ended, all came flocking round to be presented to his beautiful wife, whose Juno-like beauty and grace was the theme of every tongue. And for the remainder of the evening "all went merry as a marriage bell." If anything were wanting to addeclatto the inauguration of the new governor this supplied it, and every one grew perfectly enthusiastic about the gifted young statesman and his beautiful wife. So romantic and mysterious as it all was, "just like something in a play or a novel," as Mr. Curtis said, that the excitement it created was perfectly unheard of, and when the ball broke up and the company dispersed, in the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal," they even forgot they were sleepy and tired, and talked away of the unexpecteddenouement, and electrified their friends when they got home with the wonderful news.
"And now, Georgia," said Richmond, "tell me what has changed you so. I can scarcely tell how it is, but it seems as if you were the Georgia I once knew etherealized—the spiritual essence of Georgia Darrell; as if you had cast off a slough and stepped forth radiant, serene, seraphic."
"Flatterer!" said Georgia, smiling, yet serious, too. "But oh, Richmond! I fear you will be angry when I tell you."
"Angry at anything that has made you just whatIwanted, just whatItried to make you and failed! Not I, Georgia. Tell me what elixir of happiness and inward joy have you found."
"One without price, and yet one free to all—to the king and to the beggar alike."
"And yet hitherto it has been beyond my reach. Tell me what it is, sweet wife, that I may drink and live, too."
"Oh, Richmond, if you would—if youonlywould!" she said, catching her breath.
"Why should I not? Name it, Georgia."
"It is calledFaith, Richmond."
He looked up reverentially, and his face was very grave.
"I think I know; and yet, hitherto it has been only a word to me. I have seen it personified in two—in your little friend Emily, and in—"
He paused and his face worked.
"In whom, Richmond?"
"In Charley. Oh, Charley! oh, my brother!" he cried, in passionate tones as he began pacing rapidly up and down.
The irrepressible cry reminded Georgia of that other day long ago when he had received the letter in which he learned all. At the mention of that name, Georgia too rose, pale and trembling, from her seat.
"And have you seen him? Oh, Richmond! have you seen him?"
"Yes," he said, hoarsely.
"And where is he? Richmond—oh, Richmond, do not look so! Charley, your brother—where is he, Richmond?"
"In heaven, Georgia."
She fell back in her seat, and covered her face with her hands.
"Dead! Oh, Charley! and I not there!" she cried, while her tears fell fast.
"Weep not, Georgia," said Richmond, gently removing her hands; "his death was the death of the just. May my last end be like unto his."
But still she wept hot, gushing tears that would not bestayed—tears that fell, not wildly, but that came from the heart, and were sanctified to the memory of the early dead. At last—
"Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord," she softly murmured, lifting her pale face; "God be merciful to his soul! Dear Charley!"
"He died like a saint, Georgia; he expired like a child falling asleep in his mother's arms, with a smile on his lips; death had no terror for him."
"Were you with him, Richmond?"
"Yes—thank God! Oh, Georgia, I had hardened my heart against him, and yet when I would pass him on the street—I did often pass him, Georgia—every feeling in my heart would be stirred, and no words can tell how I would yearn for him, my own, my only brother. I saw he was dying day by day, and yet pride—that curse, that bane that has dogged me like an evil spirit from childhood up—would not let me step over the barrier I myself had raised, and sue for forgiveness. At last came the news that he was sick unto death, and then I could hold out no longer. I went, Georgia—went in time to hear him forgive me, and to see him die. Oh, Georgia, I shall never forget it—never! Oh, Charley, my gay, thoughtless, light-hearted brother! to think you should be lying in that far-off church-yard, cold and dead."
"Grieve not, my husband," said Georgia, earnestly, as she laid her hand on his, "but look forward to a happy meeting in heaven. And now of others—your mother, Richmond?"
"Is dead, too. Oh, Georgia, she wronged you. Can you ever forgive her?"
"Yes, as freely and fully as I hope to be forgiven. May she rest in peace! And your cousin, Richmond."
She smiled slightly, and Richmond met her bright glance with a sort of honest shame.
"I feel like going down on my knees to you, Georgia, whenthatname is mentioned. She is well—or was when I saw her last—and safely married."
"Indeed! To whom, pray?"
Richmond laughed.
"Do you remember Mr. Lester, of foppish memory, who made one of that party to Richmond House two years ago—'Aw, weally such a boah'"—and Richmond mimicked him to perfection.
"What a shame!" said Georgia, laughing; "of course I remember him. Is it possible she has married that little dandy?"
"That she has, and a precious life she leads him, if all Curtis says be true, for I never go there myself. The gray mare in that stable is decidedly the better horse."
"So I should imagine. But where is Miss Reid? Mr. Lester used to be tender in that quarter, if I remember right."
"Oh, yes: but she married Gleason—Lieutenant Gleason, you know. That gallant officer proposed, and Miss Reid found it too much trouble to refuse, so she became Mrs. Gleason the second."
"Well, I wish them joy, all. How strangely things turn out in this world, don't they, Richmond?"
"Why, yes," said Richmond, laughingly, "rather so—your finding that unexpected brother, for instance. But you don't ask for your old friends in Burnfield—have you forgotten them, Georgia?"
"Forgotten them! Oh, Richmond."
"Well, don't look so reproachfully; you know I didn't mean it. You want to go and see them, I suppose?"
"Oh, indeed I do. Dear Miss Jerusha, and dear little Emily, and——"
"Dear little Betsey Periwinkle," interposed Richmond.
"Yes; just so," said Georgia, resolutely; "a really good friend of mine was Betsey, and very intimate we were. Yes, I want to see them all; when will you take me there, Richmond?"
"In one week from this, Georgia; I cannot get away before; and then, with your brother, we will make a pilgrimage to Burnfield, and you can look once more at the 'auld hoose at hame.' You will have to go down on your knees and intercede for me with Miss Jerusha, or she will never forgive me for the way I behaved to her darling."
"Oh, how I long to go back there again! Now that the time is near, I feel twice as impatient as I did before. A whole week! I wonder if it will ever pass."
But it did pass, and another, too, and busy weeks they were with the governor and his lady. The nine days' wonder of her appearance had scarcely yet passed away when Mr. and Mrs. Wildair and Mr. Randall left B——, en route for the little "one-horse" town of Burnfield.
A fairer day never came out of the sky than the one that heralded Georgia's return to Burnfield—dear old Burnfield! fairer in her eyes than Florence, the beautiful, brighter than Rome, the imperial, for her home was there. Nothing was changed. There stood Richmond House, the pride and boast of the town still, there was the pleasant home of Emily Murray, there was the old school-house where her stormy girlhood had been spent.
As she gazed, she lay back amid the cushions of the carriage and put her hand before her face, that they might not see how deeply she was moved. Her brother looked out with mingled interest and curiosity, and with a dim recollection of the few wretched days and nights he had passed here. Richmond looked on the familiar objects with mingled gladness and remorse, and recollected, with many strange emotions, that the last time he had entered Burnfield it had been with his bride, as they returned from their brief city tour. Only two years since then, and what changes had taken place! Mr. Dick Curtis, who had insisted on making one of their party, and positively refused to take no for an answer, was of them all the only one perfectly unmoved, and sat looking at the familiar landmarks as they drove past, with a face of grave approval.
"Fine place, sir—fine place," said Mr. Curtis, with a wave of his hand; "considerable of a town is Burnfield, eh, Randall? Not equal to Paris, you know, or Lapland, or the great St. Bernard, or any of the other tremendous cities, but a pretty tall place considering, and a real, genuine Yankee town. And then the produce—I defy the world to raise such girls, and boys, and pumpkins as they do in Burnfield. I defy 'em to do it, sir! Look at that young lady there, in the pink sun-bonnet and red cheeks, round as a cask of lager beer, and sweet as a cart-load of summer cherries—there's a specimen of American ingenuity for you! Could they surpass that in Constantinople or the city of Dublin, or any other distant or impossible region? No, sir; they couldn't. I defy 'em to do it, sir! Yes, I repeat it," said Mr. Curtis, striking his knee with his hand, and glaring round ferociously at the company generally, "I defy 'em to do it, sir."
Mr. Curtis was as fierce as an African lion, so everybody immediately settled down and looked serious.
"The notion," said Mr. Curtis, folding his arms and surveying his three companions in haughty disgust, "that they can raise as good-looking people in any other quarter of the world as they can in these here blessed United States. Look at me now," said Mr. Curtis, drawing himself up till his suspenders snapped, "I'ma specimen! Mr. Randall, my young friend, you have traveled, you have crossed that small pond, the Atlantic, and have become personally acquainted with all the great guns of Europe, from the Hottentots of Portugal to the people of 'that beautiful city called Cork,' and now I ask you as an enlightened citizen and fellow sinner, did you ever, in all your wanderings, clap your two eyes on a better-looking young man than the individual now addressing you? Don't answer hastily—take time for reflection. You know you didn't—you know you didn't; the thing's impossible."
"Mr. Curtis must be the best judge of his own surpassing beauty," said Mr. Randall, politely; "if he will hold me excused, I would rather not give an opinion on the subject."
"Welcome to Richmond House," said Mr. Wildair, as the carriage rolled up the avenue. "And now, gentlemen, I will leave you here for the present, while Mrs. Wildair goes to see her former guardian, Miss Jerusha Skamp."
"Perhaps I had better go alone, Richmond," said Georgia, hesitatingly. "Our first meeting——"
"Had better be unwitnessed; that is true enough," said Richmond. "Well, John will drive you down. Shall I call for you in person?"
"If Miss Jerusha consents to forgive you, I shall sendfor you, if Fly is still in the land of the living," said Georgia, smiling. "Good-by, gentlemen;" and kissing her hand, and laughing at Mr. Curtis, who nearly turned a somerset in his profound genuflexion, she was whirled away toward the cottage.
Yes, there it stood still, the same old brown, low-roofed little homestead. How different was this visit to it to what had been her last. There was her own little room under the roof, and there, in the broad window-sill, basking in the broader sunshine, lay Betsey Periwinkle and one of her numerous family, lazily blinking their sleepy eyes.
Georgia's heart beat fast as she leaped out of the carriage and walked slowly toward the house. Gathering the sweeping folds of her purple satin dress in one hand, she rapped timidly, faltering at the door.
It was opened by Fly—yes, it was Fly, no doubt about it—who opened her eyes and jumped back with a screech when she saw who it was.
"Hush, Fly! How do you do?" said Georgia, tapping her black cheek. "Is Miss Jerusha in?"
But Fly, in her astonishment and consternation, was incapable of speech; and smiling at her stunned look, Georgia swept past and entered the "best room."
There it was, still unchanged, and there, in her rocking-chair in the chimney-corner, knitting away, sat Miss Jerusha, unchanged, too. Old Father Time seemed to have no power over her iron frame. She did not hear Georgia's noiseless entrance, and it was only when a bright vision in glittering robes of silk and velvet, with dark tearful eyes and sadly smiling lips, knelt at her feet, and two white youthful arms, with gold bracelets flashing thereon, encircled her waist, and a sweet, vibrating voice softlymurmured, "Dear, dear, Miss Jerusha," that she looked up.
Looked up, with a wild cry, and half arose, then fell back in her seat, and flinging her arms round her neck, fell on her shoulder with one loud passionate cry of "Georgia! Georgia!"