One pleasant afternoon Adelaide and I started on a walk. We must go through the crooked length of Norfolk Street, till we reached the outskirts of Belem, and its low fields not yet green; that was the fashionable promenade, she said. After the two o'clock dinner, Belem walked. All her acquaintances seemed to be in the street, so many bows were given and returned with ceremony. Nothing familiar was attempted, nothing beyond the courtliness of an artificial smile.
Returning, we met Desmond with a lady, and a series of bows took place. Desmond held his hat in his hand till we had passed; his expression varied so much from what it was when I saw him last, at the breakfast table, he being in a desperate humor then, that it served me for mental comment for some minutes.
"That is Miss Brewster," said Adelaide. "She is an heiress, and fancies Desmond's attentions: she will not marry him, though."
"Is every woman in Belem an heiress?"
"Those we talk about are, and every man is a fortune-hunter. Money marries money; those who have none do not marry. Those who wait hope. But the great fortunes of Belem are divided; the race of millionaires is decaying."
"Is that Ann yonder?"
"I think so, from that bent bonnet."
It proved to be Ann, who went by us with the universal bow and grimace, sacrificing to the public spirit with her fine manners. She turned soon, however, and overtook us, proposing to make a detour to Drummond Street, where an intimate family friend, "Old Hepburn," lived, so that the prospect of our going to tea with her might be made probable by her catching a passing glimpse of us; at this time she must be at the window with her Voltaire, or her Rousseau. The proposition was accepted, and we soon came near the house, which stood behind a row of large trees, and looked very dismal, with three-fourths of its windows barred with board shutters.
"Walk slow," Ann entreated. "I see her blinking at us. She has not shed her satin pelisse yet."
Before we got beyond it a dirty little girl came out of the gate, in a pair of huge shoes and a canvas apron, which covered her, to call us back. Mrs. Hepburn had seen us, and wished us to come in, wanting to know who Miss Adelaide had with her, and to talk with her. She ran back, reappearing again at the door, out of breath, and minus a shoe. As we entered a small parlor, an old lady in a black dress, with a deep cape, held out her withered hand, without rising from her straight-backed arm-chair, smiling at us, but shaking her head furiously at the small girl, who lingered in the door.
"Mari, Mari," she called, but no Mari came, and the small girl took our shawls, for Mrs. Hepburn said we must stay, now that she had inveigled us inside her doors. Ann mimicked her at her back, but to her face behaved servilely. The name of Morgeson belonged to the early historical time of New England, Mrs. Hepburn informed me. I never knew it; but bowed, as if not ignorant. Old Mari must be consulted respecting the sweetmeats, and she went after her.
"What an old mouser it is!" said Ann. "What unexpected ways she has!She scours Belem in her velvet shoes, to find out everybody's history.Don't you smell buttered toast?"
"Your father is getting the best of the gout," said Mrs. Hepburn,returning. "How is Desmond? He may be the wickedest of you all, butI like him the best. I shall not throw away praise of him on you,Adelaide." And she looked at me.
"He bows well," I said.
"He resembles his mother, who was a great beauty. Mr. Somers was handsome, too. I was at a ball at Governor Flam's thirty years ago. Your mother was barely fifteen, then, Adelaide; she was just married, and opened the ball."
She examined me all the while, with a pair of small, round eyes, from which the color had faded, but which were capable of reading me.
Tea was served by candlelight, on a small table. Mrs. Hepburn kept her eyes on everything, talking volubly, and pulled the small, girl's ears, or pushed her by the shoulder, with faith that we were not observing her. The toast was well buttered, the sweetmeats were delicious, and the cake was heavenly, as Ann said. Mrs. Hepburn ate little, but told us a great deal about marriages in prospect and incomes which waxed or waned in consequence. When tea was over, she said to the small girl who removed the tea things, "On your life taste not of the cake or the sweetmeats; and bring me two sticks of wood, you huzzy." She arranged the sticks on a decaying fire, inside a high brass fender, pulled up a stand near the hearth, lighted two candles, and placed on it a pack of cards.
"Some one may come, so that we can play."
Meantime she dozed upright, walking, talking, and dozing again, like a crafty old parrot.
"She has a great deal of money saved," Ann whispered behind a book."She is over seventy. Oh, she is opening her puss eyes!"
Adelaide mused, after her fashion, on the slippery hair-cloth sofa, looking at the dim fire, and I surveyed the room. Its aspect attracted me, though it was precise and stiff. An ugly Turkey carpet covered the floor; a sideboard was against the wall, with a pair of silver pitchers on it, and two tall vases, filled with artificial flowers, under glass shades. Old portraits hung over it. Upon one I fixed my attention.
"That is the portrait of Count Rumford," Mrs. Hepburn said.
"Can't we see the letters?" begged Ann. "And wont you show us your trinkets? It is three or four years since we looked them over."
"Yes," she answered, good-humoredly; "ring the bell."
An old woman answered it, to whom Mrs. Hepburn said, in a friendly voice, "The box in my desk." Adelaide and Ann said, "How do you do, Mari?" When she brought the box, Mrs. Hepburn unlocked it, and produced some yellow letters, which we looked over, picking out here and there bits of Parisian gossip, many, many years old. They were directed to Cavendish Hepburn, by his friend, the original of the portrait. But the letters were soon laid aside, and we examined the contents of the box. Old brooches, miniatures painted on ivory, silhouettes, hair rings, necklaces, ear-rings, chains, and finger-rings.
"Did you wear this?" asked Ann with a longing voice, slipping an immense sapphire ring on her forefinger.
"In Mr. Hepburn's day," she answered, taking up a small case, which she unfastened and gave me. It contained a peculiar pair of ear-rings, and a brooch of aqua-marina stones, in a setting perforated like a net.
"They suit you. Will you accept such an old-fashioned ornament? Put the rings in; here Ann, fasten them."
Ann glared at her in astonishment, and then at me, for the reason which had prompted so unexpected a gift.
"Is it possible that I am to have them? Why do you give them to me?They are beautiful," I replied.
"They came from Europe long ago," she said. "And they happen to suit you."
'Sabrina fair,Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,In twisted braids of lilies knittingThe loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.'"
"Those lines make me forgive Paradise Lost," said Adelaide.
"They are very long, these ear-rings," Ann remarked.
I put the brooch in the knot of ribbon I wore; Mrs. Hepburn joggled the white satin bows of her cap in approbation.
The knocker resounded. "There is our partner," she cried.
"It must be late, ma'am," said Adelaide; "and I suspect it is some one for us. You know we never venture on impromptu visits, except to you, and our people know where to send."
"Late or not, you shall stay for a game," she said, as Ben came in, hat in hand, declaring he had been scouting for us since dark. Mrs. Hepburn snuffed the candles, and rang the bell. The small girl, with a perturbed air, like one hurried out of a nap, brought in a waiter, which she placed on the sideboard.
"Get to bed," Mrs. Hepburn loudly whispered, looking over the waiter, and taking from it a silver porringer, she put it inside the fender, and then shuffled the cards.
"Now, Ann, you may sit beside me and learn."
"If it is whist, mum, I know it. I played every afternoon at Hampton last summer, and we spoiled a nice polished table, we scratched it so with our nails, picking up the cards."
"Young people do too much, nowadays."
I was in the shadow of the sideboard; Ben stood against it.
"When have you played whist, Cassandra?" he asked in a low voice. "Do you remember?"
"Is my name Cassandra?"
"Have you forgotten that, too?"
"I remember the rain."
"It is not October, yet."
"And the yellow leaves do not stick to the panes. Would you like to see Helen?"
"Come, play with me, Ben," called Mrs. Hepburn.
"Ann, try your skill," I entreated, "and let me off."
"She can try," Mrs. Hepburn said sharply. "Don't you like games? I should have said you were by nature a bold gamester." She dealt the cards rapidly, and was soon absorbed in the game, though she quarreled with Ann occasionally, and knocked over the candlestick once. Adelaide played heroically, and was praised, though I knew she hated play.
Two hours passed before we were released. The fire went out, the candles burnt low, and whatever the contents of the silver porringer, they had long been cold. When Mrs. Hepburn saw us determined to go, she sent us to the sideboard for some refreshment. "My caudle is cold," taking off the cover of the porringer. "Why, Mari, what is this?" she said, as the woman made a noiseless entrance with a bowl of hot caudle.
"I knew how it would be," she answered, putting it into the hands of her mistress.
"I am a desperate old rake, you mean, Mari. There, take your virtue off, you appall me."
She poured the caudle into small silver tumblers, and gave them to us. "The Bequest of a Friend" was engraved on them. Her fingers were like ice, and her head shook with fatigue; but her voice was sprightly and her smile bright. Ann ate a good deal of sponge cake, and omitted the caudle, but I drank mine to the memory of the donor of the cup.
"You know that sherry, Ben," and Mrs. Hepburn nodded him toward a decanter. He put his hand on it, and took it away. "None to-night," he said. Mari came with our shawls, and we hastened away, hearing her shoot the bolt of the door behind us. Ben drew my arm in his, and the girls walked rapidly before us. It was a white, hazy night, and the moon was wallowing in clouds.
"Let us walk off the flavor of Hep's cards," said Adelaide, "and go toWolf's Point."
"Do you wish to go?" he asked me.
"Yes."
Ann skipped. A nocturnal excursion suited her exactly.
"You are not to have the toothache to-morrow, or pretend to be lame," said Adelaide.
"Not another hiss, Adder.En avant!"
We passed down Norfolk Street, now dark and silent, and reached our house. A light was burning in a room in the third story, and a window was open. Desmond sat by it, his arms folded across his chest, smoking, and contemplating some object beyond our view. Ann derisively apostrophized him, under her breath, while Ben unlocked the court gate and went in after Rash, who came out quietly, and we proceeded. In looking behind me, I stumbled.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Are you afraid?"
"Yes."
"Of what?"
"The Prince of Darkness."
"The devil lives a little behind us."
"In you, too, then?"
"In Rash. Look at him; he is bigger than Faust's dog, jumps higher, and is blacker. You can't hear the least sound from him as he gambols with his familiar."
We left the last regular street on that side of the city, and entered a road, bordered by trees and bushes, which hid the country from us. We crept through a gap in it, crossed two or three spongy fields, and ascended a hill, reaching an abrupt edge of the rocks, over whose earthy crest we walked. Below it I saw a strip of the sea, hemmed in on all sides, for the light was too vague for me to see its narrow outlet. It looked milky, misty, and uncertain; the predominant shores stifled its voice, if it ever had one. Adelaide and Ann crouched over the edge of the rock, reciting, in a chanting tone, from a poem beginning:
"The river of thy thoughts must keepits solemn course too still and deepFor idle eyes to see."
Their false intonation of voice and the wordy spirit of the poem convinced me that poetry with them was an artificial taste. I turned away. The dark earth and the rolling sky were better. Ben followed.
"I hope Veronica's letter will come to-morrow," he said with a groan.
"Veronica! Why Veronica?"
"Don't torment me."
"She writes letters seldom."
"I have written her."
"She has never written me."
"It might be the means of revealing you to each other to do so."
"Ben, your native air is deleterious."
"You laugh. I feel what you say. I do not attempt to play the missionary at home, for my field is not here."
"You were wise not to bring Veronica, I see already."
"She would see what I hate myself for."
"One may venture farther with a friend than a lover."
"I thought thatyoumight understand the results of my associations.Curse them all! Come, girls, we must go back."
I took a cold that night. Belem was damp always, but its midnight damp was worse than any other. Mrs. Somers sent me medicine. Adelaide asked me, with an air of contemplation, what made me sick, and felt her own pulse. Ann criticised my nightgown ruffles, and accused me of wearing imitation lace; but nursing was her forte, and she stayed by me, annoying me by a frequent beating up of my pillow, and the bringing in of bowls of strange mixtures for me to swallow, which she persuaded the cook to make and her father to taste.
Before I left my room, Mrs. Somers came to see me.
"You are about well, I hear," she said, in a cold voice.
I felt as if I had been shamming sickness.
"I thought you were in remarkable health, your frame is so large."
Adelaide was there, and answered for me. "Youaredelicate. It must be because you do not take care of yourself."
"Wolf's Point to be avoided, perhaps!"
"I have walked to Wolf's Point for fifteen years, night and day, many times."
"Mr. Munster's man left this note for you," her mother said, handing it to her.
She read an invitation from Miss Munster, a cousin, to a small party.
"You will not be able to go," Mrs. Somers remarked to me.
"You will go," Adelaide said; "it is an attention to you altogether."
She never replied to her mother, never asked her any questions, so that talking between them was a one-sided affair.
"Let us go out shopping, Adelaide; I want some lace to wear," I begged.
Mrs. Somers looked into her drawers, out of which Adelaide had thrust her finery, and found mine, but said nothing.
"We are going to a party, Ann. Thanks to your messes and your nursing," as I passed her in the hall.
"Where is your evening dress?"
"Pinned in a napkin—like my talent."
"Old Cousin Munster, the pirate, who made his money in the opium trade, has good things in his house. I suppose," with a coquettish air, "that you will see Ned Munster; hewouldwalk to the door with me to-day. He wishes me out, I know."
We consumed that evening in talking of dress. Adelaide showed me her camel's-hair scarfs which Desmond had brought, and her dresses. Ann tried them all on, walking up and down, and standing tiptoe before the glass, while I trimmed a handkerchief with the lace I had purchased. I unfolded my dress after they were gone, with a dubious mind. It was a heavy white silk, with a blue satin stripe. It might be too old-fashioned, for it belonged to mother, who would never wear it. The sleeves were puffed with bands of blue velvet, and the waist was covered with a berthé of the same. It must do, however, for I had no other.
We were to go at nine. Adelaide came to my room dressed, and with her hair arranged exactly like mine. She looked well, in spite of her Mongolic face.
"Pa wants to see us in his room; he has gone to bed."
"Wait a moment," I begged. I took my hair down, unbraided it, brushed it out of curl as much as I could, twisted it into a loose mass, through which I stuck pins enough to hold it, bound a narrow fillet of red velvet round my head, and ran after her.
"That is much better," she said; "you are entirely changed." Desmond was there, in his usual careless dress, hanging over the footboard of the bed, and Ann was huddled on the outside. Mrs. Somers was reading.
"Pa," said Ann, "just think of Old Hepburn's giving her a pair of lovely ear-rings."
"Did she? Where are they?" asked Mrs. Somers.
"I am not surprised," said Mr. Somers. "Mrs. Hepburn knows where to bestow. Why not wear them?"
"I'll get them," said Ann.
Mr. Somers continued his compliments. He thought there was a pleasing contrast between Adelaide and myself, referred to Diana, mentioned that my hair was remarkably thick, and proceeded with a dissertation on the growth and decay of the hair, when she returned with the ear-rings.
"It is too dark here," she said.
Desmond, who had remained silent, took the candle, which Mrs. Somers was reading by, and held it for Ann, close to my face. The operation was over, but the candle was not taken away till Mrs. Somers asked for it sharply.
"I dare say," murmured Mr. Somers, who was growing drowsy, "that Mrs. Hepburn wore them some night, when she went to John Munster's, forty years ago, and now you wear them to the son's. How things come round!"
The Munsters' man opened the door for us.
The rooms were full. "Very glad," said Mr., Mrs., and Miss Munster, and amid a loud buzz we fell back into obscurity. Adelaide joined a group, who were talking at the top of their voices, with most hilarious countenances.
"They pretend to have a Murillo here, let us go and find it," saidBen.
It was in a small room. While we looked at a dark-haired, handsome woman, standing on brown clouds, with hands so fat that every finger stood apart, Miss Munster brought up a young gentleman with the Munster cast of countenance.
"My brother begs an introduction, Miss Morgeson."
Ben retired, and Mr. Munster began to talk volubly, with wandering eyes, repeating words he was in danger of forgetting. No remarks were required from me. At the proper moment he asked me to make the tour of the rooms, and offered his arm. As we were crossing the hall, I saw Desmond, hat in hand, and in faultless evening dress, bowing to Miss Munster.
"Your Cousin Desmond, and mine, is a fine-looking man, is he not? Let us speak to him."
I drew back. "I'll not interrupt hisdevoir."
He bowed submissively.
"My cousin Desmond," I thought; "let me examine this beauty." He was handsomer than Ben, his complexion darker, and his hair black. There was a flush across his cheek-bones, as if he had once blushed, and the blush had settled. The color of his eyes I could not determine. As if to resolve my doubt, he came toward us; they were a deep violet, and the lids were fringed with long black lashes. I speculated on something animal in those eyes. He stood beside me, and twisted his heavy mustache.
"What a pretty boudoir this is," I said, backing into a little room behind us.
"Ned," he said abruptly, "you must resign Miss Morgeson; I am here to see her."
"Of course," Ned answered; "I relinquish."
Before a word was spoken between us, Mrs. Munster touched Desmond on the shoulder, and told him that he must come with her, to be introduced to Count Montholon.
"Bring him here, please."
"Tyrant," she answered playfully, "the Count shall come."
He brought a chair. "Take this; you are pale. You have been ill." Bringing another, he seated himself before me and fanned himself with his hat.
Mrs. Munster came back with the Count, an elderly man, and Desmond rose to meet him, keeping his hand on the back of his chair. They spoke French. The freedom of their conversation precluded the idea of my understanding it. The Count made a remark about me. Desmond replied, glancing at me, and both pulled their mustaches. The Count was called away soon, and Desmond resumed his chair.
"I understood you," I said.
"The deuce you did."
He placed his hat over a vase of flowers, which tipping over, he leisurely righted, and bending toward me, said:
"It was in battle."
"Yes."
"And women like you, pure, with no vice of blood, sometimes are tempted, struggle, and suffer."
His words, still more his voice, made we wince.
"Even drawn battles bring their scars," I replied.
"Convince me beyond all doubt that a woman can reason with her impulses, or even fathom them, and I will be in your debt."
"Maybe—but Ben is coming."
He looked at me strangely.
"You must find this very dull, Cassandra," said Ben, joining us.
"Cassandra," said Desmond, "are you bored?"
The accent with which he spoke my name set my pulses striking like a clock. I got up mechanically, as Ben directed.
"They are going to supper. There's game. Des. Munster told me to take the northeast corner of the table."
"I shall take the southwest, then," he replied, nodding to a tall gentleman who passed with Adelaide. When we left him, he was observing a carved oak chair, in occult sympathy probably with the grain of the wood. Nature strikes us withherphenomena at times when other resources are not at hand.
We were compelled to wait at the door of the supper-room, the jam was so great.
"What fairy story do you like best?" asked Ben
"I know which you like."
"Well?"
"Bluebeard. You have an affinity with Sister Ann in the tower."
"Do you think I see nothing 'but the sun which makes a dust and the grass which looks green?' I believe you like Bluebeard, too."
That was a great joke, at which we both laughed.
When I saw Desmond again, he was surrounded by men, the French Count among them, drinking champagne. He held a bottle, and was talking fast. The others were laughing. His listless, morose expression had disappeared; in the place of a brutal-tempered, selfish, bored man, I saw a brilliant, jovial gentleman. Which was the real man?
"Finish your jelly," said Ben.
"I prefer looking at your brother."
"Leave my brother alone."
"You see nothing but 'the sun which makes a dust, and the grass which looks green.'"
Miss Munster hoped I was cared for. How gay Desmond was! she had not seen such a look in his face in a long time. And how strongly he was marked with the family traits.
"How am I marked, May?" asked Ben.
"Oh, we know worse eccentrics than you are. What are you up to now?You are not as frank as Desmond."
He laughed as he looked at me, and then Adelaide called to us that it was time to leave.
We were among the last; the carriage was waiting. We made our bows to Mrs. Munster, who complained of not having seen more of us. "You are a favorite of Mrs. Hepburn's, Miss Morgeson, I am told. She is a remarkable woman, has great powers." I mentioned my one interview with her. Guests were going upstairs with smiles, and coming down without, released from their company manners. We rode home in silence, except that Adelaide yawned fearfully, and then we toiled up the long stairs, separating with a tired, "good-night."
I extinguished my candle by dropping my shawl upon it, and groped in vain for matches over the tops of table and shelf.
"To bed in the dark, then," I said, pulling off my gloves and the band, from my head, for I felt a tightness in it, and pulled out the hairpins. But a desire to look in the glass overcame me. I felt unacquainted with myself, and must see what my aspect indicated just then.
I crept downstairs, to the dining-room, passed my hands over the sideboard, the mantel shelf, and took the round of the dinner-table, but found nothing to light my candle with.
"The fire may not be out in the parlor," I thought; "it can be lighted there." I ran against the hatstand in the hall, knocking a cane down, which fell with a loud noise. The parlor door was ajar; the fire was not out, and Desmond was before it, watching its decay.
"What is it?" he asked.
"The candle," I stammered, confused with the necessity of staying to have it lighted, and the propriety of retreating in the dark.
"Shall I light it?"
I stepped a little further inside the door and gave it to him. He grew warm with thrusting it between the bars of the grate, and I grew chilly. Shivering, and with chattering teeth, I made out to say, "A piece of paper would do it." Raising his head hastily, it came crash against the edge of the marble shelf. Involuntarily I shut the door, and leaned against it, to wait for the effect of the blow; but feeling a pressure against the outside, I yielded to it, and moved aside. Mrs. Somers entered, with a candle flaring in one hand, and holding with the other her dressing-gown across her bosom.
"What are you doing here?" she asked harshly, but in a whisper, her eyes blazing like a panther's.
"Doing?" I replied; "stay and see."
She swept along, and I followed, bringing up close to Desmond, who had his hand round his head, and was very pale, either from the effect of the blow or some other cause. Even the flush across his cheeks had faded. She looked at him sharply; he moved his hands from his head, and met her eyes. "I am not drunk, you see," he said in a low voice. She made an insulting gesture toward me, which meant, "Is this an adventure of yours?"
The blaze in her eyes kindled a more furious one in his; he stepped forward with a threatening motion.
Anger raged through me—like a fierce rain that strikes flat a violent sea. I laid my hand on her arm, which she snapped at like a wolf, but I spoke calmly:
"You tender, true-hearted creature, full of womanly impulses, allow me to light my candle by yours!"
I picked it from the hearth, lighted it, and held it close to her face, laughing, though I never felt less merry. But I had restrained him.
He took the candle away gently.
"Leave the room," he said to her.
She beckoned me to go.
"No, you shall go."
They made a simultaneous movement with their hands, he to insist, she to deprecate, and I again observed how exactly alike they were.
"Desmond," I implored, "pray allow me to go."
A deep flush suffused his face. He bowed, threw wide the door, and followed me to the foot of the stairs. I reached my hand for the candle, for he retained both.
"You, pardon first."
"For what?"
"For much? oh—for much."
What story my face told, I could not have told him. He kissed my hand and turned away.
At the top of the stairs I looked down. He was there with upturned face, watching me. Whether he went back to confer with his mother, I never knew; if he did, the expression which he wore then must have troubled her. I went to bed, wondering over the mischief that a candle could do. After I had extinguished it, its wick glowed in the dark like a one-eyed demon.
Another week passed. Ben had received a letter from Veronica, informing him that letter-writing was a kind of composition she was not fond of. He must come to her, and then there would be no need for writing. Her letter exasperated him. His tenacious mind, lying in wait to close upon hers, was irritated by her simple, candid behavior. I could give him no consolation, nor did I care to. It suited me that his feelings for her weakened his penetration in regard to me.
When he roused at the expression which he saw Desmond fix upon me the night that Major Millard was there, I expected a rehearsal from him of watchfulness and suspicion; but no symptom appeared. I was glad, for I was in love with Desmond. I had known it from the night of Miss Munster's party. The morning after I woke to know my soul had built itself a lordly pleasure-house; its dome and towers were firm and finished, glowing in the light that "never was on land or sea." How elate I grew in this atmosphere! The face of Nemesis was veiled even. No eye saw the pure, pale nimbus ringed above it. I did not seehim, except as an apparition, for suddenly he had become the most unobtrusive member of the family, silent and absent. Immunity from espionage was the immutable family rule. Mrs. Somers, under the direction of that spirit which isolated me from all exterior influences, for a little time had shut down the lid of her evil feelings, and was quiet; watching me, perhaps, but not annoying. Mr. Somers was engaged with the subject of ventilation. Ann, to convince herself that she had a musical talent, practiced of afternoons till she was turned out by Adelaide, who had a fit of reading abstruse works, sometimes seeking me with fingers thrust between their leaves to hold abstract conversations, which, though I took small part in them, were of service.
That portion of the world of emotions which I was mapping out she was profoundly indifferent to. My experiences to her would have been debasing. As she would not come to me, I went to her, and gained something.
Ben, always a favorite with his father, pursued him, rode with him, and made visits of pleasure or business, with a latent object which kept him on the alert.
I had been in Belem three weeks; in a week more I decided to return home. My indignation against Mrs. Somers, from our midnight interview, had not suggested that I should shorten my visit. On the contrary, it had freed me from any regard or fear of her opinion. I had discovered her limits.
It was Saturday afternoon. Reflecting that I had but a few days more for Belem, and summing up the events of my visit and the people I had met, their fashions and differences, I unrolled a tolerable panorama, with patches in it of vivid color, and laid it away in my memory, to be unrolled again at some future time. Then a faint shadow dropped across my mind like a curtain, the first that clouded my royal palace, my mental paradise!
I sighed. Joyless, vacant, barren hours prefigured themselves to me, drifting through my brain, till their vacant shapes crowded it into darkness. I must do something! I would go out; a walk would be good for me. Moreover, wishing to purchase a parting gift for Adelaide and Ann, I would go alone. Wandering from shop to shop in Norfolk Street, without finding the articles I desired, I turned into a street which crossed it, and found the right shop. Seeing Drummond Street on an old gable-end house, a desire to exchange with some one a language which differed from my thoughts prompted me to look up Mrs. Hepburn. I soon came to her house, and knocked at the door, which Mari opened. The current was already changed, as I followed her into a room different from the one where I had seen Mrs. Hepburn. It was dull of aspect, long and narrow, with one large window opening on the old-fashioned garden, and from which I saw a discolored marble Flora. Mrs. Hepburn was by the window, in her high chair. She held out her hand and thanked me for coming to see an old woman. Motioning her head toward a dark corner, she said, "There is a young man who likes occasionally to visit an old woman also."
The young man, twenty-nine years old, was Desmond. He crossed the room and offered me his hand. We had not spoken since we parted at the stairs that memorable night. He hastily brought chairs, and placed them near Mrs. Hepburn, who seized her spectacles, which were on a silk workbag beside her, scanned us through them, and exclaimed, "Ah ha! what is this?"
"Is it something in me, ma'am?" said Desmond, putting his head before my face so that it was hid from her.
"Something in both of you; thief! thief!"
She rubbed her frail hand against my sleeve, muttering, "See now, so!—the same characteristics."
"I spoke of the difference of the rooms; the one we were in reminded me of a lizard! The walls were faint gray, and every piece of furniture was covered with plain yellow chintz, while the carpet was a pale green. She replied that she always moved from her winter parlor to this summer room on the twenty-second day of April, which had fallen the day before, for she liked to watch the coming out of the shrubs in the garden, which were as old as herself. The chestnut had leaved seventy times and more; and the crippled plum, whose fruit was so wormy to eat, was dying with age. As for the elms at the bottom of the garden, for all she knew they were a thousand years old.
"The elms are a thousand years old," I repeated and repeated to myself, while she glided from topic to topic with Desmond, whose conversation indicated that he was as cultivated as any ordinary gentleman, when the Pickersgill element was not apparent. The form of the garden-goddess faded, the sun had gone below the garden wall. The garden grew dusk, and the elms began to nod their tops at me. I became silent, listening to the fall of the plummet, which dropped again and again from the topmost height of that lordly domain, over which shadows had come. Were they sounding its foundations?
My eyes roved the garden, seeking the nucleus of an emotion which beset me now—not they, but my senses, formed it—in a garden miles away, where nodded a row of elms, under whichCharles Morgesonstood.
"I am glad you're here, my darling, do you smell the roses?"
"Are you going?" I heard Mrs. Hepburn say in a far-off voice. I was standing by the door.
"Yes, madam; the summer parlor does not delay the sunset."
"Come again. When do you leave Belem?"
"In few days."
Desmond made a grimace, and went to the window.
"Who returns with you," she continued, "Ben? He likes piloting."
"I hope he will; I came here to please him."
"Pooh! You came here because Mr. Somers had a crotchet."
"Well; I was permitted somehow to come."
"It was perfectly right. A woman like you need not question whether a thing is convenable."
Desmond turned from the window, and bestowed upon her a benign smile, which she returned with a satisfied nod.
This implied flattery tinkled pleasantly on my ears, allaying a doubt which I suffered from. Did I realize how much the prestige of those Belem saints influenced me, or how proud I was with the conviction of affiliation with those who were plainly marked with Caste?
"Walk with me," he demanded, as we were going down the steps.
We passed out of Drummond Street into a wide open common. Rosy clouds floated across the zenith, and a warm, balmy wind was blowing. I thought of Veronica, calm and happy, as the spring always made her, and the thought was a finishing blow to the variety of moods I had passed through. The helm of my will was broken.
"There is a good view from Moss Hill yonder," he said. "Shall we go up?"
I bowed, declining his arm, and trudged beside him. From its summit Belem was only half in sight. Its old, crooked streets sloped and disappeared from view; Wolf's Point was at the right of us, and its thread of sea. I began talking of our walk, and was giving an extended description of it, when he abruptly asked why I came to Belem.
"I know," he said, "that you would not have come, had there been any sentiment between you and Ben."
"Thanks for your implication. But I must have made the visit, you know, or how could I learn that I should not have made it?"
"You regret coming?"
"Veronica will give me no thanks."
"Who is she?"
"My sister, whom Ben loves."
"Ben love a sister of yours? My God—how? when first? where? And how came you to meet him?"
"That chapter of accidents need not be recounted. Can you help him?"
"What can I do?" he said roughly. "There is little love between us. You know what a devil's household ours is; but he is one of us—he is afraid."
"Of what?"
"Of mother—of our antecedents—of himself."
"I could not expect you to speak well of him."
"Of course not. Your sister has no fortune?"
"She has not. Men whose merchandise is ships are apt to die bankrupt."
"Your father is a merchant?"
"Even at that, the greatest of the name.
"We are all tied up, you know. Ben's allowance is smaller than mine.He is easy about money; therefore he is pa's favorite."
"Why do you not help yourselves?"
"Do you think so? You have not known us long. Have you influenced Ben to help himself?"
I marched down the hill without reply. Repassing Mrs. Hepburn's, he said, "My grandfather was an earl's son."
"Mrs. Hepburn likes you for that. My grandfather was a tailor; I should have told her so, when she gave me the aqua marina jewels."
"Had you the courage?"
"I forgot both the fact and the courage."
I hurried along, for it grew dark, and presently saw Ben on the steps of the house.
"Have you been walking?" he asked.
"It looks so. Yes, with me," answered Desmond. "Wont you give me thanks for attention to your friend?"
"It must have been a whim of Cassandra's."
"Break her of whims, if you can—"
"Iwill."
We went into the parlor together.
"Where do you think I have been?" Ben asked.
"Where?"
"For the doctor. Thebabyis sick"; and he looked hard at Desmond.
"I hope it will live for years and years," I said.
"I know what you are at, Ben," said Desmond. "I have wished the brat dead; but upon my soul, I have a stronger wish than that—I haveforgottenit."
There was no falseness in his voice; he spoke the truth.
"Forgive me, Des."
"No matter about that," he answered, sauntering off.
I felt happier; that spark of humanity warmed me. I might not have another. "I would," I said, "that the last day, the last moments of my visit had come. You will see me henceforth in Surrey. I will live and die there."
"To-night," Ben said, "I am going to tell pa."
"That is best."
"Horrible atmosphere!"
"It would kill Verry."
"You thrive in it," he said, with a spice of irritation in his voice.
"Thrive!"
Adelaide and Ann proved gracious over my gift. They were talking of the doctor's visit. Ann said the child was teething, for she had felt its gums; nothing else was the matter. There need be noapprehension. She should say so to Desmond and Ben, and would post a letter to her brother in unknown parts.
"Miss Hiticutt has sent for us to come over to tea," Adelaide informed me. The black silk I wore would do, for we must go at once.
The quiet, formal evening was a pleasant relief, although I was troubled with a desire to inform Mrs. Somers of Ben's engagement, for the sake of exasperating her. We came home too early for bed, Adelaide said; beside, she had music-hunger. I must sing. Mrs. Somers was by the fire, darning fine napkins, winking over her task, maintaining in her aspect the determination to avert any danger of a midnight interview with Desmond. That gentleman was at present sleeping on a sofa. I seated myself before the piano, wondering whether he slept from wine, ennui, or to while away the time till I should come. I touched the keys softly, waiting for an interpreting voice, and half unconsciously sang the lines of Schiller:
"I hear the sound of music, and the hallsAre full of light. Who are the revelers?"
Desmond made an inarticulate noise and sprang up, as if in answer to a call. A moment after he stepped quietly over the back of the sofa and stood bending over me. I looked up. His eyes were clear, his face alive with intuition. Though Adelaide was close by, she was oblivious; her eyes were cast upward and her fingers lay languid in her lap. Ann, more lively, introduced a note here and there into my song to her own satisfaction. Mrs. Somers I could not see; but I stopped and, giving the music stool a turn, faced her. She met me with her pale, opaque stare, and began to swing her foot over her knee; her slipper, already down at her heel, fell off. I picked it up in spite of her negative movement and hung it on the foot again.
"I shall speak with you presently," she whispered, glancing atDesmond.
He heard her and his face flashed with the instinct of sport, which made me ashamed of any desire for a struggle with her.
"Good-night," I said abruptly, turning away.
"We are all sleepy except this exemplary housewife with her napkins," cried Ann. "We will leave her."
"Cassandra," said Adelaide, when we were on the stairs, "how well you look!"
Ann, elevating her candle, remarked my eyes shone like a cat's.
"Hiticutt's tea was too strong," added Adelaide; "it dilates the pupils. I am sorry you are going away," and she kissed me; this favor would have moved me at any other time, but now I rejoiced to see her depart and leave me alone. I sat down by the toilet table and was arranging some bottles, when Mrs. Somers rustled in. Out of breath, she began haughtily:
"What do you mean?"
A lethargic feeling crept over me; my thoughts wandered; I never spoke nor stirred till she pulled my sleeve violently.
"If you touch me it will rouse me. Did a child of yours ever inflict a blow upon you?"
She turned purple with rage, looming up before my vision like a peony.
"When are you going home?"
I counted aloud, "Sunday—Monday," and stopped at Wednesday. "Ben is going back with me."
"Hemay go."
"And not Desmond?"
"Do you know Desmond?"
"Not entirely."
"He has played with such toys as you are, and broken them."
"Alas, he is hereditarily cruel! CouldIexpect not to be broken?"
She caught up a glass goblet as if to throw it, but only grasped it so tight that it shivered. "There goes one of the Pickersgill treasures, I am sure," I thought.
"I am already scarred, you see. I have been 'nurtured in convulsions.'"
The action seemed to loosen her speech; but she had to nerve herself to say what she intended; for some reason or other, she could not remain as angry as she wished. What she said I will not repeat.
"Madam, I have no plans. If I have a Purpose, it is formless yet. IfGod saves us what can you do?"
She made a gesture of contempt.
"You have no soul to thank me for what may be my work," and I opened the door.
Ben stood on the threshhold.
"In God's name, what is this?"
I pointed to his mother. She looked uneasy, and stepping forward put her hand on his arm; but he shook her off.
"You may call me a fool, Cassandra, for bringing you here," he said in a bitter voice, "besides calling me cruel for subjecting you to these ordeals. I knew how it would be with mother. What is it, madam?" he asked imperiously, looking so much like her that I shuddered.
"It is not you she is after," she hotly exclaimed.
"No, I should think not." And he led her out swiftly.
I heard Mrs. Somers say at breakfast, as I went in, "We are to lose Miss Cassandra on Wednesday." I looked at Desmond, who was munching toast abstractedly. He made a motion for me to take the chair beside him, which I obeyed. Ben saw this movement, and an expression of pain passed over his face. At that instant I remembered that Desmond's being seen in the evening and in the morning was a rare occurrence. Mr. Somers took up the remark of Mrs. Somers where she had left it, and expatiated on it till breakfast was over, so courteously and so ramblingly that I was convinced the affair Ben had at heart had been revealed. He invited me to go to church, and he spent the whole of the evening in the parlor; and although Desmond hovered near me all day and all the evening, we had no opportunity of speaking to each other.