Alice Morgeson sent for Aunt Merce, asking her to fulfill the promise she had made when she was in Rosville.
With misgivings she went, stayed a month, and returned with Alice. I felt a throe of pain when we met, which she must have seen, for she turned pale, and the hand she had extended toward me fell by her side; overcoming the impulse, she offered it again, but I did not take it. I had no evidence to prove that she came to Surrey on my account; but I was sure that such was the fact, as I was sure that there was a bond between us, which she did not choose to break, nor to acknowledge. She appeared as if expecting some explanation or revelation from me; but I gave her none, though I liked her better than ever. She was business-like and observant. Her tendencies, never romantic, were less selfish; it was no longer society, dress, housekeeping, which absorbed her, but a larger interest in the world which gave her a desire to associate with men and women, independent of caste. None of her children were with her; had it been three years earlier, she would not have left home without them. Her hair was a little gray, and a wrinkle or two had gathered about her mouth; but there was no other change. I was not sorry to have her go, for she paid me a close and quiet observation. At the moment of departure, she said in an undertone: "What has become of that candor of which you were so proud?" "I am more candid than ever," I answered, "for I am silent."
"I understand you better, now that I have seen youen famille."
"What do you think now?"
"I don't think I know; the Puritans have much to answer for in your mother—" Turning to her she said, "My children, too, are so different."
Mother gave her a sad smile, as Fanny announced the carriage, and they drove away.
"No more visitors this year," said Veronica, yawning.
"No agreeable ones, I fancy," I answered.
"All the relations have had their turn for this year," remarked Aunt Merce. But she was mistaken; an old lady came soon after this to spend the winter. She lived but four miles from Surrey, but brought with her all her clothes, and a large green parrot, which her son had brought from foreign parts. Her name was Joy Morgeson; the fact of her being cousin to father's grandmother entitled her to a raid upon us at any season, and to call us "cousins." She felt, she said, that she must come and attend the meetings regular, for her time upon earth was short. But Joy was a hearty woman still, and, pious as she was, delighted in rough and scandalous stories, the telling of which gave her severe fits of repentance. She quilted elaborate petticoats for us, knit stockings for Arthur, and was useful. Mr. and Mrs. Elisha Peckham surprised us next. They arrived from "up country" and stayed two weeks. I did not clearly understand why they came before they went; but as they enjoyed their visit, it was of little consequence whether I did or not.
Midwinter passed, and we still had company. There was much to do, but it was done without system. Mother or Aunt Merce detailed from their ordinary duties as keeper of the visitors, Fanny was for the first time able to make herself of importance in the family tableaux, and assumed cares no one had thought of giving her. She left the town-school, telling mother that learning would be of no use to her. The rights of a human being merely was what she wanted; she should fight for them; that was what paupers must do. Mother allowed her to do as she pleased. Her duties commenced with calling us up to breakfasten masse, and for once the experiment was successful, for we all met at the table. The dining-room was in complete order, a thing that had never happened early before; the rest of us missed the straggling breakfast which consumed so much time.
"Whose doing is this?" asked father, looking round the table.
"It is Fanny's," I answered, rattling the cups. "All the coffee to be poured out at once, don't agitate me."
Fanny, bearing buckwheat cakes, looked proud and modest, as people do who appreciate their own virtues.
"Why, Fanny," said the father, "you have done wonders; you are more original than Cassy or Verry."
Her green eyes glowed; her aspect was so feline that I expected her hair to rise.
"Father's praise pleases you more than ours," Verry said.
"You never gave me any," she answered, marching out.
Father looked up at Verry, annoyed, but said nothing. We paid no attention to Fanny's call afterward; but she continued her labors, which proved acceptable to him. Temperance told me, when she was with us for a week, that his overcoats, hats, umbrellas, and whips never had such care as Fanny gave them. He omitted from this time to ask us if we knew where his belongings were, but went to Fanny; and I noticed that he required much attendance.
Temperance, who had arrived in the thick of the company, as she termed it, was sorry to go back to Abram. Hewasa good man, she said; but it was a dreadful thing for a woman to lose her liberty, especially when liberty brought so much idle time. "Why, girls, I have quilted and darned up every rag in the house. Hewilldo half the housework himself; he is an everlasting Betty." She was cheerful, however, and helped Hepsey, as well as the rest of us.
The guests did not encroach on my time, but it was a relief to have them gone and the house our own once more.
I went to Milford again, almost daily, to feast my eyes on the bleak, flat, gray landscape. The desolation of winter sustains our frail hopes. Nature is kindest then; she does not taunt us with fruition. It is the luxury of summer which tantalizes—her long, brilliant, blossoming days, her dewy, radiant nights.
Entering the house one March evening, when it was unusually still, I had reached the front hall, when masculine tones struck my ears. I opened the parlor door softly, and saw Ben Somers in an easy-chair, basking before a glowing fire, his luminous face set toward Veronica, who was near him, holding a small screen between her and the fire. "She is always ready," I thought, contemplating her as I would a picture. Her ruby-colored merino dress absorbed the light; she was a mass of deep red, except her face and hair, above which her silver crescent comb shone. Her slender feet were tapping the rug. She wore boots the color of her dress; Ben was looking at them. Mother was there, and in the background Aunt Merce and Fanny figured. I pushed the door wide; as the stream of cold air reached them, they looked toward it, and cried—"Cassandra!" Ben started up with extended hands.
"I went as far as Cape Horn only, but I bought you the idol and lots of things I promised from a passing ship. I have been home a week, and I amhere. Are you glad? Can I stay?"
"Yes, yes," chorused the company, and I was too busy trying to get off my gloves to speak. Father came in, and welcomed him with warmth. Fanny ran out for a lamp; when she brought it, Veronica changed the position of her screen, and held it close to her face.
"Did you have a cold ride, Locke?" asked mother, gazing into the fire with that expression of satisfaction we have when somebody beside ourselves has been exposed to hardships. It is the same principle entertained by those who depend upon and enjoy seeing criminals hung.
Meanwhile my bonnet-strings got in a knot, which Fanny saw, and was about to apply scissors, when Aunt Merce, unable to bear the sacrifice, interfered and untied them, all present so interested in the operation that conversation was suspended. Presently Aunt Merce was called out, and was shortly followed by mother and Fanny. Ben stood before me; his eyes, darting sharp rays, pierced me through; they rested on the thread-like scars which marked my cheek, and which were more visible from the effect of cold.
"Tattooed still," I said in a low voice, pointing to them.
"I see"—a sorrowful look crossed his face; he took my hand and kissed it. Veronica, who had dropped the screen, met my glance toward her with one perfectly impassive. As they watched me, I saw myself as they did. A tall girl in gray, whose deep, controlled voice vibrated in their ears, like the far-off sounds we hear at night from woods or the sea, whose face was ineffaceably marked, whose air impressed with a sense of mystery. I think both would have annihilated my personality if possible, for the sake of comprehending me, for both loved me in their way.
"What are you reading, father?" asked Veronica suddenly.
"To-day's letters, and I must be off for Boston; would you like to go?"
"My sister Adelaide has sent for you, Cassandra, to visit us," saidBen, "and will you go too, Veronica?"
"Thanks, I must decline. If Cass should go—and she will—I may go toBoston."
He looked at her curiously. "It would not be pleasant for you to attempt Belem. I hate it, but I feel a fate-impelling power in regard to Cassandra; I want her there."
"May I go then?" I asked.
"Certainly," father replied.
"Please come out to supper," called Fanny. "We have something particular for you, Mr. Morgeson."
We saw mother at the table, a book in her hand. She was finishing a chapter in "The Hour and the Man." Aunt Merce stood eyeing the dishes with the aspect of a judge. As father took his seat, near Veronica, Fanny, according to habit, stood behind it. With the mostdegagéair, Ben suffered nothing to escape him, and I never forgot the picture of that moment.
We talked of Helen's visit—a subject that could be commented on freely. Veronica told Ben Helen's opinion of him; he reddened slightly, and said that such a sage could not be contradicted. When father remarked that the opinions of women were whimsical, Fanny gave an audible sniff, which made Ben smile.
Soon after tea I met Veronica in the hall, with a note in her hand.She stopped and hesitatingly said that she was going to send forTemperance; she wanted her while Mr. Somers stayed.
"Your forethought astonishes me."
"She is a comfort always to me."
"Do you stand in especial need of a comforter?"
She looked puzzled, laughed, and left me.
Temperance arrived that evening, in time to administer a scolding toFanny.
"That girl needs looking after," she said. "She is as sharp as a needle. She met me in the yard and told me that a man fit for a nobleman had come on a visit. 'It may be for Cass,' says she, 'and it may not be. I have my doubts.' Did you ever?" concluded Temperance, counting the knives. "There's one missing. By jingo! it has been thrown to the pigs, I'll bet."
When Ben made a show of going, we asked him to stay longer. He said "Yes," so cordially, that we laughed. But it hurt me to see that he had forgotten all about my going to Belem. "I like Surrey so much," he said, "and you all, I have a fancy that I am in the Hebrides, in Magnus Troil's dwelling; it is so wild here, sonaïve. The unadulterated taste of sea-spray is most beautiful."
"We will have Cass for Norna," said Verry; "but, by the way, it is you that must be of the fitful head; have you forgotten that she is going to Belem soon?"
"I shall remember Belem in good time; no fear of my forgetting thatace—ancient spot. At least I may wait till your father goes toBoston, and we can make a party. You will be ready, Cassandra? I wroteAdelaide yesterday that you were coming, and mother will expect you."
It often stormed during his visit. We had driving rains, and a gale from the southeast, oceanward, which made our sea dark and miry, even after the storm had ceased and patches of blue sky were visible.
Our rendezvous was in the parlor, which, from the way in which Ben knocked about the furniture, cushions, and books, assumed an air which somehow subdued Veronica's love for order; she played for him, or they read together, and sometimes talked; he taught her chess, and then they quarreled. One day—a long one to me,—they were so much absorbed in each other, I did not seek them till dusk.
"Come and sing to me," called Ben.
"So you remember that I do sing?"
"Sing; there is a spell in this weird twilight; sing, or I go out on the rocks to break it."
He dropped the window curtains and sat by me at the piano, and I sang:
"I feel the breath of the summer night,Aromatic fire;The trees, the vines, the flowers are astirWith tender desire.
"If I were alone, I could not sing,Praises to thee;O night! unveil the beautiful soulThat awaiteth me!"
"A foolish song," said Veronica, pulling her hair across her face. No reply. She glided to the flower-basket, broke a rosebud from its stalk, and mutely offered it to him. Whether he took it, I know not; but he rose up from beside me, like a dark cloud, and my eyes followed him.
"Come Veronica," he whispered, "give me yourself. I love you,Veronica."
He sank down before her; she clasped her hands round his head, and kissed his hair.
"I know it," she said, in a clear voice.
I shut the door softly, thinking of the Wandering Jew, went upstairs, humming a little air between my teeth, and came down again into the dining-room, which was in a blaze of light.
"What preserves are these, Temperance?" I asked, going to the table."Some of Abram's quinces?"
"Best you ever tasted, since you were born."
"Call Mr. Somers, Fanny," said mother. "Is Verry in the parlor, too?"
"I'll call them," I said; "I have left my handkerchief there."
"Is anything else of yours there?" said Fanny, close to my ear.
Ben had pushed back the curtain, and was staring into the darkness;Veronica was walking to and fro on the rug.
"Haven't I a great musical talent?" I inquired.
"Am I happy?" she asked, coming toward me.
Ben turned to speak, but Veronica put her hand over his mouth, and said:
"Why should I be 'hushed,' my darling?"
"Come to supper, and be sensible," I urged.
The light revealed a new expression in Verry's face—an unsettled, dispossessed look; her brows were knitted, yet she smiled over and over again, while she seemed hardly aware that she was eating like an ordinary mortal. The imp Fanny tried experiments with her, by offering the same dishes repeatedly, till her plate was piled high with food she did not taste.
The next day was clear, and mild with spring. Ben and I started for a walk on the shore. We were half-way to the lighthouse before he asked why it was that Veronica would not come with us.
"She never walks by the shore; she detests the sea."
"Is it so? I did not know that."
"Do you mind that you know few of her tastes or habits? I speak of this as a general truth."
"I am a spectacle to you, I suppose. But this sea charms me; I shall live by it, and build a house with all the windows and doors toward it."
"Not if you mean to have Verry in it."
"I do mean to have her in it. She shall like it. Are you willing to have me for a brother? Will you go to Belem, and help break the ice?Shecould never go," and he began to skip pebbles in the water.
"I will take you for a brother gladly. You are a fool—not for loving her, but all men are fools when in love, they are so besotted with themselves. But I am afraid of one fault in you."
"Yes," he answered hurriedly, "don't I know? On my honor, I have tried; why not leave me to God? Didn't you leave yourself that way once?"
"Oh, you are cruel."
"Pardon me, dear Cass. Imustdo well now, surely. Will you believe in me? Oh, do you not know the strength, the power, that comes to us in the stress of passion and duty?"
"This is fromyou, Ben."
"Never mind; I knew I wanted to marry her, when I saw her. I love her passionately," and he threw a pebble in the water farther than he had yet; "but she is so pure, so delicate, that when I approach her, in spite of my besottedness, my love grows lambent. That's not like me, you know," with great vehemence. "Will she never understand me?"
His face darkened, and he looked so strangely intent into my eyes thatI was obliged to turn away; he disturbed me.
"Veronica probably will not understand you, but you must manage for yourself. As you have discerned, she and I are far apart. She is pure, noble, beautiful, and peculiar. I will have no voice between you."
"You must, you do. We shall hear it if you do not speak. You have a great power, tall enchantress."
"Certainly. What a powerful life is mine!"
"You come to these shores often. Are you not different beside them? This colorless picture before us—these vague spaces of sea and land—the motion of the one—the stillness of the other—have you no sense that you have a powerful spirit?"
"Is it power? It is pain."
"Your gold has not been refined then."
"Yes, I confess I have a sense of power; but it is not a spiritual sense."
"Let us go back," he said abruptly.
We mused by our footprints in the wet sand, as we passed them. We were told when we reached home that Veronica had gone on some expedition with Fanny. She did not return till time for supper, looking elfish, and behaving whimsically, as if she had received instructions accordingly. I fancied that the expression Ben regarded her with might be the Bellevue Pickersgill expression, it was so different from any I had seen. There was a haughty curiosity in his face; as she passed near him, he looked into her eyes, and saw the strange cast which made their sight so far off.
"Veronica, where are you?" he asked.
The tone of his voice attracted mother's regards; an intelligent glance was exchanged, and then her eyes sought mine. "It is not as you thought, mamma," I telegraphed. But Verry, not bringing her eyes back into the world, merely said, "I am here, am I not?" and went to shut herself up in her room. I found her there, looking through the wicket.
"The buds are beginning to swell," she said. "I should hear small voices breaking out from the earth. I grow happy every day now."
"Because the earth will be green again?" I asked, in a coaxing voice.
She shut the wicket, and, looking in my face, said, "I will go down immediately." For some reason the tears came into my eyes, which she, taking up the candle, saw. "I am going to play," she said hurriedly, "come." She ran down before me, but turning, by the foot of the stairs, she pointed to the parlor door, and said, "Is he my husband?"
"Answer for yourself. Go in, in God's name."
Ben was chatting with father over the fire; he stretched out his hand to her, with so firm and assured an air, and looked so noble, that I felt a pang of admiration for him. She laid her hand in his a moment, passed on to the piano, and began to play divinely, drawing him to her side. Father peeled and twisted his cigar, as he contemplated them with a thoughtful countenance.
When we went to Boston we went to a new hotel, as Ben had advised, deserting the old Bromfield for the Tremont. It was dusk when we arrived, and tea was served immediately, in a large room full of somber mahogany furniture. Its atmosphere oppressed Veronica, who ate her supper in silence.
"Charles Dickens is here, sir," said the waiter, who knew Ben. "Two models of the Curiosity Shop have just gone upstairs, sir. His room is right over here, sir."
Veronica looked adoringly at the ceiling.
"Then," said Ben, "our hunters are up from Belem. Anybody in fromBelem, John?"
"Oh yes, sir, every day."
"I'll look them up," he said to us; but he returned soon, and begged us not to look at Dickens, if we had a chance.
Veronica, with a sigh, gave him up, and lost a chance of being immortalized with that perpetual and imperturbable beefsteak, covered with "the blackest of all possible pepper," which was daily served to him.
Father being out in pursuit of a cigar, Ben asked Veronica what she would do while he was in Belem.
"Walk round this lion-clawed table."
"I shall be gone from you."
"Alas!"
"Are we to part this way?"
"Father," she cried, as he entered with a theater bill, "had I better marry this friend of Cassy's?"
"Have you the courage? Do you know each other?"
"Having known Cassandra so long, sir," began Ben, but was interrupted by Veronica's exclaiming, "We do not know each other at all. What is the use of makingthatfutile attempt? I am over eighteen, and do you know me, father?"
"If I do not, it is because you have no shadow."
"Shall I, then?" giving Ben a delicious smile. "I promise."
"I promise, too, Veronica," heaven dawning in his eyes.
"We will see about it," said father. "Now who will go to the theater?"
We declined, but Ben signified his willingness to accompany him.
We took the first morning train, so that father could return before evening, and ran through in the course of an hour the wooden suburbs of Belem, bordered by an ancient marsh, from which the sea had long retired. Taking a cab, we turned into Norfolk Street, at the head of which, Ben said, a mile distant, was his father's house. It was not a cheerful street, and when we stopped before an immense square, three-storied house, it looked still more gloomy! There was a gate on one side, with white wooden urns on the posts, that shut off a paved courtway. On each side of the street were houses of the same pattern, with the same gates. Down the paved court of the opposite house a coach pulled by two fat horses clattered, and as the coach turned we saw two old ladies inside, highly dressed, bowing and smiling at Ben.
"The Miss Hiticutts—hundred thousand apiece."
"Hundred thousand apiece," I echoed in an anguish of admiration, which made my father laugh and Ben scowl. A servant in a linen jacket opened the door. "Is it yourself, Mr. Ben?"
"Open the parlor door, Murph. Where's my mother and my sister?"
"Miss Somers is taking her exercise, sir, and Mrs. Somers is with the owld gentleman"; opening the door, with the performance of taking father's hat.
"Sit down, Cassandra. I'll look up somebody."
It was a bewildering matter where to go; the room, vast and dark, was a complete litter of tables and sofas. The tables were loaded with lamps, books, and knick-knacks of every description; the sofas were strewn with English and French magazines, novels, and papers. I went to the window, while father perched on the music stool.
My attention was diverted to a large dog in the court, chained to a post near a pump, where a man was giving water to a handsome bay horse, at the same time keeping his eye on an individual who stood on a stone block, dressed in a loose velvet coat, a white felt hat, and slippers down at the heel. He had a coach whip in his hand—the handsomest hand I ever saw, which he snapped at the dog, who growled with rage. I heard Ben's voice in remonstrance; then a lazy laugh from velvet coat, who gave the dog a cut which made him bound. Ben, untying him, was overwhelmed with caresses. "Down, you fool! Off, Rash!" he said. "Look there," pointing to the window where I stood. The gentleman with the coach whip looked at me also. The likeness to Ben turned my suspicion into certainty that they were brothers. His disposition, I thought, must be lovely, judging from the episode with "Rash." I turned away, almost running against a lady, who extended her fingers toward me with a quick little laugh, and said:
"How de do? Where's Ben, to introduce us properly?"
"Here, mother," he said behind her, followed by the dog. "You were expecting Cassandra, my old chum; and Mr. Morgeson has come to leave her with us."
"Certainly. Rash, go out, dear. Mr. Morgeson, I am sorry to say," she spoke with more politeness, "that Mr. Somers is confined to his room with gout. May I take you up?"
"I have a short time to stay," looking at his watch and rising. "Do you consider the old school friendship between your son and Cassandra a sufficient reason for leaving her with you? To say nothing of the faint relationship which, we suppose, exists."
"Of course, very happy; Adelaide expects her," she said vaguely. I saw at once that she had never heard a word of our being relations. Ben had managed nicely in the affair of my invitation to Belem. But I desired to remain, in spite of Mrs. Somers's reception.
Mr. Somers was bolstered up in bed, in a flowered dressing gown, with a bottle of colchicum and a pile of Congressional reports on a stand beside him. His urbanity was extreme; it was evident that the gout was not allowed to interfere with his deportment, though the joints of his hands were twisted and knotty. He expatiated upon Ben's long ungratified wish for a visit from me, and thanked father for complying with it. He mentioned the memento of the miniature, and gave every particular of Locke Morgeson's early marriage, explaining the exact shade of consanguinity—a faint one. I glanced at Mrs. Somers, who sat remote, in the act of inspecting me, with an eye askance, which I afterward found was her mode of looking at those whom she doubted or disliked; it changed its expression, as it met mine, into one of haughty wonder, that said there could be no tie of blood between us. She irritated and embarrassed me. I tried to think of something to say, and uttered a few words, which were uncommonly trivial and awkward. Mr. Somers touched on politics. The door opened, and Ben's brother entered, with downcast eyes. Advancing to the footboard of the bed, he leaned his chin on its edge, looked at his father, and in a remarkably clear, ringing voice, said:
"The check."
Mr. Somers coughed behind his hand. "To-morrow will do, Desmond."
"To-day will do."
"Desmond," said Ben in a low voice, "you do not see Mr. Morgeson andMiss Morgeson. My brother, Cassandra."
"Beg pardon, good-morning"; and he pulled off his hat with an air of grace which became him, though it was very indifferent. Mrs. Somers in a soft voice said: "Ring, Des, dear, will you?" He warned her with a satirical smile, and gave such a pull at the bell-rope that it came down. Her florid face flushed a deeper red, but he had gone. Father looked at his watch, and got up with alacrity.
"You are to dine with us, at least, Mr. Morgeson."
"I must return to Boston on account of my daughter, who is there alone."
"Have you been remiss, Ben," said his father affectionately, "in not bringing her also?"
"She would not come, of course, father."
A tall, black-haired girl of twenty-five rushed in.
"Why, Ben," she said, "you were not expected. And this is Miss Morgeson," shaking hands with me. "You will spend a month, won't you?" She put her chin in her hand, and scanned me with a cool deliberateness. "Pa, do you think she is like Caroline Bingham?"
"Yes, so she is; but fairer. She is a great belle," nodding to me.
"Do youreallythink she looks like her, Somers?" said Mrs. Somers, in a tone of denial.
"Certainly, but handsomer," Adelaide replied for him, without looking at her mother.
"Would you like to go to your room?" she asked. "What a pretty dress this is!" taking hold of the sleeve, her chin in her hand still. "We will have some walks; Belem is nice for walking. Pa, how do you feel now?"
She allowed me to go downstairs with father, without following, and sent Murphy in with wine and biscuit. I put my arms round his neck and kissed him, for I had a lonesome feeling, which I could not define at the last moment.
"You will not stay long," he said; "there is something oppressive in this atmosphere."
"Something artificial, is it? It must be the blood of the BellevuePickersgills that thickens the air."
"Now," said Ben, with father's hat in his hand, "the time is up."
Adelaide was at the door to take courteous leave of him, and Mrs. Somers bowed from the top of the stairs, revealing a pair of large ankles, whose base rested in a pair of shabby, pudgy slippers. Adelaide then took me to my room, telling me not to change my dress, but to come down soon, for dinner was ready. Hearing a bell, I hurried down to the parlor which we were in before, and waited for directions respecting the dinner. Adelaide came presently. "We are dining; come and sit next me," offering her arm. Mrs. Somers, Desmond, and a girl of fifteen were at the table. The latter had just come from school, I concluded, as a satchel of books hung at her chair. Murphy was removing the soup, and I derived the impression that I had been forgotten. While taking mine, they vaguely stared about till Murphy brought in the roast mutton, except Adelaide, who rubbed her teeth with a dry crust, making a feint of eating it. Desmond kept the decanter, occasionally swallowing a glassful.
"What wine is that, Murphy?" Mrs. Somers asked. He hesitatingly answered, "I think it is the Juno, mum."
"You stole the key from pa's room, Des," said the girl. He shook the carving-knife at her, at which gesture she said "Pooh!" and applied herself to the roast mutton with avidity. They all ate largely, especially the girl, whose wide mouth was filled with splendid teeth. Mrs. Somers made a motion with her glass for Murphy to bring her the wine, and pouring a teaspoonful, held it to her mouth, as if she were practicing drinking healths. Her hands were beautiful, too; they all had handsome hands, whose movements were graceful and expressive. When Ben arrived, Murphy set the dishes before him, and Adelaide began to talk in a lively, brilliant way. He did not ask for wine, but I saw him look toward it and Desmond. The decanter was empty. After the dessert, Mrs. Somers arose and we followed; but she soon left us, and we went to the parlor. The girl, taking a seat beside me, said: "My name is Ann Somers. I am never introduced; Adder, my sister, is in the way, you know. I dare say Ben never spoke of me to you. I am never spoken of, am never noticed. I have never had new dresses; yet pa is my friend, the dear soul."
Adelaide looked upon her with the same superb indifference with which she regarded her mother and Desmond.
"Would you like to go to your room?" she asked again. "You are too tired to take a walk, perhaps?"
"Lord!" said Ann, "do let her do as she likes. Adder, don't be too disagreeable."
I picked up my bonnet, which she took from me, and put on the top of her head as we went upstairs.
"Murph must bring up your trunk," said Ann, opening the closet. "But there is no space to hang anything; the great Mogul's wardrobe stops the way."
My chamber was stately in size and appointments. The afternoon sun shone in, where a shutter was open, behind the dull red curtains, and illuminated the portrait of a nimble old lady in a scarlet cloak, which hung near the gigantic curtained bed, over a vast chair, covered with faded green damask.
"Grandmother Pickersgill," said Ann, who saw me observing the picture. Adelaide contemplated it also. "It was painted by Copley," she said, "Lord Lyndhurst afterwards. Grandfather entertained him, and he went to one of grandmother's parties; he complimented her on her beauty. But you see that she has not a handsome hand. Ours is the Pickersgill hand," and she spread her fingers like a fan. "She was a regular old screw," continued Ann, "and used to have mother's underclothes tucked to last for ever; she was a beast to servants, too."
My trunk was brought in, which I unlocked and unpacked, while Adelaide opened a drawer in a great bureau.
"Oh, you know it is full of Marm's fineries," said Ann, in a confidential tone; "I'll ring for Hannah." Adelaide busied herself in throwing the contents of the drawers on the floor. "There's her ball dresses," commented Ann, as a pink satin, trimmed with magnificent lace, tumbled out. "Old Carew brought the lace over for her."
"Bring a basket, Hannah, and take these away somewhere, to some other closet of Mrs. Somers's."
"That gold fringe, do you remember, Adder? She looked like an elephant with his howdah on when she wore it."
Her impertinence inspired Adelaide, who joined her in a flow of vituperative wit at the expense of their mother and other relatives, incidentally brought in. Instead of being aghast, I enjoyed it, and was feverish with a desire to be as brilliant, for my vocabulary was deficient and my sense of inferiority was active during the whole of my visit in Belem. I blushed often, smiled foolishly, and was afflicted with a general apprehension in regard togaucherie.
I changed my traveling dress, as they were not inclined to leave me, with anxiety, for I was weak enough to wish to make an impression with my elegant bearing and appointments. Being so anatomized, I was oppressed with an indefinite discouragement. Their stealthy, sharp, selfish scrutiny brought out my failures. My dress seemed ill-made; my hair unbecomingly dressed; my best collar and ribbon, which I put on, were nothing to the lace I had just seen falling on the floor. When we descended it was twilight. Ann said she must study, and left us by the parlor fire. Adelaide lighted a candle, and took a novel, which she read reclining on a sofa. Reclining on sofas, I discovered, was a family trait, though they were all in a state of the most robust health, with the exception of Mr. Somers. I walked up and down the rooms. "They were fine once," said Ben, who appeared from a dark corner, "but faded now. Mother never changes anything if she can help it. She is a terrible aristocrat," he continued, in a low voice, "fixed in the ideas imbedded in the Belem institutions, which only move backward. We laugh, though, at everybody's claims but our own. You despised me for mentioning the Hiticutts' income; it was the atmosphere."
"It amuses me to be here."
"Of course; but stir up Adelaide, she is genuine; has fine sense, and half despises her life; but she knows no other, and is proud."
"Let's go and find tea," she said, yawning, dropping her book. "Why don't that lazy Murph light the lamp? I wish pa was down to regulate affairs." No one was at the tea-table but Mrs. Somers.
"Ben is very polite, don't you think so?" she said with her peculiar laugh, which made my flesh creep, as he pulled up a chair for me. Her voice made me dizzy, but I smiled. Ben was not the same in Belem, I saw at once, and no longer wondered at its influence, or at the vacillating nature of his plans and pursuits. Mrs. Somers gave me some tea from a spider-shaped silver tea-pot, which was related to a spider-shaped cream-jug and a spider-shaped sugar-dish. The polished surface of the mahogany table reflected a pair of tall silver candlesticks, and the plates, being of warped blue and white Chinese ware, joggled and clattered when we touched them. The tea was delicious; I said so, but Mrs. Somers deigned no answer. We were regaled with spread bread and butter and baked apples. Adelaide ate six.
"We do not have your Surrey suppers," Ben remarked.
"How should you know?" his mother asked. Ben's eyes looked violent and he bit his lips. Adelaide commenced speaking before her mother had finished her question, as if she only needed the spur of her voice to be lively and agreeable,per contra.
"Hepburn must ask us to tea. Her jam and her gossip are wonderful. Aunt Tucker might ask us too, with housekeeper Beck's permission. I like tea fights with the old Hindoos. They like us too, Ben; we are the children of Hindoos also—superior to the rest of the world. There will be a party or two for this young person."
"Parties be hanged!" he said. "Then we must have a rout here, and I hate 'em."
"But we owe an entertainment," said Mrs. Somers. "I have been thinking of giving one as soon as Mr. Somers gets out."
"I have no such idea," said Adelaide, with her back toward her mother. "We shall have no party until some one has been given to our young friend, Ben."
Ben and I visited his father, who asked questions relative to the temperature, the water, and the dietetic qualities of Surrey. He was affable, but there was no nearness in his affability. He skated on the ice of appearances, and that was his vocation in his family. He fulfilled it well, but it was a strain sometimes. His family broke the ice now and then, which must have made him plunge into the depths of reality. I learned to respect his courage, bad as his cause was. Marrying Bellevue Pickersgill for her money, he married his master, and was endowed only with the privilege of settling her taxes. Simon Pickersgill, her father, tied up the main part of his money for his grandchildren. It was to be divided among them when the youngest son should arrive at the age of twenty-one—an event which took place, I supposed, while Ben was on his way to India. Desmond and an older son, who resided anywhere except at home, made havoc with the income. As the principal prospectively was theirs, or nearly the whole of it, why should they not dispose of that?
At last Mr. Somers looked at his watch, a gentle reminder that it was time for us to withdraw. Adelaide was still in the parlor, lying on her favorite sofa contemplating the ceiling. I asked permission to retire, which she granted without removing her regards. In spite of my sound sleep that night, I was started from it by the wail of a young child. The strangeness of the chamber, and the continued crying, which I could not locate, kept me awake at intervals till dawn peeped through the curtains.
A few days after my arrival, some friends dined with Mrs. Somers. The daughters of a senator, as Ann informed me, and an ex-governor, or I should not have known this fact, for I was not introduced. The dinner was elaborate, and Desmond did the honors. With the walnuts one of the ladies asked for the baby.
Mrs. Somers made a sign to Desmond, who pulled the bell-rope—mildly this time. An elderly woman instantly appeared with a child a few months old, puny and anxious-looking. Mrs. Somers took it from her, and placed it on the table; it tottered and nodded to the chirrups of the guests. Ben, from the opposite side of the table, addressed me by a look, which enlightened me. His voyage to India was useless, as the property would stand for twenty-one years more, lacking some months, unless Providence interposed. Adelaide was oblivious of the child, but Desmond thumped his glass on the mahogany to attract it, for its energies were absorbed in swallowing its fists and fretfully crying. When Murphy announced coffee in the parlor, the nurse took it away; and after coffee and sponge cake were served the visitors drove off. That afternoon some friends of Adelaide called, to whom she introduced me as "cousin." She gave graphic descriptions of them, after their departure. One had achieved greatness by spending her winters in Washington, and contracting a friendship with John C. Calhoun. Another was an artist who had painted an ideal head of her ancestor, Sir Roger de Roger, not he who had arrived some years ago as a weaver from Glasgow, but the one who had remained on the family estate. A third reviewed books and collected autographs.
The next afternoon one of the Miss Hiticutts from across the way came, in a splendid camel's-hair shawl and a shabby dress. "HowisMr. Somers?" she asked. "He is such a martyr."
Here Mrs. Somers entered. "My dear Bellevue, you are worn out with your devotion to him; when have you taken the air?" She did not wait for a reply, but addressed Adelaide with, "This is your young friend, and where is my favorite, Mr. Ben, and little Miss Ann? Have you anything new? I went down to Harris yesterday to tell her she must sweep away her old trash of a circulating library, and begin with the New Regime of Novels, which threatens to overwhelm us."
Adelaide talked slowly at first, and then soared into a region where I had never seen a woman—an intellectual one. Miss Hiticutt followed her, and I experienced a new pleasure. Mrs. Somers was silent, but listened with respect to Miss Hiticutt, for she was of the real Belem azure in blood as well as in brain; besides, she was rich, and would never marry. It was a Pickersgill hallucination to be attentive to people who had legacies in their power. Mrs. Somers had a bequested fortune already in hair rings and silver ware. While appearing to listen to Adelaide, her eyes wandered over me with speculation askant in them. Adelaide was so full ofespritthat I was again smitten with my inferiority, and from this time I felt a respect for her, which never declined, although she married an Englishman, who, too choleric to live in America, took her to Florence, where they settled with their own towels and silver, and are likely to remain, for her heart is too narrow to comprise any further interest in Belem.
Miss Hiticutt chatted herself out, giving us an invitation to tea, for any day, including Ben and Miss Ann, who had not been visible since breakfast.
April rains kept us indoors for several days. Ann refused to go to school. She must have a holiday; besides, pa needed her; she alone could take care of him, after all. Her mother said that she must go.
"Who can make me, mum?"
Desmond ordered the coach for her. When it was ready he put her in it, seated himself beside her, with provoking nonchalance, and carried her to school. Murphy, with his velvet-banded hat, left her satchel at the door, with a ceremonious air, which made Ann slap his cheek and call him an old grimalkin. But she was obliged to walk home in the rain, after waiting an hour for him to come back.
Mr. Somers hobbled about his room, with the help of his cane, and said that he should be out soon, and requested Adelaide to put in order some book-shelves that were in the third story, for he wanted to read without confusion. We went there together, and sorted some odd volumes; piles of Unitarian sermons, bound magazines, political works, and a heap of histories. Ben found a seat on a bunch of books, pleased to see us together.
"This is a horrid hole," he said. "I have not been up in this floor for ages. How do the shelves look?"
A hiccough near us caused us to look toward the door.
"It is only Des, in his usual afternoon trim," said Ben.
She nodded, as he pushed open the door, thrusting in his head. "What the hell are you doing here? This region is sacred to Chaos and old Night," striking the panels, first one and then the other, with the tassels of his dressing-gown. No one answered him. Adelaide counted a row of books, and Ben whistled.
"Damn you, Ben," he said, in a languid voice: "you never seem bored.Curse you all. I hate ye, especially that she-Calmuck yonder—thatSiberian-steppe-natured, malachite-hearted girl, our sister."
"Oh come away, Mr. Desmond. What are the poor things doing that you should harry them?" and the woman who had brought in the baby the day of the dinner laid her hands on him and pulled him away.
"Sarah will never give him up," said Ben.
"She swears there is good in him. I think he is a wretch," turning over the leaves of a book with her beautiful hand, such a hand as I had just seen beating the door—such a hand as clasped its fellow in Ben's hair. Adelaide was not embarrassed at my presence. She neither sought nor avoided my look. But Ben said, "You are thinking."
"Is she?" And Adelaide raised her eyes.
"You are all so much alike," I said.
"You are right," she answered seriously. "Our grandfather—"
"Confound him!" broke in Ben. "I wish he had never been born. Are you proud, Addie, of being like the Pickersgills? But I know you are. Remember that the part of us which is Pickersgill hates its like. I am off; I am going to walk."
Adelaide coolly said, after he had gone, that he was very visionary, predicting changes that could not be, and determined to bring them about.
"Why did he bring me here?" I asked, as if I were asking in a dream.
"Ben's hospitality is genuine. He is like pa. Besides, you are related to us—on the Somers side, and are the first visitor we ever saw, outside of mother's connection. Do you not know, too, that Ben's friendship is very sincere—very strong?"
"I begin to comprehend the Pickersgills," I remarked as if in a dream. "How words with any meaning glance off, when addressed to them. How impossible it is to return the impression they give. How incapable they are of appreciating what they cannot appropriate to the use of their idiosyncrasies."
She gazed at me, as if she heard an abstract subject discussed, with a slight interest in her black eyes.
"Are they vicious to the death?" I went on with this dream. "It is not fair—their overpowering personality—it is not fair to others. It overpowers me, though I know it isallfallacious."
"I am ignorant of Ethical Philosophy."
"Miss Somers," said Murphy, knocking, "if Major Millard is below?"
"I am coming."
She smiled when she looked at me again. I stared at her with a singular feeling. Had I touched her, or had I made a fool of myself?
"There is some nice gingerbread in the closet. Sha'n't I get you a piece?"
I fell out of my dream.
"Major Millard is an old beau. Come down and captivate him. He likes fair women."
Declining the gingerbread, I accepted the Major. He was an old gentleman, in a good deal of highly starched linen, amusing himself by teazing Ann, who liked it, and paid him in impertinence. Adelaide played chess with him. Desmond sauntered in about nine, threw himself into a chair behind the sofa where I sat, and swung his arm over the back. The chessboard was put aside, and a gossipy conversation was started, which included Mrs. Somers, who was on a sofa across the room, but he did not join in it. I watched Mrs. Somers, as her fingers moved with her Berlin knitting, feeling more composed and settled as to my identity, in spite of my late outburst, than I had felt at any moment since my arrival in Belem. They were laughing at a funny description, which Ann was giving of a meeting she had witnessed between Miss Hiticutt and Mr. Pearsall, a gentleman lately arrived from China, after a twenty years' residence, with several lacs of rupees. Her delineation of Miss Hiticutt, who attempted to appear as she had twenty years before, was excellent. Ben, who was rolling and unrolling his mother's yarn, laughed till the tears ran, but Major Millard looked uneasy, as if he expected to be servedà-la-Hiticutt by the satirical Ann after his departure. Before the laughter subsided, I heard a low voice at my ear, and felt a slight touch from the tip of a finger on my cheek.
"How came those scars?"
I brushed my cheek with my handkerchief, and answered, "I got them in battle."
He left his chair, and walked slowly through the room into the dark front parlor. Major Millard took leave, and was followed by Mrs. Somers and Ann, neither of whom returned. As Ben stretched himself on his sofa with an air of relief, Desmond emerged from the dark and stood behind him, leaning against a column, with his hands in his coat pockets and his eyes searchingly fixed upon me. Ben, turning his head in my direction, sprang up so suddenly that I started; but Desmond's eyes did not move till Ben confronted him; then he gave him a haughty smile, and begged him to take his repose again.
I went to the piano and ran my fingers over the keys.
"Do you play? Can you sing?" asked Adelaide, rousing herself.
"Yes."
"Do sing. I never talk music; but I like it."
"Some old song," said Ben.
Singing
"Drink to me only with thine eyes,And I will pledge with mine,"
I became conscious that Desmond was near me. With a perfectly pure voice he joined in the song:
"The thirst that from the soul doth rise,Doth ask a drink divine."
As the tones of his voice floated through the room, I was where I saw the white sea-birds flashing between the blue deeps of our summer sea and sky, and the dark rocks that rose and dipped in the murmuring waves.