CHAPTER III.SURPRISES.
Were her eyes open? Yes, and her mouth, too;Surprise has this effect to make one dumb,Yet leave the gate which eloquence slips throughAs wide as if a long speech were to come.—Byron.
Were her eyes open? Yes, and her mouth, too;Surprise has this effect to make one dumb,Yet leave the gate which eloquence slips throughAs wide as if a long speech were to come.—Byron.
Were her eyes open? Yes, and her mouth, too;Surprise has this effect to make one dumb,Yet leave the gate which eloquence slips throughAs wide as if a long speech were to come.—Byron.
Were her eyes open? Yes, and her mouth, too;
Surprise has this effect to make one dumb,
Yet leave the gate which eloquence slips through
As wide as if a long speech were to come.—Byron.
The family party first separated to go to their several chambers to lay aside their outside wrappings and to prepare for their early Sunday dinner.
Then they met in the drawing-room.
Drusilla, who had more to do than the others, was the latest to join them.
Her baby, that had slept soundly during the long ride from church, was now awake and required attention.
While she was engaged in her sweet maternal duties, she received a message from General Lyon requesting that his godson might be brought down into the drawing-room before dinner.
So as soon as the young mother had made herself and her child presentable, she went down-stairs, followed by the nurse carrying the babe.
On the threshold of the room she paused in pleased surprise, and not so much at the value of the presents displayed before her, as at the new instance of kindness on the part of her friends.
On a round table covered with a fine crimson clothwere laid the christening offerings, of great splendor for their kind.
There was a richly chased silver casket filled with gold coins from General Lyon. There was a baby’s silver gilt service—consisting of waiter, pap bowl, water jug, and drinking mug, cream pot, sugar basin, sugar tongs and spoons—from Dick. And there was a coral and bells of the finest coral, purest gold, and most superb workmanship, from Anna.
“Dear uncle! dear Anna and Dick, how kind, oh how kind, you all are to me and my boy! I cannot tell you how much I feel your kindness. I am very grateful; and I hope, oh, I hope, my dear little Leonard will live to thank you!” fervently exclaimed Drusilla, pressing the hand of her aged benefactor to her heart, and lifting her eyes full of loving gratitude to her young friends, who stood side by side enjoying her delight.
“My dear, it gives us as much pleasure to offer you these little tokens of our affection as it can possibly give you to receive them,” answered General Lyon, drawing her towards him and touching her forehead with his lips.
“It does indeed, sweet cousin,” added Dick.
And Anna, for her answer, silently kissed the young mother.
“And now to dinner, which has been announced for twenty minutes,” smiled the old gentleman, drawing Drusilla’s arm within his own and leading the way to the dining-room, where a feast of unusual elegance was laid in honor of the occasion.
The day closed in serene enjoyment.
When Drusilla retired to her room that evening, she found that the christening presents had been transferred from the round table in the drawing-room to an elegant little cabinet that had been purchased to receive them, and placed in the nursery.
Before she went to bed she knelt down and thanked Heaven for the mercies that now blessed her life.
As her head rested on her pillow, with the face of the sleeping babe near her, softly seen by the subdued light of the shaded lamp, she wondered at the peace that had descended upon her troubled spirit and made her calmly happy.
Had she then ceased to love her faithless husband?
Ah, no! for pure love like hers is of immortal life and cannot die. But she had ceased to sorrow for him, for sorrow is of mortal birth and cannot live forever.
She felt safe under the fatherly care of the fine old head of the family, cheerful in the company of her affectionate young friends Dick and Anna, and happy—oh, deeply, unutterably happy!—in the possession of her beautiful boy. She felt no trouble.
“Baby fingers, waxen touches pressed it from the mother’s breast.”
“Baby fingers, waxen touches pressed it from the mother’s breast.”
“Baby fingers, waxen touches pressed it from the mother’s breast.”
“Baby fingers, waxen touches pressed it from the mother’s breast.”
She never heard from Alick; but then, as she did not expect to hear from him, she was not disappointed.
She never heard from Cedarwood either; but then as she had left directions with the servants only to have letters written to her in case of necessity, she felt that, in this instance, “no news is good news.”
Mammy was growing rather restive and desirous of returning to her home, but Drusilla besought her to remain a little longer at Old Lyon Hall.
“Wait,” she said, “until the next spell of fine weather, when baby will be able to travel, and I too will return to Cedarwood. I must not stay away from the home provided for me by my husband, nor yet tax the hospitality of my dear friends longer.”
Mammy looked puzzled, for though the faithful old household servants had carefully forborne to speak of unpleasant family affairs in the presence of the nurse, whom they looked upon as a stranger and an alien, still shehadheard enough to give her the impression that young Mr. Lyon had abandoned his wife. Therefore Mammy was rather bewildered by this talk of returning to Cedarwood.
“I do not think as the General and the young people will consent to part with you, ma’am; and indeed I think it will a’most break all their hearts to lose little Master Leonard,” said the nurse.
“I know they will not like it, because they are so kind to us—so very kind, and therefore I have shrunk from mentioning it to them; but my duty is clear—I must go to my own home and I must advise them of my purpose without delay.”
“Well, ma’am, certingly, if they wants your company ever so, they ain’t got no power to keep you ag’in’ your will; and so, ma’am, if you is set to go home first fine spell arter Christmas, I reckon as I can wait and see you safe through,” said the nurse, graciously.
“Thank you; it will be a great favor,” replied Drusilla.
The time was drawing near to the Christmas holidays—a season always hitherto observed by the Lyons with great festivity—when they had been unbounded in their hospitality and munificent in their presents.
On this occasion, some five or six days before Christmas, General Lyon sent Dick to Richmond, armed with a handful of blank checks signed and left to be filled up at pleasure, and commissioned to purchase the most elegant and appropriate holiday gifts that he could find for every member of the family and every household servant; but above all, to get a handsome perambulator, a crib bedstead, and—a hobby horse for Master Leonard.
“Good gracious me, grandpa!” had been Anna’s exclamation on hearing of this last item, “what on earth do you think a baby of a few weeks old can do with a hobby horse?”
“I don’t know, my dear, but I wish to give it to him.”
“He won’t be able to sit on it for three years to come.”
“And I may not live to see that time, my dear, and as I wish to give it to him I must do so now. It can be kept for him, you know. And now, while we are on the subject, I wish to ask you to have one of the many rooms in this house fitted up as a play-room for him. Let it be as near the nursery as possible; and whatever childish treasures I may purchase may be put there and kept until he is old enough to enjoy them.”
This conversation had taken place in the presence of Drusilla; but as no part of it had been addressed to her, she only expressed her gratitude for the intended kindness by glancing thankfully from one speaker to the other.
But she felt more strongly than ever that, however reluctant she might be to announce her intended departure from such kind friends, it was incumbent upon her to do so before they should make any material change in their household arrangements for her sake.
So after a little hesitation she commenced:
“Dear friends, while ever I live in this world I shall remember your goodness to me, and with my last breath I shall pray Heaven to bless you for it. But——”
“We have pleasedourselvesin this, my dear; so say nothing more about it,” smiled the old gentleman, laying his hand kindly on her head.
“Thanks—a thousand thanks, dear sir; but I feel that I must soon leave you——”
“Leave us!” echoed General Lyon, Anna and Dick all in a breath.
“It is time for me to return to my home,” she said, gently.
“Your home, Drusilla!” said General Lyon, in a grave and tender voice. “Poor child, where will you find so proper a home as this, where your relations with us give you the right to stay, and where our affection for you makes you more than welcome?”
“Nowhere, indeed, sir, but in the house provided for me, by—my husband,” answered Drusilla, breathing the last two words in a scarcely audible tone.
“Ah! he has come to his senses; he has written and entreated you to join him. For the sake of my faith in human nature I am glad that he has done so,” said the General.
“Oh, no, he has not yet written to me,” smiled Drusilla.
“But you have heard from him?”
“No, not since that night.”
“Then what do you mean, my dear, by talking of the home he has provided for you?”
“I mean the cottage to which he took me when we were first married—Cedarwood, near Washington.”
“Where you suffered such cruel mental anguish as I should think would render the very thought of the place hateful to you, my poor child,” said General Lyon, compassionately.
Drusilla gave him a pleading look that seemed to pray him to say nothing that might even by implication reproach her absent husband; and then she added:
“There were other memories and associations connected with Cedarwood, dear sir. The first few weeks ofmy married life were very happy; and my housekeeping and gardening very cheerful and pleasant.”
“But all that is changed. Why go back there now?”
“Because it is my proper home.”
“Yet—he—that man has not invited you to return?”
“No, but then I left of my own accord, and now that I am able to travel, it is my duty to go back, though uninvited. I must not wait to be asked to return to my post,” said the young wife.
The General was silent and thoughtful for a moment and then he said, firmly:
“My child, you must think no more of this.”
She looked at him; but hesitated to oppose him, and when she did answer she spoke gravely and gently:
“Dear sir, it isrightfor me to go.”
“Drusilla, think no more of this, I say,” he repeated, and this time with an air of assured authority.
“Dear uncle, why do you say so?”
“I might answer, it would be too painful to me to part with you and your boy.”
“Thanks for saying that, sir. I too, feel that to leave this safe, sweet old home, and these loving friends, will be very painful; duty often is so; but not for that must we fail in it.”
“Drusilla! I repeat that you must not think of taking this step! Not only has your unworthy——”
She looked at him so deprecatingly, that he broke off his speech and began anew.
“Well, well, I will not wound you if I can help it, my dear!—I say, not only has your husband notinvitedyou to return to your home, but he has positivelyforbiddenyou to do so. Do you remember, poor child, the terms he used in discarding you?”
“Words spoken in the ‘short madness’ of anger. I do not wish to remember them, dear General Lyon,” she sweetly answered.
“My child! do you know where to write to him?”
“Oh no, sir.”
“Do you think that he will write to you? or do you hope that he will join you at Cedarwood?”
“Oh, no, dear uncle! at least, not for a long time. But I hope that he will feel some interest in his child, and hewill inquire about it, and when he finds out what a beautiful boy it is, he will come to see it; and then, then—for the boy’s sake he will forgive the mother.”
“Forgive! Heaven of Heavens, girl! what has he to forgive in you?” indignantly demanded Anna.
“That which a man seldom pardons—although it was done from love to him and his child,” answered Drusilla, in a low voice.
“Then you really have a hope that he will rejoin you at Cedarwood?” inquired General Lyon.
“At some future day, sir, yes.”
“And in the meanwhile you live alone there?”
“No, sir, not quite; but with my boy and servants.”
“And how do you propose to support the little establishment, my dear? Come, I wish to know your ideas; though I dare say, poor child, you have never thought of the subject.”
“Oh yes, dear sir, I have. In the first place, I have nearly fifteen hundred dollars in money, left at home; that will keep us in moderate comfort for two years, especially as I have abundance of everything else on the premises—furniture, clothing and provisions, in the house; and a kitchen garden, an orchard, poultry yard and dairy, on the place. So, at the very worst, I could keep a market farm,” smiled Drusilla.
“But in the meanwhile live alone, or with only your infant babe and your servants?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I tell you, Drusilla, that you must not, shall not do so,” repeated the General, with emphasis.
“Oh, sir, why would you hinder me?” she pleaded, lifting her imploring eyes to his face.
“For your salvation, dear child,” he answered, very gently.
“But how for my salvation, dear uncle?”
“Drusilla, you cannot know, only heaven can know, how difficult, howimpossibleit is for a young forsaken wife to live alone and escape scandal.”
“But, dear sir, if I do right, and trust in the Lord, I have nothing to fear.”
“Poor child! I must answer you in the words of another old bore, as meddlesome as perhaps you think me.Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shall not escape calumny.”
“But, sir, in addition to all that, I mean to be very discreet, to live very quietly with my little household, and to see no company whatever, except you and Anna, if you should honor me with a visit, and to make no visits except here.”
“But you must go to church sometimes; and when your babe is ailing, you must see a doctor; also it will be necessary occasionally to have your chimneys swept; and the tax-gatherer will make you an annual visit.”
“Of course, dear sir,” she smiled.
“And yet you hope to preserve your good name?—Ah, my dear child, no forsaken wife, living alone can do so, much less one so very young and inexperienced as yourself. If the venomous ‘fangs of malice’ can find no other hold upon you, they will assail you through—the Christian minister who brings you religious consolation for your sorrows; the family physician who attends you in your illness, to save your life; to the legal adviser who manages your business; the tax-gatherer, the chimney-sweep, or anybody or everybody whom church, state, or need should call into your house.”
“Ah, sir! that is very severe! I hope it is not as you think. I believe better of the world than that,” said Drusilla.
“When the world has stung you nearly to death or to madness, my dear, you may judge more truly and less tenderly of it. And now, Drusilla, hear me. You do not go to Cedarwood; you do not leave our protection until your husband claims you of us. Let the subject drop here at once, and forever.”
Drusilla bowed her head in silence; but she was not the less resolved at heart to return to Cedarwood, and risk all dangers, in the hope that her husband might some day join her there.
But Destiny had decided Drusilla’s course in another direction.
The event that prevented her return to Cedarwood shall be related in the next chapter.