CHAPTER XV.CLOUDLESS JOYS.
Oh, pleasant was her welcome kiss,When day’s turmoil was o’er,And sweet the music of her step,That met him at the door.—Drake.
Oh, pleasant was her welcome kiss,When day’s turmoil was o’er,And sweet the music of her step,That met him at the door.—Drake.
Oh, pleasant was her welcome kiss,When day’s turmoil was o’er,And sweet the music of her step,That met him at the door.—Drake.
Oh, pleasant was her welcome kiss,
When day’s turmoil was o’er,
And sweet the music of her step,
That met him at the door.—Drake.
For the first few days of their honeymoon, the bridegroom stayed home with his bride—walking, riding, or playing with her in the mornings, and reading, singing, or conversing with her in the evenings.
On Sunday, she asked him to take her to church, and he took her to the nearest one of the sect to which she belonged.
On Monday, he took her into the city, to show her the public buildings and other objects of interest.
On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, they remained quietly at home. The weather was very inclement. It had been raining three days, and the roads were very bad.
Alexander spent the time in doors, in writing letters, examining accounts, and reading to Drusilla, while she worked with her needle. But the gay young man of the world found this life “slow.”
On the third dull afternoon that the poor little bride had tried her best to enliven, while he sat reading to her as she sewed, he suddenly threw the book from him, got up, yawned, walked up and down the room a few turns, looked out of the window at the drizzling rain and gloomy sky, and then turning to his companion, said:
“Drusa, the weather is infernal, but—the German Opera is in Washington, and our carriage is close. So what do you say to braving the rain and the wind to seeDer Freichutzby the best troupe of artists that has ever appeared in the city.”
She looked up quickly, and saw that he was anxious to go. She replied:
“I shall be delighted, Alick.”
“You are not afraid of taking cold?”
“Not a bit! I would go through Noah’s Flood to hear good music.”
“That’s my girl! You’re a brick. I’m so glad you are not one of the timid or sickly sort. That little pale face of yours is very deceptive, Drusa. One would think to look at you that you were very delicate, but I never saw or heard of your being sick my life.”
“Except when I cried myself into a fit of illness, when you went to Europe, Alick. Oh, I hope I shall never have another such a trouble as that, as long as I live in this world. I remember it yet. Alick, dear, I would rather die than lose you for another two years,” she said with much feeling.
“Little goose! I’m not worth a tenth, a hundredth, no, not a thousandth part of the love you bestow on me,” he answered laughing.
“Oh, Alick, I would not permit any one but yourself to say such things of you. And I—I won’t let you say them either, sir; so there, now.”
“Come, run away and get ready. I will order the carriage.”
And Drusilla tripped up stairs to make her toilet. And Alexander sauntered out of the room to give directions to his factotum.
In less than half an hour Drusilla came down, dressed for the evening.
The carriage was at the door.
“I have no tickets, of course; and consequently no reserved seats. But, on such an inclement night as this, I do not doubt that we shall be able to obtain good places,” said Alexander, as he handed her into the carriage.
The roads were heavy, and so, a drive, that in good weather could have been easily accomplished in thirty minutes, occupied them for forty-five.
It was rather late when they reached the National Theatre, where the opera troupe were performing.
The house was full, and the play had commenced.
Upon inquiry at the ticket-office, Alexander ascertained that there were no good seats to be had, with the exception of those in a stage box, that happened to be disengaged.
Alexander at once took that, and guided by an usher, led his companion thither.
On taking her seat in the box, Drusilla’s eyes fell upon what seemed to her a scene of enchantment.
The house was filled with a fashionable and well-dressed audience, and the opera was in full play. Drusilla had never been in an opera before. The Christmas pantomimes of her childhood comprised the whole of her experiences in the theatrical line. Her artistic eye and ear at once appealed to, she gazed with curiosity and interest, and listened with wonder and delight.
Her attention was fixed upon the stage, but her bridegroom’s was fixed upon her. As once before, in her childhood, he had looked through her eyes, and heard through her ears, and derived more pleasure fromherpleasure, than from the performance on the stage, so now he experienced a keener delight in watching and wondering at
“The mind, the music breathing from her face,”
“The mind, the music breathing from her face,”
“The mind, the music breathing from her face,”
“The mind, the music breathing from her face,”
than in listening to the most divine strains of the singer, who was charming the whole house.
How beautiful she looked in her enthusiasm! She was lovely always, even when pale and still, but now her lips and cheeks glowed with that delicate, transparent fire, kindled of emotion, and her eyes beamed with light, her whole countenance was radiant and inspired.
He was so much absorbed in contemplating her, that he did not perceive she had attracted and was receiving a great deal of attention from other quarters of the house. Next to the figures on the stage, the occupants of the “private” boxes have the most conspicuous position; and if there is a new beauty among them, she is sure to be discovered and stared at. Alexander had not thought of this, or perhaps he would not have exhibited his little beauty in a private box.
At the end of the second act of the opera, however, he was unpleasantly reminded of the fact. The box door opened, and one of his gentleman acquaintances came in.
Alexander arose and shook hands with him, but did not ask him to be seated, although there were two spare chairs; and did not present him to Drusilla, although the visitor looked enquiringly at her, and Drusilla glanced timidly in return.
Before this gentleman left the box, another came, and then another, until the little place was full. And Alexander chatted gaily with them all, but presented not one of them to Drusilla.
When the curtain arose for the third act, they all bowed and withdrew.
And Drusilla’s whole attention was once more given to the stage, and Alexander’s to her.
Yet, now that his notice had been attracted to the fact, he could not help seeing that several opera glasses were still levelled at his box.
“I will never bring her here again,” he muttered to himself, frowning with a strangely blended feeling of gratified pride in the admiration his beautiful bride had unconsciously excited, and of morose jealousy that other eyes should gaze on her so publicly at will. There was something of the sultan in Mr. Lyon’s selfish nature, and he felt as if he would have liked to shut up his little beauty from all the world forever.
He was heartily glad when the play was over. And while the performers were still curtseying and bowing, and the curtain was slowly rolling down, he hurried Drusilla up from her seat, wrapped her cloak around her, and took her off lest some of his unwelcome visitors should meet them on their way out.
When they were seated in their carriage, and the horses were moving at a smart trot down Pennsylvania avenue towards Seventh street, Alexander turned to his now quiet companion, and said:
“You were very much pleased, my little love?”
“Oh, more than that; I have been in Heaven!” she aspirated.
“You little enthusiast! But what makes you so quiet now?”
“I have scarcely got back to earth, I suppose.”
“Drusa, you saw those visitors that came into our box?”
“Yes; they were friends of yours, and looked as if they expected you to introduce them to me.”
“Yes, I dare say they did; but, Drusilla, did you wish me to do so?”
“I? I had no wish on the subject. But any friends of yours, Alick, would be always most welcome to my acquaintance.”
“Not so, little one. A man may have many friends that he would not like to present to his wife. And these—were roughs.”
“‘Roughs?’”
“Rude, unbroken colts, unfit for a gentlewoman’s society. But let them pass. I only wished to explain why I did not introduce them to you. Now as to the entertainment of the evening. How did you like Xitz?” he inquired, mentioning the tenor of the troupe.
Drusilla went off into raptures over the tenor.
And they talked of the opera and of nothing else until they reached home.
Lights from the windows were gleaming through the trees as they drove up to the house.
“How bright and cheerful our little home looks,” said Drusilla, as Alexander lifted her from the carriage.
“I am glad you think so, love,” he whispered.
Pina opened the door, and smilingly admitted them.
She took her mistress’s hood and cloak, while her master relieved himself of his cap and overcoat.
And then she opened the drawing-room door where a fine fire was burning. And while they stood and warmed themselves before its blaze she drew aside the crimson curtain that shut off the dining-room, and revealed an elegant little supper set out in readiness.
And the evening closed as pleasantly as it had commenced.
Alexander loved Drusilla; there is no doubt of that. But as the days wore on he found life alone with her rather dull. They had been married a fortnight before he left her alone for a day. But on a certain morning he had his horse saddled to ride in to Washington “to get the papers,” he said, and to make arrangements for having them sent to him every day. As he kissed Drusilla good-bye he added that he should be back as soon as possible.
She begged that he would not hurry himself for her sake. She said she would occupy her time with dress-making during his absence.
“But you will be quite alone my poor little love,” he said.
“I shall have pleasant thoughts for company,” she answered; and she added: “Dear Alick, I do not wish to be a hamper to your motions; never think of me as any obstacle to your freedom. Please don’t.”
“As if I ever thought of anything else but you!” replied the bridegroom, who was still a lover. And he kissed her again and rode away.
As soon as Alick reached the city he put his horse up at a livery stable, and gave himself a holiday by sauntering up and down Pennsylvania avenue, and lounging into the various reading rooms of the hotels.
In one of them he heard that an exciting polemic duel was to come off that day in the Senate Chamber between two distinguished Senators of opposite parties in politics. Mr. W. of Massachusetts was expected to make a speech, which Mr. C. of South Carolina was expected to answer.
And Alexander determined to go with the crowd and hear them.
He lost no time in hurrying to the Capitol, and making his way to the gallery of the Senate.
It was the very height of the Washington season, and the city was as usual every winter, filled to overflowing.
As many of the elite as could be pressed into that very limited space was crowded into the gallery of the Senate Chamber.
Alexander with much difficulty made his way into this crowd. But Mr. Lyon was epicurean rather than intellectual, and would not endure personal discomfort for the sake of hearing the grandest burst of eloquence that ever thunderstruck the world. So after experiencing something of heat, pressure, and suffocation he turned his back upon the “Godlike,” and pushed his way through the crowd in the gallery to the crowd outside who were trying to get in, and so slowly progressed to the library, were the “population” was thinner and the air purer.
He walked up to a table where several ladies and gentlemen were gathered to look at some new illustrated volumes that lay there for inspection.
One of the ladies turned around, and he found himself face to face with his Cousin Anna.
“Good gracious, Alick, who on earth would have expected to see you here!” she exclaimed in astonishment, as she offered her hand.
He turned red and pale; took and pressed the offered hand, and then recovered himself and answered:
“Oryou, Anna. I thought you were still at Old Lyon Hall.”
“And I thought you were at Richmond, or rather I had hoped you were by this time.”
“My uncle is here with you, of course,” said Alexander, wishing to avoid a topic which he saw upon the lips of his cousin.
“Oh, yes, certainly, my grandfather is here. Our coming was his act. He fancied—it was only fancy—that my health and spirits were drooping in the country, and that I needed a change, and so he brought me to Washington. Of course being in mourning, we do not go to balls, only to receptions where there is no dancing. But how is it that you are here? Why are you not in Richmond?”
“I hope my uncle is quite well?” said Alexander, persistently ignoring her questions.
“Yes, quite. I was asking you why——”
“I do not see him; he is not with you this morning.”
“No; he is on the floor of the Senate Chamber. But, Alexander, I asked you why you are here.”
“Oh, I too, needed a change,” he answered, smiling.
“Ah! but surely, Alexander, can you know——By the way, what have you been doing with yourself for the last month in which we have not heard from you?”
“Here is a catechism! Wandering about to be sure; trying to shake off a very disagreeable companion—meaning myself.”
While he spoke she was regarding him with a very grave face; but there was more of pity than rebuke in its expression.
“Alick, youcannotknow. When did you hear from your home?”
“Not for four or five weeks.”
“Then youdon’tknow. Oh, Alick, do you think it was right to leave your home without giving your address, in case anything should happen to require your presence. Oh, Alick!”
“Anna, since the death of my dear father and mother, in addition to the grief for their loss I have been oppressed with the cares of the estate. I wished to get rid of trouble for a little while. And so, to prevent old Dorset from writing to me about business, I came away without leaving my address.”
“And suppose, Alick, something of importance should have required your attention in the meantime? Some matter of life or death?”
“Well, thank Heaven, no such matter has turned up. I see you before me in health and beauty. And I hear you say that my uncle is quite well.”
“And yet something has happened. Come with me, Alick, to the window yonder,” said Anna, in a low voice, as she walked off to a distant part of the room.
“Have you really heard nothing from Dorset, Alick?” she inquired, when they stood together at some distance from every one else in the library.
“No; I hope nothing has happened to the poor old fellow?” said Alexander, uneasily.
“Oh, no, not to him, or to any of the servants. Oh, Alick, I am so sorry to be the first to tell you.”
“Of what in the name of Heaven, Anna, since you and your grandfather, and even old Dorset and the servants are well.”
“Was there no one else in whom you took an interest?” she gravely inquired.
“Richard Hammond? Poor Dick! Surely no misfortune——”
“No, no misfortune has befallen Dick; and neither do I give you credit for caring a straw whether there has or hasnot. Nothing has happened to Dick but the inheritance of a large fortune from a bachelor uncle in Brazil, which has caused my grandfather to look on him with more tolerant eyes.”
“I am very glad of Dick’s good fortune.”
“I do not give you credit for caring a fig for his fortune, good or bad. But oh, Alick, I am grieved for you. Was there no one else, no one else you cared for, left at home?”
“Indeed, I cannot think of any other creature in whom I could be expected to take so deep an interest.”
“Not—poor little Drusilla?”
Alexander gave a great guilty start and stood gazing at his cousin. Drusilla had not been associated in his mind with any one left at home; so he had had no suspicion that Anna spoke of her; and now he wondered whether Anna had any inkling of the truth. He doubted only an instant, and then he felt sure by her words, looks and manners that she had not. Yet he wished to know everything she had to say of Drusilla’s flight.
“What of her?” he inquired.
“Oh, Alick, poor little thing! I grieve so much to tell you. But after you left home, it seems she became moody, silent, absent, and altogether queer. She took to wandering off every day by herself. Dorset and Molly thought that she was going deranged as her poor mother had gone. So they watched her closely. But one day, about a fortnight after you left home, she eluded their vigilance and disappeared from the house. And though the most diligent search was made for her, she could not be found.”
Anna paused, and Alexander tried to look as much shocked as she evidently expected him to be; but he could not yet trust himself to make any comment.
“Old Dorset, nearly beside himself with distress, wrote to my grandfather, telling him of what had occurred, and asking for your address that he might communicate thematter to you. Of course, not knowing it, my grandfather could not give it. But I did hope the old man had discovered your whereabouts and written to you.”
“No, he has not. Dear me! Poor girl, poor girl! how shocking! And no trace has been discovered of her yet?” said Alexander, acting grief and anxiety as well as any ordinary stage-player could.
“None that I knew of.”
“Bless my life, how dreadful! I must put advertisements in all the papers and employ the detectives. What motive does old Dorset assign to her act of leaving her home?”
“Partial derangement, I tell you, inherited from her mother.”
“Poor child! poor child! I will have inquiries set on foot immediately. But—here comes General Lyon,” said Alexander, glad to have a diversion from the very embarrassing subject of Drusilla.
In fact, at that moment the old soldier entered the library, looking to the right and left in search of his grand-daughter.
Attended by Alexander, she went to meet him.
“Well, my dear, ready to go back to our hotel?—Ah, Alexander, how do you do, my boy? Glad to see you. How long have you been here?” he asked, cordially shaking hands with his nephew.
“I reached the city early this morning,” said Alexander, speaking theliteraltruth, but giving a false impression, as he meant to do.
“Ah! by the first train, eh?” exclaimed the old man, jumping to the obvious conclusion. “But where do you hang out, eh, my boy?”
“I have not taken rooms yet,” replied Alexander, who found that he needed all his presence of mind to answer these unexpected questions without betraying himself on the one hand and perjuring himself on the other.
“Ah! left all your luggage at the station, eh? Well, I would advise you to take rooms at our hotel. We are pretty comfortable there?”
“How long do you propose to stay here, sir?” inquired the young man.
“Oh, the rest of the season, I suppose.”
Here was a dilemma. Of course, Alexander might have ended all his embarrassments by candidly confessing his marriage with Drusilla. And why did he not do so? Simply because loving and admiring his young bride, as he certainly did, he was nevertheless ashamed of having wedded his housekeeper’s daughter; and he lacked moral courage to face the astonishment of his cousin and the indignation of his uncle, and to defend his own act and stand by his own wife.
Ah! but there is a sort of pride that is below contempt.
While Alexander was wondering what he should do to get out of his perplexities, his uncle changed the subject back to the other dangerous theme by saying:
“Ah, by the way, that was a sad thing—the fate of poor little Drusilla.”
“Very sad, indeed, sir,” replied Alexander, lugubriously.
“It must have shocked you terribly,” said the old soldier.
“Ah!” exclaimed Alexander.
“Well, well, it can’t be helped, I suppose.”
“I shall do all I can in the premises, sir.”
“Oh, no doubt, no doubt. Come, my dear Anna, let us get on. Alick, come home with us to dinner.”
Alexander would have made excuses. He was not dressed for dinner, he said. He had no means of making his toilet.
But his uncle cut him short.
“Nonsense, man, nonsense. Who expects you to be in full dress to-day? You are a traveller, just arrived in the city. You have left your luggage at the station, and youhave not even engaged rooms yet. Besides—at a hotel table, who cares how you are dressed? Come along. There! give Anna your arm, and take her to the carriage.”
What could Alick do?
He offered his arm to his cousin and led her down the many broad steps leading to the east front of the capitol, where the carriage waited. He handed her carefully in to her cushioned seat, and bowed and attempted some excuse for leaving her.
But Anna, seized with some inexplicable whim, perhaps inspired by the Spirit of Evil for his torment, would not let him off; but insisted upon his entering and taking a seat beside her.
With a suppressed groan, Alexander obeyed.
The old soldier followed them into the carriage.
When he was comfortably seated and the horses had started, he rubbed his hands and said:
“This is fortunate. I needed some one whom I could trust, to take Anna out in the evening. Who so proper an escort as her betrothed husband? Now this evening there is to be a grand reception at the Executive Mansion. I do not feel well enough to go out at night, so I must impress you into the service, my boy.”
“I should be most happy, sir,” said the young man, actually trembling under his accumulating embarrassment. “I should indeed be delighted, but——”
“But what?—Oh, nonsense, you cannot make any excuse about your toilet in this case; there is plenty of time to get your luggage from the station, and get yourself up for the evening in the most unexceptionable style.”
“Yes, sir, but——”
“But what, again? You cannot possibly have any other engagement. You have been in the city too short a time. Alexander, what has come to you? You are not like yourself at all. I really think your betrothed has a reason to feel piqued,” said the old man, gravely.
“I beg your pardon and hers, sir—I am—if I must speak the truth, a little upset upon the subject of that poor girl,” said Alexander, in explanation, again speaking the literal truth, while intentionally giving a wrong impression.
“Oh exactly, to be sure, my dear boy, and it does you credit. I am certain I ought to begyourpardon, now, for doing injustice to your good feelings. But Alick, my lad, your compassion for that poor child need not prevent you from ordinary social pleasures. You really must escort your cousin to the President’s reception to-night.”
“My dear grandfather,” put in Anna, “I will not, if you please, have any gentleman pressed into my service against his will, even though that gentleman should be my affianced husband. Dick is in Washington. He called on me this morning, and begged leave to attend me to the White House this evening. I told him I would hold his proposal in reserve, and let him know in time.”
Now what was there in the name of his old rival, poor Dick, that should have raised Alexander’s jealousy? Mr. Lyon was a married man, and had no right to feel annoyed at the idea of Richard Hammond becoming the escort of his cousin. Nevertheless hedidfeel annoyed, partly, perhaps, because he had once considered Anna his own property, and however lightly he had valued the possession, he could not, even now, see her pass over to another without a secret feeling of rage and jealousy; and so he hesitated to answer:
“No, my dear cousin; if you please, I claim the right of attending you in person. I can not resign that right to Mr. Hammond.”
“AndIclaim the right of choosing my own escort,” said Anna, proudly.
Alexander bowed.
“Girl and boy, I will have no lovers’ quarrels here,Anna, you should feel that there is an impropriety in an engaged young lady accepting the attentions of another gentleman, when her betrothed is anxious to show her those attentions himself. Alexander, you are to take Anna to the reception this evening. Young people, both see that you obey me.Somerespect should be paid to my gray head and my eighty years,” said the old soldier, with dignity.
Both the young people bowed and acquiesced. And so it was settled that Alexander should attend Anna to the reception of the evening.