CHAPTER XXVIII.THE VAULT.
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,Hath had no power as yet upon thy beauty;Thou art not conquered! Beauty’s ensign yetIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.—Shakspere.
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,Hath had no power as yet upon thy beauty;Thou art not conquered! Beauty’s ensign yetIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.—Shakspere.
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,Hath had no power as yet upon thy beauty;Thou art not conquered! Beauty’s ensign yetIs crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.—Shakspere.
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power as yet upon thy beauty;
Thou art not conquered! Beauty’s ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.
—Shakspere.
A silent drive of about half an hour’s length brought them to the deep and sheltered forest dell in which St. John’s Church stood. Surrounding the dell was the boundless forest, whose nearer trees stood up, stark and black, in strong contrast with the snow. Within the circle of these grim trees gleamed a single ray of red light, shooting in a line of crimson across the graveyard. This came from the window of the old sexton’s log house, that stood just within the shelter of the forest. Taking this ghostly light as their guide, and picking their waycautiously and reverently among the tombs, they approached the lone dwelling. As they drew near they saw the light flitting backward and forward in the house, and then perceived an old negro with a saddled mule at the gate.
Before Dr. Hardcastle could speak to ask a question the door of the house was opened, and the old sexton came forth, clad in a shaggy overcoat, fox-cap, and fur gloves, and carrying a lantern in his hand. Seeing two strangers, he made an exclamation of surly surprise, and asked their business. Dr. Hardcastle drew him apart, explained to him who they were, and what they wanted. The old man then changed his tone, invited them into his house, and, lantern in hand, slowly led the way. With plain kindness, he took the hand of Elsie, and led her to a rude armchair in the chimney corner, telling her that, being about to go away for the night, he had put out the fire, but that he would soon kindle it up again to warm her. Then going to an obscure corner of the room, he brought forth a quantity of oily pine knots, and lighting one at the candle in the lantern, and placing it on the hearth and piling other around it, and heaping more upon them, in an instant he had a very hot fire. Then he turned to Dr. Hardcastle, begging him to be seated, and explained that he had just been summoned away to Green Mills to see his brother, who was dangerously ill; that he had therefore to depart on the instant, lest he should not see his brother alive; that if Dr. Hardcastle would dispense with his services, and take the keys of the church and let himself in, he would be very much obliged; farther, that if Dr. Hardcastle should choose not to return to Huttontown in the severe cold, this poor cottage was at his service, with all it contained; only when the doctor left, would he please to put out the fire, and lock up everything, both at the church and at the cottage, securely, and put the bunch of keys under the stone by the doorstep. Dr. Hardcastle thanked him, accepted the keys, promised security to all things intrusted to his care, and even hastened to dismiss the old man. When the sexton and the negro had departed,Magnus turned to Elsie, who had sat all this time in the armchair by the chimney corner, with her face covered by the flap of her cloak, and whispered:
“Elsie, my dear, dear girl, pause, think; do not insist upon going into the vault!”
“Oh, yes! yes, I entreat you; something in my heart urges me beyond the possibility of keeping back; haste! haste, I implore you. I am sick with impatience while you hesitate. I feel as if something momentous, something tremendous hung upon this instant of time; haste, haste!” she said.
“My darling, my poor darling, strong as you are, this has been too much for you; you are nervous, excited, flighty; but, come along; I can take care of you.”
Elsie arose and took his arm, and solemnly and silently they passed out of the old sexton’s house, and took their mournful way toward the church. Solemnly and silently they entered its portals, and, dimly lighted by the lantern, passed up its shadowy aisles—silently, but for the mournful echo of their footsteps. The door of the vault was situated at the side of the altar. Opening this door with reverential care, and still bearing the lantern, Magnus Hardcastle descended, followed by Elsie, pale with grief and awe, into its shadows. There is a depth of solemnity about the last resting-place of the dead which overwhelms the wildest sorrow with awe, and subdues it into deathlike stillness. Magnus and Elsie entered the vault with profound calmness. But here was only the darkness and repose of death. The vault, like the church, was new. Only two mortals—an aged man and an infant—had been placed there to rest, just before Alice Garnet fell asleep and was laid by their side. As the two mourning pilgrims entered, the light of the lantern partially revealed the new, gray stone walls, the white ground floor, and the three coffins. That of Alice was, of course, easily recognized. Reverently, mournfully, they approached and knelt by its side. With reverent hands Magnus raised the top of the outer case.
A glass-plate set in the lid of the coffin gave the features of the quiet face once more to the view of themourning son and daughter. There was the face, even as Elsie had seen it often in its natural sleep; only more serene than in slumber, for in her life the very sleep of Alice had seemed troubled or too deathlike. Was this repose deathlike? Was this death? Beautiful, strangely beautiful, was that heavenly face, in its deep repose, in its rapt repose, for there was a look of ecstasy in the countenance, in the elastic fullness of the muscles, in the faint color on the rounded cheeks, and the full and pouting lips. Was this death? Someone’s reverence for the beautiful had left the amber ringlets straying from the close border of the cap, and now so lifelike looked the lovely face, and these ringlets seemed to tremble as with a trembling breath. Was this death? Was the suddenness with which life had left the clay the cause of this lifelike look? There are moments when the most rational have wild hopes, moments when the most habitually self-collected doubt the evidence of their own senses; it was thus in amaze that they gazed upon her countenance, seemingly instinct with life; with the freshness, and fullness, and bloom of life; the color seemed brightening upon her cheeks and lips with life; the eyelashes and the amber ringlets seemed quivering with life, and even as they gazed with amaze the view was obscured by a mist on the glass, and the beautiful countenance veiled from their eyes. Elsie spoke with a voice full of tears.
“Oh, Magnus! dear Magnus! wipe off the glass. Our breath, as we looked too close, has dulled it. I cannot see her angel face any longer for the mist upon the glass.”
Magnus drew out his silk pocket-handkerchief and wiped the glass carefully.
“I cannot see her yet, Magnus. I cannot see her yet. Oh, I want to see her again, that that divine countenance may be indelibly fixed in my memory—oh-h-h!”
Magnus wiped the glass again very carefully, looked, wiped it a third time most carefully, and, taking up the lantern, threw its whole light upon the plate, rubbing it assiduously as he did so. Why did Dr. Hardcastle start—
“As if the Archangel’s trump he heard?”
“As if the Archangel’s trump he heard?”
“As if the Archangel’s trump he heard?”
“As if the Archangel’s trump he heard?”
The new mist upon the glass was from within the coffin. To snatch a hunting-knife from his belt, to wrench open the coffin lid with one wrench of his strong hand and throw it off, to give her fresh air; to snatch her from the coffin to the warmth and shelter of his living arms and bosom; to turn to the thunder-stricken Elsie, and exclaim:
“Elsie, don’t faint! Be strong, I command you! Your mother lives! she lives! She has been placed here in apparent death only; she must not recover to find herself in this dreadful place; to see these grave-clothes; to know what horrors have befallen her, lest reason be shocked forever from its seat. Give me your cloak, Elsie! Quick! quick! My God, don’t faint, I abjure you; I’ll never forgive you if you faint now. Your cloak, I say; your cloak, quick! to throw around this shroud, which she must not see.”
Elsie, with pallid lips and dilated eyes, too amazed and doubtful of her own senses and sanity to receive the joyful truth, with mechanical promptitude threw off her cloak and handed it to Magnus.
“That’s my brave girl; that’s my pioneer wife!” he said, receiving the cloak, and folding it hastily yet carefully around the form he held in his arms, and pressing it closer to his bosom. “There, Elsie! Now, my little heroine, shade the lantern; quick, Elsie, lest she open her eyes and see the place we bear her from. Quick, Elsie! she is moving restlessly in my arms now, and her form is getting warm, thank Heaven! as warm almost as yours, my Elsie. There, now follow me closer behind, Elsie, my little soldier, and you may let the lantern shine as soon as we get out of the church.”
And so, folding the form of Alice closer in his sustaining arms, closer to his sheltering bosom, and followed by Elsie, bearing the darkened lantern, he hurried up the stairs of the vault, down the aisle of the church, out of the great door, and across the graveyard toward the cottage of the sexton, never pausing in his speed until he reached the door of the cabin, which, without stopping to unlatch, he pushed open with a blow of his foot.
He bore her in, followed by Elsie with the lantern. The fire they had left there was still burning brightly, warming and lighting the whole room. In the upper end of the apartment stood a poor but neat and cleanly bed.
Toward this he hastened with the form of Alice. He turned down the cover, and, hastily divesting her of the heavy cloak, laid her in the bed and covered her warmly up. He stooped and looked at her with intense interest, then took her arm and felt her pulse. It was moderately full and quick. He gazed upon her face. The color was still brightening in her cheeks and lips; her eyelids were quivering as if about to fly open; her full, fresh lips were slightly apart, as if about to speak; she was moving gently, breathing softly, murmuring melodiously. He bent his ear to catch that low, musical murmur; low and musical as the faintest breath of the Æolian harp. The words of that strange melody were: “Oh, angels, let me go! I—only I of all the earth love him well enough to be the instrument of Christ for his redemption—I—only I of all the earth have faith in its possibility.”
“Wandering, flighty, delirious,” said Dr. Magnus, quietly dropping the wrist he had held, and rising and going toward Elsie. “Elsie, I dare not leave your mother for an instant now. Pick up your cloak, wrap yourself well in it, take the lantern and haste to the gate, where we left the carriage; take my medicine chest from the box, and bring it hither. Haste, Elsie, haste! Every second counts a year of life.”
Mechanically as an automaton Elsie had obeyed his every direction. She looked unnatural with her pale face and great, dilated eyes. And she performed her part with the abstracted air and literal and mathematical precision of a sleep-walker. With this strange, absent air she went out, and after an absence of about fifteen minutes returned with the medicine chest.
Magnus heard her coming and left his patient for an instant to open the door and relieve her of her burden. But here another subject unexpectedly arrested his attention and claimed his care. As she gave the chest intohis hands she stared straight at him—straight through him and past him with such unconscious eyes that he grew alarmed for her. Setting down the medicine chest upon a bench, he took her hands and drew her up to the fire, and, laying his hand upon her shoulder, and looking straight in her eyes, he said cheerfully:
“Wake up, Elsie! Rouse yourself, my child! This is very awful, but not unnatural.”
“Oh-h-h!” sighed Elsie, dropping into the armchair. “Oh-h-h! I know it is not unnatural, or uncommon, either, for loved ones to die, and hearts to be bereaved and broken; but, dear Magnus, I am afraid I am going crazy; I am afraid to tell you what I wildly imagined just now, what an extravagant fancy I took into my head.”
“What was it, then?”
“Now, don’t be too much astounded at my folly, dear Magnus, for I have been so grievously tried.”
“What was it, then? Quick! I have no time for idle talk.”
“Well, then, I fancied—oh-h-h! such a mad, frenzied fancy—that my beloved mother was alive again. Am I not going mad? I thought my dear mother was alive again!”
“And you know she is!” he exclaimed, dropping his hand upon her shoulder, with hearty, kindly roughness; “you know she is! Rouse yourself this moment, Elsie; I command you; collect your thoughts; remember where you are, and what has occurred. What sort of behavior is this? Have I been premature and too partial in ascribing to you strength of mind; courage, coolness, promptitude in emergency? Can I depend upon you in extremity? Come out of this amazement this instant, Elsie! Wake up, and make yourself useful; weakness is meanness. Be strong; strength is grandeur. Be heroic; strength is heroism. Make me proud to call you wife. Stand up, now; give me both your hands. Look me straight in the eyes, and let me see if I cannot infuse some sanity and strength into that amazed and fainting soul of yours.”
Elsie placed the back of her hands against her brow,while she slowly arose to her feet, and then, slowly throwing off her hands, as if to dispel an illusion, she said:
“There; the cloud has passed, Magnus; the weakness has left me; I will be worthy of you. What is it that I can do, Magnus?”
“There! I know you were not a poltroon; only a fatigued hero, Elsie. Come, one kiss, and then to work.”
And he caught her to his bosom with an ardent clasp and fervent kiss, that inspired from his own rich and strong vitality all her life, and warmth, and energy, and activity that her weaker nature needed at this trying moment. Then he led her to the bedside of her mother, whispering as he did so:
“Now, my own heroic wife, no relapse into weakness.”
“No, no, indeed, my strength; I will be worthy of you. Oh, Magnus, I think you have life enough to raise me from the dead, if I were to die. Oh, Magnus, I begin to realize now that she lives, and that I am blessed; blessed to the fullness of content,” said Elsie, sinking upon her knees and raising her clasped hands and streaming eyes to heaven.
“Calmly, calmly, my Elsie,” said Magnus, laying his hand gently on her head. “There, rise now, and sit beside your mother, and watch her, and listen for her words, that we may know the nature of her illusion, and not rudely shock it. She seems in a happy trance now—and her pulse is good, yet her state is so critical that her waking must be watched for.”
“Hush-h-h! her lips move! she speaks!” said Elsie, bending over her. “Oh, mother! mother! darling mother! warm and living, restored to me! What shall I render Heaven in exchange for thee? Hush-h-h! she is saying something. Oh, Magnus, that look of quiet ecstasy has left her countenance, and the troubled, earthly look she used to wear has come again! What is the reason of it? oh, what is the reason of it? Oh, see how her brow contracts! how her lips quiver! Oh, see her hands fly together and clasp like vises! Oh, Magnus! Magnus do something! She is going into a spasm.”
“No, no, child; she is not. Natural life is coming again. Her mind is taking up the train of thoughts at the place where it was lost. Nothing can be done as yet, but to listen—yes, listen—she speaks again—hear!”
“Forgive Elsie—only forgive Elsie, and I will forget that I have been betrayed, and scorned, and trampled under foot. At least I will never, never speak of it,” murmured Alice, in a heart-broken tone; and then her hands flew up, her eyes flew open, and she looked around in the full possession of all her faculties, which was evident from the surprise with which she glanced upon the strange scene.
Magnus and Elsie had drawn back, not to shock her with their sudden appearance.
Yes, catalepsy, epilepsy, apparent death—whatever the medical faculty in their wisdom might have pronounced the fit to be that had held her life spellbound for two days—was over, quite over, and she raised up in the full possession of all her senses.
“Where in the universe am I?” she asked, rising upon her elbow and looking around. “Has he turned me out of doors, really, and has one of the negroes taken me into a quarter during a fainting fit? Let me recollect. What happened after he threw me down? I remember nothing after that. ‘Now, die of rage’ he said, and spurned me from him. Yes, that is the last link in memory’s chain. I must have fainted after that; he must have thrust me out, and one of the poor negro women must have picked me up and brought me to her quarters, and here I have recovered. Oh, I wonder how long I have lain in this swoon?—not long. It was near daylight when I lost recollection. It is not quite daylight yet. Oh, I have not lain here long, perhaps not ten minutes. I wish someone would come. I want to warn them not to speak of this. It must not be talked of on the plantation. It must not get out among the neighbors. And never, never must Elsie hear of it—guess at it! God! God! save Elsie from this knowledge! Let her still respect her father. Let her still be happy in thinking of me in my home—‘home’—my home. Alas! it is not my home anylonger! I do not own an interest there—not even a wife’s interest in the homestead which I should have had, even had the estate come by General Garnet, for I have signed even that away—‘all right, title, and interest.’ Yet it is my home, if not my homestead, for it is my husband’s place of permanent residence, and therefore my home. And I must go back to it. I must beg him to let me in. I must, no matter how I may be received. I must, even if his other daughter is there to insult me. I must, to spare Elsie the knowledge of this. Elsie must never know—must never suspect this.” And Alice arose, and, sitting up straight in bed, prepared to throw the cover off and arise, when Elsie sprang forward and threw herself upon the bed, exclaiming, in heart-broken tones:
“Elsie does know it, darling mother. Elsie knows it all. God nor angels would suffer her to be kept in ignorance of it—of all the sufferings—of all the sacrifice that has made it her duty never to leave you nor forsake you again. And may Heaven forsake me, mother, the hour that ever I leave you again!”
“Oh, Elsie! good, but rash child, have you ventured to come back here? Oh, Elsie!” And Alice threw her arms around the neck of her daughter, and clasped her to her bosom, and both wept copiously.
At last—“Tell me what has happened, dearest child. I have no recollection of anything since my swoon,” said Alice, in a faint voice, slipping from the embrace of Elsie.
“Mother, darling mother, won’t you please to rest now, without asking any questions? You must be so weak,” replied Elsie, laying her gently down, and arranging the cover over her.
“I feel weak, yet well, light, renewed; but I won’t ask questions that will pain you to answer, dear child. I am almost certain of what has occurred. I swooned, and was picked up by one of the women and brought to this quarter, and she sent for you. Dear Elsie, I am afraid she alarmed you. Did Magnus come, too?”
“Yes, dearest Mrs. Garnet, I am here,” said Dr. Hardcastle,advancing to the bedside with a cordial in his hand.
Elsie raised her mother once more, and taking the restorative draught, placed it to her lips. Alice drank it, and then said:
“Magnus, Elsie, I am afraid they have told you a dreadful tale of what occurred to me after you left the house. Dearest, you must not believe all that you may have heard, and you must excuse the rest. You know negroes, especially negro women, will exaggerate. They do not intentionally transcend the truth, but their quick fancies and warm sympathies lead them into extravagance. General Garnet, in the temporary insanity of rage, has done something violent, no doubt; but not so violent as has appeared to you, and no doubt he regrets his anger now. Elsie, do not think too hardly of your father. Give him time. All will come right at last. In the meanwhile, darling, I must return to the house. I must not seem inclined to make the most of his anger by absenting myself. Dearest Elsie, this morning we must part again. We will take breakfast together in this humble quarter, and then we must part, dear child, until better times. You must go with your husband, Elsie, and I must return to mine,” said Alice, lifting up her arms and embracing her child.
Elsie looked at Magnus in despair. He stooped, and said:
“Dear Mrs. Garnet, you must sleep now. I am your physician as well as your son. You must be silent, close your eyes, and lie still.”
“I cannot, Magnus. I do not feel the least inclined to sleep. I feel as though I had had a very long sleep. I feel quite fresh and renewed, though a little weak, as from want of nourishment. Besides, day is breaking. It is time to rise. This is the day you were to depart for the backwoods, and you intended to have made an early start. I cannot hinder you. I must rise. We must have one more social meal together, and then depart to our several duties.” Alice spoke in a low, calm tone, but covered her face to conceal the quivering features.
Magnus seized the chance to draw Elsie aside, to whisper hurriedly in her ear:
“Elsie, she must know all about it. She is strong enough to bear the knowledge, and so it is perfectly safe to break it to her gently. In fact, to tell her the truth is the only safe plan. Her providential recovery from apparent death must not be made known to anyone for the present, or until General Garnet’s secret disposition is ascertained and can be safely trusted. She has nothing to hope from him; she shall have nothing to fear. She must be perfectly secure from his persecutions and annoyances, until he is in a better frame of mind. This I think the safety of her life and of her reason demands. I consider that she is providentially dead to General Garnet and living to us. She must accompany us to the West. We must be en route within an hour, lest the old sexton returns and discovers all. Listen, I will go back to the church and restore everything there to such complete order that no suspicion shall be excited. And while I am gone, do you assist her to arise, if she wishes it. When she gets up and looks about her, she will see where she is, and that will greatly prepare her for my explanation. If she asks you any questions refer her to me alone for explanation. There, love, is the bundle of clothing you put up in your haste when about to leave Deep Dell. I brought it from the carriage just now, while you were talking with your mother. Get your double wrapper out, and slip it on her before the window-shutter is opened. I would not have her see that garb suddenly.” And having given these hasty directions Magnus hurried out to the chapel, and having restored everything there to primal order, returned to the cottage. He found Alice sitting up by the fire with her hands clasped, and her head bowed with a look of deep thoughtfulness. Elsie had hung the tea-kettle on to make coffee, and had set the table, and was now handing out the contents of the old man’s cupboard.
As Dr. Hardcastle entered, Alice, without raising her head, held out her hand to him, saying:
“Magnus, come here. Where am I?”
And Dr. Hardcastle went and drew a chair to her side, and took her hand, and slowly, and gently, and cautiously made known to her the events of the last two days. Alice made no comment.
The awful solemnity of the facts disclosed—the apparent death, the burial, veiled, softened as they were in the telling—overwhelmed her soul. She dropped her head upon her open hands, and neither moved nor spoke for a long time, or until Elsie came to her side, passed one arm earnestly over her shoulder, placed a cup of coffee at her lips with the other hand, bending her bright, loving face smilingly upon her the while. Then Alice lifted up her head, took the cup, and kissed the gentle hand that gave it.
While Alice drank the coffee Dr. Hardcastle went out and attended to his mules. When he returned they all gathered around the breakfast table. It was during that meal that he proposed to Alice the plan of accompanying them, urging upon her the strong necessity of her doing so.
Alice combated all his arguments as well as her instincts taught her.
Dr. Hardcastle avowed his intention of accompanying her back to Mount Calm, and, remaining in the neighborhood, in case of her perseverance in her present intention of returning. Alice sought to dissuade him from that plan.
Finally, after much talk, Alice agreed to accompany them on the first stage of their journey as far as Deep Dell, and remain there incognito, while he should return to Mount Calm, and ascertain the disposition of General Garnet, and, if possible and prudent, break gradually to him the fact of his wife’s unexpected restoration to life.
Having agreed upon this plan Dr. Hardcastle made rapid preparations for the recommencement of their journey. They—he and Elsie—restored everything about the cottage to complete order; put out the fire, fastened up the cupboard, and the windows, and then the doors, and, tying a little purse of money to the door-key,by way of compensation for all they had used, hid it “under the stone by the doorstep,” as requested, entered the carriage, and commenced their journey.