108
The voice was so mournfully sweet that it thrilled every nerve in Salome’s quivering frame.
“Phantom or flesh—which are you?”
“Mrs. Gerome, the owner of ‘Solitude.’”
“Oh, indeed! I beg your pardon, madam, but I took you for a wraith! You know the place has always been considered unlucky—haunted—and you are such an extraordinary-looking person I was inclined to think I had stumbled on the traditional ghost. I am neither ignorant nor stupidly superstitious; but, madam, you must admit you have an unearthly appearance; and, moreover, I should be glad to know how you rose from the beach below to the top of this cliff? I see no feathers on your shoulders—no balloon under your feet!”
“I was walking on the sands in front of my door, and, hearing some very sweet strains that came floating down from this direction, I followed the sound, and climbed by means of steps cut in the side of this cliff. Since you regarded me as a spectre, I may as well tell you that I was beginning to fancy I was listening to one of the old sea-sirens, until I saw your rosy face and red lips, far too human for a dripping mermaid or a murderous, mocking Aglaiopheme.”
“No more a siren, madam, than you are a ghost! I am only Salome Owen, the miller’s child, waiting for that boy yonder, whose sublimest idea of heaven consists in the hope that its blessed sea of glass is brimming with golden shrimp. Stanley, run around the cliff, and meet me. It is too late for us to be here. We should have started home an hour ago.”
“Who taught you ‘Traviata’?”
“I am teaching myself, with what small help I can obtain from a vagabond musician, who calls himself Signor Barilli, and claims to have been a tenor singer in an opera troupe at Milan.”
“You ought to cultivate your voice as thoroughly as possible.”
“Why? Is it really good? Tell me, is it worth anything? No one has heard it except that Italian violinist; and, if he praises it, I sometimes fear it is because he is so horribly dissipated109that he confounds mybravuraruns with the clicking of his wine-glasses and the gurgling of his flask. Do you know much about music?”
“I have heard the best living performers, vocal and instrumental, and to a finer voice than yours I never listened; but you need study and practice, for your execution is faulty. You have a splendid instrument; but you do not yet understand its management. Where do you live?”
“At ‘Grassmere,’ a farm two miles behind those hills, and in a house hidden under elm and apple trees. Madam, it is very late, and I must bid you good-evening. Before I go, I should like to know, if you will not deem me unwarrantably impertinent, whether you are a very young person with white hair, or whether you are a very old woman with a wonderfully young face?”
For a moment there was no answer; and, supposing that she had offended her, the orphan bowed and was turning away, when Mrs. Gerome’s calm, mournful tones arrested her:
“I am only twenty-three years old.”
She walked away, turning her countenance towards the water, where moonlight was burnishing the waves; and, when Salome and Stanley had reached the bend in their path that would shut out the view of the beach, the former looked back and saw the silver-gray figure standing alone on the silent shore, communing with the silver sea, as desolate and as hopeless as Buchanan’s “Penelope,”—
“An alabaster woman, whose fixed eyesStare seaward, whether it be storm or calm.”
CHAPTER IX.
“Doctor Sheldon, do you think she is dangerously ill?”
“I am afraid, Salome, that she will soon become so; for she is threatened with a violent attack of pneumonia, which would certainly be very dangerous to a woman of her age. It is a great misfortune that her brother is absent.”
110
“Dr. Grey reached New York three days ago.”
“Indeed! I will telegraph immediately, and hasten his return.”
Dr. Sheldon was preparing a blister in the room adjoining the one occupied by Miss Jane, and the orphan stood by his side, twisting her fingers nervously over each other, and looking perplexed and anxious. He returned to his patient, and when he came out some moments later, and took up his hat, his countenance was by no means reassuring.
“Although I know that you are very much attached to Miss Jane, and would faithfully endeavor to nurse her, you are so young and inexperienced that I do not feel quite willing to leave her entirely to your guardianship; and, therefore, shall send a woman here to-night who will fully understand the case. She is a professional nurse, and Dr. Grey will be relieved to hear that his sister is in her hands, for he has great confidence in her good sense and discretion. I shall stop at the telegraph office, as I go home, and urge him to return at once. Give me his address. Do not look so dejected. Miss Grey has a better constitution than most persons are disposed to believe, and she may struggle through this attack.”
The new year was ushered in by heavy and incessant rains, and, having imprudently insisted upon superintending the drainage of a new sheepfold and the erection of an additional cattle-shed, Miss Jane had taken a severe cold, which resulted in pneumonia.
Assiduously and tenderly Salome watched over her, and even after the arrival of Hester Dennison, the nurse, the orphan’s solicitude would not permit her to quit the apartment where her benefactress lay struggling with disease; while Miss Jane shrank from the stranger, and preferred to receive the medicine from the hand of her adopted child.
When Dr. Sheldon stood by the bed early next morning, and noted the effect of his treatment, Salome’s keen eye observed the dissatisfied expression of his face, and she drew sad auguries from his clouded brow. He took a paper from his pocket, and said, cheerfully,—
111
“Come, Miss Jane, get up a smile to pay me for the good news I bring. Can you guess what this means?” holding an envelope close to her eyes.
“More blisters and fever mixtures, I suppose. Doctor, my poor side is in a dreadful condition.”
As she laid her hand over her left lung, she winced and groaned.
“How much would you give to have your brother’s hand, instead of mine, on your pulse?”
“All that I am worth! But my boy is in Europe, and can’t come back to me now, when I need him most.”
“No, he is in New York. You have been dreaming, and forget that he has reached America.”
“No, I never knew it. Salome, is there a letter?”
“No letter, but a dispatch announcing his arrival. I told you; but you must have fallen asleep while I was talking to you.”
“No such thing! I have not slept a wink for a week.”
“That is right, Miss Jane; scold as much as you like; it will do you no harm. But, meantime, let me tell you I have just heard from Dr. Grey, and he is now on his way home.”
Salome was sitting near the pillow, and suddenly her head bowed itself, while her lips whispered, inaudibly,—
“Thank God!”
The invalid’s face brightened, and, stretching her thin, hot hand towards the orphan, she touched her shoulder, and said:—
“Do you hear that, my child? Ulpian is coming home. When will he be here?”
“Day after to-morrow evening, I hope, if there is no detention and he makes all the railroad connections. I trust you will prove sufficiently generous to bear testimony to my professional skill, by improving so rapidly that when he arrives there will be nothing left to do but compliment my sagacity, and thank me for relieving you so speedily. Is not your cough rather better?”
She did not reply; and, bending down, he saw that she was asleep.
112
“Doctor, I am afraid she is not much better.”
He sighed, shook his head, and beckoned Hester into the hall in order to question her more minutely concerning the patient.
That night and the next she was delirious, and failed to recognize any one; but about noon on the following day she opened her eyes, and, looking intently at Salome, who stood near the foot of the bed, she said, as if much perplexed,—
“I saw Ulpian just now. Where is he?”
“He will be here this afternoon, I hope. The train is due at two o’clock, and it is now a quarter past twelve.”
“I tell you I saw him not ten minutes since.”
“You are feverish, dear Miss Jane, and have been dreaming.”
“Don’t contradict me! Am I in my dotage, think you? I saw my boy, and he was pale, and had blood on his hands, and it ran down his beard and dripped on his vest. You can’t deceive me! What is the matter with my poor boy? I will see him! Give me my crutches this instant!”
She struggled into a partially upright position, but fell back upon her pillow exhausted and panting for breath.
“You were delirious. I give you my word that he has not yet come home. It was only a horrible dream. Hester will assure you of the truth of what I say. You must lie still, for this excitement will injure you.”
The nurse gave her a powerful sedative, and strove to divert her thoughts; but ever and anon she shuddered and whispered,—
“It was not a dream. I saw my dear sailor-boy, and he was hurt and bleeding. I know what I saw; and if you and Hester swore till every star dropped out of heaven, I would not believe you. If I am old and dying, my eyes are better than yours. My poor Ulpian!”
Despite her knowledge of the feverish condition of the sick woman, and her incredulity with reference to the vision that so painfully disturbed her, Salome’s lips blanched, and a vague, nameless, horrible dread seized her heart.
Very soon Miss Jane fell into a heavy sleep, and, while the113nurse busied herself in preparing a bottle of beef-tea, the orphan sat with her head pressed against the bedpost, and her eyes riveted on the face of the watch in her palm, where the minute-hand seemed now and then to stop, as if for breathing-time, and the hour-hand to have forgotten the way to two o’clock.
For nearly six months Salome had counted the weeks and days,—had waited and hoped for the hour of Dr. Grey’s return as the happiest of her life,—had imagined his greeting, the bright, steady glow in his fine eyes, the warm, cordial pressure of his white hand, the friendly tones of his pleasant voice; for, though he had failed to bid her good-by, fate could not cheat her out of the interview that must follow his arrival. Fancy had painted so vividly all the incidents that would characterize this longed-for greeting, that she had lived it over a thousand times; and, now that the meeting seemed actually at hand, she asked herself whether it were possible that disappointment could pour one poisonous drop into the brimming draught of joy that rose foaming in amber bubbles to her parched lips.
In the profound silence that pervaded the darkened room, the ticking of the watch was annoyingly audible, and seemed to Salome’s strained and excited nerves so unusually loud that she feared it might disturb the sleeper. At a quarter to two o’clock she went to the hearth and noiselessly renewed the fire, laying two fresh pieces of oak across the shining brass andirons, whose feet represented lions’ heads.
She swept the hearth, arranged some vials that were scattered on the dressing-table, and gave a few improving touches to a vase filled with white and orange crocuses, then crept back to the bedside and again picked up the watch. It still lacked fifteen minutes of two, and, looking more closely, she found that it had stopped. Tossing it into a hollow formed by the folds of the coverlid, and repressing an impatient ejaculation, she listened for the sound of the railroad whistle, which, though muffled by distance, had not failed to reach her every day during the past week.
Presently the silence, which made her ears ache, throbbed114so suddenly that she started, but it was only the “cuckoo! cuckoo!” of the painted bird on the gilded clock. That clock was fifteen minutes slower than Miss Jane’s watch; and Salome put her face in her hands, and tried to still the loud thumping sound of the blood at her heart.
The train was behind time. Only a few moments as yet, but something must have happened to occasion even this slight delay; and, if something,—what?
Hester came in and whispered,—
“Dinner is ready, and Stanley is hungry. Has Miss Jane stirred since I went out?”
“No; what time is it?”
“Half after two.”
“Oh, nonsense! You are too fast.”
“Not a minute,—begging your pardon. My brother stays at the dépot, and keeps my watch with the railroad time.”
Salome went to the dining-room, gave Stanley his dinner, and, anxious to escape observation, shut herself in the dim, cold parlor, where she paced the floor until the cuckoo jumped out, chirped three times, and, as if frightened by the girl’s fixed eyes, fluttered back inside the clock. More than an hour behind time! Now, beyond all hope or doubt, there had been an accident! Loss of sleep for several consecutive nights, and protracted anxiety concerning Miss Jane, had so unnerved the orphan that she was less able to cope successfully with this harrowing suspense than on former occasions; still the sanguine hopefulness of youth battled valiantly with the ghouls that apprehension conjured up, and she remembered that comparatively trivial occurrences had sometimes detained the train, which finally brought all its human freight safely to the dépot.
The day had been very cold and gloomy; and thick, low masses of smoke-colored cloud scudded across the chill sky, whipped along their skirts by a stinging north-east blast into dun, ragged, trailing banners. Despite the keenness of the air, Salome opened one of the parlor windows and leaned her face on the broad sill, where a drizzling rain began to show itself. She had read and heard just enough with reference115to the phenomena ofclairvoyanceto sneer at them in happy hours, and to recur helplessly to the same subject with a species of silent dread when misfortune seemed imminent. To-day, as Miss Jane’s delirious utterances haunted every nook and cranny of her excited brain, permeating all topics of thought,sherecalled many instances, on legendary record, where the dying were endowed with talismanic power over the secrets of futurity. Could it be possible that Miss Jane had really seen what was taking place many miles distant? Reason shook her hoary head, and jeered at such childish fatuity; but superstitious credulity, goaded by an intense anxiety, would not be silenced nor put to the blush, but boldly babbled of Swedenborg and burning Stockholm.
Once she had heard Dr. Grey tell his sister, in answer to some inquiry concerning thearcanaof mesmerism, that he had bestowed much time and thought upon the investigation of the subject, and was thoroughly convinced that there existed subtle psychological laws whose operations were not yet comprehended, but which, when analyzed and studied, would explain the remarkable influence of mind over mind, and prove that the dread and baffling mysteries of psychology were merely normal developments of intellectual power instead of supernatural or spiritual manifestations.
This abstract view of the matter was, however, most unsatisfactory at the present juncture; and the current of Salome’s reflections was abruptly changed by the sound of the locomotive whistle,—not the prolonged, steady roar, announcing arrival, but the sharp, short, shrill note of departure. Soon after, the clock struck four, and, ere the echoes fell asleep once more in the sombre corners of the quiet parlor, Dr. Sheldon drove up to the front door and entered the house. Springing into the hall, Salome met him, and laid her hand on his arm.
“Salome, your face frightens me. How is Miss Jane? Has she grown worse so rapidly since I was here this morning?”
“I see little change in her. But you have locked bad news behind your set teeth. Oh, for God’s sake, don’t torture116me one second longer! Tell me the worst. What has happened?”
“The down-train was thrown from an embankment twenty feet high, and the cars took fire. Many lives have been sacrificed, and it is the most awful affair I ever heard of.”
He had partially averted his head to avoid the sight of her whitening and convulsed features; but, laying her hands heavily upon his shoulders, she forced him to face her, and her voice sank to a husky whisper,—
“Is he dead?”
“I hope not.”
“Speak out,—or I shall go mad! Is he dead?”
“Calm yourself, Salome, and let us hope for the best. We know nothing of the particulars of this dreadful disaster, and have learned the names of none of the sufferers. I have little doubt that Dr. Grey was on the train, but there is no certainty that he was injured. The regular up-train could not leave as usual, because the track was badly torn up; but a locomotive and three cars ran out a while ago with several surgeons and articles required for the victims. Pray sit down, my poor child, for you are unable to stand.”
“Where did it happen?”
“Near Silver Run water-tank,—about forty miles from here. The accident occurred at twelve o’clock.”
Salome’s grasp suddenly relaxed, and, tossing her hands above her head, she laughed hysterically,—
“Ha, ha! Thank God, he is not dead! He is only hurt,—only bleeding. Miss Jane saw it all, and he is not dead, or she would have known it. Thank God!”
Dr. Sheldon was a stern man and renowned for his iron nerves, but he shuddered as he looked at the pinched, wan face, and heard the unnatural, hollow sound of her unsteady voice. Had care, watching, and suspense unpoised her reason?
Something of that which passed through his mind looked out of his eyes, and interpreting their amazed expression, the girl waved her hand towards the door, and added,—
“I am not insane. Go in, and Hester will explain.”
He turned away, and she went back to the dusky room and117threw herself down on the sofa, opposite to the portrait of the U.S. surgeon.
Of what passed during the following two hours, she retained, in after years, only a dim, confused, painful memory of prayers and promises made to God in behalf of the absent.
Once before, when Miss Jane’s death seemed imminent, she had been grieved and perplexed by the possibility that Dr. Grey would inherit the estate and usurp her domains; but to-day, when the Great Reaper hovered over the panting, emaciated sufferer, and simultaneously threatened the distant brother and sole heir of the extended possessions which this girl had so long coveted, the only thought that filled her heart with dread and wrung half-smothered cries from her lips was,—
“Spare his life, oh, my God! Leave me penniless—take friends, relatives, comforts, hopes of wealth—take all—take everything, but spare that precious life and bring him safely back to me! Have mercy on me, O Lord, and do not snatch him away! for, if I lose him now, I lose faith in Christ—in Thee—I lose all hope in time and eternity, and my sinful, wrecked soul will go down forever in a night that knows no dawning!”
For six months she had been indeed,—
“A faded watcher through the weary night—A meek, sweet statue at the silver shrines,In deep, perpetual prayer for him she loved;”
but patience, dragging anchor, finally snapped its cable, and now, instead of an humble suppliant for the boon that alone made existence endurable, she fiercely demanded that her idol should not be broken, and, battling with Jehovah, impiously thrust her life down before Him as an accursed and intolerable burden, unless her prayers were granted. Ah, what scorpions and stones we gather to our boards, and then dare charge the stinging mockeries against a long-suffering, loving God! Ten days before, Salome had meekly prayed, “Thy will be done,” and had comforted herself with the belief that at last118she was beginning to grow pious and trusting, like Miss Jane; but, at the first hint of harm to Dr. Grey, she sprang up, utterly oblivious of the protestations of resignation that were scarcely cold on her lips, and furious as a tigress who sees the hunter approach the jungle where all her fierce affections centre. God help as all who pray orthodoxly for His will, and yet, when the emergency arrives, fight desperately for our own, feeling wofully aggrieved that He takes us at our word, and moulds the clay which we make a Pharisaical pretense of offering!
A slow drizzling rain whitened the distant hills, that seemed to blanch in their helplessness as the wind smote them like a flail; and it wove a grayish veil over the leafless boughs of bending, shivering elms, on the long, dim avenue. The wintry afternoon closed swiftly, and, in its dusky dreariness, Salome listened to the tattoo of the rain on the roof, and to themisererethat wailed through the lonely chambers of her soul. The chill at her heart froze her to numbness and oblivion of the coldness of the atmosphere, and, when a servant came in to close the window against the slanting sleet, she lay so still that the woman thought her asleep, and stole away on tip-toe. The room grew dark; but, through the half-opened door, the light from the hall lamp crept in and fell on the gilded frame and painted face of the portrait, tracing a silvery path along the gloomy wall. As the night deepened, that wave of light rippled and glittered until the handsome features in the picture seemed to belong to some hierarch who peeped from a window of heaven, into a world drenched with unlifting darkness.
That oval piece of canvas had become the one fetich to which Salome’s heart clung in silent adoration, defiant of the iconoclastic touch of reason and the adverse decree of womanly pride; for natures such as hers will always grovel in the dust, hugging the mutilated fragments of their idol, rather than bow at some new, fretted shrine, where other images hold sway, commanding worship. Looking up almost wolfishly at that tranquil, shining countenance, she said to her sullen, mourning heart,—
119
“There are no more like him, and, if we lose him, there is nothing left in life, and all hope is at an end, andfinisshall be printed on the first page of the book of our existence; and ruin, like a pitiless pall, shall cover what might have been a happy, possibly a grand and good, human career. We did not intend to love him,—no, no; we tried hard to hate him who stood between us and affluence and indolent ease, but he conquered us by his matchless magnanimity, and shamed our ignoble aims and base selfishness, and put us under his royal feet; and now we would rather be trampled by Ulpian, our king, than crowned by any other man. Let us plead with Christ to spare the only pilot who can save us from eternal shipwreck.”
Lying there so helpless yet defiant in her desolation, some subtle thread of association, guided, perhaps, by the invisible fingers of her guardian angel, led her mind to a favorite couplet often quoted by Dr. Grey,—
“I heard faith’s low, sweet singing, in the night,And, groping through the darkness, touched God’s hand.”
If the painted lips in the aureola on the wall had parted and audibly uttered these words, they would scarcely have impressed her more powerfully as a message from the absent; and, rising instantly, the orphan prayed in chastened, humbled tones for strength to be patient, for ability to trust God’s wisdom and mercy.
How often, when binding our idolized Isaacs upon the altar, and, meekly submissive to what appears God’s inexorable mandates, we unmurmuringly offer our heart’s dearest treasure, the sacrificial knife is stayed, and our loathed and horrible Moriahs, that erst smelt of blood and echoed woe, become hallowed Jehovah-jirehs, all aglow, not with devouring flames, but the blessed radiance of God’s benignant smile, and musical with thanksgiving strains. But Abraham’s burden preceded Abraham’s boon, and the souls who cannot patiently endure the first are utterly unworthy of the rapture of the last.
As the girl’s mind grew calmer under the breath of prayer—which120stills the billows of human passion and strife as the command of Jesus smoothed the thundering surf of Genesareth,—she recollected that she had absented herself from the sick-room for an unusually long time. How long, she could not conjecture, for the face of the clock was invisible, and she had ceased to count the cuckoo-notes; but her limbs ached, and a fillet of fire seemed to circle her brow.
With a lingering gaze upon the radiant portrait, she quitted the parlor, and went wearily back to renew her vigil.
Hester Dennison was cowering over the hearth, spreading her bony hands towards the crackling flames, and, walking up to the mantelpiece, Salome touched the nurse, and whispered,—
“Hester, what did the doctor say? Is there any change?”
“Hush!” The woman laid a finger on her lip, and glanced over her shoulder.
There was only a subdued light of a shaded lamp mingling with the flicker of the fire, and, as Salome’s eyes followed those of the nurse, they rested upon the figure of a man kneeling at the bedside, and leaning his head against the pillow where Miss Jane’s white hair was strewn in disorder.
A cry of delight, which she had neither the prudence nor power to repress, rang through the silent chamber, startling its inmates, and partially arousing the invalid. Salome forgot that life and death were grappling over the prostrate form of the aged woman,—forgot everything but the supreme joy of knowing that her idol had not been rudely shattered.
Springing to the bedside, she put out her hands, and exclaimed, rapturously:
“Oh, Dr. Grey! Were you much hurt? Thank God, you are alive and here! Indeed, He is merciful—”
“Hush! Have you no prudence? Quit the room, or be quiet.”
Dr. Grey lifted his haggard face from the pillow, and the light showed it pallid and worn by acute suffering, while a strip of plaster pressed together the edges of a deep cut on his cheek. His clothes glistened with sleet, and bore stains121that in daylight were crimson, though now they were only ominously dark.
The stern tones of his voice, suppressed though it was, stung the girl’s heart; and she answered, in a pleading whisper,—
“Only tell me that you are not severely injured. Speak one kind word to me!”
“I am not dangerously hurt. Hush! Remember life hangs in the balance.”
“Oh, Dr. Grey! will you not even shake hands with me, after all these dreary months of absence? This is hard, indeed.”
She had stood at his side, with her hands extended imploringly; and now he moved cautiously, and, silently holding up one hand swathed in linen bands, pointed to his left arm, which was tightly splintered and bandaged.
The mute gesture explained all, and, sinking to the carpet, she pressed her lips to the linen folds, and to the coat-sleeve, where sleet and blood-spots mingled.
He could not have prevented her, even had he desired to do so; but at that instant his sister moaned faintly, and, bending forward to examine her countenance, he seemed for some minutes unconscious of the presence of the form crouching close by his side.
After a little while he looked down, sighed, and whispered,—
“My child, do go to bed. You can do no good here, and too much watching has already unstrung your nerves. Go to your room, and pray that God will spare our dear Janet to us.”
Was this the welcome for which she had waited and longed—of which she had dreamed by day and by night? Not a touch, barely a brief, impatient glance, and a few reproving, indifferent words. She had rashly dared fate to cheat her out of this long-anticipated greeting, and the grim, grinning crone had accepted the challenge, and now triumphantly snapped her withered fingers in the face of the vanquished.
When coveted fruit that has been hungrily watched through the slow, tedious process of ripening finally falls rosy and122mellow into eagerly uplifted fingers, and breaks in a shower of bitter dust on the sharpened and fastidious palate, it rarely happens that the half-famished dupe relishes the taste; and Salome rose, feeling stunned and mocked.
In one corner of the room stood a chintz-covered lounge, and, creeping to it, she laid herself down; and, shading her features with her hand, looked through her fingers at the pale, grieved face of the anxious brother. Sometimes he stood up, studying the placid countenance of the sufferer, and now and then he walked softly to the fire-place, and held whispered conferences with Hester relative to the course of treatment that had been pursued.
But everywhere Salome’s eyes followed him; and finally, when he chanced to glance at the couch, and noticed its occupant, whom he imagined fast asleep, he pointed to a blanket lying on a chair, and directed Hester to spread it over the girlish figure. The thoughtful act warmed the orphan’s heart more effectually than the thick woollen cover; and when he sat down in an easy-chair close to the bed, and within range of Salome’s vision, she yielded to the comforting consciousness of his presence. And, while her lips were moving in thanks for his preservation and return, exhausted nature seized her dues, and the girl fell asleep and dreamed that Dr. Grey stood by the lounge, and whispered,—
“No star goes down, but climbs in other skies;The rose of sunset folds its glory upTo burst again from out the heart of dawn,And love is never lost, though hearts run waste,And sorrow makes the chastened heart a seer;The deepest dark reveals the starriest hope,And Faith can trust her heaven behind the veil.”
123CHAPTER X.
“Yes, Hester, the danger is past; and, if the weather continues favorable, my sister will soon be able to sit up. My gratitude prompts me to erect an altar here, where the mercy of God stayed the Destroying Angel, as in ancient days David consecrated the threshing-floor of Araunah.”
“Dr. Grey, if you can possibly spare me, I should like to go back to town to-day as Dr. Sheldon has sent for me to take charge of a patient at his Infirmary.”
“You ought not to desert me while I am so comparatively helpless; and I should be glad to have you remain, at least until I recover the use of my hands.”
“Miss Salome can take my place, and do all that is really necessary.”
“The child is so inexperienced I am almost afraid to trust her; still—”
“Don’t speak so loud. She is standing behind the window-curtain.”
“Indeed! I thought she left the room when I entered it. Of course, Hester, I will not detain you if it is necessary that you should be at the Infirmary; but I give you up very reluctantly. Salome, if you are at leisure, please come and see how Hester dresses my hand and arm, for I must rely upon your kind services when she leaves us. Notice the manner in which she winds the bandages. There, Hester,—not quite so tight.”
“Dr. Grey, I never had an education, and am at best an ignorant, poor soul: therefore, not knowing what to think about many curious things that happen in sick-rooms, I should be glad to hear what you have to say concerning that vision of your sister. Remember, she saw it at the very minute that the accident happened. I don’t believe in spirit-rapping, and such stuff as dancing tables, and spinning chairs, and pianos that play tunes when no human being is near124them; but I have heard and seen things that made the hair rise and stand on my head.”
“The circumstance that occurred three days since is certainly rather singular and remarkable, but by no means inexplicable. My sister knew that I was then travelling by railroad,—that I would, without some unusual delay, reach the dépot at a certain hour, and, being in a delirious condition, her mind reverted to the probability of some occurrence that might detain me. Having always evinced a peculiar aversion to railroads, which she deems the most unsafe method of travelling, she had a feverish dream that took its coloring from her excited apprehension of danger to me; and this vision, born of delirium, was so vivid that she could not distinguish phantom from reality. In ninety-nine cases out of every hundred similar ones, the dream passes without fulfilment, and is rarely recollected or mentioned; but the hundredth—which may chance by some surprising coincidence to seem verified—is noised abroad as supernatural, and carefully preserved among ‘well-authenticated spiritual manifestations.’ If I had escaped injury, the freaks of my sister’s delirium would have made no more impression on your mind than the ravings of a lunatic; and, since I was so unfortunate as to be bruised and burned, you must not allow yourself to grow superstitious, and attach undue importance to a circumstance which was entirely accidental, and only startling because so exceedingly rare. Presentiments, especially when occurring in cases of fever, are merely Will-o-the-wisps floating about in excited, diseased brains. While at sea, and constantly associated with sailors, whose minds constitute the most favorable and fruitful soil for the production of phantasmagoria anddiablerie, I had frequent opportunities of testing the fallacy and absurdity of so-called ‘presentiments and forebodings.’ I am afraid it is the absence of spirituality in the hearts of the people, that drives this generation to seek supernaturalism in the realm of merely normal physics. The only true spiritualism is that which emanates from the Holy Ghost,—conquers sinful impulses, and makes a Christian heart the temple of God.”
125
Here Miss Jane called Hester into the adjoining room; and turning to Salome, Dr. Grey added,—
“Notwithstanding the vaunted destruction of the ancient Hydra of superstition by the darts and javelins of modern rationalism, and the ponderous hot irons of empirics, it is undeniably true that the habit of ‘seeking after a sign’ survived the generation of Scribes and Pharisees whom Christ rebuked; and manifests itself in the middle of the nineteenth century by the voracity with which merely material phenomena are seized as unmistakable indications of preternatural agencies. The innate leaven of superstition triumphs over common sense and scientific realism, and men and women are awed by coincidences that reason scouts, but credulity receives with open arms. Salome, I regret exceedingly that I am forced to trouble you, but there are some important letters which I wish to mail to-day, and you will greatly oblige me by acting as amanuensis while I dictate. My present disabled condition must apologize for the heavy tax which I am imposing upon your patience and industry. Will you come to thelibrary?”
She made no protestations of willingness to serve him, and confessed no delight at the prospect of being useful, but merely bowed and smiled, with an expression in her eyes that puzzled him.
Seated at the library-table, and writing down the sentences that he dictated while pacing the floor, Salome passed one of the happiest hours of her life; for it brought the blessed assurance that, for the present at least, he acknowledged his need of her.
One of the letters was addressed to Mr. Gerard Granville, anattachéof the American legation at Paris, and referred principally to financial affairs; and the other, directed to Muriel Manton, contained an urgent request that she and her governess would leave New York as speedily as possible and become inmates of his sister’s house.
When she had folded the letters and sealed them with his favorite emerald signet,—bearing the words, “Frangas non Flectes,”—Salome looked up, and asked,—
126
“How old is your ward, Miss Manton?”
“About your age,—though she looks much more childish.”
“Pretty, of course?”
“Why ‘of course’?”
“Simply because in novels they are always painted as pretty as Persephone; and the only wards I ever knew happen to be fictitious characters.”
“Novels are by no means infallible mirrors of nature, and few wards are as attractive as my black-eyed pet. Muriel will be very handsome, I hope, when she is grown; but now she impresses me as merely sweet, piquant, and pretty.”
“Did you know her prior to your recent visit?”
“Yes; her father’s house was my home whenever I chanced to be in New York, and I have seen her, occasionally, since she was a little girl. For your sake, as well as mine, I am glad she will reside here, because I hope she will prove in every respect a pleasant companion for you.”
“Thank you; but, unfortunately, that is one luxury of which I never felt the need, and with which, permit me to tell you, I can readily dispense. I have little respect for women, and no desire to be wearied with their inane garrulity.”
She leaned back in her chair, and tapped restlessly with the end of the pen-staff on the morocco-covered table.
Dr. Grey looked down steadily and gravely into her provokingly defiant face, and replied very coldly,—
“Were I in your place, I think I should jealously guard my lips from the hasty utterance of sentiments that, if unfeigned, ought to bring a blush to every true woman’s cheek; for I fear that she who has no respect for her own sex bids fair to disgrace it.”
A scarlet wave rolled up from throat to temples, and the lurking yellow gleamed in her eyes, but the bend of her nostril and curve of her lips did not relax.
“Which is preferable, hypocrisy or irreverence?”
“Both are unpardonable, in a woman.”
“Where is your vast charity, Dr. Grey?”
“Busy in sheltering that lofty ideal of genuine female perfection127which you seem so pertinaciously ambitious to sully and degrade.”
“You are harsh, and scarcely courteous.”
“You will never find me less so when you vauntingly exhibit such mournful blemishes of character.”
“At least, sir, I am honest, and show myself just what God saw fit to allow misfortune to make me.”
“Hush, Salome! Do not add impiousness to the long catalogue of your sinful follies. I hoped that there was a favorable change in you before I left home, but I very much fear that, instead of exorcising the one evil spirit that possessed you, you have swept, and garnished, and settled yourself comfortably with seven new ones.”
“And, like R. Chaim Vital, you come to pronounceNidui!and banish my diabolical guests. If cauterization cures moral ulcers as effectually as those that afflict the flesh, then, verily, you intend I shall be clean and whole. You are losing patience with your graceless neophyte.”
“Yes, Salome; because forced to lose faith in her inclination and capacity to sublimate her erring nature. Once for all, let me say that habitual depreciation of your own sex will not elevate you in the estimation of mine; for, however fallen you may find mankind, they nevertheless realize amid their degradation that,—
‘’Tis somewhat to have known, albeit in vain,One woman in this sorrowful, bad earth,Whose very loss can yet bequeath to painNew faith in worth.’”
There was no taunt, no bitterness, in his voice; but grievous disappointment, too deep for utterance; and the girl winced under it, though only the flush burning on cheek and brow attested her vulnerability.
“Remember, sir, that humanity was not moulded entirely from one stratum of pipe-clay. Only a few wear paint, enamelling, and gold as delicate costlySèvres; and, while the majority are only coarse pottery, it is scarcely kind—certainly not generous—in dainty, transparent china, belonging to128king’s palaces, to pity or denounce the humble Delft or Wedgewoodware doing duty in laborer’s cottages.”
“Very true, my poor little warped, blotched bit of perverse pottery; but of one vital truth permit me to assure you: the purity and elevation of our race depend upon preserving inviolate in the hearts of men a belief that women’s natures are crystalline as that celebrated glass once made at Murano, which was so exceedingly fine and delicate that it burst into fragments if poison was poured into it.”
“Then, obviously, I am no Venetian goblet; else long ago I should have shattered under the bitter, black juices poured by fate. It seems I am not worthy to touch the lips of doges and grand dukes; but let them look to it that some day, when spent and thirsty, they stretch not their regal hands for the common clay that holds what all their costly, dainty fragments can never yield.Nous verrons!‘The stone which the builders rejected has become the head of the corner.’”
Dr. Grey had resumed his walk, but the half-suppressed, passionate protest, whose underswell began to agitate her voice, arrested his attention, and he came to the table and stood close to the orphan.
“What is the matter with my headstrong young friend?”
She made no answer; but her elfish eyes sought his, and braved their quiet rebuke.
“This is the last opportunity I shall offer you to tell me frankly what troubles you. Can I help you in any way? If so, command me.”
“Once you could have helped me, but that time has passed.”
“Perhaps not. Try me.”
“It is too late. You have lost faith in me.”
“No; you have lost all faith in yourself, if you ever indulged any,—which I very much doubt. It is you who are faithless concerning your own defective character.”
“Not I, indeed! I know it rather too well, either to set it aloft for adoration or to trample it in the mire. When your faith in me expired, mine was born. Do you recollect that beautiful painted window in Lincoln Cathedral which the untutored fingers of an apprentice fashioned out of the despised129bits of glass rejected by the fastidious master-builder? It is so vastly superior to every other in the church that the vanquished artist could not survive the chagrin and mortification, and killed himself. My faith is very strong, that, please God, I shall some day show you similar handiwork.”
“You grow enigmatical, and I do not fully understand you.”
“No; you do not in the least comprehend me. The girl whom you left six months ago has changed in many respects.”
“For better, or for worse?”
“Perhaps neither one nor yet the other; but, at least, sir, ‘my future will not copy fair my past.’”
“Since my return, I have noticed an alteration in your deportment, which, I regret to say, I cannot consider an improvement; and I should feel inclined to attribute your restless impatience to nervous disease were I not assured by your appearance that you are in perfect health. Remember, that quietude of manner constitutes a woman’s greatest charm; and, unfortunately, you seem almost a mimic mælstrom. But, pardon me, I did not intend to lecture you; and, hoping all things, I will patiently wait for the future that you seem to have dedicated to some special object. I will try to have faith in my perverse little friend, though she sometimes renders it a difficult task. May I trouble you to stamp those letters?”
He could not analyze the change that passed swiftly across her face, nor the emotion that made her suddenly clinch her hands till the rosy nails grew purple.
“Dr. Grey, don’t you believe that if Judas Iscariot had only resisted the temptation of the thirty pieces of silver, and stood by his master instead of betraying him, that his position in heaven would have been far more exalted than that of Peter, or even of John?”
“That is a question which I have never pondered, and am not prepared to discuss. Why do you propound it?”
She did not answer immediately; and, when she spoke, her glittering eyes softened in their expression, and resembled130stars rising through the golden mist of lingering sunset splendor.
“God gave you a nobler heart than mine, and left it an easy, pleasant matter for you to be good; while, struggle as I may, I am constantly in danger of tumbling into some slough of iniquity, or setting up false gods for my soul to bow down to. Because it is so much more difficult for me to do right than for you, it is only just that my reward should be correspondingly greater.”
“I am neither John nor Peter, nor are you Judas; and only He who knows our mutual faults and follies, our triumphs and defeats in the life-long campaign with sin, can judge us equitably. I am too painfully conscious of my own imperfections not to sympathize earnestly with the temptations that may assail you; and, moreover, we should never lose sight of the fact,—
‘What’s done we partly may compute,But know not what’s resisted.’”
“Dr. Grey, you have great confidence in the efficacy of prayer?”
“Yes; for without it human lives are rudderless, drifting to speedy wreck and ruin.”
“If I ask a favor, will you grant it?”
“Have I ever denied you anything that you asked?”
“Yes, sir,—your good opinion.”
“I knew that had you really desired that, you would long since have rendered it impossible for me to withhold it. But to the point,—what is your petition?”
“I want you to pray for me.”
“Salome, are you serious? Are you really in earnest?”
“Mournfully in earnest.”
“Then rest satisfied that henceforth you will always have a place in my prayer; but do not forget the greater necessity of praying for yourself. Now, tell me how you have been employed during my long absence. Where are the accumulated exercises which I promised to examine and correct when I returned?”