131
“Promised whom?”
“You.”
“You forget that I did not see you the day you left, and that you did not even bid me good-by.”
“I referred to your French exercises in a brief and hurried note that I left for you.”
“Left where? I never received—never heard of it.”
“I laid it upon your plate, where I supposed you would certainty notice it when you came home to dinner.”
“Why did not you give it to Miss Jane?”
“Simply because she was not in the room when I wrote it. It is rather surprising that it escaped your observation, as I laid it in a conspicuous place.”
She did not deem it necessary to inform him that on that unlucky day she had suddenly lost her appetite, and failed to go to the table; and now she put her fingers over her eyes to conceal the blaze of joyful light that irradiated them, as he mentioned the circumstance, comparatively trivial, but precious in her estimation, since it was freighted with the assurance that at least he had thought of her on the eve of his unexpected departure. What inexpressible comfort that note might have contributed during all those tedious months of silence and separation! While she sat there thinking of the dreary afternoon when, down in the orchard-grass she lay upon her face, Dr. Grey came nearer to her, and said,—
“I hope you have not abandoned your French?”
“No, sir; but I devote less time than formerly to it.”
“If agreeable to you, we will resume the exercises as soon as I can wield my pen.”
“If you can teach me Italian, I should prefer it; especially since I have learned to pronounce French tolerably well?”
“What use do you expect to have for Italian,—at least, at present? French is much more essential.”
“I have a good reason for desiring to make the change, though just now I do not choose to be driven into any explanations.”
“Pardon me. I had no intention of forcing your confidence. When in Italy, I always contrive to understand and132make myself understood; but my knowledge and use of the language is rather too slip-shod to justify my attempting to teach you idioms, hallowed as the medium through which Dante and Ariosto charmed the world. Miss Dexter, Muriel’s governess, is a very thorough and accomplished linguist, and speaks Italian not only gracefully but correctly. I have already engaged her to teach you whatever she may deem advisable when she comes here to live.”
“You are very kind. Is she a young person?”
“She is a very highly cultivated and elegant woman, probably twenty-five or six years old, and has been in Florence with Muriel.”
Involuntarily and unconsciously the orphan sighed, and the muscles in her broad forehead tangled terribly.
“Salome, please put your hand in the right pocket of my vest, and take out a key that ought to be there. No,—not that; a larger steel one. Now you have it. Will you be so good as to open that trunk which came by express yesterday (it is in the upper hall), and bring me a box wrapped in pink tissue-paper? I would not trouble you with so many commissions if I could use my hands.”
Unable longer to repress her feelings, the girl exclaimed eagerly,—
“If you could imagine what pleasure it affords me to render you the slightest service, I am very sure you would not annoy me with apologies for making me happy.”
In a few moments she returned to the library, bearing in her hand a small but heavy package, which she placed on the table before him.
“Please open it, and examine the contents.”
She obeyed him; and, after removing the wrapping, found a blue velvet case that opened with a spring and revealed a parcel enclosed in silver paper. Dr. Grey turned and walked to the window; and, as Salome took off the last covering, a watch and chain met her curious gaze. One side of the former was richly and elaborately chased, and represented Kronos leaning on his scythe; the other was studded with diamonds that flashed out the name “Salome.” Astonishment and133delight sealed the orphan’s lips, and, in silence, far more eloquent than words, she bowed her head upon the table. After a few moments had elapsed, Dr. Grey attempted to steal out of the room; but, being obliged to pass close by her chair, she put out her hand and arrested his movement.
“It is the most beautiful watch I have ever seen; but, oh, sir! how shall I sufficiently thank you? How can I express all that is throbbing here in my proud, grateful heart? Although the costly gift is elegant and tasteful, I hold still more precious the fact which it attests,—that during your absence you thought of me. How shall I begin to prove my gratitude for your kindness and generosity?”
“Do not thank me, my little friend; for, indeed I require no verbal assurances that mysouveniris kindly received and appreciated. Wear the watch; and let it continually remind you not only of the sincerity of my friendship, but of the far more important fact that every idle or injudiciously employed hour will cry out in accusation against us in the final assize, when we are called upon to render an account of the distribution of that invaluable time which God allows us solely for the accomplishment of His work on earth. It is so exceedingly difficult for young persons to realize how marvellously rapid is the flight of time, that you will, I trust, forgive me if I endeavor to impress upon you the vital importance of making each day fragrant with the burden of some good deed, the resistance of some sore temptation, some service rendered to God or to suffering humanity which shall make your years mellow with the fruitage that will entitle you to a glorious record in the golden book of Abou Ben Adhem’s angel. Let this little jewelled monitress of the fleeting, mocking nature of time, this ingenious toy, whose ticking is but the mournful, endless knell of dead seconds, remind you that,—
“This life of ours, what is it? A very fewSoon ended years, and then—the ceaseless psalm,And the eternal Sabbath of the soul.”
As Salome looked up into his tranquil, happy face, two tears glided across her cheeks, and fell upon the pretty bauble.
134
“You will find a key in the case, and can wind it up, and set it by the clock in the parlor.”
“Dr. Grey, are you willing that my watch shall bear daily testimony of something which I hold far above its diamonds,—that you have faith in Salome Owen?”
“Perfectly willing that you should make it eloquent with all friendly utterances and sympathy. Hester has bound my arm so tightly that it impedes the circulation, and is very painful. Please loosen the bandage.”
She complied as carefully as possible, though her hands trembled; and, when the ligature had been comfortably adjusted and the arm restored to its sling, she stooped and pressed her lips softly and reverently to the cold, white fingers, that protruded from the linen bands. He endeavored ineffectually to prevent the caress, which evidently embarrassed him; but she left two kisses on the bruised hand, and, snatching her watch and chain from the table, hastily quitted the room.
In after years, when loneliness and disappointment pressed heavily upon her heart, she looked back to the three weeks that succeeded Dr. Grey’s return as the halcyon days, as the cloudless June morning of her life; and, in blissful retrospection, temporarily found Elysium.
She wrote his letters, read aloud from his favorite books, dressed and bandaged his blistered hand and fractured arm, and surrendered her heart to an intense and perfect happiness such as she had scarcely dared to hope would ever be her portion.
CHAPTER XI.
“Bring her into my office. Steady, men! There may be broken bones, and jarring would be torture. Don’t stumble over that book on the floor. Lay her here on the sofa, and throw open the blinds.”
“Dr. Grey, is she dead?”
“No, only badly stunned; and the contusion on the head135seems to be very severe. Stand back, all of you, and give her air. When did it happen?”
“About twenty minutes ago. She is a stout, heavy woman, and we could not walk very fast with such a burden. Ah! you intend to bleed her?”
“Yes, I fear nothing else will relieve her. Mitchell, hold the arm for me.”
“How did she receive this injury?” asked Dr. Mitchell, who had been holding a consultation with Dr. Grey relative to some perplexing case.
“Those gray ponies which we were admiring a half-hour since, as they trotted by the door, took fright at a menagerie procession coming up from the dépot to the Hippodrome,—and ran away. In steering clear of the elephant, who was covered from head to foot, and certainly looked frightful, the horses ran into a mass of lumber and brick at the corner of Fountain and Franklin streets, where a new store is being erected, and the carriage was upset. Unfortunately the harness was very strong, and did not give away until the carriage had been dragged some yards among the rubbish, and one of the horses finally floundered into a bed of mortar, and broke the traces. The driver kept his hold upon the reins to the last, but was badly bruised, and this woman was thrown out on a pile of bricks and granite-caps. The municipal authorities should prohibit these menagerie parades, for the meekest plough-horse in the State could scarcely have faced that band of musicians, flanked by the covered elephant and giraffe, and the cages of the beasts,—much less those fiery grays, who seem snuffing danger even when there is no provocation.”
“Who is this woman?”
“She is a total stranger to me,” answered Dr. Grey, bending down to put his ear to the heart of the victim.
A bystander seemed better informed, and replied,—
“She is a servant or housekeeper of the lady who lives at ‘Solitude.’ But here comes the driver, limping and making wry faces.”
Robert Maclean approached the sofa, and his scratched and136bleeding face paled as he leaned over the prostrate form of his mother.
“Oh, doctors, surely two of you can save her! For God’s sake, don’t let her die! Does she breathe?”
“Yes, the bleeding has already benefitted her. She breathes regularly, and the action of her heart is better. Sit down, my man,—you look ghastly. Mitchell, give him some brandy, and sew up that gash in his cheek, while I write a prescription.”
“Never mind me, doctor; only save my poor mother. She looks like death itself. Mother, mother, it is all over now! Come, wake up, and speak to me!”
He seized one of her cold hands, and chafed it vigorously between both of his, while tears and blood mingled, as they dripped from his face to hers.
“Doctor, tell me the truth; is there any hope?”
“Certainly, my friend; there is every reason to believe she will ultimately recover, though you need not be surprised if she remains for some hours in a heavy stupor. Remember, a pile of brick is not exactly a feather pillow, and it may be some time before the brain recovers from the severity of the contusion. What is your name?”
“Robert Maclean.”
“And hers?”
“Elsie Maclean. Poor, dear creature! How she labors in her breathing. Suppose I lift her head?”
“No; let her rest quietly, just as she is, and I trust all will be well. Come to the table, and allow me to put some plaster over that cut which bleeds so freely. Trust me, Maclean, and do not look so woe-begone. I am not deceiving you. There may be serious internal injuries that I have not discovered, but this stupor is not alarming. I can find no fractured bones, and hope the blow on the head is the most troublesome thing we shall have to contend with.”
Dr. Grey proceeded to sponge the bruised and stained face and, hoping to divert the man’s anxious thoughts, said, nonchalantly,—
“I believe you are in Mrs. Gerome’s employment?”
137
“Yes, sir.”
“How long have you been at ‘Solitude’?”
“I came here, sir, and bought the place, while she was in Europe. Ah, doctor, if my mother should die, I believe it would kill my mistress.”
“You are old family servants?”
“My mother took her when she was twelve hours old, and has never left her since. She loves Mrs. Gerome even better than she loves me—her own flesh and blood. I can’t go home and tell my mistress I have nearly killed my mother. She would never endure the sight of me again. Her own mother died the day after she was born, and she has always looked on that poor dear soul yonder as herfoster-mother.”
Robert limped back to the sofa, and, seating himself on a chair, looked wistfully into his mother’s countenance; then hid his face in his hands.
“Come, be a man, Maclean; and don’t give way to nervousness! Your mother’s condition is constantly improving, though of course it is not so apparent to you as to me. What has been done with the carriage and horses?”
“Oh, the carriage is a sweet pudding; and the grays—curses on ’em!—are badly bruised. One of them had his flank laid open by a saw lying on a lumber-pile; and I only wish it had sawed across the jugular. They are vicious brutes as ever were bitted, and it makes my blood run cold sometimes to see their devilish antics when Mrs. Gerome insists on driving them. They will break her neck, if I don’t contrive to break theirs first.”
“I should judge from their appearance that it was exceedingly unsafe for any lady to attempt to control them. They seem very fiery and unmanageable. What has been done with them?”
“The deuce knows!—knocked in the head, I trust. I asked two men, who were in the crowd, to take them to the livery-stable. Mrs. Gerome is not afraid of anything, and one of her few pleasures is driving those gray imps, who know her voice as well as I do. I have seen them put up their narrow ears and neigh when she was a hundred yards off;138and sometimes she wraps the reins around her wrists and quiets them, when their eyes look like balls of fire. But Rarey himself could not have stopped them a while ago, when they determined to run over that menagerie show. My mistress will say it was my fault, and she will stand by the gray satans through thick and thin. Hist, doctor, my mother groans!”
“Would it not be best for you to go home and acquaint Mrs. Gerome with what has occurred?”
“I would not face her without my mother for—twenty kingdoms! You have no idea how she loves her ‘old Elsie,’ and I couldn’t break the news to her,—I would sooner break my head.”
“This is not a proper place for your mother, and I advise you to remove her to the hospital, which is not very far from my office. She can be carried on a litter.”
“Oh, my mistress would never permit that! She will let no one else nurse my mother; and, of course, she could not go to a public place like a hospital, for you know she is so dreadful shy of strangers.”
After many suggestions, and much desultory conversation, it was finally decided that Elsie should be placed on a mattress, in the bottom of an open wagon, and carried slowly home. A careful driver was provided, and when Dr. Grey had seen his patient comfortably arranged, and established Robert on the seat with the driver, he yielded to the solicitations of the son, that he would precede them to “Solitude,” and acquaint Mrs. Gerome with the details of the accident.
Although ten months had elapsed since the latter took possession of her new home, so complete had been her seclusion that she remained an utter stranger; and, when visitors flocked from town and neighborhood to satisfy themselves concerning the rumors of the elegant furniture and appointments of the house, they were invariably denied admittance, and informed that since her widowhood Mrs. Gerome had not re-entered society.
Curiosity was piqued, and gossip wagged her hundred busy tongues over the tormenting fact that Mrs. Gerome had never139darkened the church-door since her arrival; and, occasionally, when she rode into town, wore a thick veil that thoroughly screened her features; and, instead of shopping like other people, made Elsie Maclean bring the articles to the carriage for her inspection.
The servants seemed to hold themselves as much aloof as their mistress, and though Robert and his mother attended service regularly every Sabbath, they appeared as gravely silent and ungregarious as Sphinxes. The ministers of various denominations called to pay their respects to the stranger, but only the clerical cards succeeded in crossing the threshold; and, while rumors of her boundless wealth crept teasingly through Newsmongerdom, no one except Salome Owen had yet seen the new-comer.
Cases of books and pictures occasionally arrived from Europe, and never failed to stir the pool of gossip to its dregs; for the wife of the express-agent was an intimate friend of Mrs. Spiewell, whose husband was pastor of the church which Elsie and Robert attended, and who felt personally aggrieved that the Rev. Charles Spiewell was not welcomed as the spiritual guide of the mistress of “Solitude.”
Finally, a morbid, meddling inquisitiveness goaded the chatty little woman beyond the bounds of ministerial decorum, and, having rashly wagered a pair of gloves that she would gain an entrance to the parlors (whereof the upholsterer’s wife told marvellous tales), she armed herself with a pathetic petition for aid to build a “Widow’s Row,” and, with a subscription-list for a “Dorcas Society,” and confident of ingress, boldly rang the bell. Unfortunately, Elsie chanced that day to be on post as sentinel, and, though she immediately recognized the visitor as the mother of the small colony of Spiewells who crowded every Sunday morning into the pew of the pastor, she courtesied, and gave the stereotyped rebuff,—
“Mrs. Gerome begs to be excused.”
“Ah, indeed! But she does not know who has called, or she would make an exception in my favor. I am your minister’s wife, and must really see her, if only for two minutes.140Take my card to her, and say I call on important business, which cannot fail to interest her.”
Not a muscle of Elsie’s grave face moved, as she received the card, and answered,—
“I am very sorry, madam, but Mrs. Gerome sees no visitors, and my orders are positive.”
Mrs. Spiewell bit her lip, and reddened.
“Then take these papers to her, and ask if she will please be so good as to examine their claims to her charity. In the meantime I will wait in the parlor, and must trouble you for a glass of water.”
She thrust the petitions into Elsie’s hand, and attempted to slip into the hall, through the partial opening of the door which the servant held during the parley; but, planting her massive frame directly in the way, the resolute woman effectually barred entrance, and, pointing to an irontête-à-têteon the portico, said, decisively,—
“I beg pardon, madam, but you will find a seat there; and I will bring the water while Mrs. Gerome reads your letters. If you are fatigued, I will hand you luncheon and some wine.”
Mortified and enraged, Mrs. Spiewell grew scarlet, but threw herself into the seat designated, resolved to snatch a glimpse of the interior the instant the servant had disappeared.
Very softly Elsie closed and securely latched the door on the inside, knowing that at that moment her mistress was sitting in the oriel window of the front parlor.
In vain the visitor tried and twisted the bolt, and, completely baffled, tears of chagrin moistened her eyes. She had scarcely time to regain her seat, when Elsie reappeared, bearing on a handsome salver a wine-glass, silver goblet, and an elegant basket filled with cake.
“Mrs. Gerome presents her compliments, and sends you this fifty dollar bill for whatever society you represent.”
Too thoroughly discomfited to conceal her pique and indignation, Mrs. Spiewell snatched letters and donation, and, without lingering an instant, swept haughtily down the steps,141“shaking off the dust of her feet” against “Solitude” and its incorrigible owner.
An innocent impertinence once coldly frustrated soon takes unto itself a sting and branding-irons, and thus, what was originally merely idle curiosity, becomes bitter malice; and henceforth the worthy minister’s gossiping wife lost no opportunity of inveighing against the superciliousness of the stranger, and of insinuating that some very extraordinary circumstances led her “to fear that something was radically wrong about that poor Mrs. Gerome, for troubles that could not be poured into the sympathetic ears of pastors and of pastors’ wives must be very dark, indeed.”
Whenever the name of the new-comer was mentioned, Mrs. Spiewell compressed her lips, shook her head, and shrugged her round shoulders; and, of course, persons present surmised that the “minister’s lady” was acquainted with melancholy facts which charity prevented her from divulging.
Many of the grievances and ills that afflict society spring not from sinful, envenomed hearts, but from weak souls and empty heads; and Mrs. Spiewell, who sat up with all the measle-stricken, teething, sick children in her husband’s charge, and would have felt disgraced had she missed a meeting of the “Dorcas Society,” or of the “Barefeet Relief Club,” would have been duly shocked if any one had boldly charged her with slandering a woman whom she had never seen, and of whose antecedents she knew absolutely nothing. Verily, it is difficult, indeed, even for “the elect” to keep themselves “unspotted from the world;” and Zimmerman was a seer when he declared, “Who lives with wolves must join in their howls.”
Absorbed by professional engagements, or fiscal cares, the gentlemen of a community are rarely interested in or informed of the last wreck of character which the whirlpool of scandal strews on the strand of society; but vague rumors relative to Mrs. Gerome’s isolation had penetrated even into the quiet precincts of Dr. Grey’s sanctum, and consequently invested his present mission with extraneous interest.
For the first time since her arrival he approached the confines142of her residence, and, as he threw the reins over the dashboard of his buggy and stood under the lofty old trees that surrounded the house, he paused to admire the beauty of the grounds, the grouping of some statues and pot plants on a neighboring mound, and the far-stretching sheen of the rippling sea.
No living thing was visible except a golden pheasant and scarlet flamingo strutting along the stone terrace at the foot of the lawn, and silence and repose seemed brooding over house and yard; when suddenly a rapid, passionate, piano-prelude smote the stillness till the air appeared to throb and quiver, and a thrillingly sweet yet intensely mournful voice sang the wailing strains ofAddio del Passato.
The indescribable yet almost overwhelming pathos of the tones affected Dr. Grey much as the tremolo-stop in some organ-overture in a dimly-lighted cathedral; and, as the singer seemed to pour her whole aching heart and wearied soul into the concluding “Ah! tutto-tutto fini!” he turned, and involuntarily followed the sound, like one in a dream.
The front door was closed; but the sash of the oriel window had been raised, and through the delicate lace curtains that were swaying in the salt breath of ocean he could see what passed in the parlor. A woman sat before the piano, running her snowy fingers idly across the keys, now strikingfortissimoa wild stormyfuguetheme, and then softly evoking a subtle minor chord that seemed the utterance of some despairing spirit breathing its last prayer for peace.
Her Marie-Louise blue dress was girded at the waist by a belt and buckle of silver, and the loose sleeve of the right arm was looped and pinned up, showing the dimpled elbow and daintily rounded wrist encircled by the jet serpent. Around her throat she had carelessly thrown a lace handkerchief, and from the mass of hair that seemed tiny, snow-capped waves, a cluster of blue nemophila leaned down to touch the white forehead beneath, and peep at the answering blue gleams in the large, shining, steely eyes. Her fingers strayed listlessly into aNocturne; but from the dreamy expression of the face, upraised to gaze at the busts on the143brackets above, it was evident that her thoughts had wandered far away fromAddio del Passato, and were treading the drift-strewn strands of melancholy memory.
Presently she rose, walked twice across the room, and came back to anétagérewhere stood an azure Bohemian glass vase, supported by silver Tritons, and filled with late blue hyacinths and early pancratiums.
Bending her regal head, she inhaled the mingled perfumes, worthy of Sicilian or Cyprian meadows; and, while her slight fingers toyed with the fragile petals, a proud smile lent its sad light to the chill face, and she said aloud, as if striving to comfort herself,—
“‘Not the ineffable stars that interlaceThe azure canopy of Zeus himselfHave surer sweetness than my hyacinthsWhen they grow blue, in gazing on blue heaven,Than the white lilies of my rivers, whenIn leafy spring Selene’s silver hornSpills paleness, peace, and fragrance.’”
With a heavy sigh she turned away, and sat down in the rear room, near the arch, where an easel now stood, containing a large, unfinished picture; and, taking her ivory palette and brushes, she began to retouch the violet robe of one of the figures.
Dr. Grey had seen more beautiful women among the gilded pillars and frescoes of palaces, and amid the olives and vineyards of Parthenope; but in Mrs. Gerome he found a fascinating mystery that baffled analysis and riveted his attention. Neither young nor old, she had crowned herself with the glories of both seasons, and seemed some sweet, dewy spring, wrapped in the snows and frozen in the icy garb of winter.
He had expected to meet a middle-aged person, habited in widow’s weeds, and meek from the severe scourging of a recent and terrible bereavement; but that anomalous white face and proud, queenly form were unlike all other flesh that his keen eyes had hitherto scanned; and he regarded her as curiously as he would have examined some abnormal-looking144specimen of nerves and muscles laid upon the marble slab of a dissecting-table.
Recollecting suddenly that, if he did not present himself, the wagon would arrive before he had accomplished the object of his visit, he drew a card from his pocket, and, stepping over the low sill of the oriel window, advanced to the arch.
The mistress of the house sat with her back turned towards him, and was apparently absorbed in putting purple shadows into the folds of a mantle that hung from the shoulders of a kneeling figure on the canvas.
Face-downward on an ottoman near, lay a beautiful copy of Owen Meredith’s poems; and, after a few seconds, she paused, brush in hand, and, taking up the book, slowly read aloud—glancing, as she did so, from page to picture,—
...“‘Then I could perceive
A glory pouring through an open door,And in the light five women. I believeThey wore white vestments, all of them. They wereQuite calm; and each still face unearthly fair,Unearthly quiet. So like statues all,Waiting they stood without that lighted hall;And in their hands, like a blue star, they heldEach one a silver lamp.’”
Standing immediately behind her, Dr. Grey saw that she had seized the weird “Vision of Virgins,” and was putting into pigment that solemn phantasm of the poet’s imagination where five radiant women were passing to their reward,—and five wailing over flickering, dying lamps, were huddled helplessly and hopelessly under a black and starless midnight sky. Although unfinished, there was marvellous power in the picture, and the sickly gleam from the expiring wicks made the surrounding gloom more supernatural, like the deep shadows skulking behind the lurid glare in some old Flemish painting.
He saw also that she had followed the general outline of the poem; but one of the faces was so supreme in its mute anguish that he thought of Reni’s “Cenci,” and of a wan “Alcestis,” and a desperate “Cassandra,” he had seen at145Rome; and, in comparison, the description of the poet seemed almost vapid,—
...“One as still as death
Hollowed her hands about her lamp, for fearSome motion of the midnight, or her breath,Should fan out the last flicker. Rosy clearThe light oozed through her fingers o’er herface.There was a ruined beauty hovering thereOver deep pain, and dashed with lurid graceA waning bloom.”
The room with its costly, quaint, and tasteful furniture,—the solitary and singularly beautiful woman; the wonderful picture, growing beneath her hand; the solemn silence, broken only by the deep, hollow murmur of the dimpling sea that sent its shimmer in at the window to meet the painted shimmer in a marine view framed on the wall,—all these wove a spell about the intruder that temporarily held him a mute captive.
The artist laid a delicate green on the stripped and scattered leaves from a wreath of Syrian lilies lying on the marble steps of the bridegroom’s mansion, and once more she read a passage from the open book,—
...“‘Then I beheld
A shadow in the doorway. And One cameCrown’d for a feast. I could not see the Face.The Form was not all human. As the FlameStreamed over it, a presence took the placeWith awe. He, turning, took them by the handAnd led them each up the wide stairway, andThe door closed.’”
The sound of her voice, low but clear, and burdened with a sadness that no language could exhaust or interpret, thrilled Dr. Grey’s steady nerves as no music had ever done, and, stepping forward, he held out his card, and said,—
“Mrs. Gerome, a painful necessity has compelled me to intrude upon your seclusion, and I trust you will acquit me of impertinence.”
146
Rising, she fronted him with a frown severe as that which clouded Artemis’ brow when profane eyes peered through myrtle boughs into her sacred retreat, and the changed voice seemed thick with bristling icicles.
“Your business must be imperative, indeed, if it warrants this intrusion. What servant admitted you?”
“None. I came in haste, and, seeing the window open, entered without ringing. Madam, my card will explain my errand.”
“Has Dr. Grey an unpaid bill? I was not aware the servants had needed your services; but if so, present your claim to Robert Maclean, my agent.”
“Mrs. Gerome owes me nothing, and I came here reluctantly and in compliance with Robert Maclean’s request, to inform her of an accident which happened this afternoon while—”
He paused, awed by the change that swept over her countenance, filling it with horrible dread.
“Those gray horses?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Not Elsie? Oh! don’t tell me that my dear old Elsie was mangled! Hush! I will not hear it!”
Palette and brushes fell upon the carpet, and she wrung her fingers until the diamond-eyed asp set its blue fangs in her cold flesh.
“Robert was merely bruised, but his mother was very badly injured, and is still insensible. Every precaution has been taken to counteract the effect of the severe blow on her head, and I hope that after an hour or two she will recover her consciousness. Robert is bringing her home as carefully as possible, and you may expect them momentarily. Only his urgent entreaties that I would precede him and prepare you for the reception of his mother could have induced me to waive ceremony and thrust myself into the presence of a lady who seems little disposed to pardon the apparent presumption of my visit.”
She evidently did not heed his words, and, suddenly clasping her hands across her forehead, she said, bitterly,—
147
“Coward! why can’t you speak out, and tell me that the corpse will soon be here, and a coffin must be ordered? This is the last blow! Surely, God will let me alone, now; for there is nothing more that He can send to afflict me. Oh, Elsie,—my sole comfort! The only one who ever loved me!”
A bluish pallor settled about her mouth, and Dr. Grey shuddered as he looked into the dry, defiant eyes, so beautiful in form and color but so mournfully desperate in their expression.
“Mrs. Gerome, your servant is neither dead nor dying, and I have told you the worst. Down the road I can see the wagon coming slowly, and I would advise you to call the household together, in order to assist in lifting Elsie, who is very stout and heavy. Calm yourself, madam, and trust your favorite servant to my care.”
“Servant! Sir, she is mother, father, husband, friends,—all,—everything to me! She is the only human being who cares for, or understands, or sympathizes with me,—and I could not live without her. Oh, sir, do not ask me to trust you! The time has gone by when I could trust anybody but Elsie. You are a physician,—you ought to know what should be done for her; and, Dr. Grey, if you have any pity in your soul, and any skill in your profession, save my old Elsie’s life! Dr. Grey—”
She paused a few seconds, and added, in a whisper,—
“If she dies, I am afraid I might grow desperate, and commit what you happy people call a crime.”
He felt an unwonted moisture dim his eyes, as he watched the delicate face, white as the hair that crowned it, and wondered if the wide, populous world could match her regal form and perfect features.
“Mrs. Gerome, I think I can promise that Elsie will recover from her injuries; but a prayer for her safety would bring you more comfort than my feeble words of assurance and encouragement. The mercy of God is surer than the combined medical skill of the universe.”
“The mercy of God!” she repeated, with a gesture of scorn and impatience. “No, no! God set his face like a148flint against me, long, long ago, and I do not mock myself by offering prayers that only call down smitings upon me. Seven years since I prayed my last prayer, which was for speedy death; and, from that hour, I seem to have taken a new lease on life. Now I stand still and keep silent, and I hoped that God had forgotten me.”
She covered her face with her hands and Dr. Grey drew a chair close to her and endeavored to make her sit down, but she resisted and shrank from his touch on her arm.
“Madam, the wagon has stopped at the door. Will you direct your servants, or shall I?”
“If she is not dead, tell Robert to carry her into my room. Oh, Dr. Grey, you will not let her die!”
As she looked up imploringly into his calm, noble face, she met his earnest gaze, brimming with compassion and sympathy, and her lips and chin quivered.
“Trust your God, and have faith in me.”
He went out to assist in removing his patient, and when they had carried the mattress and its occupant into the room opposite the parlor and laid it on the carpet near the window, he had the satisfaction of observing a favorable change in Elsie’s condition. While he stood by a table preparing some medicine, Robert stole up, and asked:
“Do you notice any improvement? She groaned twice on the road, and once I am sure she opened her eyes.”
“Yes; I think that very soon she will be able to speak, for her pulse is gaining strength every hour.”
“How did my mistress take it?”
“She was much shocked and grieved. Maclean, where are her friends and relatives?”
There was no reply, and, glancing over his shoulder to repeat the inquiry, Dr. Grey saw Mrs. Gerome leaning against the door.
“Robert, have you killed her?”
“Oh, no, ma’am! She is doing very well, the doctor says.”
She crossed the room, and sat down on the edge of the mattress, taking one of the large brown hands in both of hers and bending her face over the pillow.
149
“Elsie! mother! Elsie, speak to your poor child!”
That wailing voice pierced the stupor, and Dr. Grey was surprised to see the woman’s eyes unclose and rest wonderingly upon the countenance hovering over her.
“My dear Elsie, don’t you know me?”
“Yes, my bairn. What ails you?”
She spoke indistinctly, and shut her eyes once more, as if exhausted.
“If she was in her coffin, I verily believe she would rise, if she heard your voice calling her,” said Robert, wiping away the tears of joy that trickled across his sunburnt cheeks.
Dr. Grey stooped to put his finger on Elsie’s pulse, and Mrs. Gerome threw herself down on the carpet, and buried her face in the pillow, where her silver hair mingled with the grizzled locks that straggled from beneath the old woman’s torn lace cap.
CHAPTER XII.
“Well, Ulpian, are you convinced that ‘Solitude’ is an unlucky place, and that misfortune dogs the steps of all who make it a home? Once you laughed at my ‘superstition.’ What think you now, my wiseacre?”
“My opinion has not changed, except that each time I see the place I admire it more and more; and, were it for sale, I should certainly purchase it.”
“Not with the expectation of living there?”
“Most assuredly.”
Miss Jane had suspended for a moment the swift clicking of her knitting-needles in order to hear her brother’s reply, and now she rejoined, almost sharply,—
“You will do no such silly thing while there is breath left in my body to protest, or to persuade. Pooh! you only talk to tease me; for five grains of observation and common sense will teach you that there is a curse hanging over that old piratical nest.”
“Dear Janet, when headstrong drivers persist in carrying a150pair of fiery, vicious horses into the midst of a procession of wild beasts that would have scared even your sober dull Dapples out of their lazy jog-trot, it is not at all surprising that snapped harness, broken carriage, torn flesh, and strained joints should attest the folly of the experiment. The accident occurred not far from my office, which is haunted by nothing worse than your harmless sailor-boy.”
“All very fine, my blue-eyed oracle, but I notice that the horses belonging to ‘Solitude’ were the only ones that made mischief and came to grief; and I promise you that all the hawsers in Gosport Navy-Yard will never drag me inside the doomed place. How is your patient? If you expect her to get well, you had better take a ‘superstitious’ old woman’s counsel, and send her away from that valley of Jehoshaphat.”
“I am very sorry to tell you that she was more seriously hurt than I was at first inclined to believe. Her spine was so badly injured that although there is no danger of immediate death, she will never be able to sit up or walk again. She may linger many months, possibly years; but must, as long as life lasts, remain a bed-ridden cripple. It is one of the saddest cases I have had to deal with during my professional career; and Elsie Maclean bears her sufferings with such noble fortitude, such genuine Christian patience, coupled with stern Scotch heroism, that I cannot withhold my admiration and earnest sympathy. Yesterday I held a consultation with four physicians, and, when we told her the hopelessness of her condition, she received the announcement without even a sigh, and seemed only to dread that instead of an assistant she might prove a burden to her mistress.”
“She appears to be a very important personage in the household.”
“Yes; she is Mrs. Gerome’s nurse, housekeeper, and counsellor,—and I have rarely seen such warm affection as exists between them. I wish, Janet, that you were strong enough to call at ‘Solitude,’ for its mistress leads a lonely, secluded life, and must require some society.”
151
“But, Ulpian, I hear strange things about her, and it is hinted that she is deranged.”
“Your knowledge of human nature should teach you how little truth is generally found in the floatingon ditsof social circles.”
“How long has she been widowed?”
“I do not know, but presume that her affliction has not been very recent, as she wears no mourning.”
“If she has discarded widow’s weeds, and dresses in colors, why should she taboo society, and make herself the town-talk by refusing to receive even the clergy and their wives? She has lived here ten months, and I understand from Dolly Spiewell that not a soul has ever seen her. Of course such eccentricities provoke gossip and tickle the tongue of scandal, and if the world can’t find out the real cause of such conduct, it very industriously sets to work and manufactures one.”
“Which, in my humble opinion, constitutes a piece of unwarrantable impertinence on the part of meddling Mrs. Grundy. The world might be more profitably engaged in mending its own tortuous and mendacious ways, and allowing poor solitary wretches to fondle their whims and caprices. If Mrs. Gerome does not choose to receive visitors, what right has the public to grumble, or even discuss the matter?”
As Salome spoke, she plunged her stiletto vigorously into a piece of cambric, and her thin lip curled contemptuously.
“Abstractly true, my dear child; but, from the beginning of time, people have meddled; and, since gossip she must, even Eve chatted too freely with serpents. Besides, since we are in the world, we should not turn eremites, and bristle at the sight of one of our own race; for society has a few laws that are inexorable,—that cannot be violated without subjecting the offender to being stung to death by venomous tongues; and one of these statutes is, that all shall see and be seen, shall talk and be talked about, and shall visit and be visited. When a woman unaccountably turns recluse, she is at the mercy of public imagination, stimulated by disappointed curiosity; and very soon the verdict goes forth that she is either deformed or deranged.”