Confession; Or, The Blind Heart Part 31

"But you have been sketching?"

"No!"

"What employed you then in the studio? How have you pa.s.sed your mornings?"

This inquiry was made abruptly, but it did not disturb her. Her answer was strangely satisfactory.

"I have scarcely looked in upon the studio in all that time."

I longed to ask what Edgerton had done with himself, and whether he had been suffered to employ himself alone, in his morning visits, but my tongue faltered--I somehow dared not. Still, it was something to have her a.s.surance that she had not found her attractions in that apartment in which my jealous fancy had a.s.sumed that she took particular delight.

She had spoken with the calmness of innocence, and I was too happy to believe her. I put my arms about her waist.

"Yes, we will renew the old habits, for I suppose that business there will be less pressing, less exacting, than I have found it here. We will take our long walks, Julia, and make up for lost time in new sketches.

You have thought me a truant, Julia--neglectful hitherto! Have you not?"

"Ah, Edward!"--Her eyes filled with tears, but a smile, like rainbow, made them bright.

"Say, did you not?"

"Do not be angry with me if I confess I thought you very much altered in some respects. I was fearful I had vexed you."

"You shall have no more reason to fear. We shall be the babes in the wood together. I am sure we shall be quite happy, left to ourselves. No doubts, no fears--nothing but love. And you are really willing to go?"

"Willing! I wish it! I can get ready in a day."

"You have but a week. But, have you no reluctance? Is there nothing that you regret to leave? Speak freely, Julia. Your mother, your friends--would you not prefer to remain with them?"

She placed her hands on my shoulders, laid her head close to my bosom and murmured--how softly, how sweetly--in the touching language of the Scripture damsel.

"Entreat me not to leave thee, or to refrain from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.

Thy people shall be my people, and thy G.o.d my G.o.d!"

I folded her with tremulous but deep joy in my embrace; and in that sweet moment of peace, I wondered that I ever should have questioned the faith of such a woman.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII.

"AND STILL THE BITTER IN THE CUP OF JOY."

Once more I had sunshine. The clouds seemed to depart as suddenly as they had risen, and that same rejoicing and rosy light which had encircled the brow of manhood at its dawn long shrouded, seemingly lost for ever, and swallowed up in darkness--came out as softly and quietly in the maturer day, as if its sweet serene had never known even momentary obscuration.

Love, verily, is the purple light of youth. If it abides, blessing and blessed, with the unsophisticated heart, youth never leaves us. Gray brows make not age--the feeble step, the wrinkled visage, these indicate the progress of time, but not the pa.s.sage of youth. Happy hearts keep us in perpetual spring, and the glow of childhood without its weaknesses is ours to the final limit of seventy. The sense of desolation, the pang of denial, the baffled hope, and the defrauded love, these const.i.tute the only age that should ever give the heart a pang. I can fancy a good man advancing through all the mortal stages from seventeen to seventy-five, and crowned by the sympathies of corresponsive affections, simply going on from youth to youth, ending at last in youth's perfect immortality!

The hope of this--not so much a hope as an instinct--is the faith of our boyhood. The boy, as the father of the man, transmits this hope to riper years; but if the experience of the day correspond not with the promise of the dawn, how rapidly old age comes upon us! White hairs, lean cheeks, withered muscles, feeble steps, and that dull, dead feeling about the heart--that utter abandonment of cheer--which would be despair were it not for a certain blunted sensibility--a sort of drowsy indifference to all things that the day brings forth, which, as it takes from life the excitement of every pa.s.sion, leaves it free from the sting of any. Yet, were not the tempest better than the calm? Who would not prefer to be driven before the treacherous hurricane of the blue gulf, than to linger midway on its sh.o.r.eless waters, and behold their growing stagnation from day to day? The apathy of the pa.s.sions is the most terrible form in which age makes its approaches.

With an earnest, sanguine temperament, such as mine, there is little danger of such apathy, The danger is not from lethargy but madness. I had escaped this danger. It was surprising, even to myself, how suddenly my spirits had arisen from the pressure that had kept them down. In a moment, as it were, that mocking troop of fears and sorrows which environed me, took their departure. It seemed that it was only necessary for me to know that I was about to lose the presence of William Edgerton to find this relief.

And yet, how idle! With an intense egoisme, such as mine, I should conjure up an Edgerton in the deepest valleys of our country. We have our G.o.ds and devils in our own hearts. The nature of the deities we worship depends upon our own. In a savage state, the Deity is savage, and expects b.l.o.o.d.y sacrifices; with the progress of civilization his attributes incline to mercy. The advent of Jesus Christ indicated the advance of the Hebrews to a higher sense of the human nature. It was the advent of the popular principle, which has been advancing steadily ever since and keeping due pace with the progress of Christian education. The people were rising at the expense of the despotism which had kept them down. It does not affect the truth of this to show that the polish of the Jewish nation was lessened at this period. Nay, rather proves it, since the diffusion of a truth or a power must always lessen its intensity In teaching, for the first time, the doctrine of the soul's immortality, the Savior laid the foundation of popular rights, in the elevation of the common humanity--since he thus showed the equal importance, in the sight of G.o.d, of every soul that had ever taken shape beneath his hands.

The demon which had vexed and tortured me was a demon of my own soliciting--of my own creation. But, I knew not this. I congratulated myself on escaping from him. Blind fancy!--I little knew the insidious pertinacity of this demon--this demon of the blind heart. I little knew the nature of his existence, and how much he drew his nutriment from the recesses of my own nature. He could spare, or seem to spare, the victim of whom he was so sure; and by a sort of levity, in no ways unaccountable, since we see it in the play of cat with mouse, could indulge with temporary liberty, the poor captive of whom he was at any moment certain. I congratulated myself on my escape; but I was not so well pleased with the congratulations of others. I was doomed to endure those of my exemplary mother-in-law, Mrs. Delaney. That woman had her devil--a worse devil, though not more troublesome, I think, than mine.

She said to me, when she heard of my purpose of removal: "You are right to remove. It is only prudent. Pity you had not gone some months ago."

I read her meaning, where her language was ambiguous, in her sharp, leering eyes--full of significance--an expression of mysterious intelligence, which, mingled with a slight, sinister smile upon her lips, for a moment, brought a renewal of all my tortures and suspicions.

She saw the annoyance which I felt, and strove to increase it. I know not--I will not repeat--the occasional innuendos which she allowed herself to utter in the brief s.p.a.ce of a twenty minutes' interview. It is enough to say that nothing could be more evident than her desire to vex me with the worst pangs which a man can know, even though her success in the attempt was to be attained at the expense of her daughter's peace of mind and reputation. I do not believe that she ever hinted to another, what she clearly enough insinuated as a cause of fear to me. Her purpose was to goad me to madness, and in her witless malice, I do believe she was utterly unconscious of the evil that might accrue to the child of her own womb from her base and cruel suggestions. I wished to get from her these suggestions in a more distinct form. I wished at the same time, to deprive her of the pleasure of seeing that I understood her. I restrained myself accordingly, though the vulture was then again at my vitals.

"What do you mean. Mrs. Delaney? Why is it a pity that I hadn't gone months ago?"

"Oh! that's enough for me to know. I have my reasons."

"But, will you not suffer me to know them? I am conscious of no evil that has arisen from my not going sooner."

"Indeed! Well, if you are not, I can only say you're not so keen-sighted a lawyer as I thought you were. That's all."

"If you think I would have made out better, got more practice, and made more money in Alabama, that, I must tell you, has been long since my own opinion."

"No! I don't mean that--it has no regard to business and money-making--what I mean."

"Ah! what can it have regard to? You make me curious, Mrs. Delaney."

"Well, that may be; but I'm not going to satisfy your curiosity. I thought you had seen enough for yourself. I'm sure you're the only one that has not seen."

"Upon my soul, Mrs. Delaney, you are quite a mystery."

"Oh! am I?"

"I can't dive into such depths. I'm ignorant."

"Tell those that know you no better. But you can't blind me. I know that you know--and more than that, I can guess what's carrying you to Alabama. It's not law business, I know that."

I was vexed enough, as may be supposed, at this malicious pertinacity, but I kept down my struggling gorge with a resolution which I had been compelled often enough to exercise before; and quietly ended the interview by taking my hat and departure, as I said:--

"You are certainly a very sagacious lady, Mrs. Delaney; but I must leave you, and wait your own time to make these mysterious revelations. My respects to Mr. Delaney. Good morning."

"Oh, good morning; but let me tell you, Mr. Clifford, if you don't see, it's not because you can't. Other people can see without trying."

The Jezabel!

My preparations were soon completed. I worked with the spirit of enthusiasm--I had so many motives to be active; and, subordinate among these, but still important, I should get out of the reach of this very woman. I could not beat her myself but I wished her husband might do it, and not to antic.i.p.ate my own story, he did so in less than three months after. He was the man too, to perform such a labor with unction and emphasis. A vigorous man with muscles like bolt-ropes, and limbs that would have been respectable in the days of Goliah. I met him on leaving the steps of Mrs. Delaney's lodgings, and--thinking of the marital office I wished him to perform--I was rejoiced to discover that he was generously drunk--in the proper spirit for such deeds in the flesh.

He seized my hand with quite a burst of enthusiasm, swore I was a likely fellow, and somehow he had a liking for me.

"Though, to be sure, my dear fellow, it's not Mrs. Delaney that loves any bone in your skin. She's a lady that, like most of the dear creatures, has a way of her own for thinking. She does her own thinking, and what can a woman know about such a business. It's to please her that I sit by and say nothing; and a wife must be permitted some indulgence while the moon lasts, which the poets tell us, is made out of honey: but it's never a long moon in these days, and a small cloud soon puts an end to it. Wait till that time, Mr. Clifford, and I'll put her into a way of thinking, that'll please you and myself much better."

I thanked him for his good opinion, and civilly wished him--as it was a matter which seemed to promise him so much satisfaction--that the duration of the honeymoon should be as short as possible. He thanked me affectionately--grasped my hand with the squeeze of a blacksmith, and entreated that I should go back and take a drink of punch with him. As an earnest of what he could give me, he pulled a handful of lemons from his pocket which he had bought from a shop by the way. I need not say I expressed my grat.i.tude, though I declined his invitation. I then told him I was about to remove to Alabama, and he immediately proposed to go along with me. I reminded him that he was just married, and it would be expected of him that he would see the honeymoon out.

"Ah, faith!" he replied, "and there's sense in what you say; it must be done, I suppose; but devil a bit, to my thinking, does any moon last a month in this climate; and the first cloudy weather, d'ye see, and I'm after you."