Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale Part 15

"Yes."

Was Mrs. Belmont thinking of the time when, years ago, beautiful children nestled into the inner chamber of _her_ soul, which had been desolated by the hand of death? Or did her memory go no farther back than the last parting scene with her only daughter? There were many dark pictures that might have been brought up, but the volubility of Mrs. St.

Clair drove them from her sight. She continued:

"I dare say I shall shock your sensibilities very much, but Ellen has declared her intention of bringing the governess out to-night as one of her honored guests." And the lady laughed heartily as she looked into the face of her visitor.

"But _you_ are not going to permit it, certainly. The affair would be decidedly absurd. You ought most positively to interfere."

"But you know, my dear, that I was never emphatic about anything. I have not the needed strength for a battle. And then, on this occasion, I am left perfectly powerless, as her father declares that for this once she shall have her own way in everything, just as if she did not always have it"; added Mrs. St. Clair with much merriment.

"But does she not know that she may offend many of her dear friends by such folly?" interposed the lady of Rosedale.

"I imagine she cares but little as to that; she is so much like her father--and mother, too, it may be"; and the thick folds of her rich brocade rustled with the contagion of her mirth. "The fact is, cousin, she is such a fine musician that I have no doubt you will be charmed with her yourself. To be sure she holds a menial position in our home, but I cannot help admiring and loving her too. There is something so mild and una.s.suming about her. I often tell Ellen that I wish she would imitate her manners."

"No doubt she is well enough in her place; but the drawing-room, which is to be filled with the elegant and affluent who are to come from aristocratic homes, bringing with them refinement and culture, must overshadow her. She ought certainly to have sufficient sense to understand this, and refuse such publicity. Why not as hostess appeal to her yourself? If she is as amiable as you have represented, she would not act in a way contrary to your wishes."

All this was spoken hurriedly and with much feeling.

"I presume she would; but the trouble is that I _have_ no objections.

Under these circ.u.mstances you will discover that I would make a poor deputy to do the business"; and the merry peals startled the demure maid who was putting the finishing touches to her lady's toilet. Then turning to the mirror she continued, without giving her visitor time to reply:

"There--how do I look? Not much like Venus, as I can readily perceive.

Is not that trail too long? and these hoops too large? But it will have to do, I suppose. Now I will go and see what the girls are doing, while Pauline's skillful fingers put you in order. I had your dressing case brought here so as to be ready"; and the good lady bustled out of the room, leaving her cousin in no very amiable mood.

At an early hour the sound of mirth and gayety was heard everywhere in the elegant home of the St. Clair's. The drawing-rooms were filled with gay, flitting forms which kept humming and buzzing like a swarm of busy bees, mingling and changing their bright colors until with kaleidoscopic distinctness the last brooch was fastened and each delicate toilet had received its finishing touch from skillful hands, and on the broad stairway the tripping of feet and the rustling of silks mingled with joyous laughter as the chorus of many voices were heard coming up from the hall below. It was a brilliant sight! So many happy faces gleaming with the excitement of the hour as they gathered together in little circling eddies in the drawing-rooms, radiant with gems which flashed and sparkled in the full glare of the overhanging gas-lights that glowed in subdued brilliancy upon them.

"How very strange!" was heard from many a rosy lip that night as familiar friends met in sly nooks where confidential words could be interchanged. It was true that Ellen St. Clair had never appeared at such an entertainment so plainly dressed; what could it mean? A rumor had been floating about purporting to have originated with her sister Bertha "that it was to please some one," but who was the honored one?

Then there came the response. "A governess who had declared her dislike to appear in so large a company because of her unfitting toilet!" But why this should so strangely influence the "pretty heiress" was still a mystery. "And where was the governess?" No one was more eager to be satisfied on this point than was Mrs. Belmont; and no one was more anxious to hide that desire which so fretted her.

"I never saw Miss Ellen look prettier or fresher than she does to-night," remarked a gentleman to the captivating young Mrs. Mason.

"That spotless dress of white becomes her airy figure and combines with her purity of look and manner. Her appearance is truly ethereal--and that one diamond star at the throat reminds me of something in the good book my mother used to read! In fact I like it." A toss of the regal head beside him was the only answer. "I am sorry, however, that her motive for throwing aside her little feminine adornings is so much beneath her," continued the young man with some volubility. "But where is the governess? I beg pardon!" and the head of the speaker bowed low with mock seriousness.

"I do not know, sir; I have not troubled myself about her!" was the haughty reply. "Exquisite! Pray tell me who is that at the piano? A wonderful voice! So sweet and flexible!" exclaimed a lady near where the two were standing. "Listen! I wish I could get a peep at her!"

"I do not know," interrupted Mrs. Belmont who had been addressed. "I will inquire," and she pressed her way through the crowd and was lost from sight by the enraptured listeners. The melodious voice soared aloft in little rippling eddies to die away in the distance, then fell like liquid drops of silvery cadence upon the ear, while it hushed into silence the sound of mingling voices until the s.p.a.cious apartments were filled with naught but the wonderful music of the unknown singer. Mrs.

Belmont had made her way to a group of grave gentlemen and ladies in the parlor opposite, where they had been discussing the great topic of the day.

"I cannot see well," replied Mrs. St. Clair with a merry twinkle in her gray eyes as she returned to the sofa she had just left to look about her for a moment. "But it is some one Professor Edwards seems to honor, for he is beside her turning the music. Ah, there is 'Cathesdra'--listen," and the same voice came floating and circling about their heads in the very ecstacy of delight.

"You never heard that _sung_ before"; interposed Mr. St. Clair laughingly. "I mean as now!"

"You know who it is, cousin; tell us, will you?" But Mr. St. Clair was wholly intent upon the music and only shook his finger menacingly at Mrs. Belmont for interrupting it.

"There! That is over! Now who says he _ever_ heard anything better than that?" and the kind-hearted old gentleman gazed appealingly about him.

"Let me see, cousin. What was it you were saying about the 'uncultured females' of the north? Well, I remember but will not repeat, so you may save your blushes," and his plump hand came down with emphasis upon his well-developed knee. "Yes--they do soil their fingers with toil it is a fact. Ellen has often spoken of her visit to the home of a schoolmate who lives on the banks of the old historic Hudson, and she declares that the home into which she was ushered on her arrival was superior to almost anything she had seen in our sunny clime; but the mistress many times during her stay of two weeks actually made tea with her own hands and served it at her own table! And what was even worse, there was not a day that she did not visit her kitchen--order her own dinner--and, it may be, stuffed her own turkeys--made her own jellies, puddings, etc.! I should not be at all surprised!" Here the speaker burst forth into a merry peal of laughter, which did not seem at all contagious as no one but the wife joined in his glee. "Ah, there is the singer. I know her by the blue silk," interposed one of the ladies who had striven to get a look at her while she was at the piano. "Prof. Edwards seems to monopolize her entirely." "She is _very_ pretty," remarked another. "All but those blue eyes," chimed in Mr. St. Clair; "those tell the tale of frosts and snows--do you not think so, cousin?"

"You annoy me, somehow," said Mrs. Belmont with much feeling; "perhaps it is because I do not understand you. I would like to cover your lack of gallantry with a soft cloak of charity you see."

"It is the war, madam, that had fired his bitter animosities," suggested a gallant knight near by.

"Have I indeed then been so boorish? I beg your pardon," and he bowed obsequiously. "Now for plain dealing, as I feel you will like that better! The young lady to whom we have been so rapturously listening, and who has drawn such a large circle about her yonder," pointing with his finger towards where she was sitting, "including your honored son, I perceive, is Miss Anna Pierson--our governess. Look at her now! Her face is like her music, all soul, all feeling. Now clear and smooth with the most exquisite pathos, yet never blank or uninteresting; now brilliant and sparkling, rippling all over with enthusiasm; a face one never tires of watching through all its changes; never growing weary no matter how often the repet.i.tion comes."

Immediately after supper Mrs. Belmont ordered her carriage. She was anxious to return and bury her chagrin in the privacy of her own chamber. Why was she so wretched? She asked herself over and over again, yet received no definite answer. It might be that a gentleman with whom she had been talking a.s.sured her that the war so much commented upon could not, or would not be averted. "Even now," he added, "extensive preparations are going on in Charleston for its early commencement." But certainly this could not be the cause of her disquietude, as she scanned over the immensity of southern political power. After all that has been done the fight must be short and the victory speedy and glorious. The pall lifted slowly from about her heart, and before she reached her own door she stigmatized herself as a coward for retiring so soon from the gay scene, appearing, as she imagined, like retreating before a phantom foe. In her own room, however, the fire broke out anew. There was something in the tones of her cousin's voice that angered her. "What right had he to allude to my words, spoken in private, and display my peculiar views, as he called them, before such a company? But above all, what could have induced Charles to hand that detestable governess to the table and leave Ellen St. Clair to another?" Nothing had gone right, and the indignant woman paced the floor goaded by her agitating thoughts until the footsteps of her offending son were heard entering his room.

How true it is that when the heart opens its "guest chamber" to evil spirits and gives them welcome, it will wake ere long to find its most sacred place invaded, and its halls of innocence desecrated by the madness of a.s.sociated pa.s.sions that come to take up their abode in it!

Poor heart! What a struggle for purity must follow with opposing foes before it ever again becomes a fit temple for the high dignitaries of a G.o.d-like nature to enter and dwell in! Better far to bar the door at their first approach and set its seal of truth and n.o.bleness upon it which, like the "blood of sprinkling," turns away the footsteps of Death with his destructive power. Alas, with Mrs. Belmont it was too late. She had not counted the cost of her misdeeds from the beginning, and now found herself in a labyrinth of difficulties that were thickening about her, and out of which she could see no way of escape.

She was angry, too, for Bertha had said that Ellen was indignant that her name should have been coupled in an outside gossip with that of her son, and had improved every opportunity to contradict the rumor. Here was another disappointment to be thrown into her cherished plans; and the very depths of her soul seemed embittered.

Chafing under the acc.u.mulating power of her goading thoughts, she walked her room with rapid steps, while her angry soul went down among the roaring billows.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XVII.

A THRILLING REVELATION.

Charles Belmont was twenty-six years of age at the time of our writing, but owing to the indolence of his disposition and the selfishness which had always governed him, he had not as yet stepped into the position as "master" of the plantation to which he supposed himself heir; nor had he troubled himself regarding his prosperity. It was enough for him to know that a hundred pairs of hands were laboring for his comfort and fully capable of supplying every desired luxury. "Mother has never failed me yet," he would say, "and when she does it will be time enough for me to dabble in business."

Thus did the years roll by while his manliness became more and more engulfed in the lethargy of indolence until his whole being was enervated and possessed not the power to sever the manacles that were destroying the pure and n.o.ble within, even had he the disposition to do so. How many efficient natures have thus been destroyed! The soul of man is progressive; it is ambitious to go onward and upward; fetter these propensities, press them down, and the whole being becomes groveling, its aspirations dwarfed or twisted in the process. The mind is conscious of an unrest, and with its unsatisfied longings, turns away from the enn.o.bling and fills itself with debasing habits that will certainly prost.i.tute all loftier aspirations. Charles Belmont had not, however, sunk so low as all this. But with his most frivolous wants supplied, and the prospect of a large estate before him, why should he be perplexed about anything? He had gone through college, as thousands of others had done before him, had spent two years in Europe seeing what in his opinion was worth looking at, and now what was left for him to do but to look out for an heiress or some one worthy to share his honors, or wait while he smoked his meerschaum or sipped his wine after the physical part of his nature had been satisfied by the bounties which menial hands had provided?

The next day after the events of our last chapter, the young master of Rosedale learned from his mother that for the first time since his remembrance the slaves were to be disappointed in their Christmas gifts, as the lady declared she "would not trouble herself about them."

This piece of information aroused the better feelings of the son, who immediately set about providing himself with the means to carry out in its fullness the long established custom that would make more than three score hearts happy. It was a frail spirit, however, that aroused for the first time the slumbering attributes of his better nature.

"If such is your determination, Mother," was the quick reply, "then I shall for once perform your duties for you." And, true to his resolve, Christmas morning found him standing amid well filled baskets at the end of the long corridor leading to the kitchen, looking upon the happy faces of the merry group as he called their names, and with a cheery word or jest presented their gifts.

"Where is Old Auntie?" he inquired at last, as the sable faces one by one turned away, and he was being left alone. "And here is a drum for Shady, but he must promise not to make too much noise with it before I shall hand it over to him. Here, Shady, you rascal, where are you?" he continued, holding up the exhilarating toy. Poor Old Auntie came out from the kitchen and walked slowly towards him.

"O Ma.s.sa, Shady am dead--gone--and poor old Vina's heart is done broke.

I don' want nothin', Ma.s.sa, on'y dat what ye got fer him. Let auntie have it--'twon't make no noise." She reached out her hand for the coveted prize, and again Charles Belmont felt the promptings of the inward n.o.bility that makes the man. Those plaintive words that came sobbing up from the wounded, bleeding heart, all dripping with tears, touched a chord of sympathy in his own, hitherto unknown to its possessor.

"How did this happen?" he asked quickly, "and why was not my mother informed of an event so important? Something is wrong. How did little Shady die?"

"Don' know, Ma.s.sa. He's done dead. It's night all de time now; dere ain't no more sunshine for poor Old Auntie. Will ye gib me dat, Ma.s.sa? I _couldn't_ hear de chil'ens makin' a noise on it--'twould be like dey was poundin' dis heart, all broke, Ma.s.sa Charles. Couldn't bear it--no how."

"You shall have it, Auntie," he said, with much feeling, as he placed the toy drum in the outstretched hands. "I do not wonder it is dark, and if Ma.s.sa Charles can scatter a few rays of light across your sorrow, be sure he will do it."

"O thank ye; thank ye, Ma.s.sa Charles. The Lord will bless ye, Vina knows he will," and the poor old slave returned again to her night of dreary loneliness.

It was a little transient ray that had been sent athwart her darkness, and no one understood its fleetingness better than did she.

The next day Charles Belmont went again to the scenes of pleasure he had so unceremoniously left, but he could not forget the bitter potion the cup of others contained. For a long time "Poor Old Auntie's" wail of bereavement would dart into his pleasures and leave a touch of sadness upon their brightness.