Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale Part 21

"Yes, Missus"; and after some hesitation and audible e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns from Sam they gained the highway and an hour after drove up to the door of the St. Clair's.

"What the deuce does this mean!" exclaimed the old gentleman as Mrs.

Belmont entered the parlor with haggard looks and her long black hair in disorder about her face. The sad story was soon told amid sobs and exclamations from her hearers.

"What possessed you to remain down to the beach at such a late hour?"

interrogated Mr. St. Clair angrily. "One could almost suspect you of design."

"My dear husband," said the wife; "do not be too rash! The question is, what can we do for the poor girl?"

"Send to headquarters of the police immediately! The place must be thoroughly searched by moonlight and continued until she is found!"

All this time Mrs. Belmont sat like one who had suddenly lost the power of motion, while her keen, dark eyes seemed to burn the carpet at her feet. At last she arose and with the dignity of former days walked from the room, and her carriage was soon after heard rolling away from the door.

"You have offended your cousin Mr. St. Clair," said the wife.

"I do not care if I have! She had no business to be out in such a place without being better attended at any rate!"

"Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d must not hear of this to-night," continued the good lady musingly as her husband left the room. "How can I tell her! It is terrible!"

Day after day was the search continued but with no success. Mrs. Belmont had closed her doors against all visitors, taking the precaution, however, to station her servants where they would be able to bring her the first news concerning the missing one. Mr. g.a.y.l.o.r.d reached Savannah in time to join in the search and administer consolation to his newly-afflicted wife.

CHAPTER XXI.

BREAKING OF HOME TIES.

Let the human soul wander where it will with its burden of guilt; let it try as best it can to hide its deformity under the covering of complacency, the eye that never slumbers is upon it and an accusing conscience will continue to repeat "thy sin shall find thee out!" Poor Mrs. Belmont! Step by step had she been led forward on the path where she little expected to walk, but in her stepping down from true womanhood she had been met by the spirit of evil and he had guided her tremblingly on.

The third evening after the close of our last chapter a tall figure in feminine attire might have been seen in the street opposite her residence. A half hour after, the side door of that house opened softly and closed again as a closely-veiled woman emerged into the darkness.

Pa.s.sing down the main avenue it came to a street more unfrequented where the two met and walked on together a few moments in silence. At last stopping suddenly the voice of Mrs. Belmont inquired in a subdued tone, "Well--what are you going to say? _Quick!_"

"I'se goin' to tell ye. I took the gal down to the boat, but 'twas a mighty hard tug. She didn't make no fuss tho', so I took off the handkerchief and told her to be aisy and I'd treat her well. Then came lots of questions but I didn't tell her nothin'. The sea was mighty high and I know'd there was no gettin' to the ship, so I jest hugged the sh.o.r.e as near as I dast to 'til I got away where n.o.body could find us, then I pulled up where I know'd was good shelter to wait for the tide, when gorry! I'd no more than sot foot on a hard rock than the gal sprung to her feet and was off quick as a wink! How she got her hands untied n.o.body knows! But she couldn't ha' kept up five minutes for the wind was risin' and the waves was _awful_, so I reckon there's no more trouble for n.o.body!"

"You are a blunderer!" gasped his listener.

"I'se done my best, that's all!"

"Here--take that--and remember next week you go to Charleston as a volunteer to fight, and if you get shot so much the better for you! This is the bounty to be given your family! Go--and let me and this transaction die from your memory forever! _Go!_"

They separated and Mrs. Belmont returned to her home with the same stealthy tread as that with which she had left it. Alone in her chamber the wretched woman listened once more long and helplessly to the terrible upbraidings of conscience!

"I did not intend all this," she cried. "O, no! The stain of _murder_ cannot be found on my soul! I only thought--the great Judge knows I would never have injured my own flesh and blood! The great Judge!" she repeated, while a tremor ran through her frame. "Yes, He knows I did not mean all this! I was compelled--having taken the first step there was no retreating! Ah, that first act! Whither will it lead me?"

In the morning the storm had pa.s.sed and Mrs. Belmont came forth to light and life more rigid and stern than before. It was said that "her sorrows had made her grave; yet more grand and dignified," and soon the "presumptuous" whispers of blame were hushed, for one so _n.o.ble_ as the "Mistress of Rosedale" _could not_ be guilty of crime! And the wave of public opinion closed over the scene and the waters of social life were calm again.

George St. Clair had remained in Charleston during these excitements, watching the progress of other scenes even more sad and cruel, yet free from the plague spots of crime, and bearing aloft the banner held to be of glory and honor for the reason that a nation, not an individual, had demanded the sacrifice of many lives, not one! South Carolina had drawn her ample robes more closely about her and with one pitiful leap had plunged over the fearful precipice down into the dark and unexplored depths of the yawning chasm of disunion, dragging after her a few of her unfortunate sisters. No wonder they stood and trembled upon the brink when it was once reached, for there were mysteries wholly unlooked for which seemed to lose their golden tints upon nearer approach and a.s.sume the dignity of practical realities. The little "affair" at Fort Sumter somehow had cast a shadow of foreboding over more than one chivalric heart.

Col. St. Clair met his commanding officer the morning after the surrender of the little half-starved garrison, standing alone viewing through his gla.s.s the n.o.ble fort with the new emblem of glory floating over it.

"Well--how do you like the looks of that, Colonel? The Morning Star with _healing_ in its beams--ha?" Taking down his gla.s.s he turned to his companion, who had not yet spoken, and continued; "what the deuce is the matter with you St. Clair? Your face ought to be shining with victory, but instead it presents a perfect blank!"

"As unreadable as our future," he replied with an attempt at a smile.

"Ah! A discovery! Getting tired already! Hope the white feather has not began to grow as soon as this!" There was a sneer on the face of the speaker which his companion did not fail to notice.

"General," he said mildly, "I acknowledge with deference your superiority in military rank, but do not forget that the blood of the St. Clair's runs through my veins, disseminating through my being no mean cowardice, as you well know!" The general laughed.

"You are awake now my brave boy and more like yourself! I only wanted to arouse you! Now tell us, what is the matter? Something more than our surroundings disturbs you. Out with it!"

"What time do the Eaton's go north?" was the calm inquiry.

"Next Wednesday in the steamer from New Orleans," the general replied in the same indifferent tone.

Another short silence ensued when St. Clair again remarked: "We have won such a victory that we can afford to rest for a time, I suppose? The fact is, general," he continued, "I have received a telegram this morning that has disturbed me not a little!"

"I am glad your ill humor can be accounted for. I never saw you appear so unlike yourself; no bad news I hope!"

The manner of his companion was particularly offensive just then, but smothering his rage St. Clair replied: "You understand that I would like a furlough to return home for a few days! It seems that my father must leave Savannah, where he has been an honored and beloved citizen for nearly half a century, or forfeit his life, for no other reason than that he cannot at his advanced age learn immediately the act of dissembling nor tear from his heart the live-long love for the old flag."

"What do you mean, St. Clair?"

"I mean just _this_! My father was fired upon last night while sitting quietly in his own library, the ball pa.s.sing a little above his head and lodged in the wall opposite."

The general was excited. "A blood-thirsty _wretch_!" escaped from his lips, while his companion continued calmly: "In order to save our loved ones we must push them off into the enemy's country; now honestly, general, has not that a smack of the ridiculous about it?" Without waiting for a reply he turned, remarking: "It is time that I was at work if I am permitted to go on the next train."

Anna Pierson was alone in the school room, her head bowed upon the desk before which she was sitting. A sheet of letter paper with a few lines written upon it was lying beside her, while the idle pen with the ink dried upon it had apparently fallen on the page blearing and spoiling it. Poor Anna! She had sat there a long time silent and motionless, seemingly unconscious even when little May stole softly into the room to tell "Miss Anna" that Uncle George had come; she was obliged to run back with the intelligence that Miss Anna was asleep; neither did the tread of heavier feet arouse her when nearly half an hour later George St.

Clair quietly pushed back the half-open door and stood irresolutely for a moment on the threshold. She was not asleep as he well knew, for a low, deep sigh reached him, and the little hand that hung so listlessly over the corner of the desk on which her head was resting trembled. In a moment he was beside her, and taking the bowed head between his hands he raised it tenderly and looked down into the tear-stained face.

"Anna!"

"George St. Clair!" she exclaimed with almost a shriek, at the same time attempting to rise. But he held her fast.

"No, Anna! It takes a longer time than you have given me to get a perfect daguerreotype! I want the memory of this just as I found it, tear-stained and all! It is no more than I deserve. I should not have been so cruelly selfish as not to have told you weeks ago to leave Savannah and return to your northern home."

"Is it too late now?"

"No, but you must be speedy! More than this, you must take my father and mother and Ellen with you!"

"With me?"

"Yes, Anna; we cannot leave them here after what has happened."

"O, no; I shall be so happy! But George--"

"What, Anna?"