Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale Part 37

The father laughed. "You have no idea how easily they perform their labor. Even the servant sings as cheerfully as though she was mistress of all, and indeed it would be hard to tell who fills that important position in this home. But I will do just as you and Ellen shall decide."

They had reached the door, and were entering as the last sentence was being finished.

"Decide what?" interrogated Ellen.

"About those rooms at the hotel"; laughed the father.

"They will remain _in statu quo_ as long as they are paid for, will they not? As for me, I am in no hurry to leave my present quarters. My diploma is not yet secured in bread and pie making, and it would be unmanly in you to be the means of crushing my ambition."

"I think it my duty to nip in the bud any attempt at conspiracy. So while you all remain here in this pleasant sitting room, I will go into the parlor with my easy chair. Will you, my sister, invite Miss Anna to join me there? Unless your influence has diluted her frankness, she will reveal the whole matter. At any rate, this must be settled."

"A capital suggestion! Anna shall be judge, jury and all, and we poor subjects will cheerfully abide by her decision." And Ellen darted away after the young lady in question.

"For shame, to put me in such a dilemma!" exclaimed Anna, as she placed the flakey crust she was preparing on the pie tin; but the crimson wave that rolled over neck, cheek and brow did not escape the notice of her companion.

"O, you need not appear so much shocked at the thought of meeting him, for he will not make love to you. Never fear! The little foot of Lillian Belmont crushed all the romance out of his heart a long time ago. So, away; I can finish that pie while Rhoda is making the pudding."

Anna obeyed without a word, and we will let her enter alone that quiet, pretty parlor where the wounded soldier was waiting.

"Two hours as I live!" exclaimed Ellen, as the clock on the mantel struck twelve.

"It takes time to settle long accounts," replied the mother, quaintly.

"He is determined to go, I reckon"; interposed the father, cheerily; but Mrs. Pierson was silent.

"Dinner is all ready, and I am just as hungry! Can't I go and see how the matter stands?" This question was addressed to the widow, who was sitting by the window, looking out on the seared and fading gra.s.s.

There was a sad expression about the mouth, and a tremor in the voice not usually there, as she answered: "Yes, dear; Rhoda does not like to wait without a cause."

Amid laughing and jesting, the easy chair was drawn out, still containing its occupant, while Anna disappeared through an opposite door, and was not seen until the family had gathered around the well-filled table.

"Well, how is it, my boy?" queried Mr. St. Clair. "How about Maple Grove Inn? Are we to leave such delicacies as these for others untried?"

"Anna is chairman of that committee, and is to hand over the report,"

replied George.

There was an expression on the face of the young lady thus appealed to that caused Ellen St. Clair to look quickly towards her brother, who met her wondering gaze with a comical smile very significant in itself, and made the sister exclaim: "I should think both of you are 'chairmen,' if one was to judge from the amount of knowledge that seems lurking in your eyes. Out with it! What is the report?"

"Patience is one of the cardinal virtues, my dear," suggested the father, gravely. "Such an extended consultation requires much thought in the summing up."

"I conclude by Miss Anna's silence that the pleasing office of 'reporter' is conferred upon her unworthy servant; therefore listen to the 'summing up';" and laying down his fork, with folded arms, George St. Clair leaned back in his easy chair. "The question propounded, with its prelude, was something after this sort: I said, My dear girl, when I was well and strong I gave into your love and tender watchful care my two honored parents and one pretty little sister, and most faithfully have you regarded my trust; and now a fourth comes creeping and hobbling into your paradise of peace and comfort, and although he has nothing to recommend him, would pray to be admitted, not to your care, but to your heart and enduring love. Will you as cheerfully grant my pet.i.tion in this, as in the former instance? And her reply, after brushing away a few of the cobwebs of the past, was 'I will, with the permission of my mother, who has a right to be consulted upon all such articles of transfer.'"

"I do declare!" burst from the lips of the sister. "The great subject of remaining as honorary members of this most hospitable family, I believe, was not broached by the committee."

"As to myself," interposed the father, "I am very naturally inclined, after placing in the hands of our hostess a sufficient sum for every expense, including the perplexities such an increase of family would cause, to remain in our present quarters until further developments."

"Very likely!" interposed the mother with with a beaming face.

Anna had left her seat at the head of the table at the very commencement of this little speech, and the hostess sat with folded hands pale and trembling as one in a troubled dream. Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair looked at each other with surprise written all over their good-natured faces, but the sister was lost in amazement. She had not once thought such a union possible, and was not ready to give it sanction.

"Mrs. Pierson, tell me frankly, do you wish that the bullet which so ign.o.bly tore my back had finished its work, so that the present summing up would have been avoided? It would not, however, have saved your daughter's heart, for she loved me before all that."

The widow looked calmly into the face of the speaker as she answered tremulously: "My daughter's happiness is my highest ambition. Not so much as to the comforts of this life as to the a.s.surances of the life to come. Wealth or honorable position socially have not been included in my aspirations for her. Congenial companionship and a true heart are the highest blessings of life I could wish." Tears came into her eyes and she arose from the table to hide them.

"I am not going to let my dinner spoil at any rate!" exclaimed Mr. St.

Clair, with a composing laugh: "This roast lamb is capital."

"And you would like some coffee"; suggested Anna, appearing at her post, while Mrs. Pierson returned to her seat at the table.

"Now that is sensible. Let us appoint an hour for congratulations and proceed with present duties unmolested. George, my boy, replenish the stomach if you would restore the back. For my part I think this a most capital arrangement. With the old homestead, 'West Lawn' and 'Rosedale,'

which I shall be obliged to take into my possession, will yield us all what bread and b.u.t.ter we shall require--not as good as this perhaps, but it will do. By the way, I would like to know where Mrs. Belmont is."

"Gone back to Rosedale!" suggested Mrs. St. Clair with emphasis.

"Not a bit of it! If she could indulge in such an unwomanly sneak as to fly from the presence of her daughter, she would never risk her neck down among the bullets that are whizzing so near her home. No--no!"

He rattled on as a merry accompaniment to the monotonous sounds of knife and fork; but the responses were few and subdued. A hush had fallen upon more than one heart in that little circle around the well-filled board, yet to none was it dark or gloomy. There were sunbeams streaming through bright golden tints lighting them up, but Ellen St. Clair did not raise her eyes. She loved Anna, but had not thought of her as the bride of her peerless brother. "And what would Bertha say?" It was so unexpected!

So intent were they with their own thoughts that no notice had been given to the dark cloud that had suddenly risen up from the south, spreading itself over the sky, until a fearful gust of wind dashed against the windows and made all start to their feet in alarm.

"A regular southern hurricane," remarked Mrs. St. Clair. "See how those trees bend and what a shower of bright leaves are in the air."

The rain dashed against the panes, while the gale blew the clouds at a rapid speed northward, stripping the branches of their gaudy dress and strewing the faded gra.s.s with a carpet of gay colors. George St. Clair watched it with mingled emotions. It was noonday, yet the darkness was oppressive. He saw the dense cloud sweep over the sun, leaving in its trail the hazy blue of an autumn sky. He listened to the fitful wail of the angry blast and thought of the tornado that was at that moment devastating the beautiful fields and groves of his sunny land, and the spirit of rebellion arose in his heart. "What was the need of this noonday storm? Why must war rifle the land of its beauty and crimson the earth with the shed blood of thousands?"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

A PROUD SPIRIT BROKEN.

Only a week and Colonel Hamilton was ordered back to Washington. The right wing of the army was to swing round over West Virginia, to intercept, if possible, the progressive movements of General Lee's forces that were threatening a northern aggression; and every officer able for action was ordered to report at headquarters. Lillian would not remain behind. How could she fold her hands and wait? She must work; her mind must be employed or the dizzy whirl would overpower her. Besides, she had a mission, of which all others, unless it was her Aunt Cheevers, were ignorant. The plan of operation had been secretly marked out by herself, and she must go.

"I can never let that Mason and Dixon line divide us again," was her closing remark after listening to a long list of reasons why she should remain in her comfortable surroundings amid friends and luxuries.

The fond husband could not refuse, and together they entered the National Capital, and were greeted cordially by sympathizers and army officials. As, however, we are not writing the history of the rebellion, but only narrating incidents gathered during its progress, we will not trace the march of Colonel Hamilton's corps, but will meet him again when the warm days return to deck the blood-stained land with beauty and breathe freshness once more into the trampled vegetation.

There had been skirmishes along the line of march, fightings, repulses and victories; and Lillian had not been permitted to fold her hands.

There were the sick to be attended to, and wounded to be dressed; while the 'cup of cold water' and the 'oil and wine' were needed everywhere: Whether friend or foe; Confederate or Unionist, it made no difference, in each she discovered a brother, and withheld no comfort or ministration in her power.

"You seem young to be in the army," she said one day to a beardless youth who had been severely wounded by a sharpshooter and was placed under her care.

"Eighteen, ma'am," was the laconic reply.

"Will you tell me your name?" she asked, while tenderly bathing the pale face and combing the rich brown hair from a full rounded forehead.