Mabel's Mistake Part 32

"Oh, Ben, I have always wondered and longed to know something about myself, and of late, this desire has increased. I can think of nothing else. Do not put me off--I shall die if I am kept longer in this suspense."

Ben began to hug the pretty dog more and more tenderly to his bosom, as if it was that which needed comforting, and not the poor girl before him. At last, turning himself uneasily about, like a man disturbed by a sudden recurrence of painful memories.

"Now, don't go to gettin' oneasy idees into your little head; there's nothin' wuss for the femenine const.i.tution. When you're well enough, let yerself alone, and be satisfied."

"Oh, Ben, don't--don't! You are my friend--you have always been kind to me; do not turn from me, now, when I am tortured by these strange doubts. There is no one else of whom I can ask an explanation, and you cannot refuse it! I am so very, very, unhappy, Ben--dear, good Ben!"

"There, there, Miss Lina!" Ben muttered, hoa.r.s.ely, patting her hand with his hard palm; then, clasping it again in his huge fingers, and looking at it earnestly, as if it had been a delicately wrought sea-sh.e.l.l.

"Don't say no more--now don't--when Ben Benson gives advice, 'taint without a reason. Now, you just listen to me, and then run away, and don't get no more tantrums in that little head o' yours. Hain't the madam, Mrs. Harrington, always been like a mother to you--hain't she treated you as if you had been her own flesh and blood--do you want to make her unhappy now, little gal, do you worry her about such things?"

"You know I would rather die, Ben!"

"I do believe you would, Miss Lina, I raly do! But there ain't no question about dyin'--you've only to be patient and good, as is nat'ral to you--take things as they come, and that's enough. I ain't a goin' to have you ask me no questions, and I know you won't do it."

"But, Ben."

"Hush!" said Ben, pressing her hands hard between his broad palms, and dropping them tenderly downward. "I can't listen to another word of this 'ere. It ain't of no use," and with a gesture of stubborn sorrow, Ben walked deliberately into his domain, and closing the door, bolted it against Lina, leaving her shivering in the cold.

Lina looked ruefully at the closed door, and her heart sunk as she heard the heavy bolt drawn within. The last faint hope died out then; and, without a word, she turned and walked away into the woods, desolate beyond comparison with any former moment of her life. The wind grew sharp, and whistled through the light indoor garments with which she had recklessly come forth; her lips turned purple with cold; her hands were so numb, that they fell apart as she attempted to clasp them; the tears rushed warm from her eyes, and dropped away, frozen, like hail: and yet poor Lina struggled on, thinking the cold only another pang of anguish, which it was her duty to bear.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

GENERAL HARRINGTON READS THE VELLUM BOOK.

General Harrington was alone in his library. His hat and cloak lay in a heap on a sofa near the door, an indication of unwonted perturbation, for with him, a misplaced article was a proof of excitement which he was always ready to condemn. His dress was a good deal disturbed, and his hair disordered, as if he had threaded it more than once with the white fingers that now clasped the open covers of Mabel's Journal which he was eagerly reading.

It was almost painful to see the excitement under which that old man labored. The book trembled in his grasp, his lips clung more and more firmly together, his blue eyes shone vividly from under his bent brows, yet from beneath all, there stole out a gleam of triumph, as if he were weaving some crafty web of underthought out from the angry tumult with which his soul labored. There was no sorrow in his look, no feeling of sadness or regret for the greatest loss man ever experienced, that of a good woman's love. With him vanity was the grand pa.s.sion. Touch that and he became sensitive as a boy of fifteen. In all things else he was invulnerable.

And yet Mabel's Journal might have touched deeper feelings than her husband was capable of knowing. Another man would have been roused to compa.s.sion by the fragments of thought, sometimes artless, sometimes pa.s.sionate, that seemed to have dropped fresh from her heart upon the pages he was reading.

He opened the vellum book at the beginning, for with all his impatience, the methodical habits of his life prevailed even then, and at first, there was little to excite more than a strong curiosity. But as he read on, the perturbation we have described in his countenance, became evident. He turned over the leaves violently, glancing here and there, as if eager to devour his mortification at a single dash. The cleft heart, whose breaking had given him access to poor Mabel's secrets, struck against his hand as he closed the book, and opened it again at random. He tore the pretty trinket away, and dashed it into the grate, and a curse broke from his shut teeth, as he saw it fall glowing among the hot embers. Then he turned back to the beginning, and began to read more deliberately, allowing his anger to cool and harden, like lava, above his smouldering wrath.

Thus it was that Mabel commenced her journal.

"A letter from my guardian. This is indeed an event. A year ago he wrote me a long letter of advice, touching my studies, and giving a world of counsel regarding my deportment. That cold, half-dictatorial, half-fatherly letter, seemed forced from his heart by a sense of duty.

This is brief, elegant and kind. He is satisfied with my progress at school, and hears with pleasure, of the improvement in my person--this means, probably, that I am not near so plain as he fancied me. They tell him I have a sort of fire and animation of the countenance, more effective than perfection of outline could render me. I wonder if this be true--of course it is impossible to judge of one's self in a point which depends so much upon the feelings. There is no animation in a hurried or tedious toilet, and the beauty he speaks of is never given back by the mirror. To my vision, now, this is a rather dull and uninteresting face. I wonder if it ever does light up into anything like beauty. Some one must have said this to my guardian. Could it have been the young heir of Neathcote? He did not seem to look at me at all, when he called at the school and I was frightened to death by his great, earnest eyes; if my guardian proves half as imposing, I shall be afraid to look up in his presence.

"There is something strange in the situation of my guardian. He is considered one of the most eloquent men in America, and by his marriage with the widow of a cousin, three or four times removed, is the master of great wealth. But every dollar of it came by his wife, on whom the son was left entirely dependent as he is now. They tell me that General Harrington is a liberal step-father and gives the young man no reason to complain, but it seems a little hard that all his father's great wealth should have been swept into the possession of a comparative stranger; for, though these two men bear one common name, and are remotely of the same blood, they met for the first time at the wedding out of which sprang these present rather singular relations.

"There is another strange thing about this. Mrs. Harrington can only dispose of the property by will. She has no power to alienate it during her life, but can bequeath it where she likes. So if the General should outlive her, this young man may be utterly disinherited; a hard case it seems to me, for the lady is very gentle and yielding, so devoted to her handsome husband, that his faintest wish is a law to her. All this has been told me from time to time, leaving such an impression of injustice on my mind, that I fairly began to pity the young man before I saw him.

But after that, the idea of pity never entered my mind. Millions could not enhance the n.o.bility of his presence, or make him one shade more interesting. His mother is said to be very beautiful. She should be, she should be! But how foolishly I am writing about a person whom I have never seen but once, and who seemed to have taken no interest in that meeting, except to give me a letter from his Step-father, which will alter my whole course of life. The young gentleman himself is only pa.s.sing this way on his travels westward.

"So, I am to start at once, now that my education is completed--completed; I like the term--as if education were not always progressive, rounded off by death only. Well, at least, I am grateful to leave this tiresome routine of lessons, and yet there is something of mournfulness in this abrupt entrance into life.

"I have just opened the window, and would gladly look forth upon the morning. But this screen of Cherokee roses hangs before me like a curtain, shedding fragrance from every fold. In parting its cl.u.s.ters with my hands, tenderly--for to my fancy, flowers are sensitive and recoil from a rude touch--the dew that has been all night asleep in their heart, bathes my hands with its sweet rain, and through the opening comes a gush of odor from the great magnolia that reaches out its boughs so near my window, that I could lean forth and shake the drops from those snowy chalices, as they gleam and tremble in the bright air.

"What a beautiful world is this. The very breath one draws leaves a delicious languor behind it, a languor that falls upon the senses and gives back to the whole being a dreamy quietude that makes the mere effort of existence an exquisite enjoyment. And yet there is a feeling of strange loneliness in it all. It is pleasant to be happy, but oh! how more than pleasant to have some one near, to whom all these charming sensations can be expressed. I think one is never quite content alone, but then who ever is really content?

"How exquisitely pure every thing seems; my little chamber here, with its delicate matting and snowy draperies, looks like the nest of a ring-dove, it is so white and quiet. The sweet visions which visit me here are melodious as the warbling of the young bird, when the early morning wakens it, as the dawn has just aroused me.

"I have been now three days beneath my guardian's roof. Dear Neathcote, I love it already for its singular beauty! I shall never forget the strange feelings which crowded my bosom, as the carriage pa.s.sed through the park gates and rolled slowly up the broad avenue. I threw open the window and leaned out with the eagerness of a child to catch a sight of my new home. When, as a sudden turn in the road brought the front of the mansion in full view, I shrunk into my seat again, trembling from a vague fear, which had as much of joy as pain in it.

"I grew fairly dizzy and faint with excitement, as the carriage paused before the entrance, and I saw my guardian waiting on the steps to greet me, standing up so stately and proud, with his wife by his side, her sweet face lighted up with a sort of friendly curiosity, to see what her unknown visitor would be like.

"It was not embarra.s.sment that I felt, it was a deep, strange emotion for which I could not account. It seemed as if in crossing that threshold I was to bid an eternal farewell to the repose of my past life. Like a flash of lightning those thoughts swept in a tumult through my brain as I descended from the carriage, and went up the steps to meet my guardian, and his wife, who came forward to welcome me.

"I shall always love to look back upon that arrival!

"Everything was so homelike and comfortable, in spite of the magnificence which reigned around! My guardian's rather cold face brightened into a smile that rendered him very handsome, and his wife greeted me as if I had been indeed her child, returning home after a long absence. Then I caught sight of a woman's face at the window--a servant evidently, yet there was a singular look in her great black eyes, as she raised them boldly to my face, which almost terrified me.

Neither my guardian nor Mrs. Harrington appeared to see her, but I wondered how she ventured to thrust herself forward in that manner, on the arrival of a stranger.

"It was she who followed me to my chamber, when Mrs. Harrington conducted me there, yet she offered no a.s.sistance, until her mistress bade her attend to my toilet; then she obeyed, searching my face all the while from under her black eyelashes. Yet her singularity was probably an exaggeration of my own fancy, for she seems quiet and well-behaved, though a little sullen. I am glad she is not to be my attendant, for there is certainly an evil look in her eyes, whenever she regards me, and I could never feel quite comfortable at night if I knew that she were any where near.

"The girl had just left my rooms after arranging the toilet, which was already in order, as if for an excuse for the intrusion. She cannot be a slave, for though a little dark, I can trace nothing of the African blood in her face; there is a glossy ripple in the blackness of her hair, but that is a beauty which any woman might envy. No, no, she cannot be a slave. Her singular style of beauty forbids the thought; besides, she is not an uneducated person, and there is a certain subtle grace in her movements that I cannot resist admiring, and yet loathe.

This is strange. Why is the girl so constantly in my thoughts? Yesterday I spoke to Mrs. Harrington about her, for my curiosity became irresistible. She is a slave, a new purchase of Gen. Harrington's, and the personal servant of his wife. Mrs. Harrington smiled in her usual contented way, and gently complained of the girl's uselessness and studied inattention, but she seems unused to opposition of any kind, and languidly allows even her servants to control her wishes. This fiery slave--for, with all her stillness, she _is_ fiery--overpowers the gentle nature of her mistress, and really seems to drink up her strength with the glances of those great black eyes.

"How indifferent proud men sometimes are to the beauty of their inferiors! now, this girl Zillah is constantly charming even my half-repulsed admiration by her rare loveliness, yet I have scarcely seen General Harrington turn his eyes upon her face during the whole time that I have been in his house, but then, his devotion to Mrs.

Harrington is so perfect, he evidently has no eyes for any one else.

"How long is it since I opened my journal? Three months, I really believe, and not a word of record. Even now, when the world becomes more real, I feel like one aroused very softly from dreaming among the angels. How would I write and see emblazoned upon paper, doomed, perhaps, frail as it is, to outlive me, thoughts that even yet are so intangible, that, like the b.u.t.terflies that I used to run after when a child, they are constantly eluding my grasp, and as constantly brightening all the atmosphere around me. Is it possible that so many weeks have gone by since _he_ came home? It seems like a prolonged sunset, when the summer is in prime, and one trembles to see a single tint fade from the sky, or a single flower overshadowed, lest it should depart forever. Can it be this heavenly atmosphere which imparts to the whole being a languor so delightful, mingled with that sweet unrest which only wakes you to a keener relish of existence? I have been striving to interrogate my own heart, and ask many questions which it cannot answer, because the whole world here is so new and strange, that it is impossible to discriminate between the luxurious sweetness of material life and those quieter impulses that I have known hitherto.

"I remember the delight with which I first looked out upon this lovely scene, but with all the novelty and perfect freedom of a heart ready to enjoy the beautiful, I never before felt enjoyment so intense. I come to my room at night and lie down to rest, jealous of the sleep that swallows up so many hours of happiness. I am fond of dreaming no longer, for visions that the angels send are no compensation for the lost thoughts that sleep steal from me.

"I sat down with a determination to write of events, and as ever dwell only upon feelings. After all, what has happened? Another member has been added to the family circle, that is all, and yet, what a change his coming has made. His presence seems to pervade the whole house. The servants look more cheerful when he speaks to them. His mother brightens up, and throws off her languor as she hears his tread upon the veranda.

Even the General's courtly politeness is toned down into something like affection, and all his artificial stateliness takes its natural level, when contrasted by the simple dignity of this young man's nature.

Indeed, until James Harrington came, I had no idea how superficial and untrue was the character of my guardian. But now, with the pure gold of this fine heart as a test, I can more clearly see the entire selfishness which lies under his elaborate manners.

"'James will be here to-day,' he said one morning, while we all lingered around the breakfast table, 'and his company, I trust, will render your new home more pleasant than we have been able to make it.'

"'He will be like an elder brother to you,' said Mrs. Harrington, smoothing the lace ruffles over her fair arm, and turning her soft eyes upon me with a look of gentle affection, 'and you--oh, he cannot help liking you.'

"Why did the blood rush into my face so hotly? Why did the lashes droop over my eyes, and the tears spring up beneath them? Was it that I am so completely an orphan, that this loving hint of brotherly companionship made me more lonely than harshness could have done? I cannot tell; but at this word 'brother'--utterly strange to my life hitherto--my heart made a sudden recoil, and I could scarcely keep from weeping outright.

General Harrington lifted his eyes to mine, with evident surprise, while the little white hand of his wife crept into my lap, and softly pressed mine. That moment a horse dashed up to the door, and young Harrington came into the breakfast-room; his fine eyes full of eager affection; his cheeks in a glow, and with the most beautiful smile I ever saw on mortal lips breaking over his mouth.

"'Mother, mother!' he said, coming toward Mrs. Harrington, with both hands extended. 'I rose at midnight, and have ridden fast ever since, in order to surprise you at the breakfast-table.'

"Mrs. Harrington started up; a flush stole over her face, and for once her eyes sparkled before they filled with pleasant tears. This arrival was, indeed, a surprise to her.

"As he was about to release her hands from his clasp, she drew him towards me, and said pleasantly:

"'This is Mabel Crawford--the General's ward.'

"He took my hand, and an expression of surprise or interest rose to his face as he felt my poor fingers quiver in his; while my face was burning with a consciousness of feelings more tumultuous by far, than the occasion could warrant. He held my hand a moment longer than was necessary to a cordial welcome, and, for an instant, seemed to wonder at my perturbation; then his features relaxed into the most kindly expression I ever saw, and some words of welcome fell upon my ears, but to this hour I cannot recollect what they were; the sound entered my heart, and that was enough.