Vashti Part 43

"I wish to remember it as in life,--not rigid and repulsive in death."

"She looks so tranquil you would think she was sleeping."

"No,--no! Don't ask me. I never saw but one corpse, and that was of a sailor drowned in mid ocean, and I shall never be able to forget its ghastliness and distortion as it lay on deck, under sickly moonshine."

"Mrs. Gerome, you must follow Elsie's body to the grave. Believe that I have good reasons for this request, and grant it."

She shook her head.

"Your habits of seclusion have subjected you to uncharitable remarks, and your absence from the funeral would create more gossip than any woman can afford to give grounds for. There is a rumor that you are deranged, and the best refutation will be your quiet presence at the grave of your faithful nurse."

She straightened herself, haughtily.

"Seven years ago I turned my back upon the world, and scorned its verdict."

"The men or women who defy public opinion invite social impalement, and rarely fail to merit the branding and opprobrium they invariably receive. Madam, I should imagine that to a nature so refined and shrinking as yours, almost any trial would seem slight in comparison with the certainty of becoming a target for sarcasm, pity, and malice, in every kitchen in the neighborhood. Permit my prudence to prevail over your reluctance to the step I have advised, and some day you will thank me for my persistency. You have time to make the proper changes in your dress, and, when the hour arrives, I will knock at your own door. My dear madam, do not delay."

She rose, and began to replace the papers in the drawers of her desk, which she closed and locked.

"Dr. Grey, why should you care if I am slandered?"

"Because I am now your best friend, and must tell you frankly your foibles and dangers, and endeavor to guard you from the faintest breath of detraction."

"I am very suspicious concerning the motives of all who come about me; and, at times, I have been so unjust as to ascribe even my poor Elsie's devotion to a desire to control my fortune for the benefit of herself and child. Do you expect me to trust you more implicitly than I ever trusted her?"

"I shall make it impossible for you to doubt me. Come to your room.

Elsie's few acquaintances will soon be here."

Mrs. Gerome thrust the key of her desk into her pocket, but a moment after, when she drew out her handkerchief, it fell on the carpet, and without observing it, she pa.s.sed swiftly across the hall, and into her own apartment.

As Dr. Grey lingered to secure the door, his eye fell upon the silver key on the floor; and, placing it in his vest pocket, he rejoined Salome.

At four o'clock several of Robert's friends came and seated themselves in the room where the coffin sat wreathed with flowers; and immediately after, Mr. and Mrs. Spiewell made their appearance, accompanied by two ladies whose features were concealed by thick veils. Robert and the servants soon joined them, and Salome stole into the room and sat down in one corner.

Dr. Grey tapped softly at the door of Mrs. Gerome's apartment, and she came out instantly, and walked firmly forward till she stood in the presence of the dead. She was dressed in black silk, and wore two heavy lace veils over her bonnet, which effectually screened her countenance. Crossing the floor, she stood at Robert's side, and the minister rose and began the burial service.

When a prayer was offered, all the other persons present bowed their heads, but the mistress of the mansion remained erect and motionless; and, as the pall-bearers took up the coffin and proceeded to the grave, she followed Robert.

Dr. Grey stepped to her side and offered his arm, but she took no notice of the act, and walked on as if she were an automaton.

The service was concluded, the coffin lowered, and, amid Robert's half-smothered sobs, the mound was raised under the deodars, whose long shadows slanted athwart it, in the dying sunlight.

The little group dispersed, and Mr. Spiewell led his wife to the owner of "Solitude."

"Mrs. Gerome, Mrs. Spiewell and I have long desired the pleasure of your acquaintance, and hope, if you need friends, you will permit us--"

"Thank you for your kindness in visiting my faithful old Elsie."

The tall, veiled figure had cut short his speech by a quick, imperative gesture of her hand; and, turning instantly away, disappeared in one of the densely shaded walks that wound through the grounds.

Dr. Grey escorted the party to their carriages, and as he handed Mrs.

Spiewell in, she said, in her sharp nasal tones,--

"I heard that Mrs. Gerome was devotedly attached to the poor old creature who had nursed her, but she certainly seems to me very indifferent and heartless."

"She is more deeply afflicted by her loss than you can possibly realize, and I am exceedingly apprehensive that she will be ill in consequence of her inability to sleep or eat. My dear madam, we must not judge too hastily from appearances, else we shall deserve similar treatment. Who are those two ladies veiled so closely?"

"Friends, I presume, or they would not be here."

But the little woman seemed uneasy, and flushed under the doctor's searching gaze.

"I hope dear Miss Jane is as well as one can ever expect her to be in this life. Come, Charles; you forget, my dear, that we have a visit to make before tea-time. I notice, doctor, that you have a new carpet on the floor of your pew, and a new cushion-cover to match; and, indeed, you are so fine that the remainder of the church seems quite faded and shabby. Good evening, doctor; my love to all at home."

The clergyman's gray pony trotted off with his master and mistress, and Dr. Grey returned to Salome, who waited for him at the steps of the terrace.

"What do you suppose brought Mrs. Channing and Adelaide to the poor old woman's funeral?" asked the orphan.

"How did you discover them?"

"I found this handkerchief, whose initials I embroidered two months ago, and recognize as belonging to Mrs. Channing. As for Miss Adelaide, when she moved her veil a little aside to peep at Mrs.

Gerome, I caught a glimpse of her pretty face. Do they visit here?"

"Certainly not; n.o.body visits here but the butcher, baker, and doctor.

Those ladies came solely on a tour of inspection, and to gratify a curiosity that is not flattering to their characters. My dear child, you look tired."

"Dr. Grey, what is there so mysterious about this house and its owner that all the town is agog and agape when the subject is mentioned?

What is Mrs. Gerome's history?"

"I am totally unacquainted with its details, and only know that since she became a widow, she has been a complete recluse. She is very unhappy, and we must exert ourselves to cheer her. This has been a lonely, dreary day to you, I fear, and I trust it will not be necessary for me to ask you to remain here to-night."

The sun had set, leaving magnificent cloud-pictures on sky and sea, and while the orphan turned to enjoy the glorious prospect above and around her, Dr. Grey went in search of the lonely women who now continually occupied his thoughts.

She was standing under the pyramidal cedars, looking down at the new grave, where Salome's wreath hung on the head-board, and hearing approaching footsteps would have moved away, but he said, pleadingly,--

"Do not avoid me."

She paused, and suddenly held out her hands to him.

"Ah,--is it you? Dr. Grey, what shall I do? How can I bear to live here,--alone,--alone."

He took her hands and looked down into her white, chill face.

"My dear friend, take your suffering heart to G.o.d, and He will heal, and comfort, and strengthen you. If He has sorely afflicted you, try to believe that Infinite love and mercy directed all things, and that ultimately every sorrow of earth will be overruled for your eternal repose and happiness. Remember that this world is but a threshing-floor, where angels use afflictions as flails, to beat the chaff and dust from our hearts, and present them as perfect grain for the garners of G.o.d. I know that you are desolate, but you can never be utterly alone, since the precious promise, 'Lo! I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.'"

Despairingly she shook her head.

"All that might comfort some people, but it falls on my ears and heart like the sound of the clods on Elsie's coffin. I have no religion,--no faith,--no hope,--in time or eternity. My miserable past entombs all things."