Inez Part 34

"Not so, Inez! you escaped me once; I have you now! You have defied me in health; but in death I conquer. You cannot die in peace without my blessing. Remember, remember, one sin unconfessed will sink you into everlasting perdition! Think you I will absolve you! Never! Never!"

"What brings you here? Think you the approach of death will terrify me?--that I shall claim your intercession and absolution? Have you come hoping to make a bargain, and receive my order for a hundred sheep, or as many cattle, on condition that you pray me out of purgatory? I tell you now, if there be such a place, you will surely follow me ere long. We shall not be separated long, my G.o.dly Padre!"

Large drops rolled from her brow, and, gasping, she continued more indistinctly:

"There is one to stand between us now, even blackbrowed Death! and now, as I speak, I see his shadow flung over me. I am dying, and if I am lost, you are to blame! you, and you only! You a man of G.o.d! You forgive my sins, and give me a pa.s.sport to heaven! Padre, I know you, in all your hypocrisy, and I know that, if there be a G.o.d, you have outraged His every law! You have led me astray! You have brought me to this! Padre, I am sinful, full well I know it; for this is an hour when the barrier which hides the secret soul is thrown down, and every deed and thought stands up boldly for itself. I have not served G.o.d!

But oh! I would not change places with you, leader, teacher, guide, consecrated priest, as you are--for you have mocked him! Yes, mocked him! set aside his written word, and instead of Bible truths you told me of Saints, and Relics, and Miracles! You bade me wors.h.i.+p the cross, and never once mentioned Him who consecrated it with his agony and blood! In my childhood I believed your legends and miracles, and trusted to such as you to save me. A dreadful curse will rest upon your head, for you came in sheep's clothing, and devoured many precious souls! Padre, I--I--" In vain she strove to articulate, further utterance was denied her. The ghastly hue of death settled upon her face. She lifted her eyes to heaven as in prayer; vacantly they wandered to the face of the Padre, now well-nigh as pale as her own; then slowly closed forever. A slight quiver pa.s.sed over the lips, a faint moan, and Inez was at rest. For long her wearied spirit had cried "Peace! peace!" and now she laid herself down and slept the long, unbroken sleep of death.

"Oh! you have yearned for rest, May you find it in the regions of the blest."

As she had died without the pale of the church, they refused the lifeless form a narrow bed in consecrated ground. Even the ordinary service for the dead was entirely omitted; and, without a prayer, they committed her to the silent tomb. The kind old dame, remembering her grief at the secret burial of her n.o.ble friend, obtained permission to lay her by his side, and, with the fierce howlings of the tempest for her funereal dirge, they consigned Inez--the proud, beautiful, gifted, yet unfortunate Inez--to rest. Peace, Inez, to thy memory, and may the sod lie lightly on thy early grave!

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

"There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two, that are linked in one heavenly tie, With heart never changing, and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die!"

MOORE.

"Come, Florence, put on your bonnet; we land in a few moments," said Mr. Stewart, entering the splendidly furnished saloon of a Mississippi steamer, where she sat, book in hand. Quietly the young wife, for such she now was, complied with his request, and taking her husband's arm, they advanced to the bow of the boat. It was a bright, sunny morning in early May, and the balmy breath of the opening summer wafted gladness to many a weary, aching heart. The margin of the river was fringed with willow, poplar, cotton-wood, and cypress, the delicate fresh green foliage contrasting beautifully with the deep azure sky, and the dark whirling waters of the turbid stream. It was such a day as all of us may have known, when nature wore the garb of perfect beauty, and the soothing influence is felt and acknowledged gratefully--joyfully acknowledged by every one accustomed from childhood duly to appreciate, admire, and love the fair and numberless works of G.o.d, who,

--"Not content With every food of life to nourish man.

Makes all nature beauty to his eye And music to his ear."

Florence was gazing intently, as each object receded from her view.

They turned an angle in the stream, and drew near a landing, with only a solitary warehouse visible. She started, and her clasped hands, resting on her husband's arm, pressed heavily. He looked down into the flushed face, and said with a smile:

"Well, Florence, what is it? Why do you tremble so?"

"Mr. Stewart, I cannot be mistaken: this is my father's old landing!

Why do you look so strangely? Oh! if you knew what painful memories crowd upon my mind, you could not smile so calmly!" and her voice faltered.

Laying his hand tenderly on hers, he replied:

"You once asked me whereabouts on the river my plantation was situated. I evaded your question. You are aware that I inherited it from a bachelor uncle. He purchased it from your father, and to your old home, my dear Florence, we have come at last. It is yours again, and I should have told you long ago, but feared you might be impatient of the journey; and then it is pleasant to surprise you."

Ere Florence could speak the mingled emotions of her heart, the boat stopped, and the jangling bells warned them to lose no time.

Mr. Stewart placed her on the bank, and beckoning to a coachman mounted on a large heavy carriage, opened the door, a.s.sisted her in, and then cordially shaking the outstretched hand of the servant, inquired if all were well at home?"

"Oh yes, sir! all well except your mother. She has had the asthma, but is better. But ain't you going to let me look at your wife? You put her in as if I wan't to see my new mistress."

Mr. Stewart laughed, and opening the door, bade Florence look out; she threw back her long mourning veil, and bent forward; their eyes met, and both started with surprise:

"Isaac!"

"Miss Florry! sure as I am alive!" and he grasped the white hand heartily.

"I cannot understand this at all! Isaac, how came you here?"

"Why you see, when the plantation was sold, we were sold with it; that's how I come to be here."

"My dear Florence, it is strange, very strange, that I never once thought of your recognizing the servants, though I should have known you could not forget them. In what capacity did Isaac formerly serve?"

"He was always our coachman; and many a ride in childhood I owe to his kindness and wish to make me happy. Isaac, I am very glad to see you again." And her smile confirmed her words.

Mr. Stewart took the seat by her side, and was closing the door, when the old man interfered.

"Miss Florry, I know old master is dead--we heard that sometime ago; but where is Miss Mary? that blessed good child, that never gave a cross word to one on the plantation. Why didn't she come home with you?"

Florence could not reply, and the tears rolled silently over her cheeks.

"Isaac," said Mr. Stewart, in a low, saddened tone, "Mary has gone to a brighter home in heaven! She is happier far than she could be even here with us! She died about a month ago."

There was a pause, and then, wiping his rough sleeve across his eyes, Isaac slowly said--"And Miss Mary is dead! Well, she has gone to heaven, if ever anybody did! for she was never like common children.

Many's the time when my poor little Hannah was burnt, and like to die, that child has come by herself of dark nights to bring her a cake, or something sweet and good! G.o.d bless her little soul! she always was an angel!" and again wiping his eyes he mounted the box and drove homeward.

Ah! gentle Mary! no sculptured monument marks thy resting-place! No eulogistic sermon, no high-flown panegyric was ever delivered, on thy life and death! Yet that silent tear of old Isaac's outspoke a thousand eulogies! It told of all thy kindness, charity, love, angelic purity of heart, and called thee "Guardian Angel" of the house of Hamilton.

Night found Florence sitting alone in the parlor of her old and dearly loved home. The apartment was much as she had left it five years before, and old familiar articles of furniture greeted her on every side. She sat down to the piano, on which in girlhood she had practised, and gently touched the keys. The soft tones, waking the "slumbering chord of memory," brought most vividly back the scenes of other days. Again she stood there an only cherished daughter, and her father's image, as he used to stand leaning against the mantel-piece, rose with startling distinctness before her. And there, too, stood her cousin, with the soft blue eyes and golden curls of her girlhood; and she fancied she heard, once again, the clear, sweet voice, and felt the fond twining of her arms about her. Long forgotten circ.u.mstances in primitive freshness rushed upon her mind, and unable to bear the sad a.s.sociations which crowded up, Florence turned away from the instrument, and seating herself on the sofa, gave vent to an uncontrollable burst of sorrow--

"Oh! what a luxury it is to weep, And find in tears a sad relief!"

And calmly Florence wept, not bitterly, for she had had much of sorrow to bear, and schooled her heart to meet grief and sadness. Yet it was hard to come back to her cherished home and miss from her side the gentle playmate of her youth, the parent she had almost idolized, and feel that she had left them in far distant resting-places. She heard her husband's step along the hall, and saw him enter--she strove to repress her tears and seem happy, but the quivering lips refused to smile. He sat down, and drawing his arm around her, pressed her face to his bosom, and tenderly said:

"My mother had much to say, after my long absence, and I could not leave her till this moment My own heart told me that you suffered, and I longed to come to you and sympathize and cheer."

"Do not think me weak, Mr. Stewart, because you find me weeping. It is seldom I give vent to my feelings, but to-night I am overwhelmed with recollections of the past. Oh! now, for the first time, I realize that Mary has indeed gone forever. Mary! Mary! my heart aches already for you, and your warm unchanging love! Oh! how can I look forward to the long coming years, and feel that I shall never see her again?"

"Florence, my own Florence, I would not have you repress a single tear. I know how sadly altered all things are, and what a dreary look your home must bear. All I ask is, that when you feel lonely and unhappy, instead of hiding your grief, come to me, lay your weary head upon my shoulder, and I will strive to cheer you my precious wife! Let nothing induce you to keep aught from me--let perfect confidence reign between us: and do not, for a moment, doubt that I wish you other than you are. The past is very painful both to you and to me, and the memory of Frank and Mary constantly saddens my spirit. Yet we will look forward to a happier future, and strive to guide and cheer each other." He kissed the broad brow as he spoke, and drew tighter the arm which encircled his wife, as though no danger could a.s.sail while he was near.

"Of late, Mr. Stewart, I have wondered much how you ever learned to love me; for I am much changed, and in my girlhood I was cold, proud, and often contemptuous in my manner. Ah, Mary, how different from you!

If I have higher aims in life, and purer joys, I owe it all to her, for she led me to love the law of G.o.d, and exemplified in her daily life the teachings of Christ! But for her, I shudder to think what I should now have been! O G.o.d, I thank thee that I am saved even as a burning brand from the fire! I have hope of happiness on earth, and at last a joyful reunion with the loved ones that have gone on home before me. And you, my husband, help me to conquer myself to break down my pride, and to be more like Mary. Oh, forgive my weaknesses, and ever love me as you now do!"

He clasped her to his heart, and whispered--"Fear not, Florence, that I will ever love you less! I, too, have faults which you may be called on to excuse, yet all is bright for us, and I trust no common share of happiness will be our portion through life!"

"Oh, sweet reward of danger past!

How lovely, through the tears That speak her heart's o'erflowing joy, The young wife's smile appears.

The fount of love for her hath gushed, Life's shadows all have flown, Joy, Florence! thou a heart hast found Responding to thine own!"

THE END.