Infelice Part 78

"'All probationers must be unbetrothed, and their heart still free.'... 'A short life history of the previous inward and outward experiences of the future Deaconess pupil. It must be composed and written by herself.' Olga, what would you do with your past?"

"I have buried it, dear. All the love of which I was capable I poured out, nay, I crushed the heart that held it; as the Syrian woman broke the precious box of costly ointment, anointing the feet of her G.o.d!

When my clay idol fell I could not gather back the wasted trust and affection, and so, all--all is sepulchred in one deep grave. I have spent my wealth of spicery; the days of my anointing are for ever ended. To true deep-hearted women it is given to love once only, and all such scorn to set a second, lesser, lower idol, where formerly they bowed in wors.h.i.+p. Even false G.o.ds hold sway long after their images are defiled, their temples overthrown, and as the Dodonian Groves still whisper of the old oracular days, to modern travellers, so a woman's idolatry leaves her no shrine, no libation, no reverence for new divinities; mutilated though she acknowledges her Hermae, no fresh image can profane their pedestal. Memory is the high priestess who survives the wreck of altars and of G.o.ds, and faithfully ministers amid the gloom of the soul's catacombs. I owe much to mamma, and something to Erle Palma, who is a n.o.bler man than I have deemed him, less a bronze Macchiavelli, with a heart of quartz; and I shall never again as heretofore rashly defy their advice and wishes. But I know myself too well to hope for happiness in the gay frivolous insincere world, where I have fluttered out my b.u.t.terfly existence of fas.h.i.+onable emptiness.

'I kissed the painted bloom off Pleasure's lips And found them pale as Pain's.'

I have bruised and singed my Psyche wings, and _le beau monde_ has no new, strong pinions to replace those beat out in its hard tyrannous service. You think me cynical and misanthropic, but, dear, I believe I am only clear-eyed at last. If I had married him for whom I dared so much, and found too late that all the golden qualities I fondly dreamed that he possessed were only baser metal, gaudy tinsel that tarnished in my grasp, I am afraid it would have maddened me beyond hope of reclamation. I have made s.h.i.+pwreck; but a yet sadder fate might have overtaken me, and at least my soul has outridden the storm, thanks to your frail babyish hands, so desperately strong when they grappled that awful night with suicidal sin. Few women have suffered more keenly than I, and yet, in Murial's sweet patient words,--

'G.o.d has been good to me; you must not think That I despair. _There is a quiet time Like evening in my soul. I have no heart_.'"

There was more peace in Olga's countenance as she clasped one of Regina's hands in hers than her companion had yet seen, and after a moment, she continued:

"You know, dear, that we are only waiting for Congress to adjourn, in order to have Mr. Chesley's escort across the ocean, and he will arrive to-morrow. Erle Palma is exceedingly anxious that you should accompany us, and I trust your mother will sanction this arrangement, for I should grieve to leave you here. Perhaps you are not aware that your guardian has recently sold this house, and intends purchasing one on Murray Hill."

"Mr. Palma cannot possibly desire my departure half so earnestly as I do, and if I am not summoned to join my mother, I shall insist upon returning to the convent whence he took me seven years ago. There I can continue my studies, and there I prefer to remain until I can be restored to my mother. Olga, how soon will Mr. Palma be married?"

"I do not know. He communicates his plans to no one; but I may safely say, if he consulted merely his own wishes, it would not be long delayed. Until quite recently, I did not believe it possible that that man's cold, proud, ambitious, stony heart would bow before any woman, but human nature is a riddle which baffles us all--sometimes.

I must dress for the wedding, and mamma will scold me if I am late.

Kiss me, dear child. Ah, velvet violet eyes! if I find a resting-place in heaven, I shall always want even there to hover near you."

She kissed the girl's colourless cheek, and left her; and when the carriage bore Olga and her mother to Mrs. St. Clare's, Regina retreated to her own room, dreading lest her guardian should return and find her in the library.

At breakfast he had mentioned that he would dine at his club, in honour of some eminent judge from a distant State, to whom the members of the "Century" had tendered a dinner, but she endeavoured to avoid even the possibility of meeting him alone. Had she been less merciless in her self-denunciation, his avowed impatience to send her to her mother might have piqued her pride; but it only increased her scorn of her own fatal folly, and intensified her desire to leave his presence. Was it to gratify Mrs. Carew's extravagant taste that he had sold this elegant house, and designed the purchase of one yet more costly?

In the midst of her heart-ache she derived some satisfaction from the reflection, that at least Mr. Palma's wife would never profane the beautiful library, where his ward had spent so many happy days, and which was indissolubly linked with sacred memories of its master.

Unwilling to indulge a reverie so fraught with pain and humiliation, she returned to her "Egmont," resuming her translation of a speech by "Clarchen." Ere long Hattie knocked at the door:

"Mr. Palma says, please to come down to the library; he wishes to speak to you."

"Ask him if he will not be so kind as to wait till morning? Say I shall feel very much obliged if he will excuse me tonight."

In a few minutes she returned:

"He is sorry he must trouble you to come down this evening, as he leaves home to-morrow."

"Very well."

She went to the drawer that contained all her souvenirs of Mr.

Lindsay, and lingered some minutes, looking sorrowfully at the photograph; then pa.s.sed her lips to the melancholy image, and as if strengthened by communion with the dead face, went down to the library.

Mr. Palma was walking slowly up and down the long room, and had paused in front of the snowy azalea. As she approached he put out his hand and took hers, for the first time since they had sat together in the Park.

"How deliciously this perfumes the room, and it must be yours, for no other member of the household cares for flowers, and I see a cl.u.s.ter of the same blossoms in your hair."

"I had forgotten that Olga fastened them there this afternoon. I bought it from the greenhouse in ---- Street, where I often get bouquets to place under mother's picture. Azaleas were Mr. Lindsay's favourite flowers, and that fact tempted me to make the purchase. We had just such a one as this at the parsonage, and on his birthday we covered the pot with white cambric, fringed the edge with violets, and set it in the centre of the breakfast-table; and the bees came in and swung over it."

She had withdrawn her hand, and folding her fingers, leaned her face on them, a position which she often a.s.sumed when troubled. Her left hand was uppermost, and the opal and diamonds seemed pressed against her lips, though she was unconscious of their close proximity. Mr.

Palma broke off a cl.u.s.ter of three half-expanded flowers, twisted the stem into the b.u.t.tonhole of his coat, and answered coldly:

"Flowers are always a.s.sociated in my mind with early recollections of my mother, who had her own greenhouse and conservatories. They appear to link you with the home of your former guardian, and the days that were happier than those you speed here."

"That dear parsonage was my happiest home, and I shall always cherish its precious memories."

"Happier than a residence under my roof has been? Be so good as to look at me; it is the merest courtesy to do so, when one is being spoken to."

"Pardon me, sir, I was not inst.i.tuting a comparison; and while I am grateful for the kindness and considerate hospitality shown me by all in this pleasant house, it has never seemed to me quite the home that I found the dear old parsonage."

"Because you prefer country to city life? Love to fondle white rabbits, and pigeons, and stand ankle deep in clover blooms?"

"I daresay that is one reason; for my tastes are certainly very childish still."

"Then of course you regret the necessity which brought you to reside here?"

He bent an unusually keen look upon her, but she quietly met his eyes, and answered without hesitation:

"You must forgive me, sir, if your questions compel me to sacrifice courtesy to candour. I do regret that I ever came to live in this city; and I believe it would have been better for me, if I had remained at V---- with Mr. Hargrove and the Lindsays."

"You mean that you would have been happier with them than with me?"

As she thought of the keen suffering her love for him had entailed upon her, of the dreary days and sleepless nights she had recently pa.s.sed in that elegant luxurious home, her eyes deepened in tint, saddened in expression, and she said:

"You have been very kind and generous to me, and I gratefully appreciate all you have done; but if you insist on an answer, I must confess I was happier two years ago than I am now."

"Thank you. The truth, no matter how unflattering, is always far more agreeable to me than equivocation, or disingenuous-ness. Does my ward believe that it will conduce to her future happiness to leave my roof, and find a residence elsewhere?"

"I know I should be happier with my mother."

"Then I congratulate myself as the bearer of delightful tidings Regina, it gives me pleasure to relieve you from your present disagreeable surroundings, by informing you of the telegram received to-day by cable from your mother. It was dated two days ago at Naples, and is as follows: 'Send Regina to me by the first steamer to Havre. I will meet her in Paris.'"

Involuntarily the girl exclaimed:

"Thank G.o.d!"

The joyful expression of her countenance rendered it impossible to doubt the genuineness of her satisfaction at the intelligence; and though Mr. Palma kept close guard over his own features lest they should betray his emotion, an increasing paleness attested the depth of his feelings.

"How soon can I go?"

"In two days a steamer sails for Havre, and I have already engaged a pa.s.sage for you. Doubtless you are aware that Mrs. Palma and Olga hold themselves in readiness to start at any hour, and your friend and admirer Mr. Chesley will go over in the same steamer; consequently with so chivalrous an escort you cannot fail to have a pleasant voyage. Since you are so anxious to escape from my guardians.h.i.+p, I may be pardoned for emulating your frankness, and acknowledging that I am heartily glad you will soon cease to be my ward. Mr. Chesley is ambitious of succeeding to my authority, and I have relinquished my claim as guardian, and referred him to your mother, to whose hands I joyfully resign you. A residence in Europe will, I hope, soon obliterate the unpleasant a.s.sociations connected with my house."

"A lifetime would never obliterate the memory of all your kindness to me, or of some hours I have pa.s.sed in this beautiful library. For all you have done I now desire, Mr. Palma, to thank you most sincerely."

She looked up at the grave, composed face so handsome in its regular, high-bred outlines, and her mouth trembled, while her deep eyes grew misty.

"I desire no thanks for the faithful discharge of my duty as a guardian: my conscience acquits me fully, and that is the reward I value most. If you really indulge any grateful sentiments on the eve of your departure, oblige me by singing something. I bought that organ, hoping that now and then when my business permitted me to spend a quiet evening at home, I might enjoy your music; but you sedulously avoid touching it when I am present. This is the last opportunity you will have, for I must meet Mr. Chesley at noon to-morrow in Baltimore, and thence I go on to Cincinnati, where I shall be detained, until the steamer has sailed. After to-night I shall not see my ward again."

They were standing near the azalea, and Regina suddenly put her hand on the back of a chair. To see him no more after this evening--to know that the broad ocean rolled between--that she might never again look upon the face that was so inexpressibly dear;--all this swept over her like a bitter murderous wave, drowning the sweetness of her life, and she clung to the chair.

She was not prepared for this sudden separation, but though his eyes were riveted upon her she bore it bravely. A faint numb sensation stole over her, and a dark shadow seemed to float through the room, yet her low voice was steady, when she said: