Fashion and Famine Part 5

"He _will_ bless her; be sure of that," chimed in the good grandame.

"I wish you could have seen her--I only wish you could!" cried the child, in her sweet, eager grat.i.tude, "perhaps you will some day, who knows?"

And in the same sweet, disjointed language, the child went on relating her adventures along the streets, and on the wharf, where for the first time she had seen an ocean steamer.

When she spoke of the lady and her strange attendant, the old people seemed to listen with more absorbing interest. They were keenly excited by the ardent admiration expressed by the child, yet to themselves even this feeling was altogether unaccountable. When the little girl spoke of the strange man whom she had met on the wharf also, her voice become subdued, and there was a half terrified look in her eyes. The singular impression which that man had left upon her young spirit seemed to haunt it like a fear; she spoke almost in whispers, and looked furtively toward the door, as if afraid of being overheard; but the moment she related how he drove away with his beautiful companion, her courage seemed to return, she glanced brightly around, and went on with her narrative with renewed spirit.

"He had just gone," she said, "and I was beginning to look around for some way to leave the wharf, when I saw a handkerchief lying at my feet.

The carriage wheel had run over it, and it was crushed down in the mud.

I picked it up, and run after the carriage, for the handkerchief was fine as a cobweb, and worth ever so much, I dare say. In and out, through the carts, and trunks, and people, I ran with my basket on my arm, and the muddy handkerchief in one hand. Twice I saw the carriage, but it was too far ahead, and at last I turned a corner--I lost it there, and stood thinking what I should do, when the very carriage which I had seen go off with the lady in it, pa.s.sed by; the lady had stopped for something, I suppose, and that kept her back. She was looking from the window that minute. I thought perhaps the handkerchief was hers, after all; so I ran off the sidewalk and shook it, that she might take notice. The carriage stopped; down came the driver and opened the door, and then the lady leaned out, and smiling with a sort of mournful smile, said--

"'Well, my girl, what do you want now?'"

"I held up the handkerchief, but was quite out of breath, and could only say, 'this--this--is it yours, ma'am?'

"She took the handkerchief, and turned to a corner where a name was marked. Then her cheek turned pale as death, and her mouth, so full, so red, grew white. I should have thought that she was dying, she fixed her eyes on me so wildly.

"'Come in, come in, this instant,' she said, and before I could speak, she caught hold of my arm, and drew me--basket and all--into the carriage. The door was shut, and in my fright I heard her tell the man to drive fast. I did not speak; it seemed like dreaming. There sat the lady, so pale, so altered, with the handkerchief, all muddy as it was, crushed hard in her white hand--sometimes looking with a sort of wild look at me, sometimes seeming to think of nothing on earth. The carriage went faster and faster; I was frightened and began to cry. She looked at me very kindly then, and said--

"'Hush, child, hus.h.!.+ no one will harm you.' Still I could not keep from sobbing, for it all seemed very wild and strange.

"Then the carriage stopped before a great stone house, with so many long windows, and iron-work fence all before it. A good many trees stood around it, and a row of stone steps went up half way from the gate to the front door. The windows of the house were painted all sorts of colors, and at one corner was a kind of steeple, square at the top and full of narrow windows, and half covered with a green vine that crept close to the stone-work almost to the top.

"No one came to the door. The strange man who rode with the driver let us in with a key that he had, and everything was as still as a meeting-house. When we got inside, the lady took my hand and led me into a great square entry-way, with a marble floor checked black and white; then she led me up a great high stair-case, covered from top to bottom with a carpet that seemed made of roses and wood-moss. Everything was still and half dark, for all the windows were covered deep with silk curtains, and it had begun to cloud up out of doors.

"The lady opened a door, and led me into a room more beautiful that anything I ever set my eyes on. But this was dark and dim like the rest.

My feet sunk into the carpet, and everything I touched seemed made of flowers, the seats were so silken and downy.

"The lady flung off her shawl, and sat down upon a little sofa covered with blue silk. She drew me close to her, and tried to smile.

"'Now,' she said, 'you must tell me, little girl, exactly where you got the handkerchief!'

"'I found it--indeed I found it on the wharf,' I said, as well as I could, for crying. 'At first I thought it must belong to the tall gentleman, but he drove away so fast; then I saw your carriage, and thought----'

"She stopped me before I could say the rest--her eyes were as bright as diamonds, and her cheeks grew red again.

"'The tall gentleman! What tall gentleman?' she said.

"I told her about the man with the beautiful lady. Before I had done, she let go of my hand and fell back on the sofa; her eyes were shut, but down through the black lashes the great tears kept rolling till the silk cus.h.i.+on under her head was wet with them. I felt sorry to see her so troubled, and took the handkerchief from the floor--for it fell from her hand as she sunk down. With one corner that the wheel had not touched, I tried to wipe away the tears from her face, but she started up, all in a tremble, and pushed me away; but not as if she were angry with me; only as if she hated the handkerchief to touch her face.

"She walked about the room a few times, and then seemed to get quite natural again. By-and-bye the queer looking man came up with a satchel and a silver box, under his arm; and she talked with him in a low voice.

He seemed not to like what she said; but she grew positive, and he went out. Then she lay down on the sofa again, as if I had not been by; her two hands were clasped under her head; she breathed very hard, and the tears now and then came in drops down her cheeks.

"It was getting dark, and I could hear the rain pattering outside. I spoke softly, and said that I must go; she did not seem to hear; so I waited and spoke again. Still she took no notice. Then I took up my basket and went out. n.o.body saw me. The great house seemed empty--everything was grand, but so still that it made me afraid.

Nothing but the rain dripping from the trees made the least noise. All around was a garden, and the house stood mostly alone, among the trees on the top of a hill and lifted up from the street. I had no idea where I was, for it seemed almost like the country, trees all around, and green gra.s.s and rose bushes growing all about the house!

"A long wide street stretched down the hill toward the city. I noticed the street lamp posts standing in a line each side, and just followed them till I got into the thick of the houses once more. After this I went up one street and down another, inquiring the way, till after a long, long walk, I got back to the market, quite tired out and anxious.

"The good market woman was _so_ pleased to see me again. I gave her all my money, and she counted it, and took out pay for the flowers and strawberries. There was enough without the gold piece; she would not let me change that, but filled the basket with nice things, just to encourage me to work hard next week. There, now, grandfather, I have told you all about this wonderful day. Isn't it quite like a fairy tale?"

The old man sat gazing on the sweet and animated face of his grandchild; his hands were clasped upon the table, and his aged face grew luminous with Christian grat.i.tude. Slowly his forehead bent downward, and he answered her in the solemn and beautiful words of Scripture, "I have been young, and now I am old; yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging bread." There was pathos and fervency in the old man's voice, solemn even as the words it syllabled.

The little strawberry girl bowed her head with gentle feeling, and the grandmother whispered a meek "Amen."

CHAPTER III.

THE LONE MANSION.

There are some feelings all too deep, For grief to shake, or torture numb, Sorrows that strengthen as they sleep, And struggle though the heart is dumb.

Little Julia Warren had given a very correct description of the house to which she had been so strangely conveyed. Grand, imposing, and unsurpa.s.sed for magnificence by anything known in our city, it was nevertheless filled with a sort of gorgeous gloom that fell like a weight upon the beholder. Most of the shutters were closed, and where the gla.s.s was not painted, rich draperies m.u.f.fled and tinted the light wherever it penetrated a crevice, or struggled through the reversed fold of a blind.

As you pa.s.sed through those sumptuous rooms, so vast, so still, it seemed like traversing a flower-garden by the faintest starlight; you knew that beautiful objects lay around you on every side, without the power of distinguis.h.i.+ng them, save in shadowy ma.s.ses. All this indistinctness took a strong hold on the imagination, rendered more powerful, perhaps, by the profound stillness that reigned in the dwelling.

Since the great front door had fallen softly to its latch after the little girl left the building, no sound had broken the intense hush that surrounded it. Still the lady, who had so marvelously impressed herself upon the heart of that child, lay p.r.o.ne upon the couch in her boudoir in the second story. She was the only living being in that whole dwelling, and but for the quick breath that now and then disturbed her bosom, she appeared lifeless as the marble Flora that seemed scattering lilies over the cus.h.i.+on where she rested.

After a time the stillness seemed to startle her. She lifted her head and looked around the room.

"Gone!" she said, in a tone of disappointment, which had something of impatience in it--"gone!"

The lady started up, pale and with an imperious motion, as one whose faintest wish had seldom been opposed. She approached a window, and flinging back the curtains of azure damask, cast another searching look over the room. But the pale, sweet features of the Flora smiling down upon her lilies, was the only semblance to a human being that met her eye. She dropped the curtain impatiently. The statue seemed mocking her with its cold, cla.s.sic smile. It suited her better when the wind came with a sweep, das.h.i.+ng the rain-drops fiercely against the window.

The irritation which this sound produced on her nerves seemed to animate her with a keen wish to find the child who had disappeared so noiselessly. She went to the door, traversed the hall and the great stair-case; and her look grew almost wild when she found no signs of the little girl! Two or three times she parted her lips, as if to call out; but the name that she would have uttered clung to her heart, and the parted lips gave forth no sound.

It was strange that a name, buried in her bosom for years, unuttered, hidden as the miser hides his gold, at once the joy, and agony of his life, should have sprung to her memory there and then; but so it was, and the very attempt to syllable that name seemed to freeze up the animation in her face. She grew much paler after that, and her white fingers clung to the silver k.n.o.b like ice as she opened the great hall-door and looked into the street.

The entrance to the mansion was sheltered, and though the rain was falling, it had not yet penetrated to the threshold. Up and down the broad street no object resembling the strawberry girl could be seen; and with an air of disappointment, the lady was about to close the door, when she saw upon the threshold a broken rose-bud, which had evidently fallen from the child's basket, and beside it the prints of a little, naked foot left in damp tracery on the granite. These foot-prints descended the steps, and with a sigh the lady drew back, closing the door after her gently as she had opened it.

She stood awhile musing in the vestibule, then slowly mounting the stairs, entered the boudoir again. She sat down, but it was only for a minute; the solitude of the great house might have shaken the nerves of a less delicate woman, now that the rain was beating against the windows, and the gloom thickening around her, but she seemed quite unconscious of this. Some new idea had taken possession of her mind, and it had power to arouse her whole being. She paced the room, at first gently, then with rapid footsteps, becoming more and more excited each moment; though this was only manifested by the brilliancy of her eyes, and the breathless eagerness with which she listened from time to time.

No sound came to her ears, however--nothing but the rain beating, beating, beating against the plate-gla.s.s.

The lady took out her watch, and a faint, mocking smile stole over her lips. It seemed as if she had been expecting the return of her servant for hours; and lo! only half an hour had pa.s.sed since he went forth.

"And this," she said, with a gesture and look of self-reproach--"this is the patience--this the stoicism which I have attained--Heaven help me!"

She walked slower then, and at length sunk upon the couch with her eyes closed resolutely, as one who forced herself to wait and be still. Thus she remained, perhaps fifteen minutes, and the marble statue smiled upon her through its chill, white flowers.

She had wrestled with herself and conquered. So much time! Only fifteen minutes, but it seemed an hour. She opened her eyes, and there was that smiling face of marble peering down into hers; it seemed as if something human were scanning her heart. The fancy troubled her, and she began to walk about again.

As the lady was pacing to and fro in her boudoir, her foot became entangled in the handkerchief which she had so pa.s.sionately wrested from the strawberry-girl, when in her gentle sympathy the child would have wiped the tears from her eyes. She took the cambric in her hand, not without a shudder; it might be of pain; it might be that some hidden joy blended itself with the emotion; but with an effort at self-control she turned to a corner of the handkerchief, and examined a name written there with attention.

Again some powerful change of feeling seemed to sweep over her; she folded the handkerchief with care, and went out of the room, still grasping it in her hand. Slowly, and as if impelled against her wishes, this singular woman mounted a flight of serpentine stairs, which wound up the tower that Julia had described as a steeple, and entered a remote room of the dwelling. Even here the same silent splendor, the same magnificent gloom that pervaded the whole dwelling, was darkly visible.

Though perfectly alone, carpets thick as forest moss m.u.f.fled her foot-steps, till they gave forth no echo to betray her presence. Like a spirit she glided on, and but for her breathing she might have been taken for something truly supernatural, so singular was her pale beauty, so strangely motionless were her eyes.

For a moment the lady paused, as if calling up the locality of some object in her mind, then she opened the door of a small room and entered.

A wonderful contrast did that little chamber present to the splendor through which she had just pa.s.sed. No half twilight reigned there; no gleams of rich coloring awoke the imagination; everything was chaste and almost severe in its simplicity. Half a shutter had been left open, and thus a cold light was admitted to the chamber, revealing every object with chilling distinctness:--the white walls; the faded carpet on the floor; and the bed piled high with feathers, and covered with a patch-work quilt pieced from many gorgeously colored prints, now somewhat faded and mellowed by age. Half a dozen stiff maple chairs stood in the room. In one corner was a round mahogany stand, polished with age, and between the windows hung a looking-gla.s.s framed in curled maple. No one of these articles bore the slightest appearance of recent use, and common-place as they would have seemed in another dwelling, in that house they looked mysteriously out of keeping.