Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale Part 20

"A land of very favorable productions," replied the brother, with a mischievous smile.

During the short visit the war excitement was spreading wider and wider, and its symptoms became more and more positive. In the cities the alarm raged like an epidemic in certain circles, while there were a few who denounced the whole affair, a cooling draught quite inefficient to keep down the devouring fever. Great preparations were being made in Charleston, and a few other places were following its lead, so that, should the campaign really open in the spring, as was prophesied, they might be ready. Mr. St. Clair was one of the number who thought it not well to go to fighting. "To be sure," he would say, good-naturedly, "Uncle Sam is getting rather plethoric, and it may be well to give him a little fright," but he never would advocate the idea of the breaking up of households. "No doubt it would be a very fine thing to tumble down the old national structure after it was done we were sure of walking in over the ruins and building up to suit our own notions." But to tell the truth he was a little afraid of the old giant. He had learned that his locks might grow again, crop them ever so short. The safest way, he thought, was to let well enough alone.

His son was much of the same opinion, but if the house must be divided against itself he would not let it fall into ruin without a struggle.

Therefore, in a few days after the little party had returned to the city, George St. Clair started for Charleston. Lily was in ecstacy as they drew near Savannah. The sea, the great glorious sea, was before her, and the music of its distant waves thrilled every fibre of her being. It recalled the fancied dream of her childhood when she longed to go out and lay her head on the billows and become a part of its restless life.

Charles Belmont, who had gone to the city a few days before, was at the St. Clair's on their arrival and gave them a hearty welcome. Had he thought that little Phebe, as the adopted daughter of the wealthy Virginia planter, would do to reign at Rosedale?

A long programme was soon made out for the pleasures of the next few weeks. There were rides and public entertainments, select dinner parties and little _tete a tete's_, besides one grand, brilliant soiree at the senator's mansion which Lily must not fail to attend!

"It is so lucky that Charles Belmont has not left us," remarked Ellen while talking it all over. "He is a most graceful _chaperon_ and it stands us in hand to court his favor. You will not refuse him, Lily?"

she continued with an arch smile. "He seems well pleased to be called into service." Thus the weeks pa.s.sed away. The violets peered out from their beds of green along the garden borders and the daffodils turned their broad faces to the sun, and yet Mr. g.a.y.l.o.r.d did not come south after his wife. He was in Richmond with the leading men of the day discussing the great topics under consideration, while Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d grew weary with her long visit and more and more nervous with its daily protraction. After much urging and earnest solicitation by her friends she consented to follow Lily to the city, and she soon found herself forgetting, when once the guest of Mrs. St. Clair, that the time had hung heavily. The widowed Bertha became much attached to the pale little visitor, and found great consolation in pouring her sorrows into her attentive ear. One day she came abruptly into the room where Mrs.

g.a.y.l.o.r.d was sitting alone and saw tears upon her cheeks still undried.

"Then you too grieve sometimes," she remarked, laying her white hand affectionately on the bowed head. "How true it is that we find shadows where we should least expect them! But then it must be sad never to feel well!"

"O no, dear; it is not that! I seldom if ever have wept because of physical suffering. I consider my pains and aches an indispensable part of the programme of life. We all need a certain amount of refining in order to ascertain how much gold will remain, if any; therefore I bear all this because there is wisdom in it and an end to be accomplished."

"One would scarcely imagine that you could have a greater reason for sorrow."

"Perhaps not, and yet I surprised you with tears. Shall I tell you why?

No idle fancy of mine but only a few innocent lines, the product, no doubt, of an experience similar to my own. Let me read them to you. 'We cannot judge of what the heart contains by the laughter that escapes the lips or the smiles that flit across and illumine the face, any more than we can fathom the soundless deep or discover the contents of its dark chambers by the sunbeams that lie upon its surface. A crown of diamonds and precious stones is a thing of beauty, but when lined with thorns and pressed down by its heavy weight of wealth on the pierced and bleeding temples it will lose its preciousness as it becomes a crown of torture!

Thus many blessings, priceless in themselves, may become our greatest source of misery if a cruel hand twines thorns among them. Our most serious wounds are those that no eye can discover because of their depth.' May you not realize all this Mrs. Mason. _I_ know it! This is the reason why your words, dropped one by one into the fountain of my soul, create such a melancholy echo!"

"I confess that I am astonished. Rich, talented and beloved; how can there be such pitiful wailings in your poor heart? Were I expecting my husband as you are yours, or had he died where his last words could have been breathed into my ear I think I could hush every other saddened echo and call myself happy. But to have the light of life suddenly blown out, and with a great shock find yourself in total darkness, covers the heart with a pall hard to remove. Then to feel through the whole night that it need not have been! O--you never can know! '_The code of honor!_' My soul detests such chivalry!" and the bright eyes glared wildly into the face of her companion.

"My poor friend! The tenderest sympathies of my heart are yours! I am ashamed of my weakness; and yet there are many avenues to the soul through which the bitter waters flow. One of these, it may be, is the closing up of those through which the real practical benefits are expected to enter, leaving room only for the unreal and the unpractical.

Here I feel is my fault. It is this binding up of my whole being with these silver cords, upon which every external incident has a power like the touch of electricity to fill my whole soul with discord. In my youth I very foolishly drew my own panorama of coming events, in which I left out everything that was rough or unsightly; in a word, filling up the future with ideal loveliness. I thought my life's path would soon begin to wind along through the valley of roses where no harsh winds ever blow and no dark shadows ever shut out the glowing sunlight. But the time when my slippered feet were to tread on thornless flowers has not arrived. I ought to be ashamed of myself ever to have expected it. It is not in my power to disjoint my nature and reconstruct it with iron! That I was so organized is my misfortune, not my crime!"

"Does all this make you unhappy? It seems to me that a nature so full of beauty or what you term 'unrealities' ought to have a source of joy all its own."

"If one could live to herself it might be so; but it is for the practical that we were created, for this we are chosen. Fail in the power of bestowal and verily we are guilty of the whole. I am a failure!

It is my mission to sow dew-drops where wheat should have been scattered, to covet sunbeams when clouds are more to the purpose! It is not pleasant, surely, to awaken after a gentle nap of self-repose to find that a grave has been dug with your 'incapacities' which has swallowed up the love you once fondly expected would gild a whole life with roseate hues!"

"_Love you?_ Why everyone loves _you_! Your husband idolizes you! Is it not so?"

"Go look at my wardrobe; is anything deficient there? My jewels--are they not the richest and rarest? But with it all my woman's heart is still unsatisfied. Ah, there is Lily; I hear her coming up the stairs.

She has, the foolish child, the same wild longings, the same idealities that goad me. It was these that woke my heart to her cry for love."

Lily came bounding into the room her cheeks and eyes bright with the excitement of her morning ride.

"I am so sorry you did not go with us," she said as she kissed the pale lips of her dearest friend. "I am sure it would have taken all of the pain out of your head, the air is so pure and sweet. Besides Charles is to return to Rosedale to-morrow where his mother will follow in a few days, and Ellen will not trust herself with the new coachman, he is so easily frightened, the horses are so spirited; and Mrs. Belmont is almost as bad. She says she really believes he would jump from the box and run if they should put up their ears a little higher than usual. But you shall have one more ride, and if he deserts his post I will take it.

That would be only the exercise of one of my early accomplishments.

Dear old Rover," she continued, half to herself. Where was Willie?

Frequent letters a.s.sured her that he was doing nicely in his new vocation, while her constant memories of him added to his content as new prospects opened before him.

Mrs. Belmont insisted that Lily should spend one day at least with her before leaving the city, and as Mr. g.a.y.l.o.r.d was expected soon her request was speedily granted.

"We are to have a drive along the beach," Lily went on to say, "returning just as the moon rises. I wish we were to have a larger party, but it was not spoken of until yesterday. It will be delightful I know! Already I feel the uprising of that childhood's memory when I used to steal away to look at the moon as it lay on the water and wished I could go where it was."

It was a delightful evening as the little party started for their pleasant ride with the scent of far-off flowers coming to them on the soft wings of the southern breeze and the music of the great ocean in their ears. Into this the bright day-king was about to take his nightly plunge from behind the royal colors of purple and gold.

"What a little enthusiast you are about the ocean!" remarked Mrs.

Belmont in response to some exclamation of admiration. "Perhaps you would like to take another such a ride upon it as you told me of?"

"I do not think I should be more afraid now than I then was if I were on those rose-colored waves yonder rocking and rolling as they are doing. I believe I should still imagine that the voice of my mother was mingled with their song lulling me to sleep!" Lily did not notice the agitation of her companion or perceive that her lips were of an ashy hue and her cheeks sunken and pale, so much engrossed was she in the excitement of the scene about her.

"Turn to the right here," commanded Mrs. Belmont.

"Lor! Lor, Missus! _Dat_ road?"

"Turn to the right and keep silent!" she repeated.

"This _does_ seem like an unfrequented path leading into the woods,"

remarked Lily without any seeming agitation.

"Yes, dear; I am going to take you around a little then come down abruptly to the beach. I have been here and understand the way perfectly."

"Have we come a long way?"

"Only a few miles." Both were again silent.

"How soon it gets dark after the sun goes down," said Lily a few moments after. "May we not better think of returning?"

"Presently. There, take to the left now, it will bring us around to the beach."

Sam made no objection to the command this time, but his shoulders evinced unmistakable signs of inward dissatisfaction as he turned the horses into the road which was narrow and half overgrown with gra.s.s.

Soon they came to a thickly-wooded elevation, when Mrs. Belmont commanded that they should halt! "We must turn to the left again here in order to gain the main road; but I want to show you, dear, more of the ocean than you ever saw before at one view. We will walk a little way--to the opening yonder, while you will remain here with the carriage, Sam, until we return."

"It's _drefful_ dark, Missus! Sam don't like it nohow!"

"I am very much of Sam's opinion," remarked Lily who had alighted. "The moon will be up in a few moments; besides, it is these trees that make it so dark here!" Once more on firm footing the fearlessness and buoyancy of her nature returned to her, and the young girl darted away toward the spot designated with a light and rapid step.

"Do not leave me to grope my way alone," called Mrs. Belmont.

"I beg your pardon and will stand here and wait for you," came the reply. "I have not gained the light yet, but it is a little way ahead; come!" She waited for a moment as she had said, and hearing a step on the right called out: "This way Mrs. Belmont; where are you?"

At this moment a pair of strong arms were thrown about her and a voice hissed in her ear: "Don't ye bawl, and ye shan't be hurt! I'se got a strong grip and so ye'd better be quiet!" She gave one shriek, and then finding he had bound her hands while speaking shouted again the name of "Mrs. Belmont!" Quick as thought a bandage was thrust over her mouth which almost suffocated her. "Thar, thar--I reckon yese'll be quiet now!" and taking her in his powerful grasp bore her rapidly away.

"Sam! Sam!" screamed Mrs. Belmont; "come quickly! Do you not hear the dear child calling? Something has happened! Run and find her!" She was close to the carriage and there was no need of calling so loudly; but the poor, frightened negro did not move.

"_Why do you not run?_"

"O Lor, Lor, Missus! Dis n.i.g.g.e.r can't do nothin'! I'se mighty 'fraid, Missus! Can't go nohow!"

Mrs. Belmont wrung her hands in the very abandonment of grief! "Poor, poor girl!" Then darting into the woods she called with a loud voice: "Lily! Lily!" But the roaring of the waves not far away was her only answer. After many exclamations of sorrow and outbursts of grief; after much calling and many remonstrances with the poor frightened negro for his good-for-nothingness on _all_ occasions, and this trying one in particular, Mrs. Belmont reseated herself in the carriage and commanded that Sam should drive as rapidly as possible to the city.

"Dat I will, Missus; but what ye do wid di young lady?"

"Drive to the city as I command you!" was the emphatic answer.