Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale Part 9

Three weeks pa.s.sed away and Phebe had not once seen "dear Willie." Mr.

Ernest had told her of his frequent visits to the parsonage, and of the pleasure that would beam in his blue eyes as he received her letters from him; but no amount of persuasion could prevail upon him to make a visit to the hotel, which was much to Phebe's disappointment. She was always busy now. When she was tired of reading or the lady of listening, she was engaged with her needle.

"Young people are inclined to home-sickness if not employed," Mrs.

g.a.y.l.o.r.d would say, pleasantly, and so Phebe was seldom idle.

During these seasons of occupation they had talked much. Phebe had told her all she knew about her early history, and her listener had many times laughed heartily at the recital, but not a word had she ever spoken of her own life. There was a dark cloud resting upon her, it was evident, for her companion had often looked up suddenly from her book to see the tears falling silently from the calm eyes, who would brush them hurriedly away as she said "go on"; and Phebe obeyed. At one time she smiled when detected, and drying her eyes she said, mildly--

"What is jealousy, little one? You have just been reading about it. What is _your_ definition of the word?"

"Willie would say 'an unjust suspicion; a sense of imaginary wrong without proof';" answered Phebe, hesitatingly.

She laughed now.

"O you little novice! How far you are behind the times. That definition might have done for your grandmother, but it will never do for these modern days. I will tell you, child, what it is, or what it means now.

It is a wail of despair which the heart gives over the loss of its dearest treasure. The anguish of its desolation when the fire of love burns low; the cry of woe when it sees the vacant chair in its most secret chamber, and desolation looks with hungry eyes out from among the shadows of its former trysting place! Does the poor heart murmur? Does it put on the sackcloth and the sprinkling of ashes? Love is not dead, but straying, _straying_! This is jealousy. The vacation of one heart for--for--well, child, _you_ know nothing about it, and may you long remain in ignorance."

She bowed her head and wept long and bitterly.

Phebe moved the ottoman on which she was sitting close by the side of the agitated lady and laid her head upon her knee. A bond of sympathy drew them together. A chord had been touched to which the heart of each vibrated in unison. Desolation was creeping among the shadows in the secret chamber of both hearts, and the feeble wail of woe which came from the lonely hearth-stones mingled in low, solemn cadence, and they two were united by these bonds of sympathy. A soft, white hand nestled lovingly among the braids of the young girl's hair as the bowed head still rested its heavy weight on the lady's rich dress, and from that moment a sweet confidence took possession of them both.

Ah! there is nothing so invigorating and comforting in this ever changing life as the sweet a.s.surance of reciprocal affection in the hour of despondency and gloom. A mother's kiss, a father's fond caress, soon dries the tear and soothes the pain of childhood, and can it be that their power grows less towards the children of acc.u.mulated years?

"Did I speak bitterly just now; my child?" the lady asked, after a long silence. "I hope I did not frighten you."

Phebe looked up into the sad face that was beaming now with a full glory of consolation as she answered:

"O no; I was not frightened. Even in my short life I have seen sorrow, and know well what it means. Ever since we have been together I have believed that something troubled you, and it has made me--"

"Made you what, my child?"

"Made me love you, O may I do this? Will you let little Phebe creep into your heart and find a resting place there? O Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d, I am so lonely! n.o.body but Willie--and he is lost to me now."

The large eyes were gazing with their far-off, mysterious look, which Willie had so often watched with a tremor of apprehension in his heart; but there were no tears in them. The wail was from the secret chamber, and the lady recognized it.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "O, MRS. g.a.y.l.o.r.d, I AM SO LONELY."]

"Yes, dear," was her answering refrain. "You shall nestle cosily in this poor quivering heart if you desire it. I was once a lonely orphan like yourself, and I pined for a love I could not find. It is dreadful--this chilling desolation of life. At twenty I married, and was alone no longer. My yearning heart was satisfied, not because of the luxury that surrounded me, or the honors with which I was crowned as the bride of the rich young southerner. No, no. Sweeter by far than all of this was the a.s.surance that I was loved. That was many years ago, when my face was fair and my cheeks covered with bloom. It is over now, and with my youth and beauty went the love which was more precious than all. _His_ hair has lost its glossy hue and his step its elastic bound; but for these my heart has suffered no reaction, yet it bears to-day the scars of _many_ wounds. Some are not yet healed, and memory often rends them anew until the tears _will_ come trickling through the torn fissures.

But I must not grieve you, my child. The world calls me happy, for it penetrates not the covering that my proud spirit has thrown over all, and I am willing it should be deceived. I came to this quiet village to gain strength to endure; when I have accomplished my object I shall return to my Virginia home. It is a bright spot to the looker on, full of plenty and repose for one whose soul has power to take them in; and to this home, my sweet comforter, I would take you."

Phebe started.

"Smother that refusal in those bewitching eyes, for I shall take none of it," she laughed. "You have just pleaded for my love. What good under the sun will it do you when hundreds of miles are piled up between us?

No, no. We need each other. The days we have been together have made you a necessity to me. Do not answer me now," she continued, gently placing her white hand over the lips of her companion, as she saw them move for utterance. "Take a few more days to think of it. We have plenty of time.

Talk to me now about this Willie, of whom you have spoken. You did not tell me that you loved him, but is it not so, my child?"

"Yes, I love him more and better than any one else. He is a poor cripple, four years older than I, and we have been together every day since his father brought me to him. His mother loved us both, and when she was about to die, she gave him to me, and told me never to forget or forsake him. How can I leave him to go with you? He has been such a dear brother to me for so many years; _you_ would love him, too, I am sure, if you knew him as well as I."

"How your cheeks glow, little enthusiast! Now let me ask, is your hero drawn by a dog usually?"

"Yes. I was sure you must have seen him during some of your rides for he has come to the village often since I have been here."

"I have met him only twice, but even these faint glimpses into his peaceful face takes away my wonder at your heart's bestowal. It was pity that caused me to notice him and long for another beam from the liquid eyes, and now that I know who he is I can but feel hurt that you have not invited him to our rooms. It would do me good I know to study that character and learn resignation from its teachings."

"May I? O--you do not know how much I thank you! I will go this very day to the parsonage, with your permission, to tell him. He may be there, when it is cooler, to hear from me; and _if_ I could meet him!"

"Did I not say that it was _my_ wish to study him for sake of the good it might do me?" and she kissed the glowing cheek of the young girl with a pa.s.sion unusual to her. "Then go at once if you hope to see him, but hasten back for I am too selfish to permit you to remain long away. It is lonely, darling, and I cannot understand how I ever lived without you."

"You are so good!" and Phebe pressed the soft caressing hand to her trembling lips.

Nothing is more sweet than to be guided into this realm of thought by the precious foretaste of the love that awaited her when the end should be reached. She had gone out into the darkness expecting nothing but chilliness and gloom, but instead she was walking "by the side of still waters" and there was freshness and beauty all along the way. Still a portentous cloud was floating in the clear blue of her gilded sky, for how could she ever leave Willie to go with Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d to her southern home? The weeks were rapidly pa.s.sing, and when the hot summer days had all flitted away there would come a change, and her life had received so many already! "Where would the next one take her?" As she stepped in front of the mirror for a moment a smile of satisfaction stole over her young face. The new hat Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d had purchased for her was very becoming, as that lady had a.s.serted, and she thought how it would please Willie to see her looking so well. He had often lamented during the last two years that it was not in his power to procure these little luxuries, and she went on her way with a happy heart.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER X.

THE OPENING OF A NEW LIFE.

"And whether we be afflicted, it is for our consolation and salvation, which is effectual for the enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer; or whether we be comforted it is for our consolation; for as all hearts suffer, all have the power of consolation."

"Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d had suffered, and out of the sad experience of her eventful life had come the power to administer to others." Such was Phebe's thought when on her way to the parsonage, which stood in the suburbs of the village surrounded by its fresh green lawn that had always appeared so winning to the lovers of beauty, and peaceful to the seeker after "consolation."

Mr. Ernest also knew how to bestow this gift on the weary heart. His early days had not been filled with the bright things that rightfully belong to childhood, and his after years were those of toil and strugglings. He understood well how to apply the sympathies so consoling to those whose feet are torn with the thorns by the way.

Our little pedestrian was walking away from one minister of comfort to another who was equally skilled, and it was with the greatest difficulty that she could keep her airy feet down upon the well-beaten track which ran along by the side of the broad highway to the pleasant home of the village pastor, where she hoped to find Willie and extend to him Mrs.

g.a.y.l.o.r.d's pressing invitation. Mr. Ernest had told her that he usually came in the early morning or in the cool of the evening, and now the sun was fast sinking down behind the western clouds. There might be a storm approaching, for the breezes were fresh and cool, and she could but think how the ripples were sweeping around the "sand-bar" and lifting the broad lily-pads among the rushes not far out from where the pleasant row-boat was fastened to the old oak tree. Should she ever glide in the little boat over the lovely blue waters again? And then, when the stern old winter had thrown his coverlet of ice across its throbless bosom, when the lilies were all asleep in their cozy beds, what delightful rides she and Willie had enjoyed on its smooth surface as Lloyd Hunter drew them on his large comfortable sled. Was all this gone forever? She reached the door, and as no one was in sight, stopped a moment while her thoughts went on.

Willie was not there, for his visit had been made in the morning.

"I am going by there to-morrow."

Phebe's eyes brightened.

"May _I_ go with you? Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d will not let me walk so far, it not being 'lady-like,'" she smiled. "She has invited him to our rooms, and I am so anxious."

"Certainly, my dear; but be all ready, for I have an engagement at nine, eight miles away."

There had been no need for this last suggestion, for Phebe felt quite sure that with such a prospect before her she could not sleep at all.

Still, after talking the matter over with Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d, and getting her consent for the proposed visit, her heart felt a reaction at the thought of again meeting f.a.n.n.y. It seemed long since she had been there, and the part.i.tion wall which had divided them while still together, had not been lowered by a single act, and now really appeared more formidable than ever when viewed at such a distance. How could she ever meet her?

When the morning sun sent his bright beams into her window she sprang from her bed with the question still unanswered.

"Good morning," said Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d, putting her head in at the door at that very moment.

Phebe was surprised. Seldom did the lady leave her room before all of the rest had breakfasted.