University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

WHEN Mr. Hammond mentioned Edna's determination
to discontinue Hebrew, Mr. Leigh expressed
no surprise, asked no explanation, but the
minister noticed that he bit his lip, and beat a
hurried tattoo with the heel of his boot on the stony hearth;
and as he studiously avoided all allusion to her, he felt assured
that the conversation which she had overheard must
have reached the ears of her partner also, and supplied him
with a satisfactory solution of her change of purpose. For
several weeks Edna saw nothing of her quondam schoolmate;
and fixing her thoughts more firmly than ever on her
studies, the painful recollection of the birthday fête was
slowly fading from her mind, when one morning, as she
was returning from the parsonage, Mr. Leigh joined her,
and asked permission to attend her home. The sound of
his voice, the touch of his hand, brought back all the embarrassment
and constraint, and called up the flush of confusion
so often attributed to other sources than that from
which it really springs.

After a few commonplace remarks, he asked:

“When is Mr. Murray coming home?”

“I have no idea. Even his mother is ignorant of his
plans.”

“How long has he been absent?”

“Four years to-day.”

“Indeed! so long? Where is he?”

“I believe his last letter was written at Edfu, and he said
nothing about returning.”

“What do you think of his singular character?”

“I know almost nothing about him, as I was too young
when I saw him to form an estimate of him.”

“Do you not correspond?”

Edna looked up with unfeigned astonishment, and could
not avoid smiling at the inquiry.

“Certainly not.”

A short silence followed, and then Mr. Leigh said:

“Do you not frequently ride on horseback?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you permit me to accompany you to-morrow afternoon?”

“I have promised to make a visit with Mr. Hammond.”

“To-morrow morning then, before breakfast?”

She hesitated—the blush deepened, and after a brief
struggle eshe said hurriedly:

“Please excuse me, Mr. Leigh; I prefer to ride alone.”

He bowed, and was silent for a minute, but she saw a
smile lurking about the corners of his handsome mouth,
threatening to run riot over his features.

“By the by, Miss Edna, I am coming to-night to ask
your assistance in a Chaldee quandary. For several days I
have been engaged in a controversy with Mr. Hammond on
the old battle-field of ethnology, and, in order to establish
my position of diversity of origin, have been comparing the
Septuagint with some passages from the Talmud. I heard
you say that there was a Rabbinical Targum in the library
at Le Bocage, and I must beg you to examine it for me, and
ascertain whether it contains any comments on the first
chapter of Genesis. Somewhere in my most desultory
reading I have seen it stated that in some of those early
Targums was the declaration, that `God originally created
men red, white, and black.' Mr. Hammond is charitable
enough to say that I must have smoked an extra cigar, and

dreamed the predicate I am so anxious to authenticate.
Will you oblige me by searching for the passage?”

“Certainly, Mr. Leigh, with great pleasure; though perhaps
you would prefer to take the book and look through it
yourself? My knowledge of Chaldee is very limited.”

“Pardon me! my mental vis inertiœ vetoes the bare suggestion.
I study by proxy whenever an opportunity offers,
for laziness is the only hereditary taint in the Leigh blood.”

“As I am very much interested in this ethnological question,
I shall enter into the search with great eagerness.”

“Thank you. Do you take the unity or diversity side of
the discussion?”

Her merry laugh rang out through the forest that bordered
the road.

“O Mr. Leigh! what a ridiculous question! I do not
presume to take any side, for I do not pretend to understand
or appreciate all the arguments advanced; but I am anxious
to acquaint myself with the bearings of the controversy.
The idea of my `taking sides' on a subject which gray-haired
savans have spent their laborious lives in striving to
elucidate seems extremely ludicrous.”

“Still, you are entitled to an idea, either pro or con, even
at the outset.”

“I have an idea that neither you nor I know any thing
about the matter; and the per saltum plan of `taking sides'
will only add the prop of prejudice to my ignorance. If,
with all his erudition, Mr. Hammond still abstains from
dogmatizing on this subject, I can well afford to hold my
crude opinions in abeyance. I must stop here, Mr. Leigh,
at Mrs. Carter's, on an errand for Mrs. Murray. Good
morning, sir; I will hunt the passage you require.”

“How have I offended you, Miss Edna?”

He took her hand and detained her.

“I am not offended, Mr. Leigh,” and she drew back.

“Why do you dismiss me in such a cold, unfriendly
way?”

“If I sometimes appear rude, pardon my unfortunate
manner, and believe that it results from no unfriendliness.”

“You will be at home this evening?”

“Yes, sir, unless something very unusual occurs.”

They parted, and during the remainder of the walk Edna
could think of nothing but the revelation written in Gordon
Leigh's eyes; the immemorial, yet ever new and startling
truth, that opened a new vista in life, that told her she was
no longer an isolated child, but a woman, regnant over the
generous heart of one of the pets of society.

She saw that he intended her to believe he loved her, and
suspicious as gossips had made her with reference to his conduct,
she could not suppose he was guilty of heartless and
contemptible trifling. She trusted his honor; yet the discovery
of his affection brought a sensation of regret—of
vague self-reproach, and she felt that in future he would
prove a source of endless disquiet. Hitherto she had
enjoyed his society, henceforth she felt that she must
shun it.

She endeavored to banish the recollection of that strange
expression in his generally laughing eyes, and bent over the
Targum, hoping to cheat her thoughts into other channels;
but the face would not “down at her bidding,” and as the
day drew near its close she grew nervous and restless.

The chandelier had been lighted, and Mrs. Murray was
standing at the window of the sitting-room, watching for
the return of a servant whom she had sent to the post-office,
when Edna said:

“I believe Mr. Leigh is coming here to tea; he told me so
this morning.”

“Where did you see him?”

“He walked with me as far as Mrs. Carter's gate, and
asked me to look out a reference which he thought I might
find in one of Mr. Murray's books.”

Mrs. Murray smiled, and said:

“Do you intend to receive him in that calico dress?”

“Why not? I am sure it looks very nicely; it is perfectly
new, and fits me well.”

“And is very suitable to wear to the Parsonage, but not
quite appropriate when Gordon Leigh takes tea here. You
will oblige me by changing your dress and reärranging
your hair, which is twisted too loosely.”

When she reëntered the room, a half-hour later, Mrs. Murray
leaned against the mantelpiece, with an open letter in
her hand and dreary disappointment printed on her face.

“I hope you have no unpleasant tidings from Mr. Murray.
May I ask why you seem so much depressed?”

The mother's features twitched painfully as she restored
the letter to its envelope, and answered:

“My son's letter is dated Philoe, just two months ago,
and he says he intended starting next day to the interior
of Persia. He says, too, that he did not expect to remain
away so long, but finds that he will probably be in Central
Asia for another year. The only comforting thing in the
letter is the assurance that he weighs more, and is in better
health, than when he left home.”

The ringing of the door-bell announced Mr. Leigh's arrival,
and as she led the way to the parlor, Mrs. Murray
hastily fastened a drooping spray of coral berries in Edna's
hair.

Before tea was ended, other visitors came in, and the
orphan found relief from her confusion in the general conversation.

While Dr. Rodney, the family physician, was talking to
her about some discoveries of Ehrenberg, concerning which
she was very curious, Mr. Leigh engrossed Mrs. Murray's
attention, and for some time their conversation was exceedingly
earnest; then the latter rose and approached the sofa
where Edna sat, saying gravely:

“Edna, give me this seat, I want to have a little chat
with the doctor; and, by the way, my dear, I believe Mr.
Leigh is waiting for you to show him some book you promised

to find for him. Go into the library—there is a good
fire there.”

The room was tempting indeed to students, and as the
two sat down before the glowing grate, and Mr. Leigh
glanced at the warm, rich curtains sweeping from ceiling
to carpet, the black-walnut bookcases girding the walls on
all sides, and the sentinel bronze busts keeping watch over
the musty tomes within, he rubbed his fingers and exclaimed:

“Certainly this is the most delightful library in the
world, and offers a premium for recluse life and studious
habits. How incomprehensible it is that Murray should
prefer to pass his years roaming over deserts and wandering
about neglected, comfortless khans, when he might
spend them in such an elysium as this! The man must be
demented! How do you explain the mystery?”

“Chacun à son gout! I consider it none of my business,
and as I suppose he is the best judge of what contributes
to his happiness, I do not meddle with the mystery.”

“Poor Murray! his wretched disposition is a great curse.
I pity him most sincerely.”

“From what I remember of him, I am afraid he would
not thank you for your pity, or admit that he needed or
merited it. Here is the Targum, Mr. Leigh, and here is
the very passage you want.”

She opened an ancient Chaldee MS., and spreading it on
the library table, they examined it together, spelling out
the words, and turning frequently to a dictionary which
lay near. Neither knew much about the language; now
and then they differed in the interpretation, and more than
once Edna referred to the rules of her grammar, to establish
the construction of the sentences.

Engrossed in the translation, she forgot all her apprehensions
of the morning, and the old ease of manner came
back. Her eyes met his fearlessly, her smile greeted him
cheerily as in the early months of their acquaintance; and

while she bent over the pages she was deciphering, his eyes
dwelt on her beaming countenance with a fond, tender look,
that most girls of her age would have found it hard to resist,
and pleasant to recall in after days.

Neither suspected that an hour had passed, until Dr.
Rodney peeped into the room and called them back to the
parlor, to make up a game of whist.

It was quite late when Mr. Leigh rose to say good-night;
and as he drew on his gloves he looked earnestly at Edna,
and said:

“I am coming again in a day or two, to show you some
plans I have drawn for a new house which I intend to build
before long. Clara differs with me about the arrangement
of some columns and arches, and I shall claim you and Mrs.
Murray for my allies in this architectural war.”

The orphan was silent, but the lady of the house replied
promptly:

“Yes, come as often as you can, Gordon, and cheer us
up; for it is terribly dull here without St. Elmo.”

“Suppose you repudiate that incorrigible Vandal and
adopt me in his place? I would prove a model son.”

“Very well. I shall acquaint him with your proposition,
and threaten an immediate compliance with it if he does
not come home soon.”

Mrs. Murray rang the bell for the servant to lock up the
house, and said sotto voce:

“What a noble fellow Gordon is! If I had a daughter
I would select him for her husband. Where are you going,
Edna?”

“I left a MS. on the library table, and as it is very rare
and valuable, I want to replace it in the glass box where it
belongs before I go to sleep.”

Lighting a candle, she lifted the heavy Targum, and
slowly approached the suite of rooms, which she was now in
the habit of visiting almost daily.

Earlier in the day she had bolted the door, but left the

key in the lock, expecting to bring the Targum back as
soon as she had shown Mr. Leigh the controverted passage.
Now, as she crossed the rotunda, an unexpected sound, as
of a chair sliding on the marble floor, seemed to issue from
the inner room, and she paused to listen. Under the flare
of the candle the vindictive face of Siva, and the hooded
viper twined about his arm, looked more hideous than ever,
warning her not to approach, yet all was silent, save the
tinkling of a bell far down in the park, where the sheep
clustered under the cedars. Opening the door, which was
ajar, she entered, held the light high over her head, and
peered a little nervously around the room; but here, too,
all was quiet as the grave, and quite as dreary, and the
only moving thing seemed her shadow, that flitted slightly
as the candle-light flickered over the cold, gleaming white
tiles. The carpets and curtains — even the rich silk hangings
of the arch—were all packed away, and Edna shivered
as she looked through both rooms, satisfied herself that she
had mistaken the source of the sound, and opened the box
where the MSS. were kept.

At sight of them her mind reverted to the theme she
had been investigating, and happening to remember the
importance attached by ethnologists to the early Coptic
inscriptions, she took from the book-shelves a volume containing
copies of many of these characters, and drawings
of the triumphal processions carved on granite, and representing
the captives of various nations torn from their
homes to swell the pompous retinue of some barbaric
Rhamses or Sesostris.

Drifting back over the gray, waveless, tideless sea of
centuries, she stood, in imagination, upon the steps of the
Serapeum at Memphis; and when the wild chant of the
priests had died away under the huge propylæum, she listened
to the sighing of the tamarinds and cassias, and the
low babble of the sacred Nile, as it rocked the lotus-leaves,
under the glowing purple sky, whence a full moon flooded

the ancient city with light, and kindled like a beacon the
vast placid face of the Sphinx — rising solemn and lonely
and weird from its desert lair — and staring blankly, hopelessly
across arid, yellow sands at the dim colossi of old
Misraim.

Following the sinuous stream of Coptic civilization to its
inexplicable source in the date-groves of Meroe, the girl's
thoughts were borne away to the Golden Fountain of the
Sun, where Ammon's black doves fluttered and cooed, over
the shining altars and amid the mystic symbols of the marvelous
friezes.

As Edna bent over the drawings in the book, oblivious
for a time of every thing else, she suddenly became aware
of the presence of some one in the room, for though perfect
stillness reigned, there was a consciousness of companionship,
of the proximity of some human being, and with a
start she looked up, expecting to meet a pair of eyes fastened
upon her. But no living thing confronted her — the
tall, bent figure of the Cimbri Prophetess gleamed ghostly
white upon the wall, and the bright blue augurous eyes
seemed to count the dripping blood-drops; and the unbroken,
solemn silence of night brooded over all things,
hushing even the chime of sheep-bells, that had died away
among the elm arches. Knowing that no superstitious
terrors had ever seized her heretofore, the young student
rose, took up the candle, and proceeded to search the two
rooms, but as unsuccessfully as before.

“There certainly is somebody here, but I can not find out
where.”

These words were uttered aloud, and the echo of her
own voice seemed sepulchral; then the chill silence again
fell upon her. She smiled at her own folly, and thought
her imagination had been unduly excited by the pictures
she had been examining, and that the nervous shiver that
crept over her was the result of the cold. Just then the
candle-light flashed over the black marble statuette, grinning

horribly as it kept guard over the Taj Mahal. Edna
walked up to it, placed the candle on the slab that supported
the tomb, and, stooping, scrutinized the lock. A spider
had ensconced himself in the golden receptacle, and spun a
fine web across the front of the temple, and Edna swept
the airy drapery away, and tried to drive the little weaver
from his den; but he shrank further and further, and finally
she took the key from her pocket, and put it far enough
into the opening to eject the intruder, who slung himself
down one of the silken threads, and crawled sullenly out
of sight. Withdrawing the key, she toyed with it, and
glanced curiously at the mausoleum. Taking her handkerchief,
she carefully brushed off the cobwebs that festooned
the minarets, and murmured that fragment of Persian
poetry which she once heard the absent master repeat to
his mother, and which she had found, only a few days
before, quoted by an Eastern traveller: “The spider hath
woven his web in the imperial palaces; and the owl hath
sung her watch-song on the towers of Afrasiab.”

“It is exactly four years to-night since Mr. Murray gave
me this key, but he charged me not to open the Taj unless
I had reason to believe that he was dead. His letter states
that he is alive and well; consequently, the time has not
come for me to unseal the mystery. It is strange that he
trusted me with this secret; strange that he, who doubts all
of his race, could trust a child of whom he really knew so
little. Certainly it must have been a singular freak which
gave this affair into my keeping, but at least I will not betray
the confidence he reposed in me. With the contents
of that vault I can have no concern, and yet I wish the key
was safely back in his hands; it annoys me to conceal it,
and I feel all the while as if I were deceiving his mother.”

These words were uttered half unconsciously as she fingered
the key, and for a few seconds she stood there, thinking
of the master of the house, wondering what luckless
influence had so early blackened and distorted his life, and

whether he would probably return to Le Bocage before she
left it to go out and carve her fortune in the world's noisy
quarry. The light danced over her countenance and form,
showing the rich folds of her crimson merino dress, with
the gossamer lace surrounding her white throat and dimpled
wrists; and it seemed to linger caressingly on the
shining mass of black hair, on the beautiful, polished forehead,
the firm, delicate, scarlet lips, and made the large
eyes look elfish under their heavy jet lashes.

Again the girl started and glanced over her shoulder,
impressed with the same tantalizing conviction of a human
presence; of some powerful influence which baffled analysis.
Snatching the candle, she put the gold key in her pocket,
and turned to leave the room, but stopped, for this time an
unmistakable sound, like the shivering of a glass or the
snapping of a musical string, fell on her strained ears. She
could trace it to no particular spot, and conjectured that
perhaps a mouse had taken up his abode somewhere in the
room, and, frightened by her presence, had run against
some of the numerous glass and china ornaments on the
étagère, jostling them until they jingled. Replacing the
book which she had taken from the shelves, and fastening
the box that contained the MSS., she examined the cabinets,
found them securely closed, and then hurried out of the
room, locked the door, took the key, and went to her own
apartment with nerves more unsettled than she felt disposed
to confess.

For some time after she laid her head on her pillow, she
racked her brain for an explanation of the singular sensation
she had experienced, and at last, annoyed by her restlessness
and silly superstition, she was just sinking into
dreams of Ammon and Serapis, when the fierce barking of
Ali caused her to start up in terror. The dog seemed almost
wild, running frantically to and fro, howling and whining;
but finally the sounds receded, gradually quiet was restored,
and Edna fell asleep soon after the scream of the

locomotive and the rumble of the cars told her that the four
o'clock train had just started to Chattanooga.

Modern zoölogic science explodes the popular fal acy that
chameleons assume, and reflect at will, the color of the substance
on which they rest or feed; but, with a profound
salaam to savans, it is respectfully submitted that the
mental saurian—human thought—certainly takes its changing
hues, day by day, from the books through which it
crawls devouringly.

Is there not ground for plausible doubt that, if the workbench
of Mezzofanti had not stood just beneath the teacher's
window, whence the ears of the young carpenter were regaled
from morning till night with the rudiments of Latin
and Greek, he would never have forsworn planing for
parsing, mastered forty dialects, proved a walking scarlet-capped
polyglot, and attained the distinction of an honorary
nomination for the office of interpreter-general at the
Tower of Babel?

The hoary associations and typical significance of the
numerous relics that crowded Mr. Murray's rooms seized
upon Edna's fancy, linked her sympathies with the huge
pantheistic systems of the Orient, and filled her mind with
waifs from the dusky realm of a mythology that seemed to
antedate all the authentic chronological computations of
man. To the East, the mighty alma mater of the human
races—of letters, religions, arts, and politics, her thoughts
wandered in wondering awe; and Belzoni, Burckhardt, Layard,
and Champollion were hierophants of whose teachings
she never wearied. As day by day she yielded more
and more to this fascinating nepenthe influence, and bent
over the granite sarcophagus in one corner of Mr. Murray's
museum, where lay a shrunken mummy shrouded in gilded
byssus, the wish strengthened to understand the symbols in
which subtle Egyptian priests masked their theogony.

While morning and afternoon hours were given to those
branches of study in which Mr. Hammond guided her, she

generally spent the evening in Mr. Murray's sitting-room,
and sometimes the clock in the rotundo struck midnight
before she locked up the MSS. and illuminated papyri.

Two nights after the examination of the Targum, she was
seated near the bookcase looking over the plates in that
rare but very valuable volume, Spence's Polymetis, when
the idea flashed across her mind that a rigid analysis and
comparison of all the mythologies of the world would throw
some light on the problem of ethnology, and in conjunction
with philology settle the vexed question.

Pushing the Polymetis aside, she sprang up and paced
the long room, and gradually her eyes kindled, her cheeks
burned, as ambition pointed to a possible future, of which,
till this hour, she had not dared to dream; and hope, o'erleaping
all barriers, grasped a victory that would make her
name imperishable.

In her miscellaneous reading she had stumbled upon
singular correspondences in the customs and religions of
nations separated by surging oceans and by ages; nations
whose aboriginal records appeared to prove them distinct,
and certainly furnished no hint of an ethnological bridge
over which traditions traveled and symbolisms crept in satin
sandals. During the past week several of these coïncidences
had attracted her attention.

The Druidic rites and the festival of Beltein in Scotland
and Ireland, she found traced to their source in the worship
of Phrygian Baal. The figure of the Scandinavian Disa, at
Upsal, enveloped in a net precisely like that which surrounds
some statues of Isis in Egypt. The mat or rush sails
used by the Peruvians on Lake Titicaca, and their mode of
handling them, pronounced identical with that which is
seen upon the sepulchre of Ramses III. at Thebes. The
head of a Mexican priestess ornamented with a vail similar
to that carved on Eastern sphinxes, while the robes resembled
those of a Jewish high-priest. A very quaint and puzzling
pictorial chart of the chronology of the Aztecs contained

an image of Coxcox in his ark, surrounded by rushes
similar to those that overshadowed Moses, and also a likeness
of a dove distributing tongues to those born after the
deluge.

Now, the thought of carefully gathering up these vague
mythologic links, and establishing a chain of unity that
would girdle the world, seized and mastered her, as if veritably
clothed with all the power of a bath kol.

To firmly grasp the Bible for a talisman, as Ulysses did
the sprig of moly, and to stand in the Pantheon of the universe,
examining every shattered idol and crumbling defiled
altar, where worshipping humanity had bowed; to
tear the vail from oracles and sybils, and show the world
that the true, good, and beautiful of all theogonies and cosmogonies,
of every system of religion that had waxed and
waned since the gray dawn of time, could be traced to
Moses and to Jesus, seemed to her a mission grander far
than the conquest of empires, and infinitely more to be desired
than the crown and heritage of Solomon.

The night wore on as she planned the work of coming
years; but she still walked up and down the floor, with
slow uncertain steps, like one who, peering at distant objects,
sees nothing close at hand. Flush and tremor passed
from her countenance, leaving the features pale and fixed;
for the first gush of enthusiasm, like the jets of violet flame
flickering over the simmering mass in alchemic crucibles,
had vanished—the thought was a crystallized and consecrated
purpose.

At last, when the feeble light admonished her that she
would soon be in darkness, she retreated to her own room,
and the first glimmer of day struggled in at her window as
she knelt at her bedside praying:

“Be pleased, O Lord! to make me a fit instrument for
thy work; sanctify my heart; quicken and enlighten my
mind; grant me patience and perseverance and unwavering
faith; guide me into paths that lead to truth; enable me in

all things to labor with an eye single to thy glory, caring
less for the applause of the world than for the advancement
of the cause of Christ. O my Father and my God! bless
the work on which I am about to enter, crown it with success,
accept me as an humble tool for the benefit of my
race, and when the days of my earthly pilgrimage are
ended, receive my soul into that eternal rest which thou
hast prepared from the foundations of the world, for the
sake of Jesus Christ.”