University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

“MISS DEXTER, where is Muriel?” asked Dr. Grey,
glancing around the library, where the governess
sat sewing, while Salome read aloud a passage in
Ariosto.

“She is not very well, and went up stairs, two hours ago, to
rest. Do you wish to see her immediately?”

“Yes. Call her down.”

When the teacher left the room, Dr. Grey approached the
table where Salome sat, and looked over her shoulder.

“I went to the Asylum to-day, and found little Jessie very
well, but quite dissatisfied because you visit her so rarely.

You should see her as often as possible, since she is so dependent
upon you for sympathy and affection.”

“I do.”

“Miss Dexter gives a flattering report of your aptitude for
acquiring languages, and assures me that you will soon speak
Italian fluently.”

“Miss Dexter doubtless believes that praise of a pupil
reflects credit on the skill of the teacher. Unfortunately for
her flattering estimate of me, I must disclaim all polyglot proclivities,
and have no intention of eclipsing Mezzofanti, Max
Muller, or Giovanni Pico Mirandola. I needed, for a special
purpose, a limited acquaintance with Italian; and, as I have
attained what I desired, I shall not trouble myself much longer
with dictionaries and grammars.”

“And that special purpose —”

“Concerns nobody else, consequently I keep it to myself.”

He turned from her and advanced to meet his ward, who
came rapidly forward, holding out both hands.

“Doctor, where have you been all day? I did not see you
at breakfast or dinner, and it seems quite an age since yesterday
afternoon. You see I am moping, horribly.”

“My dear child, I see you are looking pale and weary, which
is overt and unpardonable treason. I sent for you to ask if it
would be agreeable to you to walk, or drive with me.”

“Certainly, — either or both.”

She had placed her hands in his, and stood looking up joyfully
into his quiet countenance.

“Get your hat, while I order my buggy brought to the door.”

“Thank you, my dear doctor. The very thing I longed for,
as I noticed you riding up the avenue. I never saw you
on horseback until to-day. It is a delightful evening for a
drive.”

She gaily swung his hands, like a gratified child, and started
off for her hat, but, ere she crossed the threshold, turned back,
and, walking up to her guardian, laid her arm on his shoulder
and whispered something.

He laughed, and put his hand under her chin, saying, as he
did so, —

“Little witch! How did you know it?”

Her reply was audible only to the ears for which it was
framed, and she darted away, evidently much happier than
she had seemed for many days.

While awaiting her return, Dr. Grey picked up her sketch-book,
and was examining the contents, when Salome rose and
hurried towards the door. As she passed him, his back was
turned, and her muslin dress swept within reach of his spur,
which caught the delicate fabric. She impatiently jerked the
dress to disengage it, but it clung to the steel points, and a long
rent was made in the muslin. With a half-smothered ejaculation,
she tried to wrench herself free, but the dress only tore
across the breadth from seam to seam. Dr. Grey turned, and
stooped to assist her.

“Wait an instant, Salome; you have almost ruined your
dress.”

He was endeavoring to disentangle the shreds from the jagged
edge of the spur, but she bent down, and, seizing the skirt in
both hands, tore it away, leaving a large fragment trailing from
the boot-heel.

“`More haste, less speed.' Patience is better than petulance,
my young friend.”

His grave, reproving voice, rendered her defiant; and, with
a forced, unnatural laugh, she bowed, and hurried away, saying,
as she looked over her shoulder, —

“And spurs than persuasion? You mistake my nature.”

Dr. Grey had been riding, all the morning, across a broken
stretch of country, where the roads were exceedingly insecure,
and, as he removed the troublesome spur and laid it on the
mantel-piece, he folded up the strip of muslin and put it into
his pocket.

“I am waiting for you,” cried Muriel, from the hall door.

He sighed, and went to his buggy; but the cloud did not
melt from his brow, for, as he drove off, he noticed Salome's
gleaming eyes peering from the window of her room; and pity

and pain mingled in the emotions with which he recalled his
sister's warning words.

“Muriel, here is your letter, and, better still, Gerard will be
with us to-morrow. Diplomatic affairs brought him temporarily
to Washington, and he will spend next week with us. I
cordially congratulate you, my dear child, and hastened home
to bring you the good news, which I felt assured you would
prefer to receive without witnesses.”

Muriel's blushing face was bent over her letter; but she put
her hand on her guardian's, and pressed it vigorously.

“A thousand thanks for all your goodness! Gerard writes
that it was through your influence he was enabled to visit
Washington; and, indeed, dear Dr. Grey, we are both very
grateful for your kind interest in our happiness. Even poor
papa could not be more considerate.”

“For several days past I have observed that you were
unusually depressed, and that Miss Dexter looked constrained.
Are you not pleasantly situated in my sister's house? Do not
hesitate to speak frankly.”

Muriel's eyes filled with tears, and she answered, evasively, —

“Miss Jane is very kind and affectionate.”

“Which means that Salome is not.”

“Dr. Grey, why does she dislike me so seriously? I have
tried to be friendly and cordial towards her; but she constantly
repels me. I really admire her very much; but I am afraid she
positively hates me.”

“No, that is impossible; but she is a very peculiar, and, I am
sorry to be forced to say, an unamiable girl, and is governed by
every idle caprice. I hope that you will not allow yourself to
be annoyed by any want of courtesy which she may unfortunately
have displayed. Although a member of the household,
Salome has no right to dispense or to withhold the hospitalities
of my sister's home, or to insult her guests; and I trust that
her individual whims will have no effect whatever upon you,
unless they create a feeling of compassion and toleration in
your kind heart. She has some good traits hidden under her

brusquerie, and when you know her better you will excuse her
rudeness.”

“Why is she so moody? I have not seen a pleasant smile
on her face since I came here.”

“My dear child, let us select some more agreeable topic for
discussion. Gerard will probably arrive on the early train,
which will enable him to breakfast with us to-morrow. He
will endeavor to persuade you to return at once to Europe; but
I must tell you, in advance of his proposal, that I hope you will
not yield to his wishes, since it would grieve me to part with
you so soon.”

Muriel turned aside her head to avoid her guardian's penetrating
gaze, and silently listened to his counsel concerning the
course she should pursue towards her betrothed.

For a year they had been affianced without the knowledge of
her father, from whom she had been separated; but the frankness
with which both had discussed the matter with Dr. Grey
forbade the possibility of his withholding his approbation of
the engagement; though he assured them he could not consent
to its speedy consummation, as Muriel was too young and childish
to appreciate the grave responsibility of such a step. Gerard
Granville was several years older than his betrothed, and
Dr. Grey had been astonished at his choice; but a long and intimate
acquaintance led him to esteem the young man so highly,
that, while he felt that Muriel was far inferior, he strove to
stimulate her ambition, and hoped she would one day be fully
worthy of him.

To-day Dr. Grey drove for an hour through quiet, unfrequented
country roads; and finally, when Muriel expressed herself
anxious to catch a glimpse of the sea and a breath of its
brine, he turned into a narrow track that led down to some
fishermen's huts on the beach.

While they paused on the edge of the low, yellow strand,
and inhaled the fresh ocean air, Dr. Grey grew silent, and his
companion fell into a blissful reverie relative to to-morrow's
events. Suddenly he placed his hand on her arm, and said,
“Listen! What a wonderfully sweet, flexible voice! Surely,

fishermen's wives are not singing Mendelssohn's compositions?
Did you hear that gush of melody? It comes not from that
house, but seems floating from the opposite direction. Such
strains almost revive one's faith in the Hindoo Gandharvas, —
musical genii, filling the air with ravishing sounds. There! is
it not exquisite? Hold these reins while I ascertain who owns
that marvellous voice.”

Eager and curious as a boy, he sprang from the buggy, and,
following the bend of the beach, passed two small deserted huts,
and plunged into a grove of stunted trees, whence issued the
sound that attracted his attention. Ere he had proceeded
many yards he saw a woman sitting on a bank of sand and
oyster-shells, and singing from an open sheet of music, while
she made rapid gestures with one hand. Her face was turned
from him, but, as he cautiously approached, the pose of the figure,
the noble contour of the head and neck, and a certain muslin
dress which matched the strip in his pocket, made his heart
beat violently. Intent only on solving the mystery, he stepped
softly towards her; but just then a brace of plover started up
at his feet, and, as they whirred away, the woman turned her
head, and he found himself face to face with his musician.

“Salome!”

“Well, Dr. Grey.”

She had risen, and a beautiful glow overspread her cheeks, as
she met his eyes.

“What brings you to this lonely spot, three miles from
home, when the sun has already gone down?”

“Have I not as unquestionable a right to walk alone to
the seaside as you to drive your ward whithersoever you list?
Poverty, as well as wealth, sometimes makes people strangely
independent. What have you done with Miss Muriel
Manton?”

There was such a sparkle in her eyes, such a bright flush on
her polished cheeks and parted lips, that Dr. Grey wondered
at her beauty, which had never before impressed him as so
extraordinary.

“Salome, why have you concealed your musical gift from
me? Who taught you to sing?”

“I am teaching myself, with such poor aid as I can obtain
from that miserable vagabond, Barilli, who is generally intoxicated
three days out of every six. Did you expect to find
Heine's yellow-haired Loreley, or a treacherous Ligeia, sitting
on a rock, wooing passers-by to speedy destruction?”

“I certainly did not expect to meet my friend Salome alone
at this hour and place. Child, do not trifle with me, — be
truthful. Did you come here to meet any one?”

“One never knows what may or may not happen. I came
here to practise my music lesson, sans auditors, and I meet Dr.
Grey, — the last person I expected or desired to see.”

He came a step nearer, and put his hand on her shoulder.

“Salome, you distress and perplex me. My child, are you
better or worse than I think you?”

She lifted her slender hand and laid it lightly on his, which
still rested upon her shoulder.

“I am both, — better and worse. Better in aim than you
believe; worse in execution than you could realize, even if I
confessed all, which I have not the slightest intention of doing.
Ah, Dr. Grey, if you read me thoroughly, you would not be
surprised, or consider it presumptuous that I sometimes think
I am that anomalous creature, whom Balzac defined as `Angel
through love, demon through fantasy, child through faith, sage
through experience, man through the brain, woman through
the heart, giant through hope, and poet through dreams.'”

As Dr. Grey looked down into the splendid eyes, softened
and magnified by a crystal veil of unshed tears, he sighed, and
answered, —

“You are, indeed, a bundle of contradictions. Why have you
so sedulously concealed the existence of your fine voice, which
the majority of girls would have been eager to exhibit?”

“It was not lack of vanity, but excess, that prompted me to
keep you in ignorance, until I could astonish you by its perfection.
You have anticipated me only by a few days, and I
intended singing for you next week.”

“It is not prudent for you to venture so far from home,
especially at this hour.”

“We paupers are not so fastidious as our lucky superiors,
and cannot afford timid airs, and affectation of extreme nervousness.
Having no escort, and expecting none, I walk alone in
any direction I choose, with what fearlessness and contentment
I find myself able to command.”

“It will be dark before you can reach the public road.”

“No, sir; there is a young moon swinging above the tree-tops,
to light me on my lonesome ramble; and I come here so
often that even the rabbits and whippoorwills know me.
Where is Miss Muriel?”

“Waiting in the buggy, on the beach. I must go back to
her.”

“Yes. Pray do not delay an instant, or she will imagine
that some dire calamity has befallen her knight, who, in
hunting a siren, encountered Scylla or Charybdis. Good
evening, Dr. Grey.”

“I am unwilling to leave you here so unprotected. Come
and ride with Muriel, and I will walk beside the buggy. My
horse is so gentle that a child can guide him.”

“Thank you. Not for a ten-acre lot in Mohammed's
Paradise would I mar Miss Muriel's happiness, or punish
myself by a tête-à-tête with her. It would be positively `discourteous'
in me to accept your proposal; and, moreover, I
abhor division, — tout ou rien.”

“Wilful, silly child! It is not proper for you to wander
along that dreary road in the dark. Come with me.”

“Not I. Make yourself easy by recollecting that `naught is
never in danger.' See yonder in the west, —

She laughed lightly, derisively, and collected the sheets of
music scattered on the bank.

Silently Dr. Grey returned to his ward, who exclaimed, at
sight of him, —

“I am glad to see you again, for you stayed so long I was
growing frightened. Did you find the singer?”

“Yes.”

“What is the matter? You look troubled and solemn.”

“I am merely annoyed by circumstances beyond my control.”

“Dr. Grey, who was that sweet singer?”

“Salome Owen.”

“How can such a thing be possible, when I have never heard
a note from her lips? You told me she had no musical talent.”

“I was not aware that she sang at all, until this afternoon,
and your surprise does not equal mine.”

“Where did you find her?”

“Sitting on a mound of sand, singing to the sea.”

“Who is with her?”

“No one. I requested her to come with us, and offered to
walk beside my buggy; but she declined. Please be so considerate
as to say nothing about this occurrence, when you
reach home; because animadversion only hardens that poor girl
in her whimsical ways. Now we will dismiss the matter.”

Muriel endeavored to render herself an agreeable companion
during the remainder of the drive; but her guardian, despite
his efforts to become interested in her conversation, was evidently
distrait, and both felt relieved when they reached
Grassmere, where Miss Jane and the governess welcomed their
return.

Dr. Grey dismissed his buggy and entered the hall; but
passed through the house, and, crossing the orchard, followed
the road leading seaward.

Only a few summer stars were sprinkling their silvery rays
over the gray gloom of twilight, and the shining crescent in
the violet west had slipped down behind the silent hills that
girded the rough, winding road.

When Salome put her fingers on the gloved hand which, in
the surprise of their unexpected meeting, Dr. Grey had involuntarily
placed on her shoulder, she had felt that he shrank

instantly from her touch, and withdrew his hand hastily, as if
displeased with the familiarity of the action. All the turbid
elements in her nature boiled up. Could it be possible that he
really loved his rosy-faced, bright-eyed, prattling ward? She
set this conjecture squarely before her, and forced herself to
contemplate it. If he desired to marry Muriel, of course he
would do so whenever he chose, and the thought that he might
call her his wife, and give her his name, his caresses, wrung a
cry of agony from Salome's lips. She threw herself on the
sand-bank, and, resting her chin on her folded arms, gazed
vacantly across the yellow strand at the glassy, leaden sea that
stared back mockingly at her.

She was too miserable to feel afraid of anything but Dr.
Grey's marriage; and, moreover, she had so often, during the
early years of her life, gone to and fro in the darkness, that she
was a stranger to that timidity which girls usually indulge under
similar circumstances. The fishermen had abandoned the
neighboring huts some months before, and “Solitude,” one
mile distant, was the nearest spot occupied by human beings.

She neither realized nor cared that it was growing darker,
and, after awhile, when the sea was no longer visible through
the dun haze that brooded over it, she shut her eyes and
moaned.

Dr. Grey had walked on, hoping every moment to meet her
returning home; and, more than once, he was tempted to retrace
his steps, thinking that she might have taken some direct path
across the hills, instead of the circuitous one bending around
their base. Quickening his pace till it matched his pulse,
which an indefinable anxiety accelerated, he finally saw the
huts dimly outlined against the starry sky and quiet sea.

Pausing, he took off his hat to listen to

and, while he stood wiping his brow, there came across the
beach, —

In the uncertain light he ran towards the clump of trees
where he had left Salome, and strained his eyes to discover
some moving thing. He knew that he must be very near the
spot, but neither the expected sound nor object greeted him,
and, while he stopped and held his breath to listen, the silence
was profound and death-like. He was opening his lips to call
the girl's name, when he fancied he saw something move
slightly, and simultaneously a human voice smote the oppressive
stillness. She was very near him, and he heard her
saying to herself, with mournful emphasis, —

Dr. Grey knew now that she was not crying. Her hard,
ringing, bitter tone, forbade all thought of sobs or tears; but
his heart ached as he listened, and surmised the application
she was making of the melancholy lines.

Unwilling that she should know he had overheard her, he
waited a moment, then raised his voice and shouted, —

“Salome! Salome! Where are you?”

There was no answer, and, fearing that she might elude him,
he stretched out his arms, and advanced to the spot, which he
felt assured was only a few yards distant.

She had risen, and, standing in the gloom of the coming
night, deepened by the interlacing boughs above her, she felt
Dr. Grey's hand on her dress, then on her head, where the
moisture hung heavily in her thick hair.

“Salome, why do you not answer me?”

Shame kept her silent.

He passed his hand over her hot face, then groped for her
fingers, which he grasped firmly in his.

“Come home with your best friend.”

He knew that she was in no mood to submit to reprimand,
to appreciate argument, or even to listen to entreaty, and that
he might as profitably undertake to knead pig-iron as expostulate
with her at this juncture.

For a mile they walked on without uttering a word; then
he felt the fingers relax, twitch, and twine closely around his
own.

“Dr. Grey, where is Muriel? Where is your buggy?”

“Both are at home, where others should have been, long
ago.”

“You walked back to meet me?”

“I did.”

“How did you find me, in the dark?”

“I heard your voice.”

“But not the words?”

“Why? Are you ashamed for me to hear what any strolling
stranger, any unscrupulous vagabond, might have listened to?”

“It is such a desolate, lonely place, I thought no one would
stumble upon me, and I have been there so often without meeting
a living thing except the crabs and plover.”

“You are no longer a child, and such rashness is altogether
unpardonable. What do you suppose my sister would think of
your imprudent obstinacy?”

They walked another mile, and again Salome convulsively
pressed the cool, steady, strong hand, in which hers lay hot and
quivering.

“Dr. Grey, tell me the truth, — don't torture me.”

“What shall I tell you? You torture yourself.”

“Did you hear what I was saying to my own heart?”

“I heard you repeating some lines which certainly should
possess no relevancy for the real feeling of my young friend.”

She snatched her fingers from his, and he knew she covered
her face with them.

They reached the gate at the end of the avenue, and Salome
stopped suddenly, as the lights from the front windows flashed
out on the lawn.

“Go in, and leave me.”

She threw herself on the sward, under one of the elm-trees,
and leaned her head against its trunk.

“I shall do no such thing, unless you desire the entire household
to comment upon your reckless conduct.”

“Oh, Dr. Grey, I care little now what the whole world
thinks or says! Let me be quiet, or I shall go mad.”

“No; come into the house, and sing something to compensate
me for the anxiety and fatigue you have cost me. I do not
often ask a favor of you, and certainly in this instance you will
not refuse to grant my request.”

She did not reply, and he bent down and softly stroked the
hair that was damp with dew and sea-fog.

The long-pent storm broke in convulsive sobs, and she trembled
from head to foot, while tears poured over her burning
cheeks.

“Poor child! Can you not confide in me?”

“Dr. Grey, will you forget all that has passed to-day? Will
you try never to think of it again?”

“On condition that you never repeat the offence.”

“You do not despise me?”

“No.”

“You pity me?”

“I pity any human being who is so unfortunate as to possess
your wilful, perverse, passionate disposition. Unless you overcome
this dangerous tendency of character, you may expect only
wretchedness and humiliation in coming years. I am sincerely
sorry for you, but I tell you unhesitatingly, that I find it difficult
to tolerate your grave and obtrusive faults.”

She raised her clasped hands, and said, brokenly, —

“This is the last time I shall ever ask you to forgive me
Will you?”

“As freely and fully as a grieved brother ever forgave a wayward
sister.”

He took the folded hands, lifted her from the grass, and led
her to a side door opening upon the east gallery.

“Dr. Grey, give me one kind word before I go.”

The lamp-light from the hall shone full on his pale face, which
was sterner than she had ever seen it, as he forcibly withdrew
his hands from her tight clasp, and, putting her away from him,
said, very coldly, —

“I exhausted my store of kind thoughts and words when I
called you my sister.”

He saw that she understood him, for she tried to hide her
face, but a spasm passed over it, and she would have fallen had
he not caught her in his arms and carried her up to her own
room.

Stanley was asleep with his head pillowed on his open geography,
but the candle burned beside him, and Dr. Grey placed
Salome on a lounge near the window, and sprinkled her face
with water.

Kneeling by the low couch, he rubbed her hands vigorously
with some cologne he found on her bureau; and, watching her
pale, beautiful features, his heart swelled with compassion, and
his calm eyes grew misty. Consciousness very soon returned,
and when she saw the noble, sorrowful countenance, bent anxiously
over her, she covered her face with her hands and moaned
rather than spoke, —

“I can't endure your pity. Leave me with my self-contempt
and degradation.”

“My little sister, I leave you in God's merciful hands, and
trust you to the guidance of your womanly pride and self-respect.
Good-night. We will not engrave this unfortunate day on our
tablets, but forget its record, save one fact, that for all time it
makes me your brother; and, Salome, —