 | CHAPTER XXIX. Vashti, or, "Until death us do part" |  |
29. CHAPTER XXIX.
“MURIEL, where can I find Miss Dexter?”
“She went out on the lawn an hour ago, to regale
herself with what she calls, `atmospheric hippocrene,'
and I have not heard her come in, though she may
have gone to her room. Pray tell me, doctor, why you wish
to see my governess? — to inquire concerning my numerous
peccadilloes?”
Muriel adroitly folded her embroidered silk apron over a
package of letters that lay in her lap, and affected an air of
gayety at variance with her dim eyes and wet lashes.
“I shall believe that conscience accuses you of many juvenile
improprieties, since you so suspiciously attack my motives
and intentions. Indeed, little one, you flatter yourself unduly,
in imagining that my interview with Miss Dexter necessarily
involves the discussion of her pupil. I merely wish to enlist
would have been much more gratified if I had found you walking
with her, instead of moping here alone.”
“I am not moping.”
The girl bit her full red lip, and strove to force back the
rapidly gathering tears.
“At least you are not cheerful, and it pains me to see that
anxious, dissatisfied expression on a face that should reflect
only sunshine. What disturbs you? — the scarcity of Gerard's
letters?”
Dr. Grey sat down beside his ward, and throwing her arms
around his neck, she burst into a passionate flood of tears. The
sudden movement uncovered the letters, which slipped down
and strewed the carpet.
“Oh, doctor! I am very miserable!”
“Why, my dear child?”
“Because Gerard does not love me as formerly.”
“What reason have you for doubting his affection?”
“He scarcely writes to me once a month, and then his letters
are short and cold as icicles, and full of court gossip and fashion
items, for which he knows I do not care a straw. Yesterday I
received one, — the first I have had for three weeks, — and he
requests me to defer our marriage at least six months longer,
as he can not possibly come over in May, the time appointed
when he was here.”
She hid her face on her guardian's shoulder, and sobbed.
An expression of painful surprise and stern displeasure
clouded Dr. Grey's countenance, as he smoothed the hair away
from the girl's throbbing temples.
“Calm yourself, Muriel. If Gerard has forfeited your confidence,
he is unworthy of your tears. Do you apprehend that
his indifference is merely the result of separation, or have you
any cause to attribute it to interest in some other person?”
“That is a question I can not answer.”
“Can not, or will not?”
“I know nothing positively; but I fear something, which
perhaps I ought not to mention.”
“Throw aside all hesitancy, and talk freely to me. If Granville
is either fickle or dishonorable, you should rejoice that the
discovery has been made in time to save you from life-long
wretchedness.”
“If we were only married, I am sure I could win him back
to me.”
“That is a fatal fallacy, that has wrecked the happiness of
many women. If a lover grows indifferent, as a husband he
will be cold, unkind, unendurable. If as a devoted fiancée
you can not retain and strengthen his affection, — as a wife
you would weary and repel him. Have you answered the last
letter?”
“No, sir.”
“My dear child, do you not consider me your best friend?”
“Certainly I do.”
“Then yield to my guidance, and follow my advice. Lose no
time in writing to Mr. Granville, and cancel your engagement.
Tell him he is free.”
“Oh, then I should lose him, — and happiness, forever!”
wailed Muriel, clasping her hands almost despairingly.
“You have already lost his heart, and should be unwilling to
retain him in fetters that must be galling.”
“Ah, Dr. Grey! it is very easy for you who never loved any
one, to tell me, in that cold, business-like way, that I ought to
set Gerard free; but you can not realize what it costs to follow
your counsel. Of course I know that in everything else you
are much wiser than I, but persons who have no love affairs of
their own are not the best judges of other people's. He is so
dear to me, I believe it would kill me to give him up, and
see him no more.”
“On the contrary, you would survive much greater misfortune
than separation from a man who is unworthy of you. I
can not coerce, but simply counsel you in this matter, and
should be glad to learn what your own decision is. Do you
intend to wait until Gerard Granville explicitly requests you
to release him from his engagement?”
She winced, and the tears gushed anew.
“Oh, you are cruel! You are heartless!”
“No, my dear Muriel; I am actuated by the truest affection
for my little ward, and desire to snatch her from future humiliation.
My knowledge of human nature is more extended, more
profound than yours, but since you seem unwilling to avail
yourself of my experience, it only remains for you to acquaint
me with your determination. Are you willing to tell me the
nature of your answer?”
“I intend to accede to Gerard's wish, and will defer the marriage
until November; but in the meantime, I shall endeavor
to win back his heart, which I believe has been artfully enticed
from me.”
“By whom?”
She made no reply, and lifting her head from his shoulder,
Dr. Grey looked keenly into her face, and repeated his question.
“Do not urge me to express suspicions that may possibly be
unjust.”
“That are entirely unjust, you may rest assured,” said he,
almost vehemently.
“By what means did you so positively ascertain that fact?”
“The result will prove. Now, my dear child, you must acquit
me of heartlessness and cruelty when I tell you, that, under
existing circumstances, I can not and will not consent to the
solemnization of your marriage until you are of age. Once the
conviction that an earlier consummation of your engagement
was essential to the happiness of both parties, overruled the
dictates of my judgment, and induced me to acquiesce in your
wishes; but subsequent events have illustrated the wisdom of
my former opposition, and now I am resolved that no argument
or persuasion shall prevail upon me to sanction or permit your
marriage until you are twenty-one.”
With a sharp cry of chagrin and amazement, Muriel sprang
to her feet.
“You surely do not mean to keep me in this torture, for
nearly three years? I will not submit to such tyranny, even
from Dr. Grey.”
“As a faithful guardian, I can see no alternative, and fear of
of a stern duty to the child of my best and dearest friend.
I must and will do what your father certainly would, were he
alive. My dear Muriel, control yourself, and do not, by harsh
epithets and unjust accusations, wound the heart that sincerely
loves you. To-day, as your guardian, I hearken to the imperative
dictates of my conscience, and turn a deaf ear to the pleadings
of my tender affection, which would save you from even
momentary sorrow and disappointment. Since my decision is
irrevocable, do not render the execution of my purpose more
painful than necessity demands.”
Seizing his hand, Muriel pressed it against her flushed cheek,
and pleaded falteringly,—
“Do not doom your poor little Muriel to such misery. Oh,
Dr. Grey! dear Dr. Grey, remember you promised my dying
father to take his place, — and he would never inflict such suffering
on his child. You have forgotten your promise!”
“No, dear child. It is because I hold it so sacred that I can
not yield to your entreaties; and I must faithfully adhere to
my obligations, even though I forfeit your affection. I shall
write to Mr. Granville by the next mail, and it is my wish that
henceforth the subject should not be referred to. Cheer up, my
child; three years will soon glide away, and at the expiration
of that time you will thank me for the firmness which you now
denounce as cruelty. Good-morning. Be sure to think kindly
of your guardian, whose heart is quite as sad as your own.”
She struggled and resisted, but he kissed her lightly on the
forehead, and as he left the room heard her bitter invectives
against his tyranny and hard-heartedness.
Crossing the elm-studded lawn, he approached a secluded
walk, bordered with lilacs and myrtle, and saw the figure of the
governess pacing to and fro.
During the four months that had elapsed since his last visit
to “Solitude,” he scrutinized and studied her character more
closely than formerly, and the investigation only heightened
and intensified his esteem.
No hint of her history had ever passed the calm, patient lips,
pale, melancholy face, which bore traces of extraordinary beauty,
he exonerated her from all blame in the ruinous deception that
had blasted more lives than one; and honored the silent heroism
which so securely locked her disappointment in her own
heart. He knew that consumption was the hereditary scourge
of her family, that she bore in her constitution the seeds of
slowly but surely developing disease, and did not marvel at the
quiet indifference with which she treated symptoms which he
had several times pointed out as serious and dangerous.
To-day her manner was excited, and her step betrayed very
unusual impatience.
“Miss Dexter, from the frequency of your cough I am afraid
you are imprudent in selecting this walk, which is so densely
shaded that the sun does not reach it until nearly noon. Are
not your feet damp?”
“No, sir; my shoes are thick, and thoroughly protect them.”
She paused before him, and, in her soft, brown eyes, he saw
a strange, unwonted restlessness, — an eager expectancy that
surprised and disturbed him.
“Are you at leisure this morning?”
“Do you need my services immediately?”
She answered evasively; and he noticed that she glanced
anxiously toward the road leading into town.
“You will greatly oblige me, if some time during the day,
you will be so good as to superintend the preparation of some
calves'-feet jelly, for one of my poor patients. I would not
trouble you, but Rachel is quite sick, and the new cook does
not understand the process. May I depend upon you?”
“Certainly, sir; it will afford me pleasure to prepare the
jelly.”
Looking more closely at her face, he saw undeniable traces of
recent tears, and drew her arm through his.
“I hope you will not deem me impertinently curious if I beg
you to honor me with your confidence, and explain the anxiety
which is evidently preying upon your mind.”
Embarrassment flushed her transparent cheek, and her shy
eyes glanced up uneasily.
“At least, Miss Dexter, permit me to ask whether Muriel is
connected with the cause of your disquiet?”
“My pupil is, I fear, very unhappy; but she withholds much
from me since she learned my disapproval of her approaching
marriage.”
“Will you acquaint me with your objections to Mr. Granville?”
Against Mr. Granville, the gentleman, I have nothing to
urge; but I could not consent to see Muriel wed a man, who, I
am convinced, has no affection for her.”
“Have you told her this?”
“Repeatedly; and, of course, my frankness has offended and
alienated her. Oh, Dr. Grey! the child totters on the brink
of a flower-veiled precipice, and will heed no warning. Perhaps
I should libel Mr. Granville were I to impute mercenary
motives to him, — perhaps he fancied he loved Muriel when he
addressed her, — I hope so, for the honor of manhood; but the
glamour was brief, and certainly he must be aware that he has
not proper affection for her now.”
“And yet, she is very lovable and winning.”
“Yes, — to you and to me; but her good qualities are not
those which gentlemen find most attractive. What is Christian
purity and noble generosity of soul, in comparison with physical
perfection? Muriel often reminds me of one whom I loved
devotedly, whose unselfish and unsuspicious nature wrought
the ruin of her happiness; and from her miserable fate I would
fain save my pupil.”
He knew from the tremor of her lips and hands, and the
momentary contraction of her fair brow, to whom she alluded;
and both sighed audibly.
“My convictions coincide so entirely with yours, that I have
had an interview with my ward, and withdrawn my consent to
her marriage until she is of age.”
“Thank God! In the interim she may grow wiser, or some
fortuitous occurrence may avert the danger we dread.”
In the brief silence that ensued, the governess seemed debating
the expediency of making some revelation; and, encountering
one of her perplexed and scrutinizing glances, the doctor smiled
and said, gravely, —
“I believe I understand your hesitancy; but I assure you I
should never forfeit any trust you might repose in me. You
have some cause of serious annoyance, entirely irrespective of
my ward, and I may be instrumental in removing it.”
“Thank you, Dr. Grey. For some days I have been canvassing
the propriety of asking your advice and assistance; and
my reluctance arose not from want of confidence in you, but
from dread of the pain it would necessarily inflict upon me,
to recur to events long buried. It is not essential, however,
that I should weary you with the minutiæ of circumstances
which many years ago smothered the sunshine in my life, and
left me in darkness, a lonely and joyless woman. I have
resided here long enough to learn the noble generosity of your
character, and to you, as a true Christian gentleman, I come for
aid, — premising only that what I am about to say is strictly
confidential.”
“As such, I shall ever regard it; but if I am to become your
coadjutor in any matter, let me request that nothing be kept
secret, for only entire frankness should exist between those who
have a common aim.”
A painful flush tinged her cheek, and the fair, thin face, grew
indescribably mournful, as she clasped her hands firmly over
his arm.
“Dr. Grey, when unscrupulous men or women deliberately
stab the happiness of a fellow-creature, they have no wounded
sensibilities, no haunting compunction, — and if remorse finally
overtakes, it finds them well-nigh callous and indurated; but
woe to that innocent being who is the unintentional and
unconscious agent for the ruin of those she loves. I can not
remember the time when I did not love the only man for whom
I ever entertained any affection. He was the playmate of my
earliest years, — the betrothed of my young maidenhood, — and
just before my poor father died, he joined our hands and left
union, but I took a situation as teacher, and hoarded my small
gains in the hope of aiding my lover, who went abroad with
a wealthy uncle, and completed his education in Germany. I
knew that Maurice had contracted very extravagant and self-indulgent
habits, — but in the court of love is there any `high
crime' or misdemeanor for which a woman's heart will condemn
her idol? Nay, nay; she will plead his defence against the
stern evidence of her own incorruptible reason; and, if need
be, share his punishment, — die in his stead. I denied myself
every luxury, and jealously husbanded my small salary, anticipating
the happy hour when we might invest it in furniture for
our little home; and, indeed, in those blessed days of hope, it
seemed no hardship, —
`And joy was duty, and love was law.'
knew I was beloved, and so I waited patiently, until fortune
should smile upon me. In the interim I became warmly
attached to a young girl in the school where I taught, and
whose affection for me was enthusiastic and ardent. Evelyn
was an orphan, and the heiress of enormous wealth, which
she seemed resolved to share with me; and, more than once, I
was tempted to acquaint her with the obstacle that debarred
me from happiness. Ah! if I had only confided in her, and
trusted her faithful love, how much wretchedness would have
been averted! But she appeared to me such an impulsive
child that I shrank from unburdening my heart to her, while
she acquainted me with every thought and aim of her pure,
guileless life. She was singularly, almost idolatrously fond of
me, and I loved her very sincerely, for her character was
certainly the most admirable I have ever met.
“At vacation we parted for three months, and I hurried to
meet my lover, who had promised to join me in Vermont,
where my mother had gone to recruit her failing health. For
the first time Maurice proved recreant, and wrote that imperative
business detained him in New York. Did I doubt him,
letters to show him how patiently I could bear the separation
that might result in pecuniary advantage to him. My mother
looked anxious, and foreboded ill; but I laughed at her misgivings,
and proudly silenced her warning voice. In the midst
of my blissful dream came a lengthy telegraphic dispatch from
my young girl-friend Evelyn, inviting me to hasten to New
York, and accompany her on a bridal tour through Europe.
In a brief and almost incoherent note, subsequently received,
she accidentally omitted the name of her future husband, and
designated him as `my prince,' `my king,' `my liege lover.'
The same mail brought me a long and exceedingly tender letter
from my own betrothed, informing me that at the expiration
of ten days he would certainly be with me to arrange for an
immediate consummation of our engagement. A railroad accident
delayed me twenty-four hours, and I did not reach New
York until the morning of the day on which my friend was
married. The ceremony took place at ten o'clock, and when I
arrived, Evelyn was already in the hands of the hair-dresser.
I was hurried into the room prepared for me, and while waiting
for my trunk, noticed a basket containing some of the wedding
cards. I picked up one, and you can perhaps imagine my
emotions, when I saw that my own lover was the betrothed of
my friend. Dr. Grey, eight miserable years have gone wearily
over my head since then, but now, in the dead of night, if I
shut my eyes, I see staring at me, like the rayless, glazed orbs
of the dead, that silver-edged wedding card, bearing in silver
letters — Maurice Carlyle, Evelyn Flewellyn. Oh, blacker than
ten thousand death-warrants! for all the hopes of a lifetime
went down before it. Every ray of earthly light was extinguished
in a night of woe that can have no dawn, until the
day-star of eternity shimmers on its gloom.”
She shuddered convulsively, and the agonized expression of
her face was so painful to behold that her companion averted
his head.
“I was alone with my misery, and so overwhelming was the
shock that I fainted. When the hair-dresser came to offer her
bitterly, how unavailingly, have I reproached myself for my
failure to hasten to Evelyn, even then, and divulge all. But
with returning consciousness came womanly pride, and I resolved
to hide the anguish for which I knew there was no cure.
As soon as I was dressed, we were summoned down stairs to
meet the remainder of the bridal party, and there I saw the
man whom I expected to call my husband talking gayly with
his attendants.
“Evelyn impetuously presented me as her `dearest friend,'
and, without raising his eyes, he bowed profoundly and turned
away. How I endured all I was called to witness that morning,
I know not; but my strength seemed superhuman. The ceremony
was performed in church, and after our return to the
house, Mr. Carlyle asserted and claimed the right to kiss the
bridesmaids. There were four, and I was the last whom he
approached. I was standing in the shadow of the window-curtain,
which I had clutched for support, and, as he came close to
me, our eyes met for the first time that day, and I can never,
never forget the pleading mournfulness, the passionate tenderness,
the despair, that filled his. I waved him from me, but
he seized my hand, and pressed his hot lips lingeringly to
mine. Then he whispered, `My only love, my own Edith, do
not judge till you hear your wretched Maurice. Meet me in
the hot-house when Evelyn goes to change her dress, and I will
explain this awful, this accursed necessity.' A few moments
later he stood with his bride at the head of the table in the
breakfast-room, while I was placed close to Evelyn, and the
mirror opposite reflected the group. I know now it was sinful,
but, oh! how could I help it? As I looked at the reflection in
the glass, and compared my face with that of the bride, I felt
my poor wicked heart throb with triumph at the thought that
my superior beauty could not soon be forgotten, — that, though
her husband, he was still my lover. Dr. Grey, do not despise
me for my weakness, as I should have despised him for his
perfidy; and remember that a woman can not in a moment
renounce allegiance to a man who is the one love of her life.
made me reckless, and an hour after, when Maurice came up
and offered his arm, inviting me to promenade for a few minutes
in the hot-house, I yielded and accompanied him. He
told me a tale of dishonorable financial transactions, into which
he had been betrayed solely by the hope of obtaining money
that would enable him to hasten our union; but the utter
failure of the scheme threatened him with disgrace, possibly
with imprisonment, and the only mode of preserving his name
from infamy, was to possess himself of Evelyn's large fortune.
Just as he clasped me in his arms, and vehemently declared his
deathless affection for me, — his contempt and hatred of his
poor childish bride, — I heard a strange sound that was neither
a wail nor a laugh, a sound unlike any other that ever smote
my ears, and looking up, I saw Evelyn standing before us.”
Miss Dexter groaned aloud, and covered her eyes with her
hand.
“Oh, my God! help me to shut out that horrible vision! If
I could forget that distorted, deathlike face, with livid lips
writhing away from the gleaming teeth, and desperate, wide
eyes, glaring like globes of flame! She looked twenty years
older, and from her clenched hands, — her beautiful, exquisite
hands, — that were wont to caress me so tenderly, the blood
was dripping down on her lace veil and her white velvet bridal
dress. How much she heard I know not, for I never saw her
again. I swooned in Maurice's arms, and was carried to my
own room; and when I finally groped my way to Evelyn's
apartment, they told me she had been gone two hours, — had
sailed for Europe, leaving her husband in New York. What
passed in her farewell interview with him none but he and her
lawyer knew; but they separated there on condition that his
debts were cancelled. She went abroad with a faithful old
Scotch woman who had been her nurse, and her husband told
the world she was a maniac.”
“Did he tell you so? Did you believe it?” exclaimed Dr.
Grey, with a degree of vehemence that startled the governess.
“I have never seen Maurice Carlyle since that awful hour in
to meet him, and dozens of his letters have been returned unopened.
Once, while I was absent, he obtained an interview
with my mother, and besought her intercession in his behalf,
pleading for my pardon, and assuring her that, as his wife was
hopelessly insane, he would apply for a divorce, and then claim
the hand of the only woman he had ever loved. I dreaded the
effect upon Evelyn, and had no means of ascertaining her real
condition. Soon after, I lost my mother, whose death was
hastened by grief and humiliation; and, when I had laid her
down beside my father, I went in search of Evelyn. Several
times I had attempted to communicate with her, and with Elsie,
the nurse, but my letters always came back unopened, and bearing
the London stamp. Having been informed that she was in an
insane asylum in England, I took the money that had been so
carefully hoarded for a different purpose and went to London.
One by one, I searched all the asylums in the United Kingdom,
and finding no trace of her, came back to America. Finally, on
the death-bed of Mr. Clayton, her lawyer, who understood my
great anxiety to discover her, I was told in strict confidence
that she was perfectly sane, — had never been otherwise, — but
preferred that the false report in circulation should not be corrected,
since her husband had set it in motion. I learned that
she was well and pleasantly located somewhere in the East, but
would never see the faces of either friends or foes, and absolutely
refused all intercourse with her race. From one of her
letters (which, a moment after, he burned in the grate) Mr.
Clayton read me a paragraph: `The greatest mercy you can
show me is to allow me to forget. Henceforth mention no more
the names of any I ever knew; and let silence, like a pall, shroud
all the past of Vashti.' He died next day, and since then —”
The sad, sweet voice, which for some moments had been
growing more and more unsteady, here sank into a sob, and the
governess wept freely, while her whole frame shook with the
violence of long-pent anguish, that now defied control.
“Oh, if I could find her! If I could go to her and tell her
all, and exonerate myself! If I could show her that he was
would not think so harshly of me. I know not what explanation
Maurice gave her, nor how much of our conversation she
overheard; and I can not live contentedly, — oh! I can not die
in peace till I see my poor crushed darling, and hear from her
lips the assurance that she does not hold me responsible for her
wretchedness. Dr. Grey, I love her with a pitying tenderness
that transcends all power of expression. Perhaps if Maurice
had ever loved her, I could not feel as I do towards her; for a
woman's nature tolerates no rival in the affection of her lover,
and, unprincipled as mine proved in other respects, I know that
his heart was always unswervingly my own. My dear, noble
Evelyn! My pure, loving little darling! Ah! I have wearied
heaven with prayers that God would give her back to my
arms.”
Unable to conceal the emotion he was unwilling she should
witness, Dr. Grey disengaged his arm and walked away, striving
to regain his usual composure.
Did the governess suspect the proximity of her long-lost
friend? If she claimed his assistance in prosecuting her search,
what course would duty dictate?
Retracing his steps, he found that she had seated herself on
a bench near one of the tallest lilacs, and having thrown aside
her quilted hood of scarlet silk, her care-worn countenance was
fully exposed.
She was gazing very intently at some object in her hand,
which she bent over and kissed several times, and did not perceive
his approach until he stood beside her.
“Dr. Grey, I believe my prayer has been heard, and that at
last I have discovered a clew to the retreat of my lost Evelyn.
Last week I went to a jewelry store in town, to buy a locket
which I intended as a birthday gift for Muriel. Several customers
had preceded me, and while waiting, my attention was
attracted towards one of the workmen who uttered an impatient
ejaculation and dashed down some article upon which he was
at work. As it fell, I saw that it was an oval ivory miniature,
originally surrounded with very large handsome pearls, the
in a small glass bowl that stood near him. I leaned down to
examine the miniature, and though the paint was blurred and
faded, it was impossible to mistake the likeness, and you cannot
realize the thrill that ran along my nerves as I recognized the
portrait of Evelyn. So great was my astonishment and delight
that I must have cried out, for the people in the store all turned
and stared at me, and when I snatched the piece of ivory from
the work-table, the man looked at me in amazement. Very
incoherently I demanded where and how he obtained it, and,
beckoning to the proprietor, he said, `Just as I told you; this
has turned out stolen property.' Then he opened a drawer and
took from it a similar oval slab of ivory, and when I looked at
it and saw Maurice's handsome face, my brain reeled, and I grew
so dizzy I almost fell. `Madam, do you know these portraits?'
asked the proprietor.
“I told him that I did, — that I had seen these jewelled miniatures
eight years before on the dressing-table of a bride, and I
implored him to tell me how they came into his possession.
He fitted them into a dingy, worn case, which seemed to have
been composed of purple velvet, and informed me that he purchased
the whole from an Irish lad, who asserted that he picked
it up on the beach, where it had evidently drifted in a high
tide. On examination, he found that the case had indeed been
saturated with sea-water, but the pearls were in such a remarkable
state of preservation that he doubted the lad's statement.
He had bought the miniatures in order to secure the pearls,
which he assured me were unusually fine, and to satisfy himself
concerning the affair had advertised two ivory miniatures, and
invited the owners to come forward and prove property. After
the expiration of a week, he discontinued the notice, and finally
ordered the pearls removed from their gold frames. When I
had given him the names of the originals, he consented that I
should take the portraits which were now worthless to him, and
gave me also the name of the boy. It was not until two days
afterward that I succeeded in finding Thomas Donovan, a lad
about fourteen years old, whose mother Phœbe is a laundress,
the object of my visit he seemed much confused, but sullenly
repeated the assertion made to the jeweller. Yesterday I went
again and had a long conversation with his mother, who must
be an honest soul, for she assured me she knew nothing of the
matter, and would investigate it immediately. The boy was
absent, but she promised either to send him here this morning
or come in person, to acquaint me with the result. I offered a
reward if he would confess where he obtained them; and if he
proved obstinate, threatened to have him arrested. Now, Dr.
Grey, you can understand why I have so tediously made a full
revelation of my past, for I wish to enlist your sympathy and
claim your aid in my search for my long-lost friend. These
portraits inadequately represent the fascinating beauty of one
of the originals, and the sweetness and almost angelic purity of
the other.”
She held up the somewhat defaced and faded miniatures for
the inspection of her companion, but scarcely glancing at them,
he said, abstractedly, —
“You are sure they belonged to Mrs. Carlyle?”
“Yes. As she put on her diamonds just before going down
stairs she showed me the portraits in her jewelry casket, where
she had also placed a similar one of myself. Ah! at this instant
I seem to see her beaming face, as she bent down, and
sweeping her veil aside, kissed my picture and Maurice's.”
“Do you imagine that she is in America?”
“No; I fear she is dead, and that these were stolen from the
old nurse. Who is that yonder? Ah, yes, — Phœbe Donovan.
Now I shall hear the truth.”
Forgetting her shawl, and unmindful of the fact that the sun
was streaming full on her head and face, she hurried to meet
the woman who was ascending the avenue, and very soon they
entered the house.
A quarter of an hour elapsed ere Phœbe came out, and walked
rapidly away; and, unwilling to prolong his suspense, Dr. Grey
went in search of the governess.
He met her in the hall, and saw that she was equipped for a
eager expectation, and her lips twitched, as she exclaimed, —
“Oh, doctor, I hope everything; for I learn that the pictures
were found on the lawn at `Solitude,' where Phœbe was once
hired as cook; and she recognized the case as the same she had
one day seen on a writing-desk in the parlor. The boy confessed
that he picked it up from the grass, and, after taking out the
contents, soaked the case in a bucket of salt-water. Phœbe says
the pictures belong to Mrs. Gerome, the gray-headed woman
who owns that place on the beach, and I am almost tempted to
believe she is Elsie, who may have married again. At all
events, I shall soon know where she obtained the portraits.”
“You are not going to `Solitude'?”
“Yes, immediately. I can not rest till I have learned all.
God grant I may not be mocked in my hopes.”
The unwonted excitement had kindled a strange beauty in
the whilom passive face, and Dr. Grey could for the first time
realize how lovely she must have been in the happy days of
eld.
“Miss Dexter, Mrs. Gerome will not receive you. She sees
no visitors, not even ministers of the gospel.”
“She must — she shall — admit me; for I will assure her that
life and death hang upon it.”
“How so?”
“If Evelyn is alive, and I can discover her retreat, I will
urge her to go to her husband, who needs her care. You know
Mrs. Gerome, — she is one of your patients. Come with me,
and prevail upon her to receive me.”
In her eagerness she laid her hand on his arm, and even then
noticed and wondered at the crimson that suddenly leaped into
his olive face.
“Some day I will give you good reasons for refusing your
request, which it is impossible for me to grant. If you are
resolved to hazard the visit, I will take you in my buggy as
far as the gate at `Solitude,' and when you return will confer
with you concerning the result. Just now, I can promise no
more.”
An expression of disappointment clouded her brow.
“I had hoped that you would sympathize with and be more
interested in my great sorrow.”
“Miss Dexter, my interest is more profound, more intense,
than you can imagine, but at this juncture circumstances forbid
its expression. My buggy is at the door.”
| CHAPTER XXIX. Vashti, or, "Until death us do part" | |