University of Virginia Library

35. CHAPTER XXXV.

SINCE that October day when Ulpian Grey sat on the
steps of the tomb, holding in his arms the beautiful
white form, whom in life God had denied him the
privilege of touching, six months had drifted slowly; yet time
had not softened the blow, that, while almost crushing his
tender, unselfish heart, had no power to shake the faith which
was so securely anchored in Christ.

Among the papers found in Mrs. Carlyle's desk was one containing
the request that Dr. Grey would superintend the erection
of a handsome monument over the remains of her husband,
whenever and wherever he chanced to die; and her will provided
that her fortune should be appropriated as the nucleus of
a relief fund for indigent painters.

Her own pictures, to which she had carefully affixed in delicate
violet ciphers the name “Agla,” she directed placed on
exhibition in a New-York gallery, and ultimately sold for the
benefit of the orphans of artists. To Robert she bequeathed a
sum sufficient to maintain him in ease and comfort; and to Dr.
Grey her escritoire, piano, books, and the sapphire ring she had
always worn.

The latter was found in the silver casket, and had been folded
in a sheet of paper containing these words, —

“According to the teachings of the Buddhists, `the sapphire
produces equanimity and peace of mind, as well as affording
protection against envy and treachery. It produces also prayer
and reconciliation with the Godhead, and brings more peace
than any other gem of necromancy; but he who would wear it
must lead a pure and holy life.' Finding my sapphire asp
mockingly inefficacious in its traditional talismanic powers, I
conclude that my melancholy career has been a violation of
the stipulated condition, and therefore bequeath it to the only
human being whom I deem worthy to wear it with any hope of
success.”

While awaiting orders from the naval department, Dr. Grey
purchased “Solitude,” whither he removed, with Muriel and
Miss Dexter, and temporarily established himself, until the
arrival of Mr. Granville.

Immediately after her return from Europe, Salome invested a
portion of Mr. Minge's legacy in the site of the old mill that
had fallen to ruin. Here she built a small but tasteful cottage
orné on the spot where her father had died, and here, with Jessie
and Stanley, she proposed to spend her winters; while Mark
and Joel were placed at the “Grassmere Farm,” a mile distant,
and entrusted with its management until the younger children
should attain their majority.

Too proud to accept the home which Dr. Grey had tendered
her, Salome was earnestly endeavoring to imitate the noble
example of self-abnegation that lifted him so far above all others
whom she had ever known; and the most precious hope of her
life was' to reach that exalted excellence which alone could
compel his admiration and respect.

From the day of Mrs. Carlyle's death, the orphan had been a
comparatively happy woman, for jealousy could not invade or
desecrate the grave and its harmless sleeper; and Salome fervently
thanked God, that, since she was denied the blessing of
Dr. Grey's love, at least she had been spared the torture of seeing
him the fond husband of another.

Time had deepened, but refined, purified, and consecrated
her unconquerable affection for the only man who had ever
commanded her reverence, and whose quiet influence had so
happily remoulded her wayward, fiery nature.

There were seasons when the old element of innate perversity
re-asserted itself, but the steady reproving gaze of his clear, true
eyes, or the warning touch of his hand on her head, had sufficed
to still the rising storm.

Conscientiously the passionate, exacting woman was striving
to bring her heart and life into subjection to the law, — into
conformity with the precepts of Christ; and though she was impulsive,
proud Salome still, — the glaring blemishes in her character
were gradually disappearing.

One bright balmy spring morning previous to the day appointed
for Muriel's marriage, and for her guardian's departure
for the fleet in Asiatic waters, where he had been assigned to
duty, Dr. Grey drove up the avenue of elms and maples that
led to Salome's pretty villa; and as he ascended the steps, Jessie
sprang into his arms, and almost smothered him with caresses.

“Oh, doctor! something so wonderful has happened, — you
never could guess, and I am as happy as a bee in a woodbine.
Sister will tell you.”

“Where is she?”

“In the parlor, waiting for you.”

The child ran off to join Stanley, who was trying a new pony
in the yard, and Dr. Grey went into the cool fragrant room,
which was fitted up with more taste than in earlier years he
would have ascribed to its owner.

Salome sat before the open piano, and at his entrance raised
her face, which had been bowed almost to the ivory keys.

“Good morning, Dr. Grey. I am glad you have come to rejoice
with me, and I was just thanking God for the unexpected
restoration of my voice. Once when it seemed so necessary to
me, He suddenly took it from me; and now, when it is a mere
luxury to own it, He as unexpectedly gives it to me once more.
Verily, — strange as it may appear, my voice is really better
than when Professor V— pronounced it the first contralto in
Europe.”

She had risen to greet him, and as he retained her hand in
his, she stood close to him, looking earnestly into his face.

There were tears hanging like tremulous dewdrops on the
long jet under-lashes, — and the bright red in her polished
cheeks, and the crimson curves of her parted lips made a picture
pleasant to contemplate.

“My dear child, I do indeed cordially congratulate you. God
saw that your voice might possibly prove a snare and a curse,
by ministering to false pride and exaggerated vanity, and in
mercy and wisdom He temporarily deprived you of an instrument
that threatened you with danger. Now that you are
stronger, more prudent, and patient, He trusts you again with

one of the choicest blessings that can be conferred on a woman.
You have deserved to recover it, and I joyfully unite my thanks
with yours. Let me hear your voice once more.”

Trembling with excess of happiness, she sat down and sang
feelingly, eloquently, her favorite “O mon Fernand;” and,
as he listened, Dr. Grey looked almost wonderingly at the
beautiful flashing face, that had never seemed half so radiant
before. There was marvellous witchery in her rich round flexible
tones, that wound into the holy-of-holies of the man's great
heart, and elevated his thoughts above the dross and dust of
earth.

When she ended, he placed his soft palm tenderly on her
head, and smoothed the glossy hair.

“I thank you inexpressibly. Sometimes when sad memories
oppress me, how I shall long to have you charm them away by
that magical spell that bears my thoughts from this world to the
next. There are some songs which you must learn for my
sake.”

Ah! at that moment, as she stood there robed in a soft stainless
white muslin, with a cluster of double pomegranate flowers
glowing in her silky hair, the girl was very lovely, very attractive,
so full of youthful grace, so winning in her beautiful
enthusiasm, — yet Ulpian Grey's heart did not wander for an
instant from one who slept dreamlessly under the sculptured
urn on the marble altar of the mausoleum.

“Dr. Grey, if my voice can chase away one vexing thought,
one wearying care or melancholy memory, I shall feel that I
have additional reason to thank God for the precious gift.”

“I have not seen you look so happy for three years. Indeed,
my little sister, you have much for which to be grateful, and in
the midst of your blessings try to recollect those grand words of

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, `The soul is a God in exile.'
My child, look to it that your expatriation ends with the shores
of time, for —

For some seconds Salome did not speak, for the shadow on
his countenance fell upon her heart, and looking reverently up
at him, she thought of Richter's mournful dictum, — “Great
souls attract sorrows, as mountains tempests.”

“Dr. Grey, want of patience is the cause of half my difficulties
and defeats, and plunges me continually into the slough
of distrust and rebellious questioning. I find it so hard to
stand still, and let God do his will, and work in his own way.”

“My dear Salome, patience is only practical faith, and the
want of it causes two-thirds of the world's woes. I often find
it necessary to humble my own pride, and tame my restless
spirit by recurring to the last words of Schiller, `Calmer and
calmer! many difficult things are growing plain and clear to me.
Let us be patient.' Child, sing me one song more, and then
come out and show me where you propose to place those grape
arbors we spoke of yesterday. This is the last opportunity I
shall have to direct your workmen.'

An hour later Salome fastened a sprig of Grand Duke jasmine
in the button-hole of his coat, — shook hands with him for
the day, and though she smiled in recognition of his final bow
as he drove down the avenue, her thoughts were busy with the
dreaded separation that awaited her on the morrow, and, while
her lips were mute, the cry of her heart was, —

Dr. Grey spent the remainder of the day in visiting his patients,
and as he rode from cottage to hovel, bidding adieu to
those whose lives had so often been committed to his professional
guardianship, he was received with tearful eyes, and trembling
hands; and numerous benedictions were invoked upon his head.

Silver threads were beginning to weave an aureola in his
chestnut hair, and the smooth white forehead showed incipient
furrows, but the deep blue eyes were as tranquil and trusting as
of yore, and full of tenderer light for the few he loved, for
all in suffering and bereavement.

With a sublime and increasing faith in the overruling wisdom
and mercy of God, he patiently and hopefully bore his loneliness
and grievous loss, — comforting himself with the assurance
that, “the evening of life brings with it its lamp;” and looking
eagle-eyed across the storm-drenched plain of the present to
the gleaming jasper walls of the Eternal Beyond.