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MISS MIX.
BY CH--L--TTE BR--NTE.
1. CHAPTER I.
My earliest impressions are of a huge, mis-shapen
rock, against which the hoarse waves beat unceasingly.
On this rock three pelicans are standing in a
defiant attitude. A dark sky lowers in the background,
while two sea-gulls and a gigantic cormorant
eye with extreme disfavor the floating corpse of a
drowned woman in the foreground. A few bracelets,
coral necklaces, and other articles of jewelry,
scattered around loosely, complete this remarkable
picture.
It is one which, in some vague, unconscious way,
symbolizes, to my fancy, the character of a man. I
have never been able to explain exactly why. I
think I must have seen the picture in some illustrated
volume, when a baby, or my mother may have
dreamed it before I was born.
As a child I was not handsome. When I consulted
the triangular bit of looking-glass which I
always carried with me, it showed a pale, sandy and
freckled face, shaded by locks like the color of sea-weed
when the sun strikes it in deep water. My
eyes were said to be indistinctive; they were a faint,
ashen gray; but above them rose—my only beauty
—a high, massive, domelike forehead, with polished
temples, like door-knobs of the purest porcelain.
Our family was a family of governesses. My
mother had been one, and my sisters had the same
occupation. Consequently, when at the age of thirteen,
my eldest sister handed me the advertisement
of Mr. Rawjester, clipped from that day's Times, I
accepted it as my destiny. Nevertheless, a mysterious
presentiment of an indefinite future haunted me
in my dreams that night, as I lay upon my little
snow-white bed. The next morning, with two band-boxes
tied up in silk handkerchiefs, and a hair trunk,
I turned my back upon Minerva Cottage forever.
2. CHAPTER II.
Blunderbore Hall, the seat of James Rawjester,
Esq., was encompassed by dark pines and funereal
hemlocks on all sides. The wind sang weirdly in
the turrets and moaned through the long-drawn
avenues of the park. As I approached the house I
saw several mysterious flgures flit before the windows,
at the bell. While I strove to repress my
gloomy forebodings, the housekeeper, a timid, scared
looking old woman, showed me into the library.
I entered, overcome with conflicting emotions. I
was dressed in a narrow gown of dark serge, trimmed
with black bugles. A thick green shawl was pinned
across my breast. My hands were encased with black
half-mittens worked with steel beads; on my feet
were large pattens, originally the property of my deceased
grandmother. I carried a blue cotton umbrella.
As I passed before a mirror, I could not help
glancing at it, nor could I disguise from myself the
fact that I was not handsome.
Drawing a chair into a recess, I sat down with
folded hands, calmly awaiting the arrival of my master.
Once or twice a fearful yell rang through the
house, or the rattling of chains, and curses uttered in
a deep, manly voice, broke upon the oppressive stillness.
I began to feel my soul rising with the emergency
of the moment.
“You look alarmed, miss. You don't hear anything,
my dear, do you?” asked the housekeeper
nervously.
“Nothing whatever,” I remarked calmly, as a terrific
scream, followed by the dragging of chairs and
tables in the room above, drowned for a moment my
reply. “It is the silence, on the contrary, which
has made me foolishly nervous.”
The housekeeper looked at me approvingly, and
instantly made some tea for me.
I drank seven cups; as I was beginning the eighth,
I heard a crash, and the next moment a man leaped
into the room through the broken window.
3. CHAPTER III.
The crash startled me from my self-control. The
housekeeper bent toward me and whispered:
“Don't be excited. It's Mr. Rawjester—he prefers
to come in sometimes in this way. It's his
playfulness, ha! ha! ha!”
“I perceive,” I said calmly. “It's the unfettered
impulse of a lofty soul breaking the tyrannizing
bonds of custom,” and I turned toward him.
He had never once looked at me. He stood with
his back to the fire, which set off the herculean
breadth of his shoulders. His face was dark and expressive;
his under jaw squarely formed, and remarkably
heavy. I was struck with his remarkable
likeness to a Gorilla.
As he absently tied the poker into hard knots with
his nervous fingers, I watched him with some interest.
Suddenly he turned toward me:
“Do you think I'm handsome, young woman?”
“Not classically beautiful,” I returned calmly;
“but you have, if I may so express myself, an abstract
manliness—a sincere and wholesome barbarity which,
involving as it does the naturalness”—but I stopped,
for he yawned at that moment—an action which singularly
developed the immense breadth of his lower
turned to the housekeeper:
“Leave us.”
The old woman withdrew with a courtesy.
Mr. Rawjester deliberately turned his back upon
me and remained silent for twenty minutes. I drew
my shawl the more closely around my shoulders and
closed my eyes.
“You are the governess?” at length he said.
“I am, sir.”
“A creature who teaches geography, arithmetic,
and the use of the globes—ha!—a wretched remnant
of femininity—a skimp pattern of girlhood with a
premature flavor of tealeaves and morality. Ugh!”
I bowed my head silently.
“Listen to me, girl!” he said sternly; “this child
you have come to teach—my ward—is not legitimate.
She is the offspring of my mistress—a common harlot.
Ah! Miss Mix, what do you think of me
now?”
“I admire,” I replied calmly, “your sincerity. A
mawkish regard for delicacy might have kept this
disclosure to yourself. I only recognize in your
frankness that perfect community of thought and
sentiment which should exist between original natures.”
I looked up; he had already forgotten my presence,
and was engaged in pulling off his boots and
coat. This done, he sank down in an arm-chair before
the fire, and ran the poker wearily through his
hair. I could not help pitying him.
The wind howled dismally without, and the rain
beat furiously against the windows. I crept toward
him and seated myself on a low stool beside his
chair.
Presently he turned, without seeing me, and placed
his foot absently in my lap. I affected not to notice
it. But he started and looked down.
“You here yet—Carrothead? Ah, I forgot. Do
you speak French?”
“Oui, Monsieur.”
“Taisez-vous!” he said sharply, with singular
purity of accent. I complied. The wind moaned
fearfully in the chimney, and the light burned dim.
I shuddered in spite of myself. “Ah, you tremble,
girl!”
“It is a fearful night.”
“Fearful! Call you this fearful, ha! ha! ha!
Look! you wretched little atom, look!” and he
dashed forward, and, leaping out of the window,
stood like a statue in the pelting storm, with folded
arms. He did not stay long, but in a few minutes
returned by way of the hall chimney. I saw from
the way that he wiped his feet on my dress that he
had again forgotten my presence.
“You are a governess. What can you teach?” he
asked, suddenly and fiercely thrusting his face in
mine.
“Manners!” I replied calmly.
“Ha! teach me!”
“You mistake yourself,” I said, adjusting my mittens.
“Your manners reuqire not the artificial restraint
MISS MIX saves the life of Mr. RAWJESTER. (After BRONTE.) See
page 75.
[Description: 566EAF. Illustration Page. Image of wild-haired beast in bed and a woman in a nightgown. The bed curtains are smoking and the woman holds a water pitcher in her hand.]
impetuosity and ferociousness is simply the sincerity
which is the basis of a proper deportment. Your instincts
are moral; your better nature, I see, is religious.
As St. Paul justly remarks—see chap. 6, 8, 9 and
10—”
He seized a heavy candlestick, and threw it at me.
I dodged it submissively but firmly.
“Excuse me,” he remarked, as his under jaw slowly
relaxed. “Excuse me, Miss Mix—but I can't
stand St. Paul! Enough—you are engaged.”
4. CHAPTER IV.
I followed the housekeeper as she led the way
timidly to my room. As we passed into a dark hall
in the wing, I noticed that it was closed by an iron
gate with a grating. Three of the doors on the corridor
were likewise grated. A strange noise, as of
shuffling feet, and the howling of infuriated animals
rang through the hall. Bidding the housekeeper
good night, and taking the candle, I entered my bed-chamber.
I took off my dress, and, putting on a yellow flannel
night-gown, which I could not help feeling did
not agree with my complexion, I composed myself to
rest by reading Blair's Rhetoric and Paley's Moral
Philosophy. I had just put out the light, when I
heard voices in the corridor. I listened attentively.
I recognized Mr. Rawjester's stern tones.
“Have you fed No. 1?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” said a gruff voice, apparently belonging
to a domestic.
“How's No. 2?”
“She's a little off her feed, just now, but will pick
up in a day or two!”
“And No. 3?”
“Perfectly furious, sir. Her tantrums are ungovernable.”
“Hush!”
The voices died away, and I sank into a fitful
slumber.
I dreamed that I was wandering through a tropical
forest. Suddenly I saw the figure of a gorilla approaching
me. As it neared me, I recognized the features
of Mr. Rawjester. He held his hand to his side as if
in pain. I saw that he had been wounded. He recognized
me and called me by name, but at the same
moment the vision changed to an Ashantee village,
where, around the fire, a group of negroes were dancing
and participating in some wild Obi festival. I
awoke with the strain still surging in my ears.
Hokee-pokee wokee fum!”
Good Heavens! could I be dreaming? I heard
the voice distinctly on the floor below, and smelt
something burning. I arose, with an indistinct presentiment
of evil, and hastily putting some cotton in
my ears and tying a towel about my head, I wrapped
myself in a shawl and rushed down stairs. The door
of Mr. Rawjester's room was open. I entered.
Mr. Rawjester lay apparently in a deep slumber,
from the burning curtains of his bed could not rouse
him. Around the room a large and powerful negress,
scantily attired, with her head adorned with
feathers, was dancing wildly, accompanying herself
with bone castanets. It looked like some terrible
fetich.
I did not lose my calmness. After firmly emptying
the pitcher, basin and slop-jar on the burning
bed, I proceeded cautiously to the garden, and, returning
with the garden-engine, I directed a small
stream at Mr. Rawjester.
At my entrance the gigantic negress fled. Mr.
Rawjester yawned and woke. I explained to him, as
he rose dripping from the bed, the reason of my
presence. He did not seem to be excited, alarmed
or discomposed. He gazed at me curiously.
“So you risked your life to save mine, eh? you
canary-colored teacher of infants?”
I blushed modestly, and drew my shawl tightly
over my yellow flannel night-gown.
“You love me, Mary Jane—don't deny it! This
trembling shows it!” He drew me closely toward
him, and said, with his deep voice tenderly modulated:
“How's her pooty tootens—did she get her 'ittle
tootens wet—bess her?”
I understood his allusion to my feet. I glanced
down and saw that in my hurry I had put on a pair
of his old India-rubbers. My feet were not small or
pretty, and the addition did not add to their beauty.
“Let me go, sir,” I remarked quietly. “This is
all improper; it sets a bad example for your child;”
and I firmly but gently extricated myself from his
grasp. I approached the door. He seemed for a
moment buried in deep thought.
“You say this was a negress?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Humph, No. 1, I suppose?”
“Who is Number One, sir?”
“My first,” he remarked, with a significant and
sarcastic smile. Then, relapsing into his old manner,
he threw his boots at my head, and bade me begone.
I withdrew calmly.
5. CHAPTER V.
My pupil was a bright little girl, who spoke
French with a perfect accent. Her mother had been
a French ballet-dancer, which probably accounted for
it. Although she was only six years old, it was easy
to perceive that she had been several times in love.
She once said to me:
“Miss Mix, did you ever have the grande passion?
Did you ever feel a fluttering here?” and she placed
her hand upon her small chest, and sighed quaintly,
“a kind of distaste for bonbons and caromels, when
the world seemed as tasteless and hollow as a broken
cordial drop.”
“Then you have felt it, Nina?” I said quietly.
“O dear, yes. There was Buttons—that was our
page, you know—I loved him dearly, but papa sent
laughed at me, and I suffered misery!” and she
struck a tragic French attitude. “There is to be
company here to-morrow,” she added, rattling on
with childish naïveté, “and papa's sweetheart—
Blanche Marabout—is to be here. You know they
say she is to be my mamma.”
What thrill was this shot through me? But I
rose calmly, and administering a slight correction to
the child, left the apartment.
Blunderbore House, for the next week, was the
scene of gaiety and merriment. That portion of the
mansion closed with a grating was walled up, and
the midnight shrieks no longer troubled me.
But I felt more keenly the degradation of my situation.
I was obliged to help Lady Blanche at her
toilette and help her to look beautiful. For what?
To captivate him? Oh—no, no—but why this sudden
thrill and faintness? Did he really love her?
I had seen him pinch and swear at her. But I reflected
that he had thrown a candlestick at my head,
and my foolish heart was reassured.
It was a night of festivity, when a sudden message
obliged Mr. Rawjester to leave his guests for a few
hours. “Make yourselves merry, idiots,” he added,
under his breath, as he passed me. The door closed
and he was gone.
An half hour passed. In the midst of the dancing
a shriek was heard, and out of the swaying
crowd of fainting women and excited men, a wild
figure strode into the room. One glance showed it
in each hand.
“Let no one pass out of this room!” he said, in a
voice of thunder. “The house is surrounded and
you cannot escape. The first one who crosses yonder
threshold will be shot like a dog. Gentlemen,
I'll trouble you to approach in single file, and hand
me your purses and watches.”
Finding resistance useless, the order was ungraciously
obeyed.
“Now, ladies, please to pass up your jewelry and
trinkets.”
This order was still more ungraciously complied
with. As Blanche handed to the bandit captain her
bracelet, she endeavored to conceal a diamond necklace,
the gift of Mr. Rawjester, in her bosom. But,
with a demoniac grin, the powerful brute tore it
from its concealment, and administering a hearty
box on the ear of the young girl, flung her aside.
It was now my turn. With a beating heart, I
made my way to the robber chieftain, and sank at
his feet. “Oh, sir, I am nothing but a poor governess,
pray let me go.”
“Oh, ho! A governess? Give me your last
month's wages, then. Give me what you have stolen
from your master!” and he laughed fiendishly.
I gazed at him quietly, and said, in a low voice,
“I have stolen nothing from you, Mr. Rawjester!”
“Ah, discovered! Hush! listen, girl!” he hissed,
in a fiercer whisper, “utter a syllable to frustrate my
plans and you die—aid me, and—” but he was gone.
In a few moments the party, with the exception of
myself, were gagged and locked in the cellar. The
next moment torches were applied to the rich hangings,
and the house was in flames. I felt a strong
hand seize me, and bear me out in the open air and
place me upon the hillside, where I could overlook
the burning mansion. It was Mr. Rawjester.
“Burn!” he said, as he shook his fist at the flames.
Then sinking on his knees before me, he said hurriedly:
“Mary Jane, I love you; the obstacles to our
union are or will be soon removed. In yonder mansion
were confined my three crazy wives. One of
them, as you know, attempted to kill me! Ha! this
is vengeance! But will you be mine?”
I fell, without a word, upon his neck.
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