University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

More like somnambulism than waking reality was now
the life of Florence Hamilton. No duty was unperformed,
no exertion spared to conduce to the comfort of the now
diminished family circle. No words of repining or regret
were uttered—no tear dimmed the large dark eyes. She
moved and lived as it were mechanically, without the
agency of feeling or sympathy; yet though she obtruded
her grief on none, it was equally true that no gleam of returning
cheerfulness ever lightened the gloom which enveloped
her. A something there was in the hopeless, joyless
expression of her beautiful face, which made the heart
ache; yet none offered sympathy, or strove to console her,
for she seemed unapproachable, with the cold, haughty glance
of other days. Painfully perceptible was the difference between
Christian fortitude and perfect hopelessness—gentle,
humble resignation and despair. There was no peace in
her soul, for her future was shrouded in gloom: she had
no joys in anticipation. The sun of hope had set forever to
her vision, and she lived and bore her grief like one who
had counted the cost, and knew that for a little while longer
she must struggle on; and that oblivion of the past
was dispensed only by the angel of death. She acquiesced
in Mary's plan of opening a small school, and unfalteringly
performed her allotted tasks as assistant teacher. Unexpected

success had crowned their efforts, and fifteen pupils
daily assembled in the room set apart for the purpose.
Mary had feared opposition on the part of the Padre, and
was agreeably surprised at the number of Catholic children
committed to her care.

One morning early in October, having finished her household
duties, she repaired to the schoolroom for the day.
Florence was already at her post, though suffering from
violent nervous headache. Mary seated herself with her
back to the door, and called one of her classes. Arithmetic
it proved; and if the spirits of the departed were ever allowed
to return in vindication of their works, the ghost of
Pythagoras would certainly have disturbed the equanimity
of the “muchachos,” who so obstinately refused the
assistance and co-operation of his rules and tables. In vain
she strove to impress on one that 2 from 8 left 6. Like
the little girl that Wordsworth met, he persisted “it was
seven.” Despairing at last, she remanded the class to their
seats. Anxious to facilitate the progress of her pupils,
Mary spared no pains to make perspicuous what to them
appeared obscure. The little savages could not, or would
not understand that the earth was like a ball, and not
only turned upon its own axis, but made the entire circumference
of the sun. A pair of globes could not be procured,
and she taxed her ingenuity for a substitute. Selecting
two apples, one enormous, the other medium size,
she carefully introduced a reed through the centre of the
smaller apple, thus causing it to revolve on its axis. Calling
up the tyros in geography, she took the smallest, or
“Earth,” as she designated it, and while causing it to perform

the diurnal motion, she carried it slowly round the
larger, or “Sun,” as she termed it: thus illustrating the
combined movements of our globe. Even the dullest could
not fail to comprehend; and well satisfied with the result
of her experiment, she carefuly put her planets by in one
corner of the schoolroom, and proceeded with her questions.
The imperfect recitation finished, Mary glanced across the
room, hoping her cousin's patience was not so tried, and
some brilliant coruscations in that direction fixed her attention.
Florence had dropped her aching head on the
desk in front, shading her eyes with her hand; before her,
in dark array, stood some half dozen small boys just begining
to spell. Each held a book containing illustrations of
various well-known articles and animals, having the name
beneath.

“U-r-n—teapot.” Elliot Carlton, whose seat was near,
gave a suppressed giggle. Florence looked around inquiringly,
then dropt her head again on her hand, bidding the
boy “spell on.”

“S-t-a-g—goat.” Elliot crammed his handkerchief
into his mouth, and Mary smiled.

“W-i-g—Curly head.” Florence was effectually roused
this time, by a shout of laughter from Elliot, in which he
was joined by Mary, and Dr. Bryant, who had just entered,
and was standing in such a position that no one had perceived
him.

“Really, Miss Hamilton, I must congratulate you on the
extraordinary progress your pupils make; I was not aware
that you cultivated their powers of comparison in connection
with the rudiments of orthoepy.”

“To what do you allude, Doctor; I am scarcely conscious
of what passes around me this morning,” said Florence,
wearily pressing her hand across her aching brow.

“I am not surprised that you are somewhat stunned,
though, after all,” he continued, pointing to the picture of a
ringleted pate, “the little fellow was not far wrong, for
this wig is incontestibly a curly head.”

With a faint smile, which passed as quickly as it came,
she dismissed the class with an additional lesson.

“I am sorry to see you suffering so much this morning,”
said Frank, seating himself beside her: “and should certainly
not recommend this schoolroom as an antidote to
nervous attacks. Miss Mary, why do you allow your
cousin to overtax her strength? However, I bring you
good news. We have had an engagement at Gonzales,
and, thank Heaven, are victorious. The brave five hundred
sent to preserve the field-piece there, encountered
double their number of the enemy, and not only saved the
cannon, but scattered the Mexicans in all directions. Our
brave band are marching to Goliad, where they expect to
supply themselves and comrades with ammunition; they
have probably taken the magazine before this, and are returning.”

“Thank Heaven we have triumphed!” cried Mary, fervently
clasping her hands; “but oh! if the tide should turn
this way, what will become of us? The Mexicans are
numerous here, and the Alamo strongly fortified and in
their possession.” She turned her eyes inquiringly on
Frank, and started as she met the earnest, searching expression
of his, bent full upon her face.

“How pale you have grown of late,” he murmured as
to himself, and replied to her questioning glance—“I think,
myself, there is much danger incurred by remaining here;
but rest assured you shall not be harmed. I am watching
the signs of the times, and will warn you should peril
approach.”

He took Florence's hand, and pressed it as he spoke;
then turning to Mary, who had walked away, he said—“I
must insist on your cousin having rest; she is weary and
too much excited, and you, who are a good nurse, must
take better care of her.”

“Indeed, Doctor, I did my best to prevent her teaching
to-day, but she would not listen to my entreaties,” replied
Mary, with averted head.

“If I might venture to advise yourself and cousin, Miss
Hamilton, I should suggest the discontinuance of your school,
at least for the present; for in these stormy times one
scarce knows what a day may bring forth: and, indeed,
your pupils are dropping off within the last few days, and
you had better disband voluntarily.”

“I believe you are right, Doctor; and if Mary concurs
with us, I think we will follow your advice.”

“Do as you think best, Florry; I suppose we would
have no pupils soon, even if we continued our efforts; yet
I dislike very much to give up the school so very soon.”
Her voice faltered slightly, and her cheek grew paler.

“Your reluctance to dismiss these children, I am not
surprised at; and if it will relieve you in the least, allow
me to see their parents, and arrange all pecuniary matters.
You certainly feel no hesitation in confiding this to me.”

“Thank you, Dr. Bryant, you are very kind; but we
will not burden you with an additional trouble. I prefer
taking these children home to their parents, who committed
them to my care; and as you and Florry think it advisable,
we will close our school this evening. Believe me,
however, that in refusing your kind offer, I am not insensible
to, but appreciate fully the motives which dictated
it.”

“Feel no hesitation in calling on me to perform any
of the many services a gentleman friend may so often render.
If you knew how gladly I would serve you, I am sure
you would not fail to do so.”

Shaking hands with Florence who stood near, he turned
to go, but paused at the threshold.

At this moment a slight disturbance in a distant corner
of the room attracted their attention, and springing forward,
little Maria Carlton exclaimed—“Oh, Miss Mary,
what do you think? Somebody has eat up the world, and
bit a great big piece out of the sun!”

When the merriment this excited had in some degree
subsided, Dr. Bryant laughingly said—“I am much afraid
you have a Polyphemus among your pupils. Miss Mary,
do discover the incipient monster, and eject him forthwith.
Heavens, what powers of digestion he must possess! Good-morning,
ladies—good-morning.” And with a bow he
left the house.

“Florry, dear, do try and sleep some; I will do all that
is necessary about the children. True, there is not enough
to occupy me long, and meanwhile you must impart the
news of this victory to Aunt Lizzy.”