University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Julia and Fanny had been gone from home about four
weeks, when Mr. Middleton suddenly determined “to go and
see his gals” and bring them home. Accordingly he “fixed
up right smart,” as he thought, which meant that he took
off his beard and put on “a bran new suit of jeens.” He
preferred driving his own carriage, so he set off alone for
Frankfort.

It was Friday morning, and as his daughters were in
school, he stalked into Mrs. Crane's parlor to wait for them.
Spying the piano, he sat down to it, and commenced producing
a series of unearthly sounds, not altogether unlike
the fashionable music of the present day. Mrs. Carrington
chanced to be crossing the hall, and hearing the noise from
the parlor, looked in. As her eye fell upon the strange
looking, giant form of Mr. Middleton, she uttered a very
delicate scream, and as she just then saw Dr. Lacey entering
the house, she staggered back a few paces, and tried to faint
very gracefully! But the Doctor caught her in his arms
just in time to restore her to consciousness!

Mr. Middleton now came towards them, exclaiming,
“Lightning guns! what's to pay now? Skeered at me, are
you, Madam or Miss, whichever you be? I won't hurt a har
of your soft skull!”

“Ugh-u-u,” said Mrs. Carrington, shrinking from him in
disgust, as he advanced towards her, and laid his large hand
on her head, “just to see,” as he said, “if she were made of
any thing besides jewelry, curls and paint.”

At this allusion to her brilliant color, Mrs. Carrington relieved
Dr. Lacey from the delightful duty of supporting her,
and disappeared up the stairs, saying in no very gentle tones,
“What an old brute!”

“Fire away thar,” called out Mr. Middleton. “I am an
old brute, I s'pose.”

“But your right name is Mr. Middleton, I conclude,” said
Dr. Lacey.

Mr. Middleton started and answered, “How d'ye know
that? Just as you'd know his Satanic Majesty, if he should
appear to you?”

“Something upon that principle,” said Dr. Lacey, laughing,
“but,” he continued, “I am glad to see you, Mr. Middleton.
I suppose you have come to visit your daughters.”

“Yes, and to take them home and let their mother and
the rest of the blacks see them,” answered Mr. Middleton;
then after a pause he added, “They'll be right glad to see
me, I reckon, or at least Sunshine will.”

“Who is Sunshine?” asked Dr. Lacey.

“Well now,” said Mr. Middleton, “here you've lived with
'em four weeks, and don't know that I call one Tempest and
t'other Sunshine, and if you've any wit, you'll know which
is Sunshine.”

Just then a voice was heard to exclaim, “There, I told
you father was here. I hear him now talking about Sunshine,”
and Fanny rushed in, and throwing her arms around
her father's neck, kissed again and again his rough cheek,
while he suddenly felt the need of his red and yellow cotton
handkerchief, and muttered something about the `roads' being
so infernal dusty that they made a fellow's eyes smart!”

Then turning to Julia, who still stood in the door, he said,
“Come, Tempest, none of your pranks! Come here and
shake your old pap's paw. You needn't be afeared of this
young spark, for he knows I'm your pap, and he haint laughed
at me, neither.” So Julia advanced, and shook her father's
hand with a tolerably good grace.

“I'm come for you to go home and see the folks,” said
Mr. Middleton; “so you pick up some of your duds,—and
mind not to take a cussed band-box,—and after dinner we'll
start for home.”

“It wants an hour of dinner time,” said Julia, “and as we
are not hungry, we can start in a few moments, if you like.”

“Fury-ation,” said Mr. Middleton, “I wonder if we can.
Well, start on then afoot, if you're in such a hurry. I shan't
budge an inch till I've had my dinner; besides, I want to
see Mr. Wilmot.”

Julia saw that she must submit to the mortification of
seeing her father at Mrs. Crane's dinner-table, and with a
beating heart she heard the bell summon them to the dining-room.
Mrs. Carrington did not appear;—her nerves had received
too great a shock,—and for that Julia was thankful.
Dr. Lacey sat by her father, and paid him every possible attention.

“Will you take soup, Mr. Middleton?” asked Mrs. Crane.

“What kind of soup? Beef soup, or mud-turkle?”

“It is vermicelli,” said Mrs. Crane, hardly able to keep
her face straight.

“Vermifuge—vermifuge,” repeated Mr. Middleton;
“That's almighty queer stuff to make soup on. No, I'm
'bleeged to you, I ain't in need of that ar medicine just now.'

Julia reddened, while Fanny burst into a laugh and
said, “Father isn't much used to French soups, I think.”

“Use your napkin, father,” softly whispered Julia.

“What shall I use that for?” said he. “My trouses are

all tobarker spit now, and grease won't hurt 'em any now,
Hallo! here waiter, bring me a decent fork, for Lord knows
I can't eat with this 'ere shovel, and if I take my fingers,
Tempest 'll raise a row de dow.”

The servant looked at his mistress, who said, “Samuel,
bring Mr. Middleton a steel fork.”

When the dessert was brought in, Mr. Middleton again
exclaimed, as he took his plate of pudding, “Now what can
this be?”

“It is tapioca pudding,” said Mrs Crane.

“Tap-an-oak-ky,” returned Mr. Middleton. “Well, if
you don't have the queerest things to eat! You ought to
come to my house. We don't have any your chicken fixins,
nor little three-cornered handkerchers laid out at each plate.”

At last, to Julia's great relief, dinner was over, and she
got her father started for home. Suddenly Mr. Middleton
exclaimed, “That ar Doctor is a mighty fine chap. Why
don't you set your cap for him, Sunshine?”

“It would be of no use, father,” answered Fanny.

“Wall, if I'm not mistaken, he's laid his snare for a bird,
and I don't care how soon you fall into it, darling,” said Mr.
Middleton.

“How ridiculous!” exclaimed Julia.

“Ho now, jealous, are you, Tempest?” said her father.
“What in thunder do you think he'll want of you, who are
engaged to Mr. Wilmot?”

This was a truth which had troubled Julia, and she
greatly regretted her engagement, for she well knew Dr.
Lacey never would think of her, as long as he thought she
belonged to another. She had watched with a jealous eye
the growing intimacy between him and Fanny, and resolved
to leave no means untried to prevent a union between them,
and to secure the Doctor for herself. To do this she knew
she must break her engagement with Mr. Wilmot, and also

give Dr. Lacey a bad opinion of her sister. She felt sure of
success, for when did she undertake any thing and fail. Sinful
girl! She was freed from her engagement in a way she
little dreamed of.

Four weeks from the time of her first visit home, word
came to her one morning, just as she was starting for school,
that Mr. Wilmot was sick, and would not be able to teach
that day. He had been unwell for several days, and next
morning it was announced that he had the typhoid fever.
Fanny's first impulse was to go and see him, but Julia prevented
her by saying that he would send for her when he
wanted her.

That evening Dr. Lacey told Julia that Mr. Wilmot had
expressed a wish to see her. She went rather unwillingly,
and something in her manner must have betrayed it, for he
seemed troubled, and regarded her with an anxious look. She
however manifested no affection, and but very little interest
for him, and inwardly resolved that when she came again,
her sister should accompany her. That night he grew
worse, and as there was of course no school, Julia hired
some one to take herself and sister home. Earnestly did
Fanny entreat her to remain and watch over Mr. Wilmot.

“I shall do no such thing,” said Julia. “It would not be
proper, and I should be talked about.”

“Well then,” said Fanny, “I shall stay till mother sends
for me. I do not care if I am talked about.”

This rather pleased Julia, who said, “Well, you can stay
if you like. I dare say you care more for him than I do, and
you can tell him so, if you please.”

“Oh Julia,” said Fanny, “what has changed you so towards
Mr. Wilmot?”

“Nothing in particular,” replied Julia. “I never liked
him very much.”

So Julia started for home, while Fanny took her station

by the bedside of her beloved teacher. When Julia reached
home, she found that her father had left the day before for
Missouri. He owned land there, and as he had gone to
make some improvements on it, he would probably be absent
two months. Julia carelessly told her mother of Mr.
Wilmot's illness, and that Fanny had staid to watch him.
When Mrs. Middleton heard this, her maternal fears were
roused lest her daughter should take the fever, and in a few
days she went herself to Frankfort to bring Fanny home.
She found Mr. Wilmot very ill, but not as yet dangerously
so, and after staying a day, she announced her intention of
taking Fanny home.

“Why not leave her?” said Dr. Lacey. “She seems peculiarly
adapted to a sick room, and will do him more good
than a dozen physicians.”

“Yes, let her stay,” said Mr. Wilmot; and drawing Mrs.
Middleton closely to him, he whispered, “Tell Julia to come
to me, will you?”

Mrs. Middleton promised that she would, but persisted in
taking Fanny. When Mr. Wilmot's message was given to
Julia, she said, “No indeed, I'll not go. I could do him no
good.”

Ike was sent to Frankfort every day to inquire after Mr.
Wilmot, and see if any thing was wanted, and each night
Fanny waited anxiously for his return. As soon as she saw
him enter the wood, she would run to him, and inquire for
Mr. Wilmot. Julia, however, manifested no anxiety whatever.
She would not have acknowledged that she hoped
he would die, and yet each time that she heard he was better,
her spirits sank, for fear he would yet live. At last Ike
brought to Fanny the joyful intelligence that the crisis was
passed, and Mr. Wilmot was out of danger.

That night, in the solitude of her chamber, Julia communed
with herself as follows: “And so he'll live after all.

Well, I may as well let him know at once that I will not
marry him.” So saying, she opened her portfolio, and wrote
the following note:

Ike did not go to Frankfort again for two or three days,
but when he did, he was the bearer of this heartless note.
Mr. Wilmot was indeed better, and when he heard Ike was
in the house, he expressed a desire to see him, as he wished
to send some word to Julia. When Ike was ushered into
the sick room, he immediately handed his young mistress's
letter to Mr. Wilmot, who eagerly took it, for he recognized
the handwriting of his idol. Hastily breaking the seal, he
read twice the cruel lines before he was convinced that he
read aright; then the paleness on his cheek grew paler, and
was succeeded by a deep flush. When Ike asked what he
should tell the folks at home, Mr. Wilmot's voice was
husky, as he answered, “Nothing, Ike, tell them nothing.”
Ike was alarmed at the change which had come over his
young master, and called for assistance.

From that time Mr. Wilmot hourly grew worse. Mrs.
Middleton was sent for, and a telegram was forwarded to his
friends in New-York, bidding them come soon if they would
see him alive. Mr. Miller, who was teaching in a distant
part of the county, dismissed his school to attend his dying
friend. It was heart-rending to hear Mr. Wilmot, in his delirium,
call for Julia to come to him,—to let him look on

her face, and hear her voice once more before he died. Then
he would fancy himself at home, and would describe Julia
to his sister in all the passionate fervor of a devoted lover;
then he would think it was Julia who was sick, and would
beg of those around him to save her, and not let his loved
one die. At last Mrs. Middleton could bear his pleadings no
longer. She resolved to go home, and persuade her hard-hearted
daughter, if possible, to go to the dying man.

Just before she was ready to leave, consciousness returned
to him for a few moments, and calling her to his bedside,
he asked where she was going. On being told, he replied,
“Mrs. Middleton, I am dying. When you return, I shall not
be in this world; but I know that my Redeemer liveth, and
am not afraid to die, for I feel assured of rest beyond the
grave; but there is one thing I would have. Ere I go
hence, I would see Julia once more. I have loved her, perhaps
too well, and for this I must die. Tell, oh tell her how
I missed her when the fever scorched my brow, and bid her
hasten to me, ere it be too late! but if she will not come,
give her my blessing, and tell her my last prayer was for
her, and that in Heaven she will be mine.”

With many tears, Mrs. Middleton promised him that
every word of his message should be delivered to Julia, and
that she should come to him. On reaching home, her swollen
eyelids attracted Fanny's attention, and excited her
fears. Springing up, she exclaimed, “Mother, mother, how
is Mr. Wilmot? Is he dead?”

“No,” answered her mother, “he is not dead, but is dying.”

Then she repeated to Julia his request, and added, “You
had better go immediately, if you wish to see him alive, for he
cannot live till morning. Fanny will call Ike to go with you.”

Fanny arose to do her mother's bidding, but Julia stopped
her by saying, “You needn't call him, Fanny.”

“Why not?” said Fanny, looking wonderingly in Julia's
face.

“Because I am not going,” said Julia coolly.

“Not going!” exclaimed Fanny.

“Not going!” echoed Mrs. Middleton. “Why do you
say so? You are going, you must go!”

“There is no must about it,” answered Julia, “I do not
choose to go, and I shall not go!”

“Are you in earnest, Julia?” asked Mrs. Middleton.

“As much in earnest as I ever was in my life,” replied
Julia.

“Well then,” returned her mother, in a decided tone,
“you shall go; I command you to go, and I must be
obeyed!”

“I'd like to see your commands enforced, madam,” said
Julia, her beautiful face dark with rage. “Yes, I'd like to
see any body make me go if I do not wish to. Mr. Wilmot
is nothing to me, and I would hardly go to save his
life.”

“Oh Julia, Julia!” said Mrs. Middleton bitterly, “has it
come to this? I can see it all now!”

“What all can you see so distinctly?” asked Julia scornfully.

“I can understand what part you have had in causing
Mr. Wilmot's death,” answered Mrs. Middleton.

Julia turned ashy pale, and her mother continued—“Often
in his ravings he spoke of a letter, a cruel letter he called
it, and I heard it hinted that 'twas the receipt of that letter
which brought on a relapse. Now you will tell me whether
you wrote that letter, and if so, what were its contents?”

“I wonder how I'm expected to know what letter you
mean,” said Julia. “However, I did write to him and ask to
be released from my engagement, and I had my reasons for
so doing.”

Mrs. Middleton sighed, and said, “It is as I feared; on
you, Julia, rests in a measure the cause of his death.”

“Better call me a murderer at once. But I'll not stay for
more abuse,” said Julia, as she left the room.

When she was gone, Mrs. Middleton buried her face in
her hands, and sent forth sob after sob from her crushed
heart—crushed by the sinfulness and mocking disobedience
of her first-born. While she was still weeping, Fanny stole
softly from the apartment, and went in quest of her sister.
She found her, as she had expected, in her room, and going
up to her threw her arms around her neck, and plead long
and earnestly that she would go to Mr. Wilmot. But Julia's
answer was ever the same, “No, I will not.”

“And why will you not?” asked Fanny.

“Because,” replied Julia, “Mr. Wilmot is nothing to me,
and there is no reason why I should go to him, more than
to any other lovesick youth, who takes a fancy to send for
me. You would not feel obliged to run, if Bill Jeffrey should
have the measles, or some other dire disease, and send for
you!”

“Oh, stop, stop,” said Fanny, “you shall not liken Bill
Jeffrey to Mr. Wilmot, who is so good, so noble. You loved
him once, and for the sake of that love, go to him now; it
can do you no harm.”

“It would seriously affect my plans for the future; and
once for all I tell you, I will not go,” replied Julia.

“Then I will,” said Fanny, “and show him that I, at
least, have not forgotten him.”

This idea pleased Julia, and she answered, “I wish you
would, for your presence will do as much good as mine.”

Fanny hastily ran down stairs, and going to her mother,
said, “Mother, Julia will not go, but I will. I should like
to very much. Will you let me?”

Mrs. Middleton was too much engrossed in her painful

thoughts to give much heed to what Fanny said. She only
knew that she wished for her consent to something, and she
mechanically answered, “Yes, yes, go.” It was then after
sunset, and as the sky had all day been cloudy, darkness
was fast gathering over the earth, but Fanny heeded it not.
She bade Ike make haste, and in a few moments her favorite
pony was saddled. Ike's horse was then got in readiness,
and they were soon galloping off in the direction of Frankfort.
'Twas a long ride of twelve miles, and the darkness
increased every moment, while a steady, drizzling rain commenced
falling. Still Fanny kept perseveringly on, occasionally
speaking an encouraging word to Ike, who pulled his
old cap closely over his ears, and muttered, “Lord bless
young miss. Seems like 'twas her that was done promised
to young marster, a puttin' out this desput night to see him.”

But Fanny kept her thoughts to herself, and while she
is making her way to Frankfort, we will precede her, and
see what is taking place in the sick room. The large drops
of sweat which stood upon Mr. Wilmot's high, white forehead,
showed that the hour of dissolution was at hand. His
mind was wandering, but still the burden of his soul was,
“Julia, Julia! oh, will she not come?” Mr. Miller stood by
him, and endeavored as far as possible to quiet him, and
once, during a lucid interval, he asked, “If Julia does not
come, what shall I tell her when I see her?”

Mr. Wilmot's eyes opened wide, and for a moment he
looked wistfully at his friend, and then said mournfully, “I
cannot see you, Joseph, my vision has departed for ever, and
if Julia comes, I cannot now look on her loved features;
but if I die ere she arrives, ask her if she wrote that letter.”

Just then there was a noise without, and the sound of
horses' feet was heard coming up the gravelled walk. Some
one in the room whispered, “It must be Miss Middleton.”
The sound caught the dying man's ear, and he wildly exclaimed,

“Has she come? oh! has she come?” Fanny
was now heard speaking in the hall. We have said, that
her voice was strangely like her sister's, so 'twas no wonder
that Mr. Wilmot in his feverish delirium mistook it. Clasping
his hands together, he exclaimed, “thank God, she has
come; she has come.”

The excitement was too much for him, and for a few
moments he was unconscious. When at last animation was
restored, Fanny was hanging over his pillow, and Fanny's
tears were upon his cheek; but he thought it was Julia, and
drawing her to him, he imprinted a burning kiss upon her
fair brow, saying, “God bless you for coming, precious Julia,
I knew you would come; and now tell me, do you not love
me as well as you always have?”

Fanny was bewildered, and looked imploringly at Mr.
Miller, who said, “Richard, do you think it is Julia who is
standing by you now?” The sick man gave a startled
look, and almost shrieked out, “Julia? yes, is it not Julia?
speak quick and tell me, isn't Julia here?” Mr. Miller's
eyes filled with tears as he answered sadly, “No, Richard,
Julia is not here; it is Fanny who has come.” A deathly
paleness passed over Mr. Wilmot's face, and a paroxysm of
delirium ensued more violent than any which had preceded
it. At last it partially passed off, and he became comparatively
calm, but still persisted in thinking it was Julia, whose
hand he held in his and whose breath was upon his cheek.
“Heaven bless you for coming, beloved one,” he would say,
“I knew you would come, and still the dreadful thought has
haunted me, that you might be false, for that was a cruel
letter; but you did not write it, did you?”

Fanny answered through her tears, “No, Mr. Wilmot, I
did not write it. It is Fanny who is speaking to you.” But
Mr. Wilmot understood only the first part of what she said,
and continued, “I knew you did not, I am satisfied now to

die; and yet 'tis hard to die when I am so young, and so far
from home, but it is sweet to know that I have your love to
the last. When I am dead, you will tell them at home how
I loved them and prayed for them. My mother will weep
bitterly for her son, who died so far away, but she does not
love me as well as you do, does she, dearest?”

Just then Dr. Lacey entered the room. He seemed surprised
to see Fanny there, and to hear the words of endearment
addressed to her by Mr. Wilmot, but Mr. Miller softly
told him of the mistake. This seemed to satisfy him, but
he anxiously noted every change of Fanny's countenance.
At last Mr. Wilmot said, “If you did not write that letter,
who did? was it, could it have been your sister?”

“Oh, no! no!” said Fanny, “I did not write it.”

“I know you did not, dearest,” said he; “you would not
do such a thing, but who did? I cannot think it was Fanny,
who was always so gentle, so guileless.”

Poor Fanny! she felt that her beloved teacher was dying
with a suspicion of her innocence, and she wept most bitterly.
At last a change passed over Mr. Wilmot's face, a change
which showed that the last trying moment had come. It
frequently occurs with dying persons, that at the last their
faculties are for a moment fully restored. So it was with
Mr. Wilmot. A bright smile broke over his face, and looking
up at Mr. Miller, he said, “I thank my heavenly Father,
I can see again. Now, where is Julia? I would look on
her face once more.”

“I told you,” said Mr. Miller, “that you were mistaken;
it is not Julia.”

“Not Julia!” said Mr. Wilmot, again becoming delirious.
“Not Julia! It cannot be true.” Then drawing
Fanny towards him he looked earnestly in her face. Slowly
the bitter truth broke over his mind, and he said, “Yes, I
was mistaken! but I bless you for coming; but Julia, my too

dearly loved Julia—she is not here. Oh, if I can never see
her in this world, shall I see her in heaven?”

They were the last words he ever uttered. Falling back
on his pillow, he drew Fanny's face to his, and with his last
breath, kissed her quivering lips, and all was over. Sadly
Mr. Miller closed the eyes of his departed friend, and smoothing
the covering about him, left him to the care of the servants.
A few hours after, Fanny entered the room with Dr.
Lacey, again to look on the face of Mr. Wilmot. The sun
was just rising, and its first red rays fell upon the marble
features of the dead. There was on his face an expression
so calm, and heavenly, that Fanny held her breath while
looking at him, lest she should disturb his peaceful repose.
At length she kissed his cold forehead, and silently left the
room which contained the pale sleeper.

In the course of a few hours she returned home, bearing
the sad tidings, which were received by her mother with a
burst of tears; but Julia preserved the same cool indifference
which she had manifested throughout all Mr. Wilmot's illness.
Hard-hearted as she was, there came a time in after
years, when that proud head was bowed with grief, and those
dark eyes were bedimmed by tears of penitence, which could
not atone for the past; for they were of no avail to bring
back the dead from their silent resting-place.