University of Virginia Library

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.

“Did you ring, Mas' Eric?”

“Yes. Has Irene come home?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Bring some more wood.”

Owing to the scarcity of coal, the grate had
been removed, and massive brass andirons substituted.
John piled them with oak wood,
swept the hearth, and retired. It was a cold
evening; there had been sleet the night
before; the trees were glittering with icicles;
but in the afternoon the sky cleared, and a
sharp north-wester promised good weather.
Eric drew the sofa nearer the blazing fire, and
laid himself down to rest—waiting impatiently
for the return of his niece, who had been
absent since dinner. The library looked
cheerful, comfortable, luxurious. Irene's pretty
work-basket sat on the little mosaic table,
close to the hearth; and by its side lay a volume
of Tennyson open at “Locksley Hall,”
with a half-finished glove which she had been
knitting that morning resting on the page.
Upon the low mantle-piece stood two ruby-colored
bulb-glasses containing purple hyacinths
in full bloom; between them a fluted
crystal vase of perfect white camellias from the
green-house; and in a rich bohemian goblet
three early golden crocuses looked out from a
mass of geranium leaves. Bronze busts of
Kepler, Herschel, and La Place crowned the
heavy carved bookcases; the soft silvery
glow of the lamp fell upon the form of the
cripple, wrapped in a warm plaid dressing-gown,
and showed the thin, sharply-cut visage
of Paragon, who had curled himself lazily on
the velvet rug. The room was very still, save
the sound of the crackling fire and the chirping
of the canary, whose cage had been placed
on one of the broad window-sills. After a
time, the door opened and the mistress came in.

“Irene! you must be nearly frozen. What
kept you out so late?”

“I had more than usual to attend to at the
Asylum this afternoon.”

“What was the matter?”

“We have a new Matron, and I was particularly
anxious that she should start right in one
or two respects. I waited, too, in order to see
the children at supper, and satisfy myself about
the cooking.”

“How many orphans are there in the Asylum?”

“Thirty-four. I admitted two this evening—
children of one of our soldiers, who died from
a wound received at Leesburg.”

“Poor little things! I am afraid you will find
numbers of similar instances before this war
is at an end.”

“We will try to find room for all such cases.
The building will accommodate one hundred.”

“You must be very cold; I will make John
bring you a glass of wine.”

“No, sir; I do not need it. My shawl was
thick and warm.”

Resting his elbow on the silken cushions,
her uncle leaned forward so as to see her
countenance distinctly. She had put out one
hand on the shining head of her dog, who now
sat close to her chair, gazing solemnly into the
red coals; and her posture, as she rested far
back against the morocco lining, betokened
weariness. By contrast with the thick folds
of her bombazine dress the face gleamed singularly
white, and the curling brown lashes
made fringy shadows on the polished cheeks.

“Irene.”

She turned her head slightly, and raised her
eyes.

“Did you receive a letter which I sent to
your room?”

“Yes, sir. It was from Dr. Arnold.”

“He has established himself in Richmond.”

“Yes, sir; his recent attack of rheumatism
unfitted him for service in the field.”

“I had a letter from Colonel Aubrey to-day.
He wants to buy my house.”

She made no comment, and her eyes drooped
again to the perusal of the strange shapes
which danced and flickered on the burnished
andirons.

“What use do you suppose he has for it?”

“I cannot imagine, unless he intends it as a
home for Electra.”

“What a witch you are at guessing; that is
exactly it. He says, in this letter, that he may
not survive the war, and wishes to have the
assurance that his cousin is comfortably provided
for before he goes into another battle.
His offer is liberal, and I shall accept it.”

“Well, I am glad she will own it—for I have
often heard her speak of those old poplar trees
in the front yard. She has always admired
the place.”

“I trust Aubrey will come back safely,
marry some woman worthy of his heart and
intellect, and live there happily himself. Do
you believe the current report that he is engaged
to Salome?”

“No, sir.

“Why not? She is certainly a brilliant
girl, and an undoubted beauty.”

“Such a temperament as hers would scarcely
suit him, I think.”

“But people often select their opposites.”

“And for that reason I suspect that she
would not make him happy. What a glowing
beauty she is? As I went to the Asylum I
saw her riding with some gentlemen, and I
felt as if I could warm my fingers by holding
them near her burning cheeks. Such complexions
as hers are very rare at the South.”

“I should not wonder if Russell married
her, after all.”

He hoped for some change of countenance
implying concern, but no shadow hovered over
the fair face. There was no uneasy movement
of the dimpled hand which lay on Paragon's
head, nor could he detect the faintest indication
of interest. At this juncture the tea
bell summoned them to the dining-room, and
she allowed her uncle no opportunity of renewing
the conversation. When the meal
was concluded, and they had returned to the
library, Irene drew her table and basket near
the lamp, and resumed her knitting. The
invalid frowned, and asked, impatiently:

“Can't you buy as many of those coarse
things as you want, without toiling night and
day?”

“In the first place, I do not toil; knitting is
purely mechanical, very easy, and I like it.
In the second place, I can not buy them, and
our men need them when they are standing
guard. It is cold work holding a musket in
the open air, such weather as this.”

He looked annoyed, and dived deeper among
his cushions.

“Don't you feel as well as usual this evening,
uncle Eric?”

“Oh! I am well enough — but I hate the
everlasting motion of those steel needles.”

She rolled up the glove, put it in her basket,
and rose.

“Shall I read to you? Or, how would you
like a game of chess?”

“I do not expect you to humor my whims.
Above all things, my child, I dread the thought
of becoming troublesome to you.”

“You can never be that, uncle Eric; and I
shall always be glad if you will tell me how I
can make your time pass more pleasantly. I
know this house must seem gloomy enough at
best. Let us try a game of chess; we have
not played since you came from Europe.”

She brought the board, and they sat down to
the most quiet and absorbing of all games.
Both played well, and when Eric was finally
vanquished, he was surprised to find, from the
hands of the clock, that the game had lasted
nearly two hours. As she carefully replaced
the ivory combatants in their box, Irene said:

“Uncle, you know that I have long desired
and intended to go to Richmond, but various
circumstances combined to keep me at home.
I felt that I had duties here which must first be
discharged; now the time has come when I
can accomplish my long-cherished plan. Dr.
Arnold has taken charge of the hospital in
Richmond which was established with the
money we sent from W — for the relief
of our regiments. Mrs. Campbell is about to
be installed as Matron, and I have to-day
decided to join them. In his letter received
this afternoon he orders me not to come, but I
know that he will give me a ward when he
finds me at his elbow. I am aware that you
have always opposed this project, but I hope,
sir, that you will waive your objections, and go
on with me next week.”

“It is a strange and unreasonable freak,
which, I must say, I do not approve of. There
are plenty of nurses to be hired, who have
more experience, and are every way far more
suitable for such positions.”

“Uncle, the men in our armies are not
hired to fight our battles; and the least the
women of the land can do is to nurse them
when sick or wounded. The call is imperative.
Mothers and wives are, in most instances,
kept at home; but I have nothing to
bind me here. I have no ties to prevent me from
giving my services in the only way in which I
can aid the cause for which my father died.
I feel it a sacred duty; and, uncle Eric, it is
useless to argue the matter. I am determined
to go at once. Will you accompany me?”

“You will kill yourself.”

“I could not die in a better cause.”

“Is life so worthless, that you would rashly
throw it away?”

“By no means. I am able to endure what
I undertake.”

“Does not one querulous invalid cripple
sufficiently exercise your patience?”

“No, sir. Beside, I can take care of you in
Richmond, as well as of others, who need
me much more.”

“What do you propose to do with the
house, meantime?”

“I shall send the horses to the plantation,

and take Andrew with me; he is an admirable
nurse. Martha, also, whom I have tested on
several occasions, can assist me greatly in the
hospital. The other servants I shall leave
here. John and Nellie will keep things in
order. I have endeavored to foresee and remove
all obstacles to my departure.”

“Ah! but you have been so delicately
nurtured, and the burden you would take
upon yourself is so onerous.”

“I have counted the cost.”

She laid her hand gently on his whitening
hair, and added, pleadingly:

“Do not oppose me, uncle Eric. I want
your sanction in all that I do. There are only
two of us left; go with me as my adviser—protector.
I could not be happy if you were
not with me.”

His eyes filled instantly; and, drawing her
close to him, he exclaimed, tremulously:

“My dear Irene! there is nothing I would
not do to make you happy. Happy, I fear
you never will be. Ah! don't smile and contradict
me; I know the difference between
happiness and resignation. Patience, uncomplaining
endurance, never yet stole the garments
of joy. I will go with you to Virginia,
or anywhere else that you wish.”

“Thank you, uncle Eric. I will try to
make you forget the comforts of home, and
give you no reason to regret that you sacrificed
your wishes and judgment to mine. I must
not keep you up any later.”

She rang for Willis, and, taking a taper
from the stand, proceeded to light the small
lamp which had been placed in readiness
on the table. With its use her uncle had
long been familiar.

“You, surely, are not going up to that ice-house
such a night as this? That marble
floor will freeze you!”

“I shall not stay long. It is the first clear
night we have had for more than a week, and
I can not lose such an opportunity. The
nebula in Orion will show splendidly, and,

“What a devotee you are! What a bigot
you would have been five hundred years
ago! What a tireless Rosicrucian you would
have made! What an indefatigable traveller
after mythic Sangraal! You very often remind
me of an aphorism of Emerson: `No
man is quite sane; each has a vein of folly
in his composition, a slight determination of
blood to the head, to make sure of holding him
hard to some one point which Nature has
taken to heart.'”

“I am no more insane than Emerson is orthodox
or infallible, and a mild form of
Sabeism ought to be tolerated even in this
age, when it is used as a glittering ladder to
God, to purity, and to peace. Here I am continually
oppressed with a sense of desolation;
as I walk these silent rooms, Father! Father!
is the cry of my lonely soul. But yonder
I forget my loss. In the observatory my
griefs slip from me, as did Christian's burden.
I remember only the immeasurable heights
and depths, the infinitude, the grandeur, and
the glory of the universe—and there, as nowhere
else, I can bow myself down, and say,
humbly and truly, `Not my will, oh, God!
but thine!' Good-night, uncle Eric. Willis,
shut Paragon in his house before you go to
sleep.”

She wrapped a heavy black shawl around
her shoulders, and, taking the lamp, went up
to the observatory.

The Army of the Potomac had fallen back
to Yorktown when Irene reached Richmond;
and the preparations which were being made
for the reception of the wounded gave melancholy
premonition of impending battles.

Dr. Arnold had been intrusted with the
supervision of several hospitals, but gave
special attention to one established with
the funds contributed by the citizens of
W—, and thither Irene repaired on the
day of her arrival.

In reply to her inquiries, she was directed to
a small room, and found the physician seated
at a table, examining a bundle of papers. He
saw only a form darkening the door-way,
and, without looking up, called out, gruffly:

“Well, what is it? What do you want?”

“A word of welcome.”

He sprang to his feet instantly, holding out
both hands.

“Dear child! Queen! God bless you!
How are you? Pale as a cloud, and thin as a
shadow. What the deuce are you doing here?
I ordered you to stay at home, did n't I?”

He had caught her hands eagerly to his lips,
and held them like a vice.

“Home was too dreary. I wanted to see
you, to be with you once more, to work here
in your sight, by your direction. Don't scold
and growl at me for coming. Give me a morsel
of affection; oh, Doctor! I am hungry!
hungry and desolate.”

She lifted her sorrow-stricken face to his,
and felt his tears fall thick on her silky hair.

“Dear child! I knew how it would be. I
wanted to go to you, but I could not. Irene,
don't look so dreary and hopeless; it wrings
my heart to see that expression on your mouth.
You know I am glad to have you, my treasure,
my beloved child. You know that you are the
very light of my life. Growl at you, Queen!
I will see myself hanged first! Sit down here
by me. Where is Eric?”

“He was much fatigued, and I left him at
the hotel.”

“You have been ill a long time, Irene, and
have kept it from me. That was not right;
you should have been honest in your letters.
A pretty figure you will cut nursing sick folks!
Work in my sight, indeed! If you say work

to me again, I will clap you into a lunatic-asylum,
and keep you there till the war is over.
Turn your face to the light.”

“I am well enough in body; it is my mind
only that is ill at ease; my heart only that is
sick—sorely sick. Here I shall find employment,
and, I trust, partial forgetfulness. Put
me to work at once; that will be my best medicine.”

“And you really missed me, Queen?”

“Yes, inexpressibly; I felt my need of you
continually. You must know how I cling to
you now.”

Again he drew her little hands to his granite
mouth, and seemed to muse for a moment.

“Doctor, how is Electra?”

“Very well—that is, as well as such an
anomalous, volcanic, torrid character ought to
be. At first she puzzled me (and that is an
insult I find it hard to forgive), but finally I
found the clew. She is indefatigable and astonishingly
faithful as a nurse; does all her duty,
and more, which is saying a good deal—for
I am a hard task-master. Are n't you afraid
that I will work you more unmercifully than a
Yankee factory-child, or a Cornwall miner?
See here, Queen; what do you suppose
brought Electra to Richmond?”

“A desire to render some service to the sick
and suffering, and also to be comparatively
near her cousin.”

“Precisely; only the last should be first,
and the first last. Russell is a perverse, ungrateful
dog.”

As he expected, she glanced up at him, but
refrained from comment.

“Yes, Irene—he is a soulless scamp. Here
is his cousin entirely devoted to him, loving
him above everything else in this world, and
yet he has not even paid her a visit, except in
passing through to Yorktown with his command.
He might be a happy man, if he would
but open his eyes and see what is as plain as
the nose on my face—which, you must admit,
requires no microscope. She is a gifted
woman, and would suit him exactly—even
better than my salamander, Salome.”

A startled, incredulous expression came into
Irene's large eyes, and gradually a look of
keen pain settled on her features.

“Aha! did that idea never occur to you
before?”

“Never, sir; and you must be mistaken.”

“Why, child? The fact is patent. You
women profess to be so quick-witted, too, in
such matters—I am amazed at your obtuseness.
She idolizes Aubrey.”

“It is scarcely strange that she should; she
has no other relatives near her, and it is natural
that she should love her cousin.”

“I tell you I know what I say! she will
never love anybody else as she loves Aubrey.
Beside, what is it to you whether he marries
her or not?”

“I feel attached to her, and want to see her
happy.”

“As Russell's wife?”

“No, sir. The marriage of cousins was
always revolting to me.”

She did not flinch from his glittering gray
eye, and her grieved look deepened.

“Is she here? Can I see her?”

“She is not in this building, but I will
inform her of your arrival. I have become
much interested in her. She is a brilliant,
erratic creature, and has a soul! which can
not safely be predicated of all the sex, nowaday.
Where are you going?”

“Back to uncle Eric. Will you put me in
the same hospital with Electra and Mrs.
Campbell?”

“I will put you in a strait-jacket! I
promise you that.”

Electra was agreeably surprised at the unusual
warmth with which Irene received her,
some hours later; but little suspected why the
lips lingered in their pressure of hers, or
understood the wistful tenderness of the eyes
which dwelt so fondly on her face. The icy
wall of reserve had suddenly melted, as if in
the breath of an August noon, and dripped
silently down among things long past. Russell's
name was casually mentioned more than
once, and Electra fell asleep that night wholly
unconscious that the torn and crumpled pages
of her heart had been thoroughly perused by
the woman from whom she was most anxious
to conceal the truth.

Having engaged a suite of rooms near the
hospital, a few days sufficed for preliminary
arrangements, and Irene was installed in a
ward of the building to which she had requested
Dr. Arnold to appoint her.

Thus, by different, by devious thorny paths,
two sorrowing women emerged upon the broad
highway of Duty, and, clasping hands, pressed
forward to the divinely-appointed goal —
Womanly Usefulness.

Only those who have faithfully ministered
in a hospital, can fully appreciate the onerous
nature of the burdens thus assumed — can
realize the crushing anxiety, the sleepless
apprehension, the ceaseless tension of brain
and nerve, the gnawing intolerable sickness
and aching of heart over sufferings which
no human skill can assuage; and the silent
blistering tears which are shed over corpses of
men whose families kneel in far distant homes,
praying God's mercy on dear ones lying at
that moment stark and cold on hospital cots
with strangers' hands about the loved limbs.
Ah! within these mournful penetralia are perpetually
recurring scenes of woe, of resignation,
and of sublime endurance, transcending
in pathos aught that fiction ever painted; and
as the Nation's martyrs drop swiftly down into
nameless billowy graves, that fret the quiet
green surface of our broad and sunny land,

the bleeding tendrils of a Nation's sympathy
trail athwart the rude head-stones, and from
stern lips come the prophecy:

Day by day, week after week, those tireless
women-watchers walked the painful round
from patient to patient, administering food
and medicine to diseased bodies, and words of
hope and encouragement to souls, who shrank
not from the glare, and roar, and carnage of
battle—but shivered and cowered before the
darling images which deathless memory called
from the peaceful, happy Past. It was not
wonderful that the home-sick sufferers regarded
them with emotions which trenched on
adoration, or that often, when the pale thin
faces lighted with a smile of joy at their approach,
Irene and Electra felt that they had a
priceless reward.