University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
MEETING OF ALICE AND HUGH.

Could 'Lina have seen Hugh that morning as he emerged
from a fashionable tailor's shop, she would scarcely
have recognized him, so greatly was he improved by the
entire new suit in which he had been indulging, and
which gave him so stylish an appearance that Hugh for a
moment felt uncomfortable, and was glad that one whole
hour must elapse before the cars from Cincinnati were due,
as he could thus become a little accustomed to himself,
and not be so painfully conscious. The hour passed rapidly
away, and its close found Hugh waiting at the terminus
of the Lexington and Cincinnati Railroad. A moment

more, and the broad platform was swarming with
passengers, conspicuous among whom were an old lady
and a young, both dressed in black, both closely veiled,
and both entire strangers, as was evinced by their anxiety
to know what they were next to do, or where to go.

“These are ours,” the young lady said, pointing to a
huge pile of trunks, distinctly marked “A. J.,” and Hugh
drew so near to her that her long black veil swept against
his coat, as she held out her checks in her ungloved hand.

Hugh noticed the hand, saw that it was very small and
white and fat, but the face he could not see, and he looked
in vain for the magnificent hair about which even his
mother had waxed eloquent, and which was now put
plainly back, so that not a vestige of it was visible. Still
Hugh felt sure that this was Alice Johnson, so sure that
when he had ascertained the hotel where she would wait
for the Frankfort train, he followed on, and entering the
back parlor, the door of which was partly closed, sat
down as if he too were a traveller, waiting for the train.
It never occurred to Hugh that he was acting the part of
an eaves-dropper, so anxious he was to see Alice without
being seen, and taking up an old paper, he pretended to
be greatly interested in its columns, which, for any information
he gleaned from them, might as well have been
bottom side up.

Meantime, in the room adjoining, Alice divested herself
of her dusty wrappings, and taking out her combs
and brushes, began to arrange her hair, talking the while
to Densie, her nurse, reclining on the sofa. How the tones
of that voice thrilled on Hugh's ear like some forgotten
music, heard he knew not when or where, and how still
he sat, when at last the conversation turned upon his
mother and 'Lina, about whom Alice talked freely, never
dreaming of Hugh's proximity.

It would seem that Alice's own luxuriant tresses suggested
her first remark, for she said to Densie, “That

Miss Worthington had beautiful hair, so glossy, and so
wavy, too. I wonder she never curls it. It looks as
if she might.”

A smile fitted over Hugh's face as he thought of the
tags, and wondered what Alice would say could she see
Ad early in the morning, with a red silk handkerchief
tied round her head by way of covering what he called
tags. “It would take a steam engine to make Ad's hair
curl,” he said to himself, while Alice continued,

“I did not like her eyes; they were too much like coals
of fire, when they flashed angrily on that poor Lulu, who
evidently was not well posted in the duties of a waiting-maid.
If mother had not so decided, I should shrink
from being an inmate of Mrs. Worthington's family. I
like her very much, but I am afraid I shall not get on
with 'Lina.”

“I know you won't. I honor your judgment,” was
Hugh's mental comment, while Alice went on.

“And what she told me of her brother was not calculated
to impress me favorably.”

Nervously Hugh's hands grasped each other, and he
could distinctly hear the beating of his heart as he
leaned forward so as not to lose a single word.

“She seemed trying to prepare me for him by telling
how rough he was; how little he cared for etiquette; and
how constantly he mortified her with his uncouth manners.”

The perspiration fairly dripped from Hugh's flushed
face, as with clenched fist and a muttered curse upon his
white lips he listened while Alice went on.

“Mother never dreamed he was such a man. Indeed,
she was prepossessed in his favor, remembering his distress
when he lost his little sister, who was mysteriously
abducted by her father, and as mysteriously returned.
He was a fine, handsome boy, mother said, and she thought
I would like him. Bad as he may be, he is evidently a

favorite with his negroes, for Lulu resented what her mistress
said of him, and, in her peculiar way, told me it was
false.”

“Heaven bless Lulu!” Hugh mentally exclaimed.
“I'll set her free the day that she's eighteen; but Ad, oh,
must it go on thus? Will she always be a thorn to
me?”

Alice did not hear the sigh of pain or see the mournful
look which stole over Hugh's face. She did not even suspect
his presence, and she continued to speak of Spring
Bank, wondering if Hugh would be there before his mother
returned, half hoping he would not, as she rather dreaded
meeting him, although she meant to like him if she
could.

Poor Hugh! How he winced and trembled, and wished
he was away. How madly the hot blood poured through
his swollen veins, and how fast the pain increased about
his temples, while little sparks of fire danced before his
eyes. Alice should have her wish, he said bitterly. She
should not find Spring Bank encumbered with its hateful
owner. 'Lina should not find him there when she returned,
she should never blush again for him, for he would go
away. With a stifled, noiseless moan, Hugh rose to leave
the room, glancing once toward the narrow opening in
the folding-doors. Then, as if petrified with what he saw,
he stood riveted to the spot, his quivering lips apart, his
head bent forward, and his eyes almost black, so strangely
bright they grew.

Alice's long, bright hair, was arranged at last, and the
soft curls fell about her face, giving to it the same look it
had worn in childhood — the look which was graven on
Hugh's heart, as with a pencil of fire; the look he never
had forgotton through all the years which had come and
gone since first it shone on him; the look he had never hoped
to see again, so sure was he that it had been quenched
by the waters of Lake Erie. Alice's face was turned fully

toward him. Through the open window at her back the
August sunlight streamed, falling on her chestnut hair, and
tinging it with the yellow gleam which Hugh remembered
so well. For an instant the long lashes shaded the fair
round cheek, and then were uplifted, disclosing the eyes
of blue, which, seen but once, could never be mistaken,
and Hugh was not mistaken. One look of piercing scrutiny
at the face unconsciously confronting him, one mighty
throb, which seemed to bear away his very life, and
then Hugh knew the grave had given up its dead.

She was not lost for she stood there before him. She
whose memory had saved him oftentimes from sin. She,
for whom he would almost lay him down and die. She,
the Golden Haired. Changed, it is true, from a lovely
child of thirteen to a far more lovely woman, but not past
his recognition. The golden locks his hands had touched
but once, and that when the mad waves were dashing over
them, had put on a richer, darker tinge, and fell in
heavier masses about her brow and neck. The face, too,
with its piquant nose, was more mature; only the eyes
were wholly unchanged. In them, the same truthful loving
light was shining, and the curve of the silken lashes
was just the same as when they drooped coyly, beneath
the compliment which the tall youth had paid them.

Golden Hair had come back, but, alas, prejudiced against
him. She hoped he might be gone. She would be happier
if he never crossed her path. “And I never, never
will,” Hugh thought, as he staggered from the room and
sought a small outer court, whose locality he knew, and
where he could be alone to think.

The throbbing in his head had increaased in violence,
and what before were gleams of fire dancing before his
eyes, were now like rings of blood, of which the sultry
air seemed full. How sick and faint he was sitting there
in that dingy court, with his head upon his hands, half
wishing he might die, and so trouble no one any more.

He felt that the dearest treasure he had ever possessed
was wrested from him — that in losing Golden Hair's
good opinion he had lost all that made life desirable.

“Oh, Adaline,” he murmured, “what made you so
cruel to me? I would not have served you so.”

There was a roll of wheels before the door, and Hugh
knew by the sound that it was the carriage for the cars.
She was going. They would never meet again, Hugh
said, and she would never know that the youth who tried
to save her life was the same for whose coming they
would wait and watch in vain at Spring Bank — the Hugh
for whom his mother would weep awhile; and for whose
dark fate even Ad might feel a little sorry. She was not
wholly depraved — she had some sisterly feeling, and his
loss would waken it to life. They would appreciate him
after he was gone, and the poor heart which had known
so little love throbbed joyfully, as Hugh thought of being
loved at last even by the selfish 'Lina.

Fiercely the August sun poured down into that pent-up
court, creating a drowsiness which Hugh did not care
to shake off. Unconsciousness was welcome at any price,
and leaning his aching head against the damp, mouldy
wall, he fell at last into a heavy sleep.

Meantime Alice and Densie proceeded on their way to
the Big Spring station, where Col. Tiffton was waiting for
them, according to his promise. There was a shadow in
the colonel's good-humored face, and a shadow in his
heart. His idol, Nellie, was very sick, while added to
this was the terrible certainty that he alone must pay a
$10,000 note on which he had foolishly put his name, because
Harney had preferred it. He was talking with
Harney when the cars came up, and the villain, while expressing
regret that the colonel should be compelled to
pay so much for what he never had received, had said
with a relentless smile, “But it's not my fault, you know,
I can't afford to lose it.”

From that moment the colonel felt he was a ruined man,
but he would not allow himself to appear at all discomposed.

“Wait awhile,” he said; “do nothing till my Nell lives
or dies,” and with a sigh as he thought how much dearer
to him was his youngest daughter than all the farms in
Woodford, he went forward to meet Alice, just appearing
upon the platform.

The colonel explained to Alice why she must go to
Spring Bank, adding by way of consolation, that she
would not be quite as lonely now Hugh was at home.

“Hugh at home!” and Alice shrank back in dismay,
feeling for a moment that she could not go there.

But there was no alternative, and after a few tears
which she could not repress, she said, timidly,

“What is this Hugh? What kind of a man, I mean?”

She could not expect the colonel to say anything bad
of him, but she was not prepared for his frank response.

“The likeliest chap in Kentucky. Nothing dandified
about him, to be sure. Wears his trouser legs in his boots
as often as any way, and don't stand about the very latest
cut of his coat, but he's got a heart bigger than an ox —
yes, big as ten oxen! I'd trust him with my life, and know
it was safe as his own. You'll like Hugh — Nell does.”

The colonel never dreamed of the comfort his words
gave Alice, or how they changed her feelings with regard
to one whom she had so dreaded to meet.

“There 'tis; we're almost there,” the colonel said at
last, as they turned off from the highway, and leaning
forward Alice caught sight of the roofs and dilapidated
chimneys of Spring Bank. “'Tain't quite as fixey as
Yankee houses that's a fact, but we that own niggers never
do have things so smarted up,” the colonel said, guessing
how the contrast must affect Alice, who felt so desolate
and homesick as she drew up in front of what, for a
time at least, was to be her home.

At a single glance she took in every peculiarity, from the
mossy, decaying eaves, where the swallows were twittering
their songs, to the group of negroes ranged upon the
piazza, staring curiously at her as she alighted, followed
by Densie Densmore. Where was Hugh? Surely he
should be there to greet her, and with a return of something
like the olden terror Alice looked nervously in all
directions, as if expecting some vampyre to start out and
seize her. But only Aunt Eunice, in trim white cap and
black silk apron, appeared, welcoming the strangers with
a motherly kindness, which went to Alice's heart.

Aunt Eunice saw that she looked very tired, and asked
if she would not go at once to her room and lie down.
Glad to be alone, Alice followed her through the hall and
up the stairs to the pleasant chamber in which Hugh had
been so interested.

“You are tired and homesick, too, I guess,” Aunt Eunice
said, “but you'll get over it by and by. Spring Bank is a
pleasant place, and if Hugh could he'd make it a handsome
one. He has the taste.”

“Where is Hugh?” Alice asked.

Aunt Eunice would not say he had gone to Lexington
for the sake, perhaps, of seeing her, so she replied,

“He went to town this morning, but he'll be back pretty
soon. He has done his best to make it pleasant for
you. You'll like Hugh. There, try to go to sleep,” and
kind Aunt Eunice bustled from the room just as Densie
entered it, together with Aunt Chloe. The old negress
was evidently playing the hostess to Densie, for she was
talking quite loud, and all about “Mas'r Hugh.” “Pity
he wasn't thar, 'twould seem so different; 'tain't de same
house without him. You'll like Mas'r Hugh,” and she,
too glided from the room.

Was this the password at Spring Bank, “You'll like
Mas'r Hugh?” It would seem so, for when at last Hannah
brought up the waffles and tea, which Aunt Eunice

had prepared, she sat down her tray, and after a few inquiries
concerning Alice's head, which was now aching
sadly, she, too, launched forth into a panegyric on Mas'r
Hugh, ending, as the rest had done, “You'll like Mas'r
Hugh.”

Alice began to believe she should, and with a silent
thanksgiving that the great bugbear of Spring Bank was
likely to prove so harmless, she waited and listened for
any sounds which might herald Hugh's approach. But
the summer evening waned and the summer night closed
quietly around Spring Bank, without bringing its master
home. One by one the negroes went to their cabins, and
when at last the clock struck twelve, Aunt Eunice, who
had been waiting for her boy, lighted her tallow candle
and stole noiselessly to her room, where by the open window
she sat for a long, long time, listening to the howl of
Rover, who, sat upon the steps and filled the air with his
lonely cries. Aunt Eunice was not superstitious, but Rover's
howl sounded painfully in her ear, and when at last
she crept slowly to her pillow there was a dread fear at
her heart lest something had befallen Hugh.