University of Virginia Library

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.

Link by link the family chain was parting. For a few
weeks Elsa transacted domestic affairs as if under the
supervision of Sarah. Jason resumed his old out-of-doors
life, and Parke went hither and thither, driving with
Osmond, playing the piano, and skimming books. Philippi's
habits appeared the same also. But there was not
a day, rain or shine, that she did not pay a visit to the
hill—the most solitary spot in Crest, near as it was to
the streets. The cedars, brown with age, crooked from
wrangling with the sea-wind, hid her as she ascended the
path to the top, and the oaks, the rocks, and the bare
side of the grassy mound which met the sky, protected
her. There her eyes were not tormented by the confining
walls and their familiar objects; they rested on the
small treasures which Nature offered her—grass, weeds,
moss, seeds, and mould—but they rested vacantly. Not
even the higher glories of the provident Mother, the
trees, the air and clouds, the sea, immense and eternal
as was their aspect, appeased the hunger of her heart.
Parke's music became to him a new thing; he played
the changes of his soul—the accents of his experience
sounded through all his compositions; but to her it
seemed only an increased attention he was giving the
piano from ennui. It was the time when they were
most together. He asked her once if music was becoming
a companion.

“No,” she answered, “the companion of a companion.”

“This is a pretty life,” Osmond thought, when he observed
them together. “Arcadian, mild, quiet, but flavorless;
the salt of life is confined to the sea here. Of
course a ripple is coming in its current, which I shall
wait for. Dolce far niente is a plant that never reaches
maturity in this climate; even imported specimens peak
and pine, and resemble celery which is transplanted to
the cellar.”

The ripple, or a snap in the chain, was caused by Elsa,
who again informed Osmond that now she was going in
earnest. She should take up her abode in her own
house—an ancient dwelling, standing on the bay neck,
in a solitary spot, with a few acres of arable land around
it, which she had farmed out for years without a dollar's
profit. “It was time for her,” she said, “to look after
her own property.” He offered to purchase it, if she
would remain with Philippa; but she declined, arguing
that it was the best thing to be done for Philippa, who
would never do any thing for herself, so long as she had
her to lean upon. “I shall tell her,” Elsa concluded,
“that she will have to be her own cook and bottle-washer,
with Mary's help; unless, indeed, she wants to
fill up the house with new-fangled servants, which she
can never do, on Jason's account.”

“For all that,” returned Osmond, “you will come
back.”

“I suppose you think I ought to die in harness; but
if there is not a Parke worth living for even, what is
the beauty of staying here to die?”

“We shall see,” he answered provokingly; but he

saw she was determined on the point. A day or two
afterwards she told Jason, who begged her to give him
lessons in house-work before she went, for he should endure
no stranger in her place.

“Philippa must take my place.”

“Nonsense, Elsa; what can she do?”

“She must learn; there won't be much to do, the
family will be small.”

“How small?”

“You don't imagine Osmond Luce is going to settle
down in this spot at this late day. And when he begins
his rounds again, Parke will begin his also.”

Jason appeared struck. “Poor Philippa!” he said
absently.

“Did you ever know a young man to remain at home
for the sake of a `poor Philippa,' or anybody else,
when the spirit of wandering has seized him?—and it
has seized Parke.”

“Do you think so? He has every thing to stay for.”

“He hasn't.”

“His estate, his associations—Philippa.”

“And the Langs.”

“Oh, I forgot those.”

“Jason, you are the strangest man I ever saw.'

“I wonder if I hadn't better go.”

“Now, where would you go?”

“To where I started from, with my trunk. Where is
my trunk, Elsa? Is there an old pincushion in it, do
you know? Perhaps I could find the girl who gave it
to me, twenty years ago.”

“Pincushion and trunk are among the things that
were.”

“Then I must stay.”

“You had better, if you want things to hold together.”

Besides some desire for a change from the scene of
her cares and sorrows, Elsa was oppressed by a presentiment,
which she did not try to account for. To use her
own expression, Jason, Parke, and Philippa were at
loose ends, and there was no telling what changes might
take place; she would not remain, to embarrass them,
nor herself. They were also of another day and generation
than the one she had lived for, and she felt herself
incapable of assuming their responsibilities.

She hurried away with an eagerness that was ominous
to Mary, who bewailed the necessity of taking charge
of the household. The day she left, accompanied by
Parke and Philippa, was one late in September; the
autumnal winds had not yet devastated the woods, but
the leaves fluttered down, seeking their place of repose
in the gay shroud which the summer bequeathed.
Vigorous blossoms, red, blue, and yellow, covered the
ditches and fields, flaunting above the sear grass, forgetful
of the dance of death they were preparing for
when the winter winds should blow. The pale amber
atmosphere stained the calm sea, and blurred the sky.
Parke loved the sadness and sweetness of the day; but
Philippa, unforgiving towards Elsa for leaving her, was
petulant, nervous, and behaved more oddly than usual.
Elsa was occupied with wondering whether Mr. Clapp's
folks would be ready to receive her.

“There,” she said, as they turned into a lane, at the
end of which her house stood, “the bars are down, and
the Clapps are looking out; the window blinking in the
sun is my best-room window.”

“How you will enjoy yourself!—what a lovely spot!”
said Philippa satirically. “How agreeable a walk must
be in this lane; and the Clapps, I judge, will be ample
society for you.”

“Not so much but that I shall be glad to see you;
you will come and tea with me, won't you?”

“She is never coming to tea,” cried Parke; “we are
going to break with you entirely.”

“But you won't.”

He wilfully refused to go inside the door; but, after
he had turned the carriage, jumped out, seized her on
the threshold, and gave her withered cheek a hearty
kiss, and jumped back again. Hurrying in to the house,
followed by Philippa, to conceal that she was crying,
she threw herself into a chair, and exclaimed, “I have
buried myself with a vengeance.”

“Go back with us,” Philippa urged; “it is not too
late. You know that you are making a mistake.”

“Go right home; I've got other fish to fry just now
than to listen to you.”

“May their bones choke you!”

“Spiteful thing, good-by. Clear out.”

“How fast that young man drives!” said Mrs. Clapp,
watching him down the lane; but Elsa would not leave
her seat till she knew the carriage was out of sight;
then she started up, and declared she was going into
the orchard.

“There hasn't been any windfalls yet to speak of, and
I told my old man it wasn't worth while to turn in the
hogs; they'd only make a mess on't with rooting,” Mrs.
Clapp droned, but Elsa was gone.

“Mercy on us,” Mrs. Clapp went on, “she will make

it as lively as a hornet's nest for us. May be she won't
hire us the place another year.”

With her cap border flying back, and her arms folded,
Elsa skirted the old orchard with fleetness. The sound
of wheels rolling over a little wooden bridge half a
mile below the house caught her ears. She stopped.

“There they go, rolling over my heart! Lord God!”
and she eyed the trunk of a venerable plum-tree with a
fierce rigidity, “what is the use of my reading the Bible
all my days, if I am not going to bear it better than
this?” Something in the look of the tree arrested her,
—she darted forward, “Upon my soul, there's borers in
this tree, and that's the reason,” scanning the branches,
“there's not a plum on it.”

The tide was checked; she returned to the house
composed, and convinced Mrs. Clapp, before bedtime,
that she was an uncommonly cheerful woman, for her
age. In a week, the Clapps, tenants at will, were under
her control, and she began to feel at home.