Читать книгу Self-Raised; Or, From the Depths - Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth - Страница 31

The folds of her wine-dark violet dress

Glow over the sofa fall on fall.

As she sits in the light of her loveliness,

With a smile for each and for all.

Could we find out her heart through that velvet and lace,

Can it beat without rumpling her sumptuous dress?

She will show us her shoulder, her bosom, her face,

But what her heart's like, we must guess.

—O. M.

The evening of Lady Vincent's reception arrived. At an unfashionably early hour Judge Merlin's country house was filled.

All the county families of any importance were represented there.

The rustic guests, drawn, no doubt, not more by their regard for

Judge Merlin and his daughter than by their curiosity to behold a

titled foreigner.

Mr. and Mrs. Middleton and Beatrice came very early, encumbered with several bandboxes; for their long ride made it necessary for them to defer their evening toilet until after their arrival.

They were received and conducted to their rooms by old Aunt Katie.

"Lady Vincent," she said, "has not yet left her dressing room."

When their toilets were made, Mr. and Mrs. Middleton came to Bee's door to take her down to the drawing room.

Very beautiful indeed looked Bee, in her floating, cloud-like dress of snow-white tulle, with white moss-roses resting on her rounded bosom and wreathing her golden ringlets; and all her beauty irradiated with the light of a happy love.

Her father smiled proudly and her mother fondly on her as she came out and joined them.

The found the drawing rooms already well filled with guests.

Lord and Lady Vincent stood near the door to receive all comers. To them the Middletons first went.

Very handsome and majestic looked Claudia in her rich robe of royal purple velvet, with her raven black hair crowned with a diadem of diamonds, and diamonds blazing on her neck and arms and at her waist. Strangers looked upon her loveliness with unqualified delight. Her "beauty made them glad." But friends who saw the glittering surface and the alloy beneath it, admired and sighed. Her dark eyes were beaming with light; her oval cheeks were burning with crimson fire. Mrs. Middleton thought this was fever; but Bee knew it was French rouge.

Claudia received her friends with bright smiles and gay words. She complimented them on their good looks and rallied them on their gravity. And then she let them lightly pass away to make room for new arrivals, who were approaching to pay their respects.

They passed through the crowd until they found Judge Merlin, to whose care Mr. Middleton consigned Bee, while he himself, with his wife on his arm, made a tour of all the rooms, including the supper room.

The party, they saw, was going to be a successful one, notwithstanding the fact that the three great metropolitan ministers of fashion had nothing whatever to do with it.

Sam and Jim, with perfect liberty to do their worst in the matters of garden flowers and wax lights, had decorated and illuminated the rooms with the rich profusion for which the negro servants are notorious. The guests might have been in fairy groves and bowers, instead of drawing rooms, for any glimpse of walls or ceilings they could get through green boughs and blooming flowers.

In the supper room old Aunt Katie with her attendant nymphs had laid a feast that might vie in "toothsomeness" if not in elegance with the best ever elaborated by the celebrated caterer.

And in the dancing room the local band of negro musicians drew from their big fiddle, little fiddle, banjo, and bones notes as ear- piercing and limb-lifting, if not as scientific and artistic, as anything ever executed by Dureezie's renowned troupe.

The Englishman, secretly cynical, sneered at all this; but openly courteous, made himself agreeable to all the prettiest of the country belles, who ever after had the proud boast of having quadrilled or waltzed with Lord Vincent.

The party did not break up until morning. The reason of this was obvious—the company could not venture to return home in their carriages over those dangerous country roads until daylight.

It was, in fact, sunrise before the last guests departed and the weary family were at liberty to go to bed and sleep. They had turned the night into day, and now it was absolutely necessary to turn the day into night.

They did not any of them awake until three or four o'clock in the afternoon, when they took coffee in their chambers. And they did not reassemble until the late dinner hour at six o'clock, by which time the servants had removed the litter of the party and restored the rooms to neatness, order, and comfort.

The Middletons had not departed with the other guests. They joined the family at dinner. And after dinner, at the pressing invitation of Judge Merlin, they agreed to remain at Tanglewood for the few days that would intervene before the departure of Lord and Lady Vincent for Europe. Only Bee, the next morning, drove over to the Beacon to give the servants there strict charges in regard to the girls and boys, and to bring little Lu back with her to Tanglewood.

The next week was passed in making the final preparations for the voyage.

And when all was ready on a bright Monday morning, the first of October, Lord and Lady Vincent, with their servants and baggage, departed from Tanglewood.

Judge Merlin, leaving his house to be shut up by the Middletons, accompanied them to see them off in the steamer.

It was quite an imposing procession that left Tanglewood that morning. There were two carriages and a van. In the first carriage rode Lord and Lady Vincent and Judge Merlin. In the second my lord's valet and my lady's three servants. And in the van was piled an inconceivable amount of luggage.

This procession made a sensation, I assure you, as it lumbered along the rough country roads. Every little isolated cabin along the way turned out its ragged rout of girls and boys who threw up their arms with a prolonged "Hooray!" as it passed—to the great disgust of the Englishman and the transient amusement of the judge. As for Claudia, she sat back with her eyes closed and cared for nothing.

The negroes came in for their share of notice.

"Hooray, Aunt Katie, is that you a-ridin' in a coach as bold as brass?" some wayside laborer would shout.

"As bold as brass yourself!" would be the irate retort of the old woman, nodding her head that was adorned with a red and yellow bonnet, from the window.

"Hillo, Jim! that's never you, going to forring parts as large as life?" would sing out another.

"Yes! Good-by! God bless you all as is left behind!" would be Jim's compassionate reply.

"Lord bless my soul and body, what a barbarous country!" would be

Lord Vincent's muttered comment. And the judge would smile and

Claudia slumber, or seem to do so.

And this happened over and over again all along the turnpike road, until they got to Shelton, where they embarked on the steamer "Arrow" for Baltimore, where they arrived the next day at noon.

They made no stay in the Monumental City. Old Katie's dilated eyes had not time to relieve themselves by one wink over the wonders of the new world into which she was introduced, before, to her "surprise and 'stonishment," as she afterwards expressed it, she found herself "on board the cars, being whisked off somewhere else. And if you would believe her racket, she had to hold the h'ar on her head to keep it from being streamed off in the flight. And she was no sooner set down comfortable in the cars at Baltimore than she had to get up and get outen them at New York. And you better had believe it, chillun, that's all."

Old Aunt Katie must have slept all the way through that night's journey; for it is certain that the cars in which she traveled left Baltimore at eight o'clock in the evening and arrived at New York at six o'clock the next morning.

After their dusty, smoky, cindery ride of ten hours our party had barely time to find their hotel, cleanse and refresh themselves with warm baths and changes of raiment and get their breakfasts comfortably, before the hour of embarkation arrived. For they were required to be on board their steamer at ten o'clock, as she was announced to sail at twelve, meridian.

At ten, therefore, the carriages that had been ordered for the purpose of conveying them to the pier were announced.

Lower and lower sank the heart of the widowed father as the moment approached that was to separate him from his only child. There were times when he so dreaded that moment as to wish for death instead. There were times when he felt that the wrench which should finally tear his daughter from him must certainly prove his death-blow. Yet, for her sake, he bore himself with composure and dignity. He would not let her see the anguish that was oppressing his heart.

He entered the carriage with her and drove to the pier. He drew her arm within his own, keeping her hand pressed against his aching heart, and so he led her up the gang-plank on board the steamer, Lord Vincent and their retinue following. He would not trust himself to utter any serious words; but he led her to find her stateroom, that he might see for himself she would be comfortable on her voyage, and that he might carry away with him a picture of her and her surroundings in his memory. And then he brought her up on deck and found a pleasant seat for her, and sat down beside her, keeping her arm within his and her hand pressed as a balm to his covered bleeding heart.

There he sat, speaking but little, while active preparations were made for sailing. It looked to him like preparations for an execution.

Lord Vincent walked up and down the deck, occasionally stopping to exchange a word with Claudia, or the judge.

At length the signal-bell rang out, every peal striking like a death-toll on the heart of the old man.

And the order was shouted forth:

"All hands ashore!"

The moment of life and death had come. He started up; he strained his daughter to his breast. He gasped:

"God bless you, my dear! Write as soon as you land!"

He wrung the hand of Lord Vincent. "Be good to—" He choked, and hurried from the steamer.

He stood alone on the pier gazing at the receding ship, and at his daughter, who was leaning over the bulwarks, waving her handkerchief. Swiftly, swiftly, receded the ship from his strained sight. First his daughter's face faded from his aching vision; but still he could see the outline of her form. A minute or two and even that grew indistinct and was lost among the rigging. And while he was still straining his eyes to the cracking, in the effort to see her, the signal gun from the steamer was fired. The farewell gun! The ball seemed to strike his own heart. All his strength forsook him; his well-strung nerves suddenly relaxed; his limbs gave way beneath him, and he must have fallen but for the strong arms that suddenly clasped him and the warm bosom that firmly supported him.

Turning up his languid, fainting eyes, he saw—

"Ishmael!"

Yes, it was Ishmael, who with a son's devotion was standing there and sustaining Claudia's forsaken father in the hour of his utter weakness and utmost need.

At first the judge looked at him in surprise and incredulity, which soon, however, gave way before recognition and affection, as he rested on that true breast and met those beautiful eyes bent on him in deepest sympathy.

"Oh, Ishmael, Ishmael, is it you? is it indeed you? You here at need? Oh, my son, my son, would to the Lord that you were indeed my son! It is a grief and folly that you are not!" he exclaimed with emotion.

What could Ishmael reply to these words? Nothing. He could only tenderly support the old man and turn to a gray-haired servant that waited behind him and say:

"Professor, go call a carriage here quickly!"

And Jim Morris started on his errand, with all the crippled alacrity of age and zeal.

"Oh, Ishmael, she has gone! she has gone! My daughter has left me!" he groaned, grasping the hand of his young supporter.

"I know it, sir, I know it. But this hour of parting is the bitterest of all. The heart feels the wrench of separation keenly now."

"Oh, yes, yes!"

"But every coming hour will bring relief. You will cease to look back to the bitter parting, and you will look forward to the happy meeting. And that meeting may be as soon as you please, sir, you know. There is nothing on earth to prevent or even delay your visit to Lady Vincent as soon after she gets settled at home, as you like. This is October. You may spend Christmas with her, you know."

"That is true; that is very true, and Christmas is not so very far off. Ah! I ought not to have given way so, and I should not have done it, only I was quite alone when they sailed. There was no one with me to suggest these comforting thoughts, and I was too much prostrated by the wrench of parting to remember them of myself. Oh, Ishmael! what Providence was it that sent you to my side in this extremity?" inquired the judge, curiosity mingling with his interest in the question.

"I came here," said Ishmael frankly, "with no other purpose than to be with you in your hour of trial. I knew that you would require the presence of some friend."

"Ah, Ishmael! it was just like you to drop all your business and come uncalled, traveling from Washington to New York, with the sole object of sustaining an old friend in the hour of his weakness. So that does not surprise me. But how did you hit the time so well?"

"I knew from Bee's last letter, dated from Tanglewood, the day that Lord Vincent had positively determined to sail. I knew also the name of the only steamer that sailed for Europe on that day. And so, as Bee expressed great regret that her father could not accompany you to New York, and great anxiety because you would be left quite alone after the trial of parting with Claudia, I suddenly resolved to come on. I came on by the same train that brought your party, although not in the same car. I reached the city this morning, and finding that the steamer was to sail at twelve, noon, I walked down to the pier at half-past eleven so as to be ready to meet you when you should come ashore."

"And you took all this thought and trouble for me? Oh, Ishmael,

Ishmael, what a sorrow and shame it is that you are not my son!"

"I am your son in reverence, and love, and service, sir; and if I am not in any other way it is because the Lord has willed otherwise," said Ishmael very gravely.

"Did you see Claudia off?" inquired the judge.

"I saw the steamer; I did not see Lady Vincent. I was in the rear of the crowd on the pier and looking out among them that I might not miss you," replied Ishmael. But he did not add that he had sedulously avoided looking at Claudia as she stood beside her husband on the deck waving her handkerchief in adieus to her father.

In a few minutes Jim Morris came up with a comfortable carriage, and the judge, somewhat recovered now, was assisted into it.

"You are coming too, Ishmael, are you not?" said the old man, looking anxiously out of the window.

"Of course I am, sir; for with your permission I will not leave you until we get back to Washington," replied the young man, preparing to spring into the carriage. But suddenly pausing with his hand on the door he inquired:

"Where shall I order the hackman to drive?"

The judge named his hotel, which happened to be the very one at which Ishmael was stopping; and so the young man gave the order and entered the carriage.

The professor climbed up to a seat beside the hackman, and the hack moved on.

As the carriage turned into Broadway and rolled along that magnificent street, the professor, from his elevated seat, gazed with ever-increasing delight and admiration on the wonders of the great city spread before him.

There were moments when honest Jim Morris was inclined to suspect that, some time within the past few weeks, he must have died, been buried, and risen again to some new stage of existence; so wonderful to him seemed the change in his life. He had not had his satisfaction with gazing when the carriage stopped at the hotel.

Ishmael paid off the hack and gave his arm to the judge, and assisted him into the house.

"Ishmael," he said, as soon as they had reached a sitting room, "have you no other business in New York than to look after me?"

"None whatever. I am entirely at your service."

"Then we—But stop. Are you quite ready to return to Washington at any time?"

"Quite ready to go at a moment's warning, if required."

"Then I think we had better take the early train to-morrow morning, for you ought not to be absent from your office, especially during court term, and even I shall be better at home. We shall need to-day and to-night for rest, but we will start to-morrow. What do you think?"

"I think that is altogether the best plan."

As it was now about one o'clock the judge ordered luncheon. And when they had partaken of it, and the judge had drunk several glasses of rich old port, he said:

"Ishmael, I did not get a wink of sleep last night, and this wine has made me drowsy. I think I will go to my chamber and lie down."

Ishmael gave the judge his arm and assisted him to his bed-room, and saw him lie down, and waited until he knew him to be in a deep, refreshing sleep; and then he closed the blinds, and darkened the room, and left him to repose.

In the hall he spoke to one of the waiters, and placing a quarter of an eagle in his hand, requested him to go up and remain near the judge's chamber door until he should awake.

Then Ishmael sought the professor out and said to him:

"Professor, this is your first visit to New York, as it is also mine. Let us make use of the little time we have to see as much as we can."

Jim Morris eagerly jumped at the proposition.

Ishmael sent for a carriage, and they started; the professor this time riding inside with Ishmael, as he always did when they were alone.

They spent the whole afternoon in sight-seeing, and returned at sunset.

The judge had not awakened, nor did he awake until roused by the ear-stunning gong that warned all the guests to prepare for dinner.

He opened his eyes and stared around in bewilderment for a few seconds, and then seeing Ishmael, remembered everything.

"Ah, my boy, now it is all come back to me afresh, and I have got to meet it all over again. I had been dreaming that I was at Tanglewood with my child, and she was neither married nor going to be. Now I have lost her anew," he said, with a deep sigh.

"I know it, sir; but with every sleep and every awakening this impression will be fainter and fainter. You will soon be cheerful and happy again, in the anticipation of going to see her."

"Plague take that gong! how it does belabor and thrash one's tympanum!" said the judge irritably, as he slowly arose to dress for dinner.

After dinner Ishmael persuaded him not to stay in and mope, but to go with him to hear a celebrated traveler and eloquent lecturer, who was to hold forth in one of the churches on the manners and customs of the Laplanders. The professor also had leave to go. And the judge and Ishmael were well entertained and interested, and the professor was instructed and delighted. Evidently the old odd-job man, judging from his past and present experience, thought

"That now the kingdom must be coming,

And the years of jubilo."

They returned to a late supper, and then retired to bed.

Next morning they took the early train for Washington, where they arrived at seven o'clock.

The judge went home with Ishmael and remained his guest for two or three days, while he wrote to Reuben Gray to send up Sam and the carriage for him; and waited for it to come.

Ishmael at the same time took the responsibility of writing to Mr. Middleton, advising him to come up with the carriage in order to bear the judge company in his journey home.

The last day of the week the carriage arrived with Mr. Middleton inside and Sam on the box. And on Monday morning the judge, in better spirits than anyone could have expected him to be, took an affectionate leave of Ishmael, and with Mr. Middleton for company, set out for Tanglewood, where in due time they arrived safely.

We also must bid adieu to Ishmael for a short time and leave him to the successful prosecution of his business, and to the winning of new laurels. For it is necessary to the progress of this story that we follow the fortunes of Claudia, Viscountess Vincent.