MRS. LANSDOWNE.
P---- is a city by the sea. Built upon an elevated peninsula,
surrounded by a country of manifold resources of beauty and fertility,
with a fine, broad harbor, it sits queenlike in conscious power,
facing with serene aspect the ever-restless waves that wash
continually its feet. The place might be called ancient, if that term
could properly be applied to any of the works of man on New England
shores. There are parts of it, where the architecture of whole streets
looks quaint and time-worn; here and there a few antique churches
appear, but modern structures predominate, and the place is full of
vigorous life and industry.
It was sunset. The sky was suffused with the richest carmine. The
waters lay quivering beneath the palpitating, rosy light. The spires
and domes of the town caught the ethereal hues and the emerald hills
were bathed in the glowing atmosphere.
In a large apartment, in the second story of a tall, brick mansion
on ---- street, sat Mrs. Lansdowne. Susceptible though she was to the
attractions of the scene before her, they did not now occupy her
attention. Her brow was contracted with painful thought, her lip
quivered with deep emotion. The greatest sorrow she had known had
fallen upon her through the error of one whom she fondly loved.
Though enwrapped in a cloud of grief, one could see that she possessed
beauty of a rich and rare type. She had the delicate, aquiline nose,
the dark, lustrous eyes and hair, the finely arched eyebrows of the
Hebrew woman. But she was no Jewess.
Mrs. Lansdowne could number in her ancestry men who had been notable
leaders in the Revolutionary war with England, and, later in our
history, others, who were remarkable for patriotism, nobility of
character, intellectual ability, and high moral and religious culture.
Early in life, she had been united to Mr. Lansdowne, a gentleman
moving in the same rank of society with herself. His health obliged
him to give up the professional life he anticipated, and he had become
a prosperous and enterprising merchant in his native city. They had an
only child, a son eighteen years old, who in the progress of his
collegiate course had just entered the senior year.
Edward Somers was Mrs. Lansdowne's only brother, her mother having
died a week after his birth. She was eleven years of age at the time,
and from that early period had watched over and loved him tenderly. He
had grown up handsome and accomplished, fascinating in manners and
most affectionate toward herself. She had learned that he had been
engaged in what appeared, upon the face of it, a dishonorable affair,
and her sensitive nature had been greatly shocked.
Two years before, Mr. Lansdowne had taken him as a junior partner in
his business. He had since been a member of his sister's family.
A young foreigner had come to reside in the city, professing himself a
member of a noble Italian family. Giuseppe Rossini was poet, orator,
and musician. As poet and orator he was pleasing and graceful; as a
musician he excelled. He was a brilliant and not obtrusive
conversationalist. His enthusiastic expressions of admiration for our
free institutions won him favor with all classes. In the fashionable
circle he soon became a pet.
Mrs. Lansdowne had from the first distrusted him. There was no
tangible foundation for her suspicions, but she had not been able to
overcome a certain instinct that warned her from his presence. She
watched, with misgivings of heart, her brother's growing familiarity
with the Italian. A facility of temper, his characteristic from
boyhood, made her fear that he might not be able to withstand the
soft, insinuating voice that veils guilty designs by winning
sophistics and appeals to sympathy and friendship. And so it proved.
One day, in extreme agitation, Rossini came to Mr. Somers, requesting
the loan of a considerable sum of money, to meet demands made upon
him. Remittances daily expected from Europe had failed to reach him.
Mr. Somers was unable to command so large a sum as he required. His
senior partner was absent from home. But the wily Rossini so won upon
his sympathies, that he went to the private safe of his
brother-in-law, and took from thence the money necessary to free his
friend from embarrassment. He never saw the Italian again.
When the treachery of which he had been the victim burst upon him,
together with his own weakness and guilt, he was filled with shame and
remorse. Mr. Lansdowne was a man of stern integrity and uncompromising
justice. He dared not meet his eye on his return, and he dreaded to
communicate the unworthy transaction to his sister, who had so gently
yet so faithfully warned him.
He made desperate efforts to get traces of the villain who had
deceived him. Unsuccessful--maddened with sorrow and shame, he wrote a
brief note of farewell to Mrs. Lansdowne, in which he confessed the
wrong he had committed against her husband, which Mr. Lansdowne would
reveal to her. He begged her to think as kindly of him as possible,
averring that an hour before the deed was done, he could not have
believed himself capable of it. Then he forsook the city.
When these occurrences were communicated to Mr. Lansdowne, he was
filled with surprise and indignation,--not at the pecuniary loss,
which, with his ample wealth, was of little moment to him, but on
account of such imprudence and folly, where he least expected it.
A few hours, however, greatly modified his view of the case. He had
found, in the safe, a note from Mr. Somers, stating the circumstances
under which he had taken the money and also the disappearance of
Rossini. This, together with his wife's distress, softened his
feelings to such a degree that he consented to recall his brother and
reinstate him in his former place in business.
But whither had the fugitive gone? Mrs. Lansdowne found no clue to his
intended destination.
During the morning of the day on which she is first introduced to the
attention of the reader, she had visited his apartment to make a more
thorough exploration. Looking around the room, she saw lying in the
fireplace a bit of paper, half buried in the ashes. She drew it out,
and after examining carefully found written upon it a few words that
kindled a new hope in her heart. Taking it to her husband, a
consultation was held upon its contents and an expedition planned, of
which an account will be given in the next chapter.
She was now the prey of conflicting emotions. The expedition, which
had that day been arranged, involved a sacrifice of feeling on her
part, greater she feared than she would be able to make.
But in order to recover her brother to home, honor, and happiness, it
seemed necessary to be made. Voices from the dead were pleading at her
heart incessantly, urging her, at whatever cost, to seek and save him,
who, with herself, constituted the only remnant of their family left
on earth. Her own affection for him also pressed its eloquent suit,
and at last the decision was confirmed. She resolved to venture her
son in the quest.
In the mean time, the sunset hues had faded from the sky and evening
had approached. The golden full moon had risen and was now shining in
at the broad window, bringing into beautiful relief the delicate
tracery on the high cornices, the rich carvings of the mahogany
furniture, and striking out a soft sheen from Mrs. Lansdowne's black
satin dress, as she moved slowly to and fro, through the light.
She seated herself once more at the window and gazed upon the lovely
orb of night. A portion of its serenity entered and tranquillized her
soul. The cloud of care and anxiety passed from her brow, leaving it
smooth and pure as that of an angel.