LADY VINCENT'S RECEPTION.
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.