SUNNY BANK.
For a few days we lingered at my mother’s fireside, and then, with the
fall of the first snowflake, we left for our southern home; Richard
promising my mother, who was loth to give me up, that when the summer
birds came back and _roses_ were blooming again by the door, he would
bring his _Rose_ to breathe once more the air of her native hills. We
stopped at New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington, and it was
not until the holidays were passed that we landed at last at Charleston
and took the cars for W—— which we reached about dark.
With a loud cry of joy, _Bill_, who was waiting for us, welcomed back
his master, and then almost crushing my fingers in his big black hand,
said, with a sly wink, which he meant should be very expressive, “I
know, now what mass’r kill dem hosses for!” at the same time making some
apology for the really sorry looking animals he was compelled to drive
in the place of the deceased Ferdinand and Frederic. As we drove through
the town I could not help contrasting my present feelings with those of
the year before, when I thought I was leaving it forever. Then, weary,
sick and wretched, I had looked through blinding tears towards Sunny
Bank, which was now my home, while at my side, with his arm around me,
was its owner—my husband.
“You tremble, Rose,” said he, as we drew near the house, and he bade me
be calmer, saying the meeting between myself and his sister would soon
be over.
But it was not that which I dreaded. It was the presentation to his
servants, to whom I bore the formidable relation of mistress, and for
whose good opinion I cared far more than I did for that of the haughty
Mrs. Lansing. Something like this I said to Richard, who assured me that
his household would love me because I was _his_ wife, if for no other
reason, and thus I found it to be. As we drove into the yard, we were
surprised at seeing the house brilliantly lighted, while through the
open windows forms of many persons were seen moving to and fro.
In a displeased tone of voice Richard, said, “It is Angeline’s work, and
I do not like it, for you need rest, and are too much fatigued to see
any one to-night, but I suppose it cannot be avoided. Ho, Bill,” he
called to the driver, “who is here?”
“Some de quality,” answered Bill, adding that “Miss Angeline done ’vite
’em to see de bride.”
“She might at least have consulted my wishes,” said Richard, while my
heart sank within me at being obliged to meet strangers in my jaded
condition.
Mrs. Lansing, it seems, had in her mind a new piano for Lina, their
present one being rather old-fashioned, and as the surest means of
procuring one she thought to please her brother by noticing his bride.
So, in her zeal, she rather overdid the matter, inviting to Sunny Bank
many of the villagers, some of whom were friendly to me and some were
not, though all, I believe, felt curious to see how the “Plebeian
Yankee” (thus Ada termed me) would demean herself as the wife a southern
planter.
Dusky faces, with white shining eyes, peered round the corner of the
building as the carriage stopped before the door, and more than one
whisper reached me. “Dat’s she—de new Miss, dat mars’r’s liftin’ so
keerfully.”
Upon the piazza stood Mrs. Lansing, her face wreathed in smiles, while
at her side, in flowing white muslin, were Ada and Lina, the former of
whom sprang gaily down the steps, and with well feigned joy threw
herself into the arms of her guardian, who, after kissing her
affectionately, presented her to me, saying, “Will Ada be a sister to my
wife?”
“Anything, for your sake,” answered Ada, with rather more emphasis on
_your_ than was quite pleasing me.
Mrs. Lansing came next, and there was something of hauteur in her manner
as she advanced, for much as she desired to please her brother, she was
not yet fully prepared to meet me as an equal. But Richard knew the
avenue to her heart, and as he placed my hand in hers, he said, “For the
sake of Jessie you will love my bride, I am sure.”
It was enough; Jessie was forgotten by many who had wept bitterly when
first they heard the sad news of her death, but in the mother’s heart
there was an aching void, and as if the gentle, blue-eyed child were
pleading for me from her little grave, the proud woman’s eyes were moist
with tears as she said, “Yes, for Jessie’s sake do I l——” she paused,
for with that sacred name upon her lips even _she_ could not utter a
falsehood and say, “I love you,” so she qualified it, and after a moment
continued, “I will learn to love you, Rose, for such I know would be our
angel Jessie’s wish.”
From Lina I expected no demonstration. She was too selfish, too listless
to care for any one, so when she coolly shook my hand and called me
_Mrs. Delafield_, I was quite satisfied, particularly as the next moment
Halbert caught me round the neck, shouting out a noisy, but genuine
welcome to his “Aunt Rose,” and telling me “he was mighty glad I’d come
back to stay for good.”
“You have quite a party,” said Richard to his sister as we entered the
spacious hall, I shrinking behind him so as to hide myself from the
curious eyes which I knew were scanning my dusty travelling dress.
“Only a few friends, who I thought would be glad to meet Miss Lee—I beg
pardon—your wife,” she hastily added as she saw the gathering frown upon
his brow.
With a look in his eye which made her quail, he said, “Never make that
mistake again, Angeline.” (And she never did!) “Rose is too much
exhausted to appear in the parlor to-night,” he continued, as we entered
my room—_our room_—the pleasant, tasteful apartment, which I once
thought had been fitted up for Ada. “You ought to have had more tact
than to invite company on the first night of my arrival—when you must
have known how weary Rose would be. She don’t look like herself, so pale
and way-worn,” he continued, himself removing my bonnet and tenderly
stroking my aching head.
Nothing would please Ada better than to present me just as I was, pale
and jaded, with dark rims beneath my eyes, induced by the severe
headache from which I was really suffering. It would show her own charms
to greater advantage, she thought, as she glanced at an opposite mirror
and saw the contrast between us.
“Oh, Richard,” she said pleadingly, “pray don’t object to her going
down, it wouldn’t be polite, and then they are all dying to see her.”
“Why then didn’t they, some of them, improve the opportunity when she
was here before, and _on show_ every day,” said Richard, moodily.
And Ada, forgetting herself, answered in a low tone, “Why, that’s plain
enough, Mrs. Richard Delafield is a very different personage from Miss
Lee, _gov_”——
“_Ada!_” sternly interposed my husband, “Never a remark like that in my
presence.”
“Why, Uncle Dick,” said Ada, smothering her anger and winding her white
arms around his neck, “how you frighten me. I didn’t mean anything, only
I do want Rose to go down, so much, can’t you, dear?” and she turned
towards me.
With her, I felt that it would hardly be polite to refuse, so I replied
that “after a cup of tea and half an hour’s rest, I would try to do so.”
Supper was brought to our room, the servant almost touching her knees to
the floor, so low was her obeisance to the “New Miss.” As I have once
before remarked, my head was aching dreadfully, and as I looked at the
soft, downy pillows which lay piled upon the snowy bed in the adjoining
room, I thought how much rather I would throw myself among them, than
join the gay company below. But it could not be, and with something like
_tears_ in the sound of my voice, I asked Richard to send up my trunks.
Closely inspecting me for a moment, he answered. “There is no necessity
for you to dress. You look well enough just as you are, and you must not
fatigue yourself any more. I shall get you excused in a little while,
and sometime after you are thoroughly rested, Angeline shall give a
large party at her own house, where you’ll have an opportunity to
display all the ‘_fixins_,’” and he laughed, thinking, I suppose, he had
said something smart.
My dress was a dark blue merino, trimmed on the basque and sleeves with
black velvet. It fitted neatly, and was, I knew, unusually becoming; so
after arranging my curls and donning a clean linen collar, I took my
husband’s arm and went down to the drawing-room, where I found about
forty people assembled. With a few of them I was already acquainted,
while the majority were only known to me by sight; for though I had
often seen them at Cedar Grove, they had not thought it worth their
while to notice a mere governess. Now, however, as Ada had said, matters
were changed, and Richard Delafield’s wife could not be slighted with
impunity. Consequently I was for a time overwhelmed with compliments and
attention; some with whom I had never before spoken, expressing their
delight at seeing me back again, while others said that a _bride_ was
just what was wanting to give éclat to the winter gaieties.
Close to my side kept Ada, assuming a kind of patronizing manner and
answering for me whenever she thought the conversation beyond my depth.
Of course she threw me quite in the shade, and in a measure she had her
reward, for she, as well as I, heard a lady, a stranger in W——, say,
“How much more beautiful Miss Montrose is than the bride. I wonder Mr.
Delafield did not prefer her.”
There was a look of exultation on Ada’s face as her eyes met mine, but
it passed away as we heard the answer made by Miss Porter, a lady whom
Ada thought exceedingly aristocratic. “Yes,” said she, “Miss Montrose is
rather pretty, but she is fading fast, and I suppose Mr. Delafield
preferred the freshness of youth to the decay of beauty, and for my
part, I approve his choice, and think her a very pretty little
creature.”
I glanced at my husband—he, too, heard the remark and it pleased him, I
knew, while Ada crossed over to the opposite side of the room and I saw
her no more, for Richard soon asked for me to be excused; a request
which the company readily granted, saying, “I must of course be tired.”
It was late when Richard came up to our room, and I saw in a moment that
something was the matter, for his face wore the dark, hard look it
sometimes did when he was disturbed. I did not then ask the cause of his
annoyance, but afterwards I learned that the moment the guests were
gone, Ada, whose feelings were a good deal ruffled, not only at the
attention I had received, but also at the remark of Miss Porter,
commenced censuring my husband for having suffered me to appear in the
drawing-room in my travelling dress. “’Twas an insult to the company,”
she said, “and they could excuse it on no other grounds save the
supposition that I was entirely ignorant of etiquette in any form. I
didn’t blame her so much,” said she, “for I suppose she didn’t know any
better, but I was astonished at _you_.”
Ada had quite forgotten herself, or else she misunderstood the man with
whom she had to deal. Very quietly he listened, but the storm was
gathering within, and when she had finished, it burst upon her with a
vengeance; he bidding her never again, either in his presence or the
presence of any one, say aught disparagingly of his wife. “Her actions
shall not be questioned by you,” said he, “and you _shall_ treat her
with deference, for in every respect she is your superior, save that of
_age_, and there, I admit, you have the advantage.”
This decided the matter at once, for Ada was afraid of him, and though
she could not conceal her dislike from me, she was in his presence
always kind, considerate and sometimes even affectionate in her demeanor
towards me, coming at last to call him “Uncle Dick,” in imitation of
Halbert, and _me_ “Aunt Rose,” particularly if there were any strangers
present.
The morning following my arrival I was formally presented to the
servants, who received me with many demonstrations of joy, the older
portion “bressin’ de Lord they had lived to see Mars’r Richard look so
happy and peart like as he did with the new Miss.” Only one eyed me at
all askance, and that was Aunt Hagar, the housekeeper, who saw in me a
rival—one who would henceforth wear jingling at her belt the huge bunch
of keys, which for so long a time had been to her a badge of honor.
Then, too, the old lady, like my other new relatives, had some fears
“that Miss Rose didn’t ‘long to the quality, and that Mars’r Richard had
done histed hisself down a peg or so by marryin’ one who was brought up
in de free states, whar dar warn’t nary nigger to fotch ’em a drink of
water or fan when de sun was roastin’ hot.”
With a look of injured dignity, which made the steeple of a turban on
her head tremble, she undid from her waist the bunch of keys, and
offering them to me, said, “I ’spects these are yourn now.”
I drew back, for to me there was nothing pleasing in the idea of being
disturbed every time a lump of sugar, a piece of coal, or a pan of flour
was wanted, so I said, “If my husband is willing I’d rather you’d keep
them yourself, as I know you are trusty.”
Hagar’s face brightened perceptibly and I am induced to think she forgot
in a measure my misfortune in having been born in a _free state_! At all
events I have not now a more devoted servant than Hagar, who declares me
to be a “perfect lady,” and who has more than once ventured the
_treasonable remark_, that “if all de Free State folks is like Miss
Rose, she’ll be boun’ she’d like to live thar!” Regularly each morning
she comes to me and asks “what Miss would like for dinner,” and
regularly each morning “Miss” answers, “Dear me, Hagar, I don’t know;
get what you like:” feeling confident the while that the programme is
already made out and that any material suggestion from me would be
superfluous. So much for mistress and slave.
With his usual generosity, my husband made all of the negroes presents
in honor of his marriage; offering for Bill’s acceptance a silver watch,
which he had purchased for him in Charleston. Taking the timepiece in
his hand, Bill examined it attentively, held it to his ear, put it in
his pocket, looked at the key, and then handing it back to his master,
said, “no ‘fence, mars’r, but if you please thar’s somethin’ I’d like
better.”
“Very well, what is it?” asked Richard; and Bill answered, “Why, you
see, Mars’r, how dem hosses, Fred and Ferd, has never had proper ’spect
showed to thar memory. To be sure, I wars a weed on my hat and I ’fused
to gine in de dance t’odder night, but that’s nothin’. Ferd had too high
blood in him to keer for an ole nigger’s mournin’, and what I wants is
for you _to paint de stable black_, and that I reckons will show ’em
proper ’tention. What do you say, Miss Rose?”
As the horses had fallen in my cause, I readily espoused Bill’s project
for the novelty of the thing, if nothing else; and should any one of my
readers visit Sunny Bank, which I wish they may, they will see the
stables wearing a hue as dark as Bill himself, who has now a pair of
iron-greys, which he calls “Richard” and “Rose,” notwithstanding that
both are of the masculine gender. These, particularly the latter, are
the pride of Bill’s heart, and when the year of mourning has expired, he
intends, he says, to have the stable painted “yaller,” that being the
color of a young girl who has lately made sad havoc with his affections!
Here I may as well say that Mrs. Lansing managed until she procured the
desired piano, which came in company with another, a much nicer one, on
the front of which was inscribed “Rose, from her husband.” In return for
her brother’s gift, Mrs. Lansing made a large party, where I had an
opportunity of wearing my bridal dress, together with a costly set of
diamonds, which I found upon my table, when I went up to make my toilet.
It did not need the simple word “Richard” on a bit of paper to tell me
whence they came, and the tears started to my eyes when I thought how
kind he was, while I was conscious of a glow of pride, when I saw
_little Rosa Lee_ flashing with diamonds, which encircled her arms and
neck, and shone among the curls of her hair. Bertha, my tasteful waiting
maid—for I am getting quite southernized—pronounced me beautiful, as she
gave the finishing stroke to my toilet, while one, for whose judgment I
cared still more, and who all the time had been conning his evening
paper, apparently oblivious to the presence of white satin, point lace,
orange flowers and diamonds, responded, “Yes, Bertha, your young
mistress _is_ beautiful.”
_Dress_ does make a vast deal of difference in one’s looks, and if that
night two-thirds of the three hundred _particular_ friends, whose hands
I shook, pronounced me “beautiful, handsome, charming, lovely,” and all
that, it was owing chiefly, I think, to the fitness of my robes, and the
brilliancy of my diamonds. These last were the subject of much remark,
they being the finest which had ever been worn in W——, Ada _very
good-naturedly_ saying, “she hoped my good fortune wouldn’t quite turn
my head!”
Mrs. Lansing’s party was followed by many more, and ere I was aware of
it Mrs. Richard Delafield was quite a belle—what she said, what she did,
and what she wore being pronounced _au fait_ by the fashionables of W——.
Upon all this Ada looked jealously; never allowing an opportunity to
pass without speaking slightingly of me, though always careful that
Richard should not know of it. In his presence she was vastly kind,
sitting at my feet, calling me “Aunty,” and treating me as if I had been
twenty years her senior. At first she spent much more of her time at
Sunny Bank than was at all agreeable to me, and I was not sorry when a
little incident occurred which in a measure tended to keep her away. She
had always been in the habit of treating my husband with a great show of
affection, and now that he was, as she said, “an old married man,” she
seemed to think it no matter how much she caressed him. Even _I_ dared
not seat myself upon his knee as coolly as she would, and her temerity
troubled me, particularly as I knew it was annoying to him. This I must
have manifested in some way, for one morning, when as usual she entered
our room without knocking, and perched herself on Richard’s knee, he
pushed her off, saying, half in earnest, half in jest, “Don’t act so
foolish, Ada, you make me sick, for now that I have Rose to pet me I can
easily dispense with your caresses, which are rather too much of a good
thing.”
Ada was angry, and with a little hateful laugh, she said, turning to me,
“_jealous_, I suppose, and have read your better half a lecture on
propriety. When _I_ marry, I trust I shall have faith enough in my
husband’s love for me, not to care even if he does chance to look at
some one else.”
I knew Richard would vindicate my cause, so I remained silent while he
answered, “You do Rose injustice, for never have we exchanged a word
concerning the manner you have assumed towards me, and which I should
suppose your own sense of propriety would condemn. Were you my wife,
’twould be different.”
“Your wife,” interrupted Ada, with bitter scorn, “I am not your wife,
thank fortune, neither did I ever aspire to be, and I have yet to see
the man whom I would for a moment think of marrying.”
There was not the slightest cause for this speech, but Ada was angry;
and, as if to exasperate her still more, Richard coolly asked, “Didn’t
you think of marrying _Herbert Langley_ when you engaged yourself to
him?”
He had heard the whole story at Meadow Brook, but this was the first
time he had hinted it to Ada, who turned very pale and without another
word left the room, going back to Cedar Grove, where for three weeks she
pouted and cried alternately. At the end of that time, however, she
concluded it better to “make up” so she wrote a note to us both, asking
_my_ pardon for her rudeness and begging my husband to forgive her for
the many falsehoods she had told concerning her engagement with Herbert,
which she now frankly confessed. Of course we forgave her, and as she
was not one who remembered anything long, she soon began to visit us as
of old, though she no longer sat on my husband’s knee, or wound her arms
around his neck. His rebuke did her good, and she profited by it, while
the fact that he was fully aware of the deception she had practised
tended to humble her, and on rainy days, when Richard was necessarily
away from home, I found her quite an agreeable companion.
Thus the winter and spring passed away, and my mother’s letters began to
grow urgent for my return, but for various reasons Richard did not think
it advisable for me to under take so long a journey, and as Sunny Bank
was all the world to me, I very cheerfully consented to wait until
another season ere I visited my New England home. About this time I was
again seized with my olden desire for authorship, induced in a measure
by my knowing how much Mrs. Lansing reverenced anything which savored of
a book-writer. To be an _authoress_, then, and make her proud to own me
as her sister, was a subject over which I grew pale and “nervous,”
Richard said, while the negroes called me “fidgety” and wondered “what
done ailded Miss Rose.” At last, after many wakeful nights and restless
days, after sick headaches, nervous headaches, and all kind of
headaches, the plan was marked out for a story. _I_ would be the heroine
myself and give to the world as much of my history as I thought proper,
and if I failed—if no railroad, steamboat, or stagecoach passenger ever
pointed me out as “the woman who wrote that book,” or if my publishers
“respectfully declined” another bearing my signature, I thought I should
still have the satisfaction of knowing I had tried to benefit the world,
and I felt almost sure that in Meadow Brook at least there were people
stupid enough to buy my book and possibly to like it, just because
little Rosa Lee, who used to climb fences and hunt hen’s eggs with them
in her childish days, had written it. So, one sunny morning in June,
when my husband had left me to be gone for two weeks, I shut myself up
in my room, donned a loose wrapper, tucked back my curls, opened my
writing desk, took out a quire of foolscap, and had just written “MEADOW
BROOK,” when the bell rang and Bertha announced “a lady in the parlor.”
With a deep sigh, as I thought how “WE writers disliked to be
disturbed,” I arranged my curls, resumed my cambric morning gown, and
went down to receive my visitor, telling her that I was _very_ well,
that the weather was _very_ warm, that I expected to be _very_ lonely
without my husband, that her bonnet was _very_ pretty, that I didn’t
think negroes as annoying and hateful as she did, after which she took
her leave; and I went back to my room, this time locking the door and
writing the first chapter of my book before the bell rang for dinner.
To Bertha I imparted my secret, reading to her each page as I wrote it,
and though she was not, perhaps, the most appreciating auditor one could
have, she was certainly the most attentive and approving. It is true she
objected to my describing myself as such a homely child. “Jest tell de
truffe and done wid it,” she said; whereupon I assured her that I _had_
told the truth, and then she suggested that in order to make amends for
my ugliness I should represent myself as having been “peart like and
smart.” So, if the reader thinks I have made myself too precocious, the
fault is chargeable to Bertha, for I did it to please her!
For two weeks I wrote, scarcely allowing myself a moment’s rest, and
Bertha, who, when she saw how it wore upon me, began at last to
expostulate. “Thar wasn’t no ’casion,” she said, “to kill myself, when
thar was heaps ’o niggers kickin’ round under foot, and if miss ’sisted
on writin’ a book, why didn’t she make some dem lazy critters do it for
her!”
At the end of two weeks Richard returned, asking me as he looked in my
face “what was the matter, and how I had spent my time?”
Before I could answer, Bertha, who was quite incensed against my book,
said, “she’s done writin’ a spellin’ book, or somethin’, and sits up
’most all night. I tell her how ’twill kill her, but she pay no
’tention!”
The secret was out, and with many blushes I plead guilty, and producing
my manuscript, watched Richard while he read it. Over the first chapter,
where he thought I was going to die, he cried—or that is, tears came to
his eyes; the third he skipped partially, the next entirely, and the
next and the next (I hope the reader has not done likewise); but when he
found Dr. Clayton he read every word, his forehead tying itself up in
knots, which, however, cleared away the moment he came upon himself at
the theatre, though I believe he didn’t feel much complimented by my
description of his personal appearance!
There, just as _he_ was introduced, the story ended, and fortunate was
it for me that it did so, for he declared I should not write another
word after I got through with him; and I promised that I wouldn’t,
mentally resolving that it should be some time before I reached that
point. This then, my reader, is the reason why I said no more of him,
when first I presented him to your notice, but left him for a while in
mystery. I knew Richard was anxious to hear what _did_ become of
himself, and I fancied that if I wrote considerable before I said
anything very definite of him, he would be more likely to let me finish
the book, as he would not wish me to waste so much paper for nothing!
And the sequel proved that I was right. Regularly each day I wrote,
Richard always stopping me the moment he thought I was tired, and
invariably breaking me off in the wrong place, so if there should be any
parts of my story which do not join together smoothly, you may know it
was there that Richard took my pen from my hand, or hid the inkstand.
Towards the middle of August, invitations came for us to attend a large
wedding in Charleston. I was exceedingly anxious to go, having heard
much of the bride, who was a distant relative of my husband, and though
both he and Mrs. Lansing raised every conceivable objection to my
leaving home, I adroitly put aside all their arguments, and ere Richard
fully realized that he had been coaxed into doing something he had fully
determined not to do, we were rattling along in a dusty Charleston
omnibus towards one of the largest hotels, where rooms had been engaged
for us. The morning after our arrival, I went into the public parlor,
and as I seated myself at the piano I saw just across the room, near an
open window, a quiet, intelligent-looking lady, apparently twenty-six or
twenty-seven years of age, and near her sporting upon the carpet, was a
beautiful little girl, with flowing curls and soft dark eyes, which
instantly riveted my attention, they were so like something I had seen
before.
At the sound of the music she came to my side, listening attentively,
and when I had finished, she laid one white, chubby hand on my lap and
the other on the keys, saying, “please play again, _Rose_ like to hear
you.”
“And so your name is Rose?” I answered, “Rose what?”
“_Rosa Lee Clayton_, and that’s my new _ma_,” she replied, pointing
towards the lady, whose usually pale cheek was for an instant suffused
with a blush such as brides only wear.
I knew now why I had felt interested in the child. It was the _father_
which I saw looking at me through the eyes of brown, and taking the
little creature in my arms, I was about to question her of her sire,
when an increasing glow on the lady’s cheek and a footstep in the hall
told me he was coming!
The next moment he stood before me, Dr. Clayton! his face perfectly
unruffled and wearing an expression of content, at least, if not perfect
happiness. I was conscious of a faintness stealing over me, but by a
strong effort I shook it off, and rising to my feet, I offered him my
hand, which he pressed, saying, “This is indeed a surprise, Rose—I beg
your pardon, Mrs. Delafield, I suppose?”
I nodded in the affirmative, and was about to say something more, when
another footstep approached, and my husband’s tall figure darkened the
doorway. For an instant they both turned pale, and Dr. Clayton grasped
the piano nervously; but the shock soon passed away, and then as friend
meets friend after a brief separation, so met these two men, who but the
year before had watched together over my pillow, praying, the one that I
might live, and the other that I might die.
Wonderingly the little girl looked up into her father’s face, and
pulling the skirt of my dress, said, “Who is the lady, pa? with the
pretty curls so much like mine?”
Never before, I believe, did I like Dr. Clayton as I did at that moment
when I saw the deep tenderness which broke over his features as he took
his daughter in his arms, and pressing his lips to her forehead,
answered, “It is _Rosa Lee_, my child, the lady for whom you were
named.”
“Don’t you love her, pa? _I_ do,” she asked, stretching her little fat
arms towards me.
I glanced at my husband—his brow was dark as midnight. I looked at Dr.
Clayton, there was a slight quivering of his lips, while his wife was
pale as a water lily, and then I burst into a merry laugh, in which the
gentlemen soon joined, though it would have puzzled us all to have told
at what we were laughing.
After a few words of explanation as to why we were there, Dr. Clayton
suddenly remembered himself, and leading me towards the lady, introduced
her as “My wife, Mrs. Clayton.” She had been living in Florida with a
cousin, at whose house they were married, about two weeks before, and
they were now on their way to Boston, stopping for a few days in
Charleston to see the city. I found her a very quiet, sensible woman,
but as different from Dell Thompson, or Rosa Lee, as a person well could
be, and I was wondering to myself how it was possible for a man to love
so many people of opposite temperaments, when she said something about
New England, and I asked if she were ever there.
“Oh, yes,” she answered, “I was born there, in Wilbraham, Mass. I was
living with the grandmother of the first Mrs. Clayton at the time of her
death.”
In a moment it all came to me; Dell had told me of _Mabel Warrener_, who
had inherited her grandmother’s fortune, and now she sat there before
me, Mrs. Clayton 2d. Surely the freaks of fortune are wonderful!
Naturally refined and intelligent, Mabel had employed a part of her
money in giving herself a good education, graduating at Mount Holyoke
Female Seminary, and going thence back to her home in Wilbraham, which
she had fitted up with much taste, and where she was living when Dr.
Clayton met her on his return from Georgia. Of her then he only thought
as of a pleasant, agreeable woman; but when time, absence, and my
marriage had softened the keenness of his disappointment, he often found
his thoughts wandering towards the fair Mabel, who, upon inquiry, he
learned had gone to Florida. Rose needed a mother, and he needed a wife;
so, after an interchange of letters, he one morning started with his
little girl for the “land of flowers,” where neither sickness, nor
death, nor yet a Richard Delafield, came between him and his bride. They
seemed very happy, for after a little Dr. Clayton recovered his
equanimity, and appeared perfectly natural.
Not a word, however, did he say of the past, or in any way allude to
Georgia, except once when he asked me if I did not think _Rose_
resembled Jessie in a measure. I had thought of the same thing, though
Rosa’s eyes were darker and her hair more of a chestnut brown. She was a
sweet little creature, and if anything could have reconciled me to being
the wife of Dr. Clayton, it would have been the fact that she was my
daughter. But as I contrasted the two men, as my eye fell on Dr.
Clayton’s handsome face and curly locks, and then rested on the dark
features and raven hair of Richard, I felt that in him there was more of
the true, the noble man, and my heart warmly approved me for the choice
I had made.
Nearly all the morning we sat there talking on indifferent subjects, and
when dinner was over, Mrs. Clayton came to my room, staying a long time,
and gaining fast in my good opinion, when I saw how kind and friendly
she was. She had heard the whole story, for she told me so, holding
little Rose upon her lap and smoothing her silken curls.
“We cannot all love the same person,” she said in conclusion; “and I am
so glad you refused him, for otherwise he would not have been my
husband;” and her quiet eyes lighted up with a look of happiness which
plainer than words could express told me that she had brought to Dr.
Clayton no divided affections.
At the making of my toilet for the wedding she was present, aiding
Bertha greatly by her own tasteful suggestions, and when at last I was
dressed with perfect childish simplicity, she ran for her husband “to
come and see if I didn’t look pretty.”
“Mrs. Delafield was always pretty to me,” was the doctor’s answer, and
that was all he said.
They were to leave early next morning before I would be up, and so when
the carriage was announced, we went to bid them good-bye.
“May I kiss your wife?” asked the doctor of my husband, as he held my
hand.
“Certainly, sir,” answered Richard, “an even exchange is always fair,”
and instead of once, _he_ kissed the blushing Mabel twice, which of
course gave Dr. Clayton liberty to do the same by me.
Suddenly remembering something which I had left in my room, I went up
for it, and on my way back glanced into the parlor, occupied by Dr.
Clayton. He was seated upon the sofa by the side of his wife, around
whose waist his arm was affectionately thrown, while partly on his lap
and partly upon that of her step-mother was little Rose, her long
eyelashes drooping sleepily over her eyes of brown. It was a beautiful
tableau, and whenever I think of Dr. Clayton now, it is as I last saw
him, happy and contented, for he has not only won a most excellent wife,
but also secured that $10,000 after all!