Long among them was seen a maiden, who waited and wondered,
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things;
Fair was she, and young, but alas! before her extended,
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life.--Evangeline.
LONGFELLOW
'Sister, sister! who is it? Going to be married! Oh, do tell us!'
cried Ella Warden--as she now was called--capering round her elder
sister, who stood beneath a gas-burner, in a well-furnished bed-room,
reading a letter, its enclosure clasped within a very trembling hand.
'Mary May, dear Mary,' answered Averil, still half absently.
'And who?'
'Mr. Cheviot,' said Averil, thoroughly rousing herself, and, with a
quick movement, concealing the enclosure in her bosom. 'I remember
him; he was very good, when--'
And there she paused; while Ella chattered on: 'Oh, sister, if you were
but at home, you would be a bridesmaid now, and perhaps we should.
Little Miss Rivers was Mrs. Ernescliffe's bridesmaid. Don't you
remember, Minna, how we saw her in her little cashmere cloak?'
'Oh, don't, Ella!' escaped from Minna, like a cry of pain, as she leant
back in a rocking-chair, and recollected who had held her up in his
arms to watch Blanche May's wedding procession.
'And how soon will she be married, sister, and where will she live?'
asked the much-excited Ella.
'She will be married in Whitsun week, and as he is headmaster, they
will live in Dr. Hoxton's house. Dear, good Mary, how glad I am that
she is so full of happiness--her letter quite brims over with it! I
wonder if I may work anything to send her.'
'I should like to send her some very beautiful thing indeed,' cried
Ella, with emphasis, and eyes dilating at some visionary magnificence.
'Ah, I have nothing to send her but my love! And I may send _her_ that
still,' said Minna, looking up wistfully at Averil, who bent down and
kissed her.
'And Ave won't let me send mine to Mr. Tom, though I'm sure I do love
him the best of them all,' said Ella.
'That wasn't--' half whispered Minna, but turned her head away, with a
sigh of oppression and look of resignation, sad in so young a child,
though, indeed, the infantine form was fast shooting into tall, lank
girlhood. Ella went on: 'I shall send him the objects for his
microscope, when I get into the country; for I promised, so sister
can't prevent me.'
'Oh, the country!--when shall we go there?' sighed Minna.
'Your head aches to-night, my dear,' said Averil, looking anxiously at
her listless attitude, half-opened eyes, and the deep hollows above her
collar-bones.
'It always does after the gas is lighted,' said the child, patiently,
'it is always so hot here.'
'It is just like being always in the conservatory at the Grange,' added
Ella. 'I do hate this boarding-house. It is very unkind of Henry to
keep us here--fifteen weeks now.'
'Oh, Ella,' remonstrated Minna, 'you mustn't say that!'
'But I shall say it,' retorted Ella. 'Rosa Willis says what she
pleases, and so shall I. I don't see the sense of being made a baby
of, when every one else of our age eats all they like, and is consulted
about arrangements, and attends classes. And sister owns she does not
know half so much as Cora!'
This regular declaration of American independence confounded the two
sisters, and made Averil recall the thoughts that had been wandering:
'No, Ella, in some things I have not learnt so much as Cora; but I
believe I know enough to teach you, and it has been a comfort to me to
keep my two little sisters with me, and not send them to be mixed up
among strange girls. Besides, I have constantly hoped that our present
way of life would soon be over, and that we should have a home of our
own again.'
'And why can't we!' asked Ella, in a much more humble and subdued voice.
'Because Henry cannot hear of anything to do. He thought he should
soon find an opening in this new country; but there seem to be so many
medical men everywhere that no one will employ or take into partnership
a man that nothing is known about; and he cannot produce any of his
testimonials, because they are all made out in his old name, except one
letter that Dr. May gave him. It is worse for Henry than for us, Ella,
and all we can do for him is not to vex him with our grievances.
Poor Averil! her dejected, patient voice, sad soft eyes, and gentle
persuasive manner, were greatly changed from those of the handsome,
accomplished girl, who had come home to be the family pride and pet;
still more, perhaps, from the wilful mistress of the house and the
wayward sufferer of last summer.
'And shan't we go to live in the dear beautiful forest, as Cora Muller
wishes?'
There was a tap at the door, and the children's faces brightened,
though a shade passed over Averil's face, as if everything at that
moment were oppressive; but she recovered a smile of greeting for the
pretty creature who flew up to her with a fervent embrace--a girl a few
years her junior, with a fair, delicate face and figure, in a hot-house
rose style of beauty.
'Father's come!' she cried.
'How glad you must be!'
'And now,' whispered the children, 'we shall know about going to
Indiana.'
'He says Mordaunt is as tall as he is, and that the house is quite
fixed for me; but I told him I must have one more term, and then I will
take you with me. Ah! I am glad to see the children in white. If you
would only change that plain black silk, you would receive so much more
consideration.'
'I don't want it, Cora, thank you,' said Averil, indifferently; and,
indeed, the simple mourning she still wore was a contrast to her
friend's delicate, expensive silk.
'But I want it for you,' pleaded Cora. 'I don't want to hear my Averil
censured for English hauteur, and offend my country's feelings, so that
she keeps herself from seeing the best side.'
'I see a very good, very dear side of one,' said Averil, pressing the
eager hand that was held out to her, 'and that is enough for me. I was
not a favourite in my own town, and I have not spirits to make friends
here.'
'Ah! you will have spirits in our woods,' she said. 'You shall show me
how you go gipsying in England.'
'The dear, dear woods! Oh, we must go!' cried the little girls.
'But it is going to be a town,' said Minna, gravely.
Cora laughed. 'Ah, there will be plenty of bush this many a day,
Minna! No lack of butternuts and hickories, I promise you, nor of
maples to paint the woods gloriously.'
'You have never been there?' said Averil, anxiously.
'No; I have been boarding here these two years, since father and
brothers located there, but we had such a good time when we lived at my
grandfather's farm, in Ohio, while father was off on the railway
business.'
A gong resounded through the house, and Averil, suppressing a
disappointed sigh, allowed Cora to take possession of her arm, and,
followed by the two children, became parts of a cataract of people who
descended the great staircase, and flowed into a saloon, where the
dinner was prepared.
Henry, with a tall, thin, wiry-looking gentleman, was entering at the
same time, and Averil found herself shaking hands with her brother's
companion, and hearing him say, 'Good evening, Miss Warden; I'm glad to
meet my daughter's friend. I hope you feel at home in our great
country.'
It was so exactly the ordinary second-rate American style, that Averil,
who had expected something more in accordance with the refinement of
everything about Cora, except a few of her tones, was a little
disappointed, and responded with difficulty; then, while Mr. Muller
greeted her sisters, she hastily laid her hand on Henry's arm, and
said, under her breath, 'I've a letter from him.'
'Hush!' Henry looked about with a startled eye and repressing gesture.
Averil drew back, and, one hand on her bosom, pressing the letter, and
almost holding down a sob, she took her accustomed seat at the meal.
Minna, too languid for the rapidity of the movements, hardly made the
exertion of tasting food. Ella, alert and brisk, took care of herself
as effectually as did Rosa Willis, on the opposite side of the table.
Averil, all one throb of agitation, with the unread letter lying at her
heart, directed all her efforts to look, eat, and drink, as usual;
happily, talking was the last thing that was needed.
Averil had been greatly indebted to Miss Muller, who had taken pity on
the helpless strangers--interested, partly by her own romance about
England, partly by their mourning dresses, dark melancholy eyes, and
retiring, bewildered manner. A beautiful motherless girl, under
seventeen--left, to all intents and purposes, alone in New
York--attending a great educational establishment, far more independent
and irresponsible than a young man at an English University, yet
perfectly trustworthy--never subject to the bevues of the 'unprotected
female,' but self-reliant, modest, and graceful, in the heterogeneous
society of the boarding-house--she was a constant marvel to Averil, and
a warm friendship soon sprang up. The advances were, indeed, all on
one side; for Ave was too sad, and oppressed with too heavy a secret,
to be readily accessible; but there was an attraction to the younger,
fresher, freer nature, even in the mystery of her mournful reserve; and
the two drew nearer together from gratitude, and many congenial
feelings, that rendered Cora the one element of comfort in the
boarding-house life; while Henry in vain sought for occupation.
Cora had been left under the charge of the lady of the boarding-house,
a distant connection, while her father, who had been engaged in more
various professions than Averil could ever conceive of or remember, had
been founding a new city in Indiana, at once as farmer and land-agent,
and he had stolen a little time, in the dead season, to hurry up to New
York, partly on business, and partly to see his daughter, who had
communicated to him her earnest desire that her new friends might be
induced to settle near their future abode.
American meals were too serious affairs for conversation; but such as
there was, was political, in all the fervid heat of the first
commencements of disunion and threatenings of civil war. After the
ladies had repaired to their saloon, with its grand ottomans, sofas,
rocking-chairs, and piano, the discussion continued among them; Cora
talking with the utmost eagerness of the tariff and of slavery, and the
other topics of the day, intensely interesting, and of terrible moment,
to her country; but that country Averil had not yet learnt to feel her
own, and to her all was one dreary whirl of words, in which she longed
to escape to her room, and read her letter. Ella had joined Rosa
Willis, and the other children; but Minna, as usual, kept under her
sister's wing, and Averil could not bear to shake herself free of the
gentle child. The ladies of the boarding-house--some resident in order
to avoid the arduous duties of housekeeping, others temporarily brought
thither in an interregnum of servants, others spending a winter in the
city--had grown tired of asking questions that met with the scantiest
response, took melancholy for disdain, and were all neglectful, some
uncivil, to the grave, silent English girl, and she was sitting alone,
with Minna's hand in hers, as she had sat for many a weary evening,
when her brother and Mr. Muller came up together, and, sitting down on
either side of her, began to talk of the rising city of
Massissauga--admirably situated--excellent water privilege,
communicating with Lake Michigan--glorious primeval forest--healthy
situation--fertile land--where a colossal fortune might be realized in
maize, eighties, sections, speculations. It was all addressed to her,
and it was a hard task to give attention, so as to return a rational
answer, while her soul would fain have been clairvoyante, to read the
letter in her breast. She did perceive, at last, though not till long
after the children had gone to bed, that the project was, that the
family should become the purchasers of shares, which would give them a
right to a portion of the soil, excellent at present for growing corn,
and certain hereafter to be multiplied in value for building; that
Henry might, in the meantime, find an opening for practice, but might
speedily be independent of it. It sounded promising, and it was
escape--escape from forced inaction, from an uncongenial life, from
injury to the children, and it would be with Cora, her one friend.
What was the demur, and why were they consulting her, who, as Henry
knew, was ready to follow him wherever he chose to carry her? At last
came a gleam of understanding: 'Then, Doctor, you will talk it over
with your sister, and give me your ultimatum;' and therewith Mr. Muller
walked away to mingle in other conversation, and Henry coming closer to
his sister, she again eagerly said, 'I have it here; you shall see it
to-morrow, when I have read it.'
'It--'
'The letter.'
'How can you be so unguarded? You have not let the children know? Take
care then, I will not have the subject revived with them.'
'But Minna--'
'It is this heated stove atmosphere. She will soon forget if you don't
keep it up, and she will be herself when we leave this place, and it
depends on you when we do that, Ave.'
'On me!' she said, with bewildered face.
And Henry, marvelling at her slowness of comprehension, made her
understand that the advance of money, for the purchase at Massissauga,
must come from her means. His own had been heavily drained by the
removal, the long period of inaction, and moreover what remained had
been embarked in shares in a company, absolutely certain to succeed,
but where they were not at once available for sale. Averil was now of
age, her property was in her own power, and could not, her brother
assured her, be better invested, than on ground certain to increase in
value. She looked at him, confused and distressed, aware that it was
too important a step to be taken without consideration, yet unable to
compose her thoughts, or recollect objections.
'Must I answer to-night?' she said.
'No, there is no need for that. But we must close to-morrow with
Muller, for it is not a chance that will long go begging.'
'Then let me go, please, Henry,' she said, imploringly. 'I will tell
you to-morrow, but I can't now. I don't seem to understand anything.'
It was late, and he released her, with a kind good night, though still
with a sign of caution. Cora, however, hastened to join her, and walk
up the stairs with her, eagerly inquiring into the success of the
negotiation, and detailing what she had gathered from her father as to
the improvements he had been making. She would fain have made Averil
come into her bedroom to build castles there; but this was more than
could be borne, and breaking from her at last, Averil reached her own
room, not to think of Mr. Muller's project, but to cast an anxious
glance at each of the little beds, to judge whether the moment had come
when that famishing hunger might be appeased by the crumb which for
these mortal hours had lain upon her craving heart--the very first
since the one on the arrival at Milbank.
Each brown head was shrouded in the coverings, the long dark fringes
rested safely on the cheeks, and Averil at length drew out the
treasure, and laid it on her hand to dwell on its very sight. The
address needed to be looked at with lingering earnestness, as if it had
indeed been a missive from another world; she looked, and was tardy to
unfold it, as though, now the moment was come, the sense of being in
communication with her brother must be tasted to the utmost, ere
entering on the utterances that must give pain; and when she did open
the envelope, perhaps the first sensation was disappointment--the lines
were not near enough together, the writing not small enough, to satisfy
even the first glance of the yearning eye. It was cheerful, it spoke
of good health, and full occupation, with the use of books, daily
exercise, the chaplain's visits, schooling and attendance at chapel,
and of the great pleasure of having heard from her. 'And that good Dr.
May inclosed your letter in one written to me with his own hand, a
kindness I never dared to think of as possible, but which he promises
to repeat. Your letter and his are the continual food of my thoughts,
and are valued beyond all power of words. I only hope you knew that I
have not been allowed to write sooner, and have not expected letters.'
Then came a few brief comments on her last inquiries, and entreaties
that she would give him full information of all details of their
present life: 'It will carry me along with you, and I shall live with
you, both as I read, and as I dwell on it afterwards. Do not indulge
in a moment's uneasiness about me, for I am well, and busy; every one
is as kind to me as duty permits, and Dr. May is always ready to do all
in his power for me.' There were a few affectionate words for Henry,
and 'I long to send a message to the children, but I know it is better
for them to let me drop from their minds, only you must tell me all
about them; I want to know that the dear little Minna is bright and
happy again.'
No confidences, only generalities; not even any reference to the one
unbroken bond of union, the one support, except in the three scanty
final words, the simplest of blessings. It was not satisfying; but
Averil recalled, with a start, that no wonder the letter was meagre,
since it was necessarily subject to inspection; and how could the inner
soul be expressed when all must pass under strangers' eyes, who would
think such feelings plausible hypocrisy in a convicted felon. Again she
took it up, to suck to the utmost all that might be conveyed in the
short commonplace sentences, and to gaze at them as if intensity of
study could reveal whether the cheerfulness were real or only assumed.
Be they what they might, the words had only three weeks back been
formed by Leonard's hand, and she pressed her lips upon them in a
fervent agony of affection.
When she roused herself and turned her head, she perceived on Minna's
pillow two eyes above the bed-clothes, intently fixed on her. Should
she see, or should she not see? She believed that the loving heart was
suffering a cruel wrong, she yearned to share all with the child, but
she was chained by the command of one brother, and by that acquiescence
of the other which to her was more than a command. She would not see,
she turned away, and made her preparations for the night without
betraying that she knew that the little one was awake, resuming the
tedious guard on the expression of her face. But when her long
kneeling had ended, and with it that which was scarcely so much
conscious intercession as the resting an intolerable load on One who
alone knew its weight, just as she darkened the room for the night, the
low voice whispered, 'Ave, is it?'--
And Averil crept up to the little bed: 'Yes, Minna; he is well! He
hopes you are bright and happy, but he says it is best you should
forget him.' The brow was cold and clammy, the little frame chill and
trembling, the arms clasped her neck convulsively. She lifted the
child into her own bed, pressed tight to her own bosom, and though no
other word passed between the sisters, that contact seemed to soothe
away the worst bitterness; and Averil slept from the stillness enforced
on her by the heed of not disturbing Minna's sleep.
Little that night had she recked of the plan needing so much
deliberation! When she awoke it was to the consciousness that besides
the arrival of Leonard's letter, something had happened--there was some
perplexity--what was it? And when it came back she was bewildered.
Her own fortune had always appeared to her something to fall back on in
case of want of success, and to expend it thus was binding the whole
family down at a perilous moment, to judge by the rumours of battle and
resistance. And all she had ever heard at home, much that she daily
heard at New York, inclined her to distrust and dislike of American
speculations. It was Cora's father! Her heart smote her for including
him in English prejudice, when Henry liked and trusted him! And she
had disobeyed and struggled against Henry too long. She had promised
to be submissive and yielding. But was this the time? And the
boarding-house life--proverbially the worst for children--was fast
Americanizing Ella, while Minna drooped like a snowdrop in a hot-house,
and idleness might be mischievous to Henry.
Oh, for some one to consult! for some one to tell her whether the risk
was a foolish venture, or if the terms were safe! But not a creature
did she know well enough to seek advice from! Even the clergyman,
whose church she attended, was personally unknown to her; Cora Muller
was her sole intimate; there was a mutual repulsion between her and the
other ladies, and still more with the gentlemen. A boarding-house was
not the scene in which to find such as would inspire confidence, and
they had no introductions. There was no one to turn to; and in the
dreary indifference that had grown over her, she did not even feel
capable of exerting her own judgment to the utmost, even if she had
been able to gather certain facts, or to know prudent caution from
blind prejudice--often woman's grievous difficulty. What could a
helpless girl of one-and-twenty, in a land of strangers, do, but try to
think that by laying aside the use of her own judgment she was trusting
all to Providence, and that by leaving all to her brother she was
proving her repentance for her former conduct.
There, too, were her sisters, clamorous with hopes of the forest life;
and there was Cora, urging the scheme with all the fervour of girlish
friendship, and in herself no small element in its favour, engaging for
everything, adducing precedents for every kind of comfort and success,
and making Ave's consent a test of her love. One question Averil asked
of her--whether they should be utterly out of reach of their Church?
Cora herself had been bred up to liberal religious ways, and was ready
to attend whatever denomination of public worship came first to hand,
though that which had descended from the Pilgrim Fathers came most
naturally. She had been at various Sunday schools, and was a good
conscientious girl, but had never gone through the process of
conversion, so that Rosa Willis had horrified Ella by pronouncing her
'not a Christian.' She had no objection to show her English friends
the way to the favourite Episcopal Church, especially as it was
esteemed fashionable; and her passion for Averil had retained her
there, with growing interest, drawn on by Averil's greater precision of
religious knowledge, and the beauty of the Church system, displayed to
her as the one joy and relief left to one evidently crushed with
suffering. The use of Averil's books, conversations with her, and the
teaching she heard, disposed her more and more to profess herself a
member of the Episcopal Church, and she was unable to enter into
Averil's scruples at leading her to so decided a step without her
father's sanction. 'Father would be satisfied whatever profession she
made. Did people in England try to force their children's
consciences?' Cora, at Averil's desire, ascertained that Massissauga
had as yet no place of worship of its own; but there was a choice of
chapels within a circuit of five miles, and an Episcopal Church seven
miles off, at the chief town of the county. Moreover, her father
declared that the city of Massissauga would soon be considerable enough
to invite every variety of minister to please every denomination of
inhabitant. Averil felt that the seven miles off church was all she
could reasonably hope for, and her mind was clear on that score, when
Henry came to take her out walking for the sake of being able to talk
more freely.
No longer afraid of being overheard, he gave kind attention to
Leonard's letter; and though he turned away from the subject sooner
than she wished, she was not exacting. Again he laid before her the
advantages of their migration, and assured her that if there were the
slightest risk he would be the last to make the proposal. She asked if
it were safe to invest money in a country apparently on the eve of
civil war?
He laughed the idea to scorn. How could the rebel states make war,
with a population of negroes sure to rise against their masters? Where
should their forces come from? Faction would soon be put down, and the
union be stronger than ever. It was what Averil had been hearing
morning, noon, and night, so no wonder she believed it, and was ashamed
of a futile girlish fear.
And was Henry sure it was a healthy place? Had she not heard of
feverish swamps in Indiana?
Oh yes, in new unsettled places; but there had hardly been an ailment
in the Muller family since they had settled at Massissauga.
And Averil's last murmur was--Could he find out anything about other
people's opinion of the speculation? did they know enough about Mr.
Muller to trust themselves entirely in his hands?
Henry was almost angry--Could not his sister trust him to take all
reasonable precaution? It was the old story of prejudice against
whatever he took up.
Poor Averil was disarmed directly. The combats of will and their
consequences rose up before her, and with them Leonard's charges to
devote herself to Henry. She could but avow herself willing to do
whatever he pleased. She only hoped he would be careful.
All thenceforth was pleasant anticipation and hope. Averil's property
had to be transferred to America, and invested in shares of the land at
Massissauga; but this was to cause no delay in arranging for the
removal, they were only to wait until the winter had broken up, and the
roads become passable after the melting of the snows; and meantime Mr.
Muller was to have their house prepared. Cora would remain and
accompany them, and in the intervening time promised to assist Averil
with her judgment in making the necessary purchases for 'stepping
westward.'
When Averil wrote their plans to her English friends, she felt the
difficulty of pleading for them. She was sensible that at Stoneborough
the risking of her property would be regarded as folly on her part, and
something worse on that of her brother; and she therefore wrote with
every effort to make the whole appear her own voluntary act--though the
very effort made her doubly conscious that the sole cause for her
passive acquiescence was, that her past self-will in trifles had left
her no power to contend for her own opinion in greater matters--the
common retribution on an opinionative woman of principle.
Moreover, it was always with an effort that she wrote to Mary May. A
rejected offer from a brother is a rock in a correspondence with a
sister, and Averil had begun to feel greatly ashamed of the manner of
her own response. Acceptance would have been impossible; but
irritating as had been Tom May's behaviour, insulting as had been his
explanation, and provoking, his pertinacity, she had begun to feel that
the impulse had been too generous and disinterested to deserve such
treatment, and that bitterness and ill-temper had made her lose all
softness and dignity, so that he must think that his pitying affection
had been bestowed on an ungrateful vixen, and be as much disgusted with
the interview as she was herself. She did not wish him to love her;
but she regretted the form of the antidote, above all, since he was of
the few who appreciated Leonard; and the more she heard of Ella's
narrations of his kindness, the more ashamed she grew. Every letter to
or from Mary renewed the uncomfortable sense, and she would have
dropped the correspondence had it not been her sole medium of
communication with her imprisoned brother, since Henry would not permit
letters to be posted with the Milbank address.