WARBLINGS IN THE WHITE HOUSE AND SNARES FOR A SOUL.
Achsah Claghorn, for many years lonely, with maternal instincts steadily
suppressed, had found the first opportunity of a long life to gratify
cravings of which she had been until now unconscious. Coyly, even with
trembling, she sought the love of her grand-niece, being herself
astonished, as much as she astonished others, by an indulgent tenderness
seemingly foreign to her character. Grandmothers, though once severe as
mothers, are often overfond in their last maternal role, and it may be
that Miss Claghorn pleased herself by the fiction of a relationship
which, though not actually existent, had some foundation in long-past
conditions.
"Did your father never speak of me?" she asked.
"Often, Aunt. Especially of late years, after we had met Cousin Jared."
"But not with much affection?"
Natalie was somewhat at a loss. "He said you were his second mother,"
was her reply.
"Poor Susan--that was your grandmother, my dear. She was a gentle,
loving creature. I think now, though perhaps I did not at the time, that
'Liph was lonely after she died. Ours was a dull house," she continued,
after a pause. "Your grandfather lived more in heaven than on earth,
which made it gloomy for us that didn't. Saints are not comfortable to
live with, and 'Liph was often in disgrace. I hope I was never hard to a
motherless boy, but--but----"
"I am sure you were not. My father never said so."
"Yet he forgot me. Perhaps it was pleasanter not to remember."
There was no reply to make. Natalie knew that her father had been so
well content to forget his relatives that, until the unexpected meeting
in Germany, her own knowledge of the Claghorns had been very vague.
"'Liph did write me when he married, even promised to come and see me,
but he never came."
Miss Claghorn forgot the fact that in reply to her nephew's letter she
had deplored his connection with Romanism and had urged instant
attention to the duty of converting his wife. The philosopher may have
justly enough felt that there could be but little sympathy between
himself and one whose congratulations on his nuptials were in part a
wail of regret, in part an admonitory sermon.
"You know, Aunt, he did intend to come."
"To see Mrs. Joe--well, no doubt he would have been glad to see me, too.
I am sorry we never met after so many years."
Besides the tenderness displayed to Natalie alone, there were evidences
of change in the mistress of the White House, apparent to all; and while
these were properly ascribed to the new inmate, the fact that that
influence could work such wonders excited surprise. The neighbors were
astonished to behold the novel sight of perennially open parlor windows,
and thought with misgiving upon the effect of sunshine on Miss
Claghorn's furniture. At times strange sounds issued from the hitherto
silent dwelling, operatic melodies, or snatches of chansons, trilled
forth in a foreign tongue. "The tunes actually get into my legs,"
observed Tabitha to a neighbor. "The sobber de mong pare'd make an elder
dance," an assertion which astonished the neighbor less than Miss Cone's
familiarity with the French language. But comment was actually stricken
dumb when both Miss Claghorn and Tabitha appeared in public with sprigs
of color in their headgear and visible here and there upon their
raiment.
"I believe you'd bewitch Old Nick himself," observed Tabitha.
"I have," replied Natalie. "He's promised me a shrub."
"I don't mean Nick that brings the garden sass," and the spinster
groaned at the benighted condition of one so ignorant as to fail to
recognize a familiar appellation of the enemy of souls. "You've worked
your grand-aunt out of a horse."
"Your voice is that of an oracle, Tab, and I, who am stupid, do not
understand."
"She's going to give you a horse."
"Then should you not rather say that I have worked a horse out of my
grand-aunt? which is still oracular; wherefore expound, Tab."
"She told me herself. It's my belief she's in love with you. She'd give
you her head, if you asked."
"She's given me her heart, which is better. And so have you; and you're
both ashamed of it. Why is that, Tabby?"
"Well," replied Tabitha, making no denial, "you see we're not
French--thank God! When we were young we were kept down, as was the
fashion."
"I do not like that fashion."
"You'd like it less if you knew anything about it. It has to come out
some time; that's the reason your songs get into my legs, and----"
"And?" questioningly, for Tabitha had paused.
"Well, your aunt was never in love--never had the chance, 's far's I
know; but if she had, it had to be kept down--and now it comes out.
Lucky it didn't strike an elder with a raft of children and no money."
"Much better that it has struck me than an elder--that will be a friar.
I have no children, some money and a whole heart. But this tale of a
horse?"
"Ever since you told us about ridin' in the Bawdy Bolone she's had
Leonard on the lookout. He's found one over to Moffat's. She wants you
to look at it before she buys."
"But----"
"I know--you've money of your own to buy horses. That's what she's
afraid you'll say. You mustn't. She's set her heart on it."
The horse was accepted without demur, if with some secret misgiving as
to adding a new link to the chain which was binding her to Easthampton;
and it was peculiarly grateful. Ever since that day when Natalie had
astonished Tabitha by improvising a waltz, her gaiety had been
feverish, almost extravagant, the result of a craving for physical
excitement; the desire to jump, to run, to leap, to execute for
Tabitha's delectation dances which would have made Miss Claghorn stare.
The horse in some degree filled the craving. She rode constantly,
sometimes alone, galloping wildly in secluded lanes; sometimes sedately
with Paula and an attendant; often with Leonard, an ardent equestrian, a
fact not forgotten by the donor of the horse when the gift was made.
In the eyes of Miss Achsah, as in other eyes, Leonard embodied the
finest type of the fine race to which he belonged, combining in his
person physical graces not generally vouchsafed to these favorites of
heaven, as well as those nobler attributes with which they had been so
liberally endowed, and which rendered them worthy of the celestial
preference. It was religious to believe that these graces of person and
of manner were not given without a purpose, and aided by the same pious
deduction which usually recognizes in similar charms a snare of Satan,
Miss Claghorn beheld in this instance a device of Providence for winning
a soul.
Besides the facilities for conversion thus utilized, Miss Achsah
discerned other grounds for hope. In the frequent lapses into
thoughtfulness, even sadness, on the part of the unbeliever, she
recognized the beginning of that spiritual agitation which was to result
in the complete submission of the erring soul to heaven; nor was she
negligent in dropping those words which, dropped in season, may afford
savory and sustaining food to a hungry spirit. Had Natalie displayed
that mental agony and tribulation which naturally accompanies the fear
of hell, and which is, therefore, a frequent preliminary terror of
conversion, Miss Claghorn would have called in her pastor, as in
physical ills she would have called in the doctor; but since Natalie
displayed nothing more than frequent thoughtfulness and melancholy, and,
as with some natures (and the lady knew it was true of the Claghorn
nature) antagonism is aroused by over-solicitude, she easily persuaded
herself that, for the present at least, the case was better in the
competent hands of Leonard, to whom she solemnly confided it. She feared
the treatment of a more experienced, yet perhaps harsher practitioner,
whose first idea would be the necessity of combating Romanism. For the
secret of Natalie's unbelief remained undisclosed, and Miss Claghorn
dreaded such disclosure as sure to bring disgrace upon the family name.
Finally, she had another reason, not the least important, for providing
Leonard with the chance of winning that soul, which she hoped would
become for him the most precious of the souls of men.