DEATH LIGHTS.
Thy cheek too quickly flushes, o’er thine eye
The shadows come and go too fast;
Thy tears gush forth too soon, and in thy voice
Are sounds of tenderness too passionate
For peace on earth! Oh, therefore, child of song,
’Tis well thou should’st depart.—HEMANS.
In the months that had elapsed since Albert Goldsborough’s death, and in
the steady performance of every duty, Elfie had recovered her serenity
and cheerfulness.
The idea of atonement was very strong in Elfie, and under its influence,
she devoted herself to the service of the sick and wounded soldiers in
the hospitals with a zeal equal to that of Erminie.
“I know,” she said, “that only our Saviour can atone to God for our
sins. But sometimes we may atone to man. I will do all I can for the
suffering soldiers until the war is over. And then if I really do come
into the widow’s share of poor Albert’s fortune, I will not appropriate
one dollar’s worth of it to myself. I will give it all to the orphans of
the war, to the orphans of both sides, for the children are not
accountable for the actions of their fathers, and far be from us the
presumption of arrogating to ourselves the divine prerogative of
visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children,” she would add.
And Erminie always approved her plans, and encouraged her to hope for
their successful operation.
So the winter and the spring months had passed, and the early summer
found the youthful widow serene and cheerful in the discharge of her
duties.
There was very little to vary the monotony of this domestic life.
Major Fielding had not been home since the notable occasion upon which
his daughter had given him such a surprise.
Justin was with his regiment at C.
Captain Ethel was in command of the gunboat Fire-King, on the Potomac.
And Britomarte was in parts unknown.
Yet letters from every one of these came very often.
On one especial morning a whole budget of news arrived. There was one
from Major Fielding to his daughter, announcing his speedy arrival on a
short leave. There was one from Justin to his sister, filled with good
news of his military success and his personal well-being. There was one
from Lieutenant Ethel, promising a short visit to the city, and a call
upon his fair friends at the parsonage. And lastly there was one from
Britomarte, postmarked Baltimore, and filled with the warmest
expressions of affection for Erminie, and the most satisfactory
statements concerning her own health and success. But where she was
living, or what she was doing, remained unrevealed secrets.
Elfie, to whom Erminie read the letter, screwed up her mouth, and looked
like “she _could_ an’ if she would” “a tale unfold,” but she didn’t.
And besides, Elfie was interested in the other letters, and preferred to
talk of them and their subjects—her father’s promised visit, Justin’s
encouraging successes, and even young Ethel’s prospective call.
“It is likely that pap and Ethel will both be here to-day or to-morrow,
Erminie, don’t you think?” she inquired.
Erminie coincided with her in opinion.
That morning the young ladies lingered so long over their breakfast
table and their delightful letters, that it was rather later than usual
when they set off for the hospitals.
“The morning is so delicious that we will walk, I think, Elfie,” said
Miss Rosenthal, as they emerged from the front door.
“All right. I would rather walk,” agreed Elfie.
And they set out at a brisk pace.
“Erminie, I always knew you had a very light, elastic step, but indeed,
to-day you seem to walk with ‘winged feet,’ as Homer has it. And now I
look at you, your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are dancing. It is
all of a piece, and all equally the effect of those delightful letters,
I do suppose,” said Elfie.
“I do suppose it is. And yet I do not know. But certainly, though I have
always been in good health, I never felt so well in my life as I do now.
I feel as if some strong, divine elixir in my brains gave me a new sense
of life. But I am talking too much of myself and my own sensations. What
nonsense. Let us speak of something else. Young Ethel. I have a great
respect for that gallant young officer, Elfie. And if your father comes
to make us any sort of a long visit, I shall invite Ethel to stop at the
parsonage, as he did during his last sojourn in Washington,” said Miss
Rosenthal.
“That will be very agreeable only it will curtail us of our liberties.
No more sailing all over the house, at all hours of the day and night,
in our white wrappers and slippers,” replied Elfie.
And so chatting, the young ladies went on their way, that bright summer
morning, towards the hospital.
From ward to ward Erminie went, carrying everywhere the same bright
smile that shone with such strange, supernal beauty that morning.
And the soldiers whom she cheered and comforted said to each other, when
she had passed by, how she looked—like an angel from Heaven, with the
celestial light still around her.
They walked the rounds of three other hospitals, and then Erminie spoke
of turning their steps homeward.
But Elfie remonstrated.
“I’ll tell you what, Miss Rosenthal, _you_ may be exhilarated by some
divine elixir, or you may be borne on by invisible wings, but as for me,
I have nothing but my mortal flesh and blood and bones to uphold me, and
I am just so tired that my limbs are ready to bend under me, and my back
aches as if I were a hundred years old,” she said.
“Under these circumstances we must take a carriage, I suppose,” smiled
Erminie.
And the carriage was called, and they drove home.
Erminie did not go out again to the hospitals that afternoon.
She was expecting a small party of friends to take tea and spend the
evening, and it was necessary to make some preparations for them.
So after an early luncheon Erminie and Elfie began to gather flowers to
decorate the drawing-room, and the dining-room and library.
“My pap is very fond of company. I hope he will arrive this evening. It
would be such a pleasant surprise for him to meet a party of his friends
here,” said Elfie, as she arranged a large bush of odorous
magnolia-grandiflora to sit on the drawing-room hearth.
“I think it quite likely that your hopes will be realized, Elfie,”
answered Erminie, who was delicately placing a bouquet of lilies and
roses in a vase for the centre table.
When their preparations were completed, Elfie sauntered up to her room
to lie down and indulge in her usual afternoon nap.
But Erminie went to inspect the condition of her pastry, and to order
certain fresh delicacies prepared for the evening feast. And then she
called her housemaid, and went up stairs, and had the rooms she intended
to assign to Major Fielding and Captain Ethel arranged under her own
eyes for the reception of their inmates.
When Elfie awoke from her sleep she found Erminie still actively
engaged.
“‘My heyes!’ as the cockneys say, what has come to you, Erminie? You
have been on your feet the whole day. You have walked twenty miles at
least, if the ground you’ve gone over was all stretched out in a line;
and you have been hard at work ever since you got home, and you look as
fresh and brilliant as a blush rose with the morning dew upon it.
Really, now, aint you tired?” inquired Elfie, as she entered the
dining-room where Erminie was decorating the tea-table.
“Not in the least,” said Miss Rosenthal, smiling brightly. “But now, my
dear Elfie, it is time for us to dress ourselves. Our friends will come
early because the summer evenings are so short.”
Elfie yawned dismally.
“Now I haven’t been half so hard at work as you have, and I have had a
good nap besides, and yet I feel more like lolling in a rocking chair
than putting myself into an evening dress,” she said, as she sauntered
away to make her toilet.
An hour later, just as the sun set, leaving a clear, beautiful twilight,
Erminie and Elfie met in the drawing-room to wait for the coming of
their company.
Elfie looked very pretty in her thin, black grenadine dress, with jet
jewelry, and the little cap of white illusion that contrasted so well
with her raven hair.
But Erminie looked dazzlingly beautiful—not from the effect of her
toilet, for nothing could be cooler or quieter than her dress—a pure
white grenadine, embroidered in sprigs of black silk, and trimmed with
white lace and black ribbon. It was her face, her countenance, that was
so radiant. Her cheeks and lips were flushed with a bright carnation
color; her eyes were sparkling with animation; even her auburn hair
seemed to glitter with a sort of electric splendor.
Elfie gazed on her in wonder and admiration.
“Well, Erminie, you were always indisputably beautiful; but now—Well,
there! You almost alarm me! You look as if there was some inward glory
shining through you and making your earthly beauty heavenly!” she said.
“Nonsense, love! Don’t _you_ turn flatterer, or I shall lose my respect
for you,” laughed Erminie.
“Flatterer! There! look in the glass and see for yourself whether I have
flattered you! Come, it is still light enough for you to see, or if it
is not, you will make the light!” said Elfie, turning her friend
forcibly around to face the tall pier glass that stood between the two
back windows.
“Absurd! I am in good health and good spirits—that is the whole secret,”
said Miss Rosenthal, laughing and blushing, and breaking away from the
too ardent admiration of Elfie.
And at that moment the first bevy of visitors arrived, and little Mim
and his four little maiden aunts were shown into the drawing-room.
Erminie received her visitors with courtesy, but Elfie welcomed them
with effusion.
Erminie entertained Mr. Mim in the drawing-room, while Elfie took the
four Misses Mim up stairs to lay off their bonnets and put on their head
dresses.
The next party that arrived consisted of Mr. Billingcoo, his
grandmother, and his guitar.
And the old lady was shown up stairs to the dressing-room where she
found the Misses Mim with Elfie.
After them came other friends of the family; and by seven o’clock the
whole company was assembled, and enjoying themselves by sauntering
through the moonlit walks of the beautiful grounds in the rear of the
house.
“I am expecting Major Fielding this evening,” said Erminie to little
Mim, who was walking by her side.
“I am so glad to hear that. I always had the greatest respect for Major
Fielding, as well as for—for his daughter—and for all the ladies!”
Little Mim, whenever he was betrayed into any expression of admiration
or regard for Elfie, invariably added “all the ladies” as a saving
clause. Now, however, though he walked and talked with Erminie, his eyes
and his thoughts followed Elfie as she sauntered on in front of them by
the side of Dr. Sales.
“They both reciprocate your regard, I am very sure,” said Erminie,
kindly.
“Miss Rosenthal,” said the little fellow solemnly, “when I learned all
in a moment that she was married and widowed, you might have floored me
with a feather. I beg your pardon for using a slang phrase, but there is
nothing that can so well express the effect the news had upon me. And
even now I can’t seem to get over it. And when I think of what she used
to be, and look at her now in her widow’s dress, it seems as if I could
not recognize her for herself. It is just as if some splendid oriole was
suddenly changed into a blackbird,” he said, with a profound sigh.
“The mere effect of her dress, Mr. Mim. Elfie is still herself.
Naturally, she grieved over the tragic death of Albert Goldsborough, yet
not so bitterly as she had grieved over the treason that separated them
as lovers three years ago. It was then that the iron entered the soul of
Elfie. But she has been stronger ever since.”
“She is a heroic girl!—And so are all the ladies!” answered little Mim,
tempering enthusiasm with prudence.
“Well! Well! Where are you all? And who is coming to welcome me?” called
out the cheery voice of Major Fielding, issuing from the back porch of
the house.
With a cry of joy, Elfie dropped the arm of Dr. Sales, turned and sprang
past all her friends, and darted up the gravel walk to meet her father,
and threw herself into his arms.
Erminie followed her to welcome the veteran.
“And here is a stranger I have brought with me! Captain Ethel! Bless
you, I found him on the wharf! conscripted him, and made him come,”
heartily exclaimed the major, doing three or four things at the same
time—kissing his daughter, shaking hands with his hostess, and
presenting his friend.
“I am delighted to see you, Major Fielding, and I thank you cordially
for bringing our friend with you! Captain Ethel, I congratulate you on
your new promotion,” said Miss Rosenthal, warmly welcoming her guest.
Young Ethel bowed low in acknowledgment of those courteous words; and
then he offered Erminie his arm; and they followed Major Fielding and
his daughter, who had preceded them, down the garden walk.
Major Fielding was surprised and pleased to meet so many of his old
friends, and he insisted on believing that they had come purposely to
meet him.
Captain Ethel was duly presented to such of the company as were not
personally known to him.
And then, as the evening air was growing damp, the company adjourned
from the garden to the house, where tea was soon served.
After tea they went into the lighted drawing-room, where Mr. Billingcoo
entertained the ladies with some of his best songs, accompanying himself
upon his guitar.
And when he had tired himself and his audience, Erminie delighted her
friends with some of her finest music on the pianoforte.
But Erminie’s radiant and dazzling beauty was the one theme of wonder
and admiration among her guests. The almost divine splendor of that
beauty had escaped their observation in the moonlit garden; but now in
the lighted drawing-room it struck them with something like amazement.
“How lovely Miss Rosenthal looks this evening! I never in my life saw,
or even imagined anything so brilliantly beautiful as her face,” said
sober Dr. Sales to old Major Fielding.
“Yes! I have been watching her. She always was a perfect beauty, you
know! but now she’s a perfect angel!” answered the major.
And unconscious of the admiration she was exciting, Erminie played and
sang unweariedly.
When she arose from the piano, old Mrs. Billingcoo went to her side, and
looking at her attentively, said:
“Your cheeks and lips are like scarlet roses, my love! and your eyes are
like diamonds!—Are you sure you are quite well?”
Erminie’s silvery laugh rang out clearly and joyously, and almost
startlingly, from her who was always so quiet.
“My dear Mrs. Billingcoo, I never felt so well in my life! Like
Wordsworth’s little maid, I feel my ‘life in every limb’!” she said. And
she immediately left the room to order ice cream and strawberries, for
the refreshment of her guests.
A little later in the evening, when the company was thinking of breaking
up, Miss Suzy Mim, watching Erminie, said:
“I am sure Miss Rosenthal is keeping up by great effort! I wonder if she
hasn’t been taking ammonia or something!”
“Ammonia!” indignantly exclaimed Elfie. “Erminie never takes anything of
that sort!”
“Then what makes her looks so? And what makes her act so? Her cheeks are
blooming like roses, and her eyes are sparkling like gems! And her
spirits are running away with her! It ain’t natural, say what you will!
And if she hasn’t been taking ammonia, or if she isn’t putting all this
on, she’s in danger.”
“In danger!” echoed Elfie, in alarm.
“Yes, child!”
“Of what?”
“Fever!”
“Nonsense, Miss Suzy, you are always trying to frighten one! Danger?
Fever? Why, Erminie has been looking and acting just this way all day!
Only growing more brilliant and beautiful every hour,” said Elfie,
angrily—and all the more so because she secretly shared Miss Suzy’s
fears.
“Well, my dear, I hope I’m wrong. But at any rate, I think that we had
all better go home, especially as it is nearly midnight. And when we are
gone you had better get Miss Rosenthal to bed as soon as possible.”
And so saying, Miss Suzy proceeded to act upon her own words, by setting
the example of departure.
The other guests followed in turn. And at a few minutes after twelve the
company had all gone, with the exception, of course, of Major Fielding,
who was to remain; and Captain Ethel, who Erminie insisted should stay.
At a hint dropped by Elfie, these two gentlemen soon took the bed-room
candles that were ready for them, and bade good night to their hostess.
“Are you tired, Erminie?” anxiously inquired Elfie, as she paused for a
moment at the bed-room door of her friend.
“Tired? No! not in the least,” laughed Erminie.
“Are you sure?” persisted Elfie.
“Why, of course I am! I tell you I never felt so well in my life.”
“I am glad to hear it; and I won’t detain you. Good night,” said Elfie,
kissing her friend and noticing with wonder the still undimmed splendor
of her beauty.
“Good night,” smiled Erminie, vanishing through the door.
Elfie went on to her own chamber, and as soon as her head touched the
pillow fell fast asleep.
Elfie slept late the next morning, so late, in fact, that she was at
last awakened by Catherine, who came to her with a scared face, roused
her and said:
“If you please, ma’am, I wish you would come to Miss Rosenthal!”
“Erminie! what’s the matter with her?” exclaimed Elfie, starting up in
alarm.
“Indeed I don’t know, ma’am; but she is very ill; and seems to be raving
mad.”
Elfie sprang out of bed, threw on a dressing gown, thrust her naked feet
into slippers, and ran at once to the chamber of Erminie.
There upon the bed lay the good and beautiful girl, unconscious of all
that was passing around her, and rolling and raving with fever and
delirium.
In the extremity of terror, Elfie ran down just as she was, to the
library, where her father was sitting alone waiting for his breakfast.
Breathlessly she told him what had happened, and dispatched him to get a
physician, saying that he could get one more quickly than a servant
could.
Then she hurried back to her tossing and raving friend.
In half an hour the family physician arrived. After making a careful
examination of his patient, he came out of the room and sought Major
Fielding.
“What do you think of her?” anxiously inquired the major.
“Telegraph for her brother immediately,” answered the doctor.
His orders were obeyed, and the same morning the message was flashed
along the wires that was to bring Justin to the bedside of his beloved
sister.