WHEN Harry returned home, he found his wife seated at the window,
awaiting his approach. Secret grief was gnawing at her heart. Her sad,
pale cheeks and swollen eyes showed too well that agony, far deeper than
her speech portrayed, filled her heart. A dull and death-like silence
prevailed on his entrance. His pale face and brow, dishevelled hair, and
the feeling that he manifested on finding Gertrude still up, told Henry
in plainer words than she could have used that his wife was aware that
her love had never been held sacred by him. The window-blinds were still
unclosed, and the full-orbed moon shed her soft refulgence over the
unrivalled scene, and gave it a silvery lustre which sweetly harmonized
with the silence of the night. The clock's iron tongue, in a neighboring
belfry, proclaimed the hour of twelve, as the truant and unfaithful
husband seated himself by the side of his devoted and loving wife, and
inquired if she was not well.
“I am, dear Henry,” replied Gertrude; “but I feat _you_ are not. If well
in body, I fear you are not at peace in mind.”
“Why?” inquired he.
“Because,” she replied, “you are so pale and have such a wild look in
your eyes.”
Again he protested his innocence, and vowed she was the only woman
who had any claim upon his heart. To behold one thus playing upon the
feelings of two lovely women is enough to make us feel that evil must at
last bring its own punishment.
Henry and Gertrude had scarcely risen from the breakfast-table next
morning ere old Mrs. Miller made her appearance. She immediately took
her daughter aside, and informed her of her previous night's experience,
telling her how she had followed Henry to Isabella's cottage, detailing
the interview with the quadroon, and her late return home alone. The old
woman urged her daughter to demand that the quadroon and her child be at
once sold to the negro speculators and taken out of the State, or that
Gertrude herself should separate from Henry.
“Assert your rights, my dear. Let no one share a heart that justly
belongs to you,” said Mrs. Miller, with her eyes flashing fire. “Don't
sleep this night, my child, until that wench has been removed from that
cottage; and as for the child, hand that over to me,--I saw at once that
it was Henry's.”
During these remarks, the old lady was walking up and down the room
like a caged lioness. She had learned from Isabella that she had been
purchased by Henry, and the innocence of the injured quadroon caused her
to acknowledge that he was the father of her child. Few women could
have taken such a matter in hand and carried it through with more
determination and success than old Mrs. Miller. Completely inured in all
the crimes and atrocities connected with the institution of slavery, she
was also aware that, to a greater or less extent, the slave women shared
with their mistress the affections of their master. This caused her to
look with a suspicious eye on every good-looking negro woman that she
saw.
While the old woman was thus lecturing her daughter upon her rights and
duties, Henry, unaware of what was transpiring, had left the house and
gone to his office. As soon as the old woman found that he was gone, she
said,--
“I will venture anything that he is on his way to see that wench again.
I'll lay my life on it.”
The entrance, however, of little Marcus, or Mark, as he was familiarly
called, asking for Massa Linwood's blue bag, satisfied her that her
son-in-law was at his office. Before the old lady returned home, it was
agreed that Gertrude should come to her mother's to tea that evening,
and Henry with her, and that Mrs. Miller should there charge the young
husband with inconstancy to her daughter, and demand the removal of
Isabella.
With this understanding, the old woman retraced her steps to her own
dwelling.
Had Mrs. Miller been of a different character and not surrounded by
slavery, she could scarcely have been unhappy in such a home as hers.
Just at the edge of the city, and sheltered by large poplar-trees was
the old homestead in which she resided. There was a splendid orchard
in the rear of the house, and the old weather-beaten sweep, with “the
moss-covered bucket” at its end, swung majestically over the deep well.
The garden was scarcely to be equalled. Its grounds were laid out in
excellent taste, and rare exotics in the greenhouse made it still more
lovely.
It was a sweet autumn evening, when the air breathed through the
fragrant sheaves of grain, and the setting sun, with his golden kisses,
burnished the rich clusters of purple grapes, that Henry and Gertrude
were seen approaching the house on foot; it was nothing more than a
pleasant walk. Oh, how Gertrude's heart beat as she seated herself, on
their arrival!
The beautiful parlor, surrounded on all sides with luxury and taste,
with the sun creeping through the damask curtains, added a charm to the
scene. It was in this room that Gertrude had been introduced to Henry,
and the pleasant hours that she had spent there with him rushed
unbidden on her memory. It was here that, in former days, her beautiful
countenance had made her appearance as fascinating and as lovely as that
of Cleopatra's. Her sweet, musical voice might have been heard in every
part of the house, occasionally thrilling you with an unexpected touch.
How changed the scene! Her pale and wasted features could not be lighted
up by any thoughts of the past, and she was sorrowful at heart.
As usual, the servants in the kitchen were in ecstasies at the
announcement that “Miss Gerty,” as they called their young mistress, was
in the house, for they loved her sincerely. Gertrude had saved them from
many a flogging, by interceding for them, when her mother was in one of
her uncontrollable passions. Dinah, the cook, always expected Miss
Gerty to visit the kitchen as soon as she came, and was not a little
displeased, on this occasion, at what she considered her young
mistress's neglect. Uncle Tony, too, looked regularly for Miss Gerty
to visit the green house, and congratulate him on his superiority as a
gardener.
When tea was over, Mrs. Miller dismissed the servants from the room,
then told her son-in-law what she had witnessed the previous night, and
demanded for her daughter that Isabella should be immediately sent out
of the State, and to be sure that the thing would be done, she wanted
him to give her the power to make such disposition of the woman and
child as she should think best. Gertrude was Mrs. Miller's only child,
and Henry felt little like displeasing a family upon whose friendship
he so much depended, and, no doubt, long wishing to free himself from
Isabella, he at once yielded to the demands of his mother-in-law. Mr.
Miller was a mere cipher about his premises. If any one came on business
connected with the farm, he would invariably say, “Wait till I see my
wife,” and the wife's opinion was sure to be law in every case. Bankrupt
in character, and debauched in body and mind, with seven mulatto
children who claimed him as their father, he was badly prepared to find
fault with his son-in-law. It was settled that Mrs. Miller should use
her own discretion in removing Isabella from her little cottage, and her
future disposition. With this understanding Henry and Gertrude returned
home. In the deep recesses of his heart the young man felt that he would
like to see his child and its mother once more; but fearing the wrath
of his mother-in-law, he did not dare to gratify his inclination. He had
not the slightest idea of what would become of them; but he well knew
that the old woman would have no mercy on them.