TRIALS.
When May awoke the next morning at her usual hour, she discovered, to
her great surprise, that Helen was up and dressed; but how occupied she
could not conceive, until rising, she saw her sitting beside her open
trunk, with a lighted candle on a chair near her, looking over various
ornaments and articles of dress which it contained. With a small
hand-glass she tried the effect of jet and pearls in her ears; of black
velvet, or satin rosettes, in her soft wavy brown hair; of white crape
and illusion on her throat and wrists--glancing all the time with an
expression of pleased triumph at the reflection on her faultlessly
beautiful face.
"Thank God, I am _not_ beautiful," thought May, without a dash of envy.
"I might--yes, I am so weak--I might worship myself instead of God."
But she said nothing, and performed her morning devotions, and made her
meditations as usual; then dressed quickly and neatly, and asked Helen
if she was ready to go down.
"I declare, May, you are a perfect little mouse. I did not know you
were up. Yes; I am ready now. I had quite forgotten that it was my
morning to make breakfast," she replied, returning the things to the
trunk without the least possible hurry.
"If you have any thing else to do, dear Helen; I mean--if--you have not
said your prayers yet, I will go down and get things in train for you,"
said May, timidly.
"Thank you, May, but I keep my own conscience. I have no time for my
prayers now--after breakfast will do," she replied, carelessly.
"Dear Helen, consider--"
"Dear May, I _won't_ consider," she interrupted her, "for I am in such
a ferment of delight, what with the idea of company, and having a harp
once more, I am really half wild, and could not pray for the life of
me--at least, as people _ought_ to pray. Oh, what different times we
shall have! Really, May, I have an idea that I shall have our old
savage dancing the Tarantula before to-morrow night," she exclaimed,
almost shrieking with laughter.
"Helen," began May, but checked herself, and burst into tears, which
she endeavored to conceal--such tears as angels shed over the
derelictions of the souls they are appointed to guard. Helen did not
observe them; giddy and selfish, she derived amusement from that which
was luring her soul further away from God; and, while May wept over her
peril, she thought only of the transient and fleeting enjoyments of the
present. Gayly humming the _Tarantula_, she ran down to the kitchen,
where she got breakfast, or, rather claimed the reputation of getting
it, by assisting May, who was really the practical cause of its being
made at all tolerably.
"What sort of gimcracks must one have for supper? I have invited a
friend with whom I have business relations of some importance, to tea,
and I wish to know what is usual," said Mr. Stillinghast, addressing
Helen, after breakfast.
"I don't know, sir," she said, looking down, with the half-frightened
expression her face always wore when he addressed her; "people
generally have cake, and other nice things."
"Very well, make a supper to suit yourself," said Mr. Stillinghast,
tossing her a five dollar note.
"We _ought_ to have silver forks, sir," she suggested.
"Silver devils! well, wait--" He went up to his chamber, and returned
with a package, which he laid carefully on the table, saying, "There
they are--be careful with them," and went out without noticing May even
by a look, who felt the neglect more keenly than any trial he had ever
caused her. To find that Helen, who hated as much as she feared
him--whose life was so aimless and useless--preferred before her,
caused sharp and bitter emotions. The flagrant injustice of his
treatment galled, as much as his unmerited contempt humiliated her.
For a little while her feelings bore her along on their rough but
silent torrent, while the hot winds of evil heated her veins with fire,
and caused a hot flush to burn on either cheek. Ho! how exulted the
tempter now; he had long laid in wait for her soul, and now, while it
oscillated and wavered, how triumphant he was; how defiantly he lifted
his lurid brow towards the Almighty, while he spread out the snare for
that tempted, trembling one! but let us listen--for angels guard her,
and watch, with sorrowful eyes, the dread conflict, while they pray for
heavenly strength to sustain her--let us listen to the words which go
up from that heart, so stilly and whispered that they scarcely reach
our ears, while in Heaven they ring out clear, and sweet, and
sorrowful,--"Sweet Jesus! merciful Jesus! suffering, calumniated dying
Jesus, pity me--rescue me," she murmured, folding her cold hands
together. Far away fled the powers of darkness, and left only the
sweetness and peace of that potent deliverer, JESUS, in her soul. Once
more the angels of her life looked up rejoicing, and spread their wings
of light about her way. _Without_, there had been an exterior calm;
but it was like that gray, sad stillness, which mantles the storm. Now
there was sunshine as well as calm.
"What shall I do, May?" said Helen, who had been reading the paper.
"We must try and make a nice supper, as my uncle wishes, Helen. I will
make waffles and tea-biscuits, if you wish it, and we can order cake
from Delaro's. I think this, with chipped ham, tea, and coffee, will
be sufficient."
"Thank you, May. I am so ignorant; if you will only do it all for me,
I shall be so obliged to you. You know I shall have to dress, and it
takes me so long to arrange my hair gracefully. I wish, sometimes,
that I had none--it is so troublesome," said the selfish girl.
"Yes," said May, after a little while, "I will attend to it. My dress
is such an every day affair, that I shall be able to have every thing
ready, to take the head of the table in time."
"The head of the table! I rather expect Mr. Stillinghast intends me to
preside."
"Possibly. If my uncle wishes it, Helen, I will certainly resign it to
you; but, as I have always sat there, I shall continue to do so until
he requests me to do otherwise," said May, with becoming firmness.
"Oh, of course! It is quite indifferent to me, my dear;--but what have
we here?" said Helen, taking up the bundle which Mr. Stillinghast had
laid on the table. "See, May, what splendidly chased silver forks!
How heavy they are; and see! here is a crest on them."
"They are very old, I presume," said May, examining them with interest.
"As old as the hills! Where on earth has the old curmudgeon kept them
all this time?" exclaimed Helen. "Do you think he bought, or inherited
them?"
"Inherited them, doubtless. My mother had the same crest on her
silver. Our grandfather was an Englishman of good lineage; but see,
Helen, they require a good cleansing and rubbing. I will go to mass
now, after which I will attend to your commissions. While I am out,
you had better get down the old china, which you will find on that
closet shelf, with some cut glass goblets. You can wash them up with
the breakfast things; or, if you would rather wait until I return, I
will assist you," said May.
"Oh, no! I like such work; but, May, could we not hunt up your old
maummy, if she is not too old, to come and wait?" asked Helen.
"She died two years ago, Helen," said May, turning away her head with a
quivering lip.
"How unfortunate! But, May, have you any fine table linen?"
"Yes; a number of fine damask tablecloths."
"And napkins?"
"None."
"Thank fortune, I have some four dozen East India napkins; they will
look quite splendid on the table this evening. But hurry on, May, I
wish to clear up to make room for my harp; I expect it every moment."
That evening, if Mr. Stillinghast had looked around him, he would
scarcely have recognized the sitting-room as the one he had left in the
morning. The round table, just large enough to seat four comfortably,
was elegantly spread with fine white damask, and crimson and old gold
china, of an antique and elegant pattern; sparkling cut glass, and
silver. Two wax candles burned in the old-fashioned silver
_candelabras_ in the centre, on each side of which stood two clusters
of geranium leaves and winter roses, arranged in small rich vases. The
grate looked resplendent, and a harp, of a magnificent pattern, heavily
carved and gilded, stood in a conspicuous place. Helen looked
exquisitely lovely. Her dress was the perfection of good taste, and
well did its elaborate simplicity suit her style of beauty. A single
white rose, and a few geranium leaves in her hair, with a pearl and jet
brooch, which fastened the velvet around her throat, were the only
ornaments she wore. But Mr. Stillinghast came in growling and lowering
as usual, and without noticing any one, or any thing, threw himself in
his arm-chair, which May had taken care should be in its place; drew
off his boots, and replaced them with the soft warm slippers she had
worked for him some months before; then called for the evening paper,
and was soon immersed in the news from Europe, and the rise and fall of
stocks. About a quarter of an hour afterwards the front door-bell
rung, and May, who happened to be in the hall, went to admit the
visitor, who was no other than Mr. Jerrold. He bowed courteously, and
"presumed he had the pleasure of speaking to Miss Stillinghast?"
"My name is May Brooke," said May, with one of her clear smiles.
"And mine is Jerrold--Walter Jerrold; not so harmonious as yours,
certainly!" he replied, throwing off the large Spanish cloak which was
folded gracefully around him.
"Life would be a sad monotone if every thing in creation resembled each
other; there would be no harmony. But walk in, Mr. Jerrold, my uncle
expects you," said May, throwing open the door.
"How are you, sir?" said Mr. Stillinghast, turning his head, but not
rising. "My niece, Helen Stillinghast. Take a chair." He did not
introduce May, or notice her, except by a frown. Feeling the tears
rush to her eyes at this new mark of her uncle's displeasure, she
flitted back to the kitchen, and commenced operations with her waffle
irons. While engaged with her domestic preparations, she heard the
gay, manly voice of Mr. Jerrold, in an animated conversation with
Helen, who now, in her right element, laughed and talked incessantly.
Again welled up the bitter fountain in her heart, but that talismanic
word dispersed it, and it was gone, like spray melting on the sunny
shores of the sea. When she placed the supper on the table, she moved
around with such calm self-possession--such an airy, light motion of
modest grace, that Walter Jerrold, who had seen much of the world, and
lived in the best company, was struck by the anomaly which combined so
much real grace with what, he considered, domestic drudgery. And May's
appearance justified his remarks. A dark, rich merino dress; a small,
finely embroidered collar, with cuffs of the same; a breast-knot of
crimson and black ribbon; and her waving, glossy hair, falling in broad
bands on her fair cheeks, and gathered up at the back of her head,
beneath a jet comb, completed her attire. It was her usual holiday
dress, and did not embarrass her. Her eyes looked larger, brighter,
and darker than usual, and a faint tinge of rose stole through the
transparent fairness of her cheeks. But, with all, May was no beauty
in the ordinary acceptance of the term. She was one of those rare
mortals who steal into the soul like a pleasant, beneficent idea, and
satisfy its longings with something calmer and holier than mere worldly
friendship; for there was that within May's soul--the hidden mystery of
faith and religion--which, like a lamp in a vase of alabaster, shone
out from her countenance with an influence which none could withstand;
it won--it led--it blessed those who yielded to its power. She
presided at the head of the table that evening with quiet grace, and
attempted once or twice to converse with her uncle, but his looks and
replies were so harsh that she turned to Helen and Mr. Jerrold, and in
a short time found herself amused at his _persiflage_ and Helen's
repartees.
"I have writing to do, Jerrold," said Mr. Stillinghast, after tea; "and
if you will excuse me, I will go up to my room. You can drop in, and
look over those papers before you go. However, stay as late as it is
agreeable for you to do so." Walter Jerrold understood him. Already
captivated by Helen's beauty and worldliness, his decision was made.
Very soon was heard through the silent mansion strains of music, which
startled the echoes in its silent and deserted rooms, accompanied by a
voice of such thrilling sweetness and volume of tone, that the solitary
old man, in his cold and cheerless apartment, threw down his pen, and
sprung to his feet, to listen. It was Helen singing wild cavatinas
from _Norma_, and solos from _Der Freischutz_, and looking so
splendidly beautiful the while, that Walter Jerrold thought with pride
and exultation of introducing so much loveliness to the world as his
bride. May was silent, and wondered at it all, and _felt_, rather than
reasoned that somehow Helen was bartering away her eternal interests
for gain, and that these scenes were integral parts of the ruinous
scheme.
So she was not much surprised when Mr. Jerrold, on taking leave, asked
permission to call the next day with his mother; to which Helen
assented graciously, and May, having no decided reason to do otherwise,
said, "they would be pleased to see Mrs. Jerrold."
"Where shall I find Mr. Stillinghast, Miss Brooke?"
"In the room, sir, just at the head of the staircase. It is the first
door, a little to the left."
"Thank you. Good night, again, fair ladies," he said, bounding up the
steps.
"Come in," said the voice of Mr. Stillinghast, in answer to his low
tapping.
"Aha! well?"
"Have you the necessary papers ready, sir?" inquired the young man,
eagerly.
"Here they are. Are you ready to sign them?"
"This moment, sir. Give me the pen."
"No, sir; read them first. I'll have no such head-over-heels doings in
any transactions in which I am concerned. Here they are!" said Mr.
Stillinghast, in his saturnine, rough way.
Walter Jerrold read the papers, which were worded according to the
strictest legal forms, slowly and attentively, and felt more than
satisfied.
"All right, Mr. Stillinghast. 'Faith, sir, your niece requires no
golden chains to her chariot. She is the most beautiful creature I
ever beheld--accomplished, and elegant in form and manners. Give me
the pen!" he said, earnestly, as he spread out the parchment, and
prepared to sign his name thereto.
"Clouds are beautiful with the sunshine on them," said the old man,
with a sneer; "so is a mirage in the desert; so are the apples on the
shores of the Dead Sea. But she is yours. You'll find no trouble in
winning her, even at the sacrifice of her creed. She is of the earth
earthy, and will willingly escape from such a miserable home as this."
"Mr. Stillinghast, I do not wish to feel that this is quite a _barter_.
Your niece would grace a throne, and I am vain enough to think that I
have qualities which may win her regard."
"Bosh! fool! All mankind are fools! But leave me--goodnight. Make
your arrangements to move to my counting-house to-morrow."
"My fortune is made. The 'Cedars' will not pass into other hands,"
thought Walter Jerrold, as he left the house.
The next day May went to see old Mabel, who was quite sick; and while
she was gone, Mrs. Jerrold called with her son. The proud, worldly
woman, was enchanted with the elegance and beauty of Helen, and, ere
she left her, had engaged her in a round of engagements; soirées--the
opera, and dinner parties, rung like music in Helen's ears, who, half
wild with joy, could scarcely repress her emotions from breaking out in
some ill-bred expressions of delight. Without a moment's reflection,
she consented to attend St. Paul's Church the next Sunday morning, at
eleven o'clock, and hear the well-meaning Protestant clergyman who
officiated there. "You will see the best people in town there; it is
considered one of the most elegant congregations in the city." By the
_best_ people, Mrs. Jerrold meant the leaders of the town, and had not
the remotest idea that she was holding out a false inducement, or
saying any thing at all incompatible with the spirit of Christianity.
"I will call for you in my carriage, Miss Stillinghast, with Walter,"
continued the lady, touching Helen's cheek with her lips.
And after this Helen quite withdrew herself from the domestic cares of
the house to attend exclusively to her toilette--her music--her walks
and drives with Jerrold, and visits to his mother. Mr. Stillinghast
seemed not to observe what was going on, and May, anxious to shield her
from his displeasure, which she supposed would be excited by this
neglect, went on in her old routine, as if nothing had ever occurred to
interrupt it. Thus weeks rolled by, and Helen was the affianced wife
of Walter Jerrold; forgetful of the demands of religion, and turning a
deaf ear to the whispers of conscience, and a cold, proud eye on the
practical works of faith; and scornfully hushing May's expostulations,
she thought only of the realization of her ambitious and worldly
dreams, and plunged into the gayeties of life with a zest worthy of a
better cause.
May, all this time, was cheerfully climbing step by step; sometimes
fainting--sometimes stumbling--sometimes falling, but ever rising with
renewed strength up the steep and narrow way of Calvary. Her uncle's
distrustful manner--his harsh language--his angry looks, with Helen's
apparent apostasy, and haughty demeanor, were trials which required the
constant replenishing of grace in her soul, to bear with patience. But
Father Fabian bid her to be of good cheer; the divine sacraments of the
Church strengthened and consoled her by their sweet and mighty power;
and like waters returning cool and purified to their source, or dews
gently falling to the earth from which they had risen, in blessing and
refreshment, her daily visits to old Mabel, so full of charity and
good-will, filled her with indescribable happiness.
Mrs. Jerrold insisted on furnishing Helen's _trousseau_, while she was
occupied every day in selecting expensive furniture for a house her
uncle had settled on her, with permission to furnish it without regard
to cost, on condition that she was married by a Protestant minister.
She was telling May, with great glee and pride, about her purchases,
when she suddenly paused, and exclaimed,
"You need not look so grave, May. I presume my marriage will be as
legal and respectable as if the ceremony was performed by a priest."
"As legal as any other civil rite. But, Helen, you know that the
Church acknowledges no such marriages amongst her children. Her
precepts teach that marriage, to be legal, must also be sacramental.
It _is_ a sacrament; one which is held in high esteem and respect by
the Church, and no Catholic can contract it otherwise, without censure.
In case you persist, your marriage will not be recognized by the Church
as valid, or your offspring legitimate."
"I shall have a great many to keep me in countenance," replied Helen,
coldly. "I have no idea of submitting to every thing; Jerrold would
not, I am sure, consent to being married by a Catholic priest, and I do
not intend to thwart him, as I consider it a matter of very little
importance."
"Helen, listen to me. You must listen to me. It shall be the last
time, if you will only be patient. There is an hour coming, if you
persist in your present course, when you will wish you had never been
born; an hour when all human aid must fail, and all human interests and
splendor drop away from you like rotten rags; when your soul,
affrighted and shrinking, will go forth, obeying the inexorable laws,
of the Creator, to meet its Almighty Judge. When the shadows will fall
darkly around your way, Helen, and phantoms of darkness lie in wait,
until the irrevocable sentence is spoken, which will consign you to
utter woe; when, stripped of all, you will stand shivering and _alone_
before an awful tribunal, to give evidence against _yourself_. Oh,
Helen! dear Helen! _how_ will it be with you then? _how_ will you
escape, oh faithless daughter of the Church!"
"May!" cried Helen, while her face grew deadly white, and she grasped
her cousin's arm; "hush! how _dare_ you speak thus to me? It is cruel!
Henceforth utter no such language to me while we both live. If I am on
the brink of perdition, _I_ alone am responsible for my acts--not you."
"I will try to obey you, Helen, so far; but I _will_ pray for you--I
_will_ do penance for you--I _will_ offer frequent communions for
you--I _will_ intercede with our tender and Immaculate Mother for you.
I will fly to Calvary, and at the foot of the cross beseech our
suffering Jesus, by his bitter passion and death to have mercy on you.
You cannot stop me--you cannot hinder me in this, for, oh Helen! it is
an awful thing to see a soul tearing off its baptismal robe, trampling
underfoot the seals of the Church, and rushing away from her fold of
safety to eternal--eternal woe!" cried May, wringing her hands, while
big tears rolled over her face.
Helen turned away to brush off a single tear that moistened her eyes,
but through it she saw the glitter of a diamond bracelet, which Walter
Jerrold had just sent her, with a bouquet of hot-house flowers--all
rare and costly, and the poor tear was dashed off with impatience, and
a haughty curl of the lip.
"You act finely, May, but drop all this, and tell me what you will wear
at my bridal," said Helen, clasping the bracelet on her arm, to try its
effect.
"I shall not be there, Helen. I cannot even wish you joy, for there
can no joy ever come in disobeying the Church, whose voice is the voice
of God himself."
"As you please," she replied, coldly; "but croak no more to-night. You
are like a bird of ill-omen to me."
May sighed, and retired to her oratory, to say her night prayers.