THE VAULT.
Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power as yet upon thy beauty;
Thou art not conquered! Beauty’s ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And Death’s pale flag is not advanced there.
_—Shakspere._
A silent drive of about half an hour’s length brought them to the deep
and sheltered forest dell in which St. John’s Church stood. Surrounding
the dell was the boundless forest, whose nearer trees stood up, stark
and black, in strong contrast with the snow. Within the circle of these
grim trees gleamed a single ray of red light, shooting in a line of
crimson across the graveyard. This came from the window of the old
sexton’s log house, that stood just within the shelter of the forest.
Taking this ghostly light as their guide, and picking their way
cautiously and reverently among the tombs, they approached the lone
dwelling. As they drew near they saw the light flitting backward and
forward in the house, and then perceived an old negro with a saddled
mule at the gate.
Before Dr. Hardcastle could speak to ask a question the door of the
house was opened, and the old sexton came forth, clad in a shaggy
overcoat, fox-cap, and fur gloves, and carrying a lantern in his hand.
Seeing two strangers, he made an exclamation of surly surprise, and
asked their business. Dr. Hardcastle drew him apart, explained to him
who they were, and what they wanted. The old man then changed his tone,
invited them into his house, and, lantern in hand, slowly led the way.
With plain kindness, he took the hand of Elsie, and led her to a rude
armchair in the chimney corner, telling her that, being about to go away
for the night, he had put out the fire, but that he would soon kindle it
up again to warm her. Then going to an obscure corner of the room, he
brought forth a quantity of oily pine knots, and lighting one at the
candle in the lantern, and placing it on the hearth and piling other
around it, and heaping more upon them, in an instant he had a very hot
fire. Then he turned to Dr. Hardcastle, begging him to be seated, and
explained that he had just been summoned away to Green Mills to see his
brother, who was dangerously ill; that he had therefore to depart on the
instant, lest he should not see his brother alive; that if Dr.
Hardcastle would dispense with his services, and take the keys of the
church and let himself in, he would be very much obliged; farther, that
if Dr. Hardcastle should choose not to return to Huttontown in the
severe cold, this poor cottage was at his service, with all it
contained; only when the doctor left, would he please to put out the
fire, and lock up everything, both at the church and at the cottage,
securely, and put the bunch of keys under the stone by the doorstep. Dr.
Hardcastle thanked him, accepted the keys, promised security to all
things intrusted to his care, and even hastened to dismiss the old man.
When the sexton and the negro had departed, Magnus turned to Elsie, who
had sat all this time in the armchair by the chimney corner, with her
face covered by the flap of her cloak, and whispered:
“Elsie, my dear, dear girl, pause, think; do not insist upon going into
the vault!”
“Oh, yes! yes, I entreat you; something in my heart urges me beyond the
possibility of keeping back; haste! haste, I implore you. I am sick with
impatience while you hesitate. I feel as if something momentous,
something tremendous hung upon this instant of time; haste, haste!” she
said.
“My darling, my poor darling, strong as you are, this has been too much
for you; you are nervous, excited, flighty; but, come along; I can take
care of you.”
Elsie arose and took his arm, and solemnly and silently they passed out
of the old sexton’s house, and took their mournful way toward the
church. Solemnly and silently they entered its portals, and, dimly
lighted by the lantern, passed up its shadowy aisles—silently, but for
the mournful echo of their footsteps. The door of the vault was situated
at the side of the altar. Opening this door with reverential care, and
still bearing the lantern, Magnus Hardcastle descended, followed by
Elsie, pale with grief and awe, into its shadows. There is a depth of
solemnity about the last resting-place of the dead which overwhelms the
wildest sorrow with awe, and subdues it into deathlike stillness. Magnus
and Elsie entered the vault with profound calmness. But here was only
the darkness and repose of death. The vault, like the church, was new.
Only two mortals—an aged man and an infant—had been placed there to
rest, just before Alice Garnet fell asleep and was laid by their side.
As the two mourning pilgrims entered, the light of the lantern partially
revealed the new, gray stone walls, the white ground floor, and the
three coffins. That of Alice was, of course, easily recognized.
Reverently, mournfully, they approached and knelt by its side. With
reverent hands Magnus raised the top of the outer case.
A glass-plate set in the lid of the coffin gave the features of the
quiet face once more to the view of the mourning son and daughter. There
was the face, even as Elsie had seen it often in its natural sleep; only
more serene than in slumber, for in her life the very sleep of Alice had
seemed troubled or too deathlike. Was this repose deathlike? Was this
death? Beautiful, strangely beautiful, was that heavenly face, in its
deep repose, in its rapt repose, for there was a look of ecstasy in the
countenance, in the elastic fullness of the muscles, in the faint color
on the rounded cheeks, and the full and pouting lips. Was this death?
Someone’s reverence for the beautiful had left the amber ringlets
straying from the close border of the cap, and now so lifelike looked
the lovely face, and these ringlets seemed to tremble as with a
trembling breath. Was this death? Was the suddenness with which life had
left the clay the cause of this lifelike look? There are moments when
the most rational have wild hopes, moments when the most habitually
self-collected doubt the evidence of their own senses; it was thus in
amaze that they gazed upon her countenance, seemingly instinct with
life; with the freshness, and fullness, and bloom of life; the color
seemed brightening upon her cheeks and lips with life; the eyelashes and
the amber ringlets seemed quivering with life, and even as they gazed
with amaze the view was obscured by a mist on the glass, and the
beautiful countenance veiled from their eyes. Elsie spoke with a voice
full of tears.
“Oh, Magnus! dear Magnus! wipe off the glass. Our breath, as we looked
too close, has dulled it. I cannot see her angel face any longer for the
mist upon the glass.”
Magnus drew out his silk pocket-handkerchief and wiped the glass
carefully.
“I cannot see her yet, Magnus. I cannot see her yet. Oh, I want to see
her again, that that divine countenance may be indelibly fixed in my
memory—oh-h-h!”
Magnus wiped the glass again very carefully, looked, wiped it a third
time most carefully, and, taking up the lantern, threw its whole light
upon the plate, rubbing it assiduously as he did so. Why did Dr.
Hardcastle start—
“As if the Archangel’s trump he heard?”
The new mist upon the glass was from within the coffin. To snatch a
hunting-knife from his belt, to wrench open the coffin lid with one
wrench of his strong hand and throw it off, to give her fresh air; to
snatch her from the coffin to the warmth and shelter of his living arms
and bosom; to turn to the thunder-stricken Elsie, and exclaim:
“Elsie, don’t faint! Be strong, I command you! Your mother lives! she
lives! She has been placed here in apparent death only; she must not
recover to find herself in this dreadful place; to see these
grave-clothes; to know what horrors have befallen her, lest reason be
shocked forever from its seat. Give me your cloak, Elsie! Quick! quick!
My God, don’t faint, I abjure you; I’ll never forgive you if you faint
now. Your cloak, I say; your cloak, quick! to throw around this shroud,
which she must not see.”
Elsie, with pallid lips and dilated eyes, too amazed and doubtful of her
own senses and sanity to receive the joyful truth, with mechanical
promptitude threw off her cloak and handed it to Magnus.
“That’s my brave girl; that’s my pioneer wife!” he said, receiving the
cloak, and folding it hastily yet carefully around the form he held in
his arms, and pressing it closer to his bosom. “There, Elsie! Now, my
little heroine, shade the lantern; quick, Elsie, lest she open her eyes
and see the place we bear her from. Quick, Elsie! she is moving
restlessly in my arms now, and her form is getting warm, thank Heaven!
as warm almost as yours, my Elsie. There, now follow me closer behind,
Elsie, my little soldier, and you may let the lantern shine as soon as
we get out of the church.”
And so, folding the form of Alice closer in his sustaining arms, closer
to his sheltering bosom, and followed by Elsie, bearing the darkened
lantern, he hurried up the stairs of the vault, down the aisle of the
church, out of the great door, and across the graveyard toward the
cottage of the sexton, never pausing in his speed until he reached the
door of the cabin, which, without stopping to unlatch, he pushed open
with a blow of his foot.
He bore her in, followed by Elsie with the lantern. The fire they had
left there was still burning brightly, warming and lighting the whole
room. In the upper end of the apartment stood a poor but neat and
cleanly bed.
Toward this he hastened with the form of Alice. He turned down the
cover, and, hastily divesting her of the heavy cloak, laid her in the
bed and covered her warmly up. He stooped and looked at her with intense
interest, then took her arm and felt her pulse. It was moderately full
and quick. He gazed upon her face. The color was still brightening in
her cheeks and lips; her eyelids were quivering as if about to fly open;
her full, fresh lips were slightly apart, as if about to speak; she was
moving gently, breathing softly, murmuring melodiously. He bent his ear
to catch that low, musical murmur; low and musical as the faintest
breath of the Æolian harp. The words of that strange melody were: “Oh,
angels, let me go! I—only I of all the earth love him well enough to be
the instrument of Christ for his redemption—I—only I of all the earth
have faith in its possibility.”
“Wandering, flighty, delirious,” said Dr. Magnus, quietly dropping the
wrist he had held, and rising and going toward Elsie. “Elsie, I dare not
leave your mother for an instant now. Pick up your cloak, wrap yourself
well in it, take the lantern and haste to the gate, where we left the
carriage; take my medicine chest from the box, and bring it hither.
Haste, Elsie, haste! Every second counts a year of life.”
Mechanically as an automaton Elsie had obeyed his every direction. She
looked unnatural with her pale face and great, dilated eyes. And she
performed her part with the abstracted air and literal and mathematical
precision of a sleep-walker. With this strange, absent air she went out,
and after an absence of about fifteen minutes returned with the medicine
chest.
Magnus heard her coming and left his patient for an instant to open the
door and relieve her of her burden. But here another subject
unexpectedly arrested his attention and claimed his care. As she gave
the chest into his hands she stared straight at him—straight through him
and past him with such unconscious eyes that he grew alarmed for her.
Setting down the medicine chest upon a bench, he took her hands and drew
her up to the fire, and, laying his hand upon her shoulder, and looking
straight in her eyes, he said cheerfully:
“Wake up, Elsie! Rouse yourself, my child! This is very awful, but not
unnatural.”
“Oh-h-h!” sighed Elsie, dropping into the armchair. “Oh-h-h! I know it
is not unnatural, or uncommon, either, for loved ones to die, and hearts
to be bereaved and broken; but, dear Magnus, I am afraid I am going
crazy; I am afraid to tell you what I wildly imagined just now, what an
extravagant fancy I took into my head.”
“What was it, then?”
“Now, don’t be too much astounded at my folly, dear Magnus, for I have
been so grievously tried.”
“What was it, then? Quick! I have no time for idle talk.”
“Well, then, I fancied—oh-h-h! such a mad, frenzied fancy—that my
beloved mother was alive again. Am I not going mad? I thought my dear
mother was alive again!”
“And you know she is!” he exclaimed, dropping his hand upon her
shoulder, with hearty, kindly roughness; “you know she is! Rouse
yourself this moment, Elsie; I command you; collect your thoughts;
remember where you are, and what has occurred. What sort of behavior is
this? Have I been premature and too partial in ascribing to you strength
of mind; courage, coolness, promptitude in emergency? Can I depend upon
you in extremity? Come out of this amazement this instant, Elsie! Wake
up, and make yourself useful; weakness is meanness. Be strong; strength
is grandeur. Be heroic; strength is heroism. Make me proud to call you
wife. Stand up, now; give me both your hands. Look me straight in the
eyes, and let me see if I cannot infuse some sanity and strength into
that amazed and fainting soul of yours.”
Elsie placed the back of her hands against her brow, while she slowly
arose to her feet, and then, slowly throwing off her hands, as if to
dispel an illusion, she said:
“There; the cloud has passed, Magnus; the weakness has left me; I will
be worthy of you. What is it that I can do, Magnus?”
“There! I know you were not a poltroon; only a fatigued hero, Elsie.
Come, one kiss, and then to work.”
And he caught her to his bosom with an ardent clasp and fervent kiss,
that inspired from his own rich and strong vitality all her life, and
warmth, and energy, and activity that her weaker nature needed at this
trying moment. Then he led her to the bedside of her mother, whispering
as he did so:
“Now, my own heroic wife, no relapse into weakness.”
“No, no, indeed, my strength; I will be worthy of you. Oh, Magnus, I
think you have life enough to raise me from the dead, if I were to die.
Oh, Magnus, I begin to realize now that she lives, and that I am
blessed; blessed to the fullness of content,” said Elsie, sinking upon
her knees and raising her clasped hands and streaming eyes to heaven.
“Calmly, calmly, my Elsie,” said Magnus, laying his hand gently on her
head. “There, rise now, and sit beside your mother, and watch her, and
listen for her words, that we may know the nature of her illusion, and
not rudely shock it. She seems in a happy trance now—and her pulse is
good, yet her state is so critical that her waking must be watched for.”
“Hush-h-h! her lips move! she speaks!” said Elsie, bending over her.
“Oh, mother! mother! darling mother! warm and living, restored to me!
What shall I render Heaven in exchange for thee? Hush-h-h! she is saying
something. Oh, Magnus, that look of quiet ecstasy has left her
countenance, and the troubled, earthly look she used to wear has come
again! What is the reason of it? oh, what is the reason of it? Oh, see
how her brow contracts! how her lips quiver! Oh, see her hands fly
together and clasp like vises! Oh, Magnus! Magnus do something! She is
going into a spasm.”
“No, no, child; she is not. Natural life is coming again. Her mind is
taking up the train of thoughts at the place where it was lost. Nothing
can be done as yet, but to listen—yes, listen—she speaks again—hear!”
“Forgive Elsie—only forgive Elsie, and I will forget that I have been
betrayed, and scorned, and trampled under foot. At least I will never,
never speak of it,” murmured Alice, in a heart-broken tone; and then her
hands flew up, her eyes flew open, and she looked around in the full
possession of all her faculties, which was evident from the surprise
with which she glanced upon the strange scene.
Magnus and Elsie had drawn back, not to shock her with their sudden
appearance.
Yes, catalepsy, epilepsy, apparent death—whatever the medical faculty in
their wisdom might have pronounced the fit to be that had held her life
spellbound for two days—was over, quite over, and she raised up in the
full possession of all her senses.
“Where in the universe am I?” she asked, rising upon her elbow and
looking around. “Has he turned me out of doors, really, and has one of
the negroes taken me into a quarter during a fainting fit? Let me
recollect. What happened after he threw me down? I remember nothing
after that. ‘Now, die of rage’ he said, and spurned me from him. Yes,
that is the last link in memory’s chain. I must have fainted after that;
he must have thrust me out, and one of the poor negro women must have
picked me up and brought me to her quarters, and here I have recovered.
Oh, I wonder how long I have lain in this swoon?—not long. It was near
daylight when I lost recollection. It is not quite daylight yet. Oh, I
have not lain here long, perhaps not ten minutes. I wish someone would
come. I want to warn them not to speak of this. It must not be talked of
on the plantation. It must not get out among the neighbors. And never,
never must Elsie hear of it—guess at it! God! God! save Elsie from this
knowledge! Let her still respect her father. Let her still be happy in
thinking of me in my home—‘home’—my home. Alas! it is not my home any
longer! I do not own an interest there—not even a wife’s interest in the
homestead which I should have had, even had the estate come by General
Garnet, for I have signed even that away—‘all right, title, and
interest.’ Yet it is my home, if not my homestead, for it is my
husband’s place of permanent residence, and therefore my home. And I
must go back to it. I must beg him to let me in. I must, no matter how I
may be received. I must, even if his other daughter is there to insult
me. I must, to spare Elsie the knowledge of this. Elsie must never
know—must never suspect this.” And Alice arose, and, sitting up straight
in bed, prepared to throw the cover off and arise, when Elsie sprang
forward and threw herself upon the bed, exclaiming, in heart-broken
tones:
“Elsie does know it, darling mother. Elsie knows it all. God nor angels
would suffer her to be kept in ignorance of it—of all the sufferings—of
all the sacrifice that has made it her duty never to leave you nor
forsake you again. And may Heaven forsake me, mother, the hour that ever
I leave you again!”
“Oh, Elsie! good, but rash child, have you ventured to come back here?
Oh, Elsie!” And Alice threw her arms around the neck of her daughter,
and clasped her to her bosom, and both wept copiously.
At last—“Tell me what has happened, dearest child. I have no
recollection of anything since my swoon,” said Alice, in a faint voice,
slipping from the embrace of Elsie.
“Mother, darling mother, won’t you please to rest now, without asking
any questions? You must be so weak,” replied Elsie, laying her gently
down, and arranging the cover over her.
“I feel weak, yet well, light, renewed; but I won’t ask questions that
will pain you to answer, dear child. I am almost certain of what has
occurred. I swooned, and was picked up by one of the women and brought
to this quarter, and she sent for you. Dear Elsie, I am afraid she
alarmed you. Did Magnus come, too?”
“Yes, dearest Mrs. Garnet, I am here,” said Dr. Hardcastle, advancing to
the bedside with a cordial in his hand.
Elsie raised her mother once more, and taking the restorative draught,
placed it to her lips. Alice drank it, and then said:
“Magnus, Elsie, I am afraid they have told you a dreadful tale of what
occurred to me after you left the house. Dearest, you must not believe
all that you may have heard, and you must excuse the rest. You know
negroes, especially negro women, will exaggerate. They do not
intentionally transcend the truth, but their quick fancies and warm
sympathies lead them into extravagance. General Garnet, in the temporary
insanity of rage, has done something violent, no doubt; but not so
violent as has appeared to you, and no doubt he regrets his anger now.
Elsie, do not think too hardly of your father. Give him time. All will
come right at last. In the meanwhile, darling, I must return to the
house. I must not seem inclined to make the most of his anger by
absenting myself. Dearest Elsie, this morning we must part again. We
will take breakfast together in this humble quarter, and then we must
part, dear child, until better times. You must go with your husband,
Elsie, and I must return to mine,” said Alice, lifting up her arms and
embracing her child.
Elsie looked at Magnus in despair. He stooped, and said:
“Dear Mrs. Garnet, you must sleep now. I am your physician as well as
your son. You must be silent, close your eyes, and lie still.”
“I cannot, Magnus. I do not feel the least inclined to sleep. I feel as
though I had had a very long sleep. I feel quite fresh and renewed,
though a little weak, as from want of nourishment. Besides, day is
breaking. It is time to rise. This is the day you were to depart for the
backwoods, and you intended to have made an early start. I cannot hinder
you. I must rise. We must have one more social meal together, and then
depart to our several duties.” Alice spoke in a low, calm tone, but
covered her face to conceal the quivering features.
Magnus seized the chance to draw Elsie aside, to whisper hurriedly in
her ear:
“Elsie, she must know all about it. She is strong enough to bear the
knowledge, and so it is perfectly safe to break it to her gently. In
fact, to tell her the truth is the only safe plan. Her providential
recovery from apparent death must not be made known to anyone for the
present, or until General Garnet’s secret disposition is ascertained and
can be safely trusted. She has nothing to hope from him; she shall have
nothing to fear. She must be perfectly secure from his persecutions and
annoyances, until he is in a better frame of mind. This I think the
safety of her life and of her reason demands. I consider that she is
providentially dead to General Garnet and living to us. She must
accompany us to the West. We must be en route within an hour, lest the
old sexton returns and discovers all. Listen, I will go back to the
church and restore everything there to such complete order that no
suspicion shall be excited. And while I am gone, do you assist her to
arise, if she wishes it. When she gets up and looks about her, she will
see where she is, and that will greatly prepare her for my explanation.
If she asks you any questions refer her to me alone for explanation.
There, love, is the bundle of clothing you put up in your haste when
about to leave Deep Dell. I brought it from the carriage just now, while
you were talking with your mother. Get your double wrapper out, and slip
it on her before the window-shutter is opened. I would not have her see
that garb suddenly.” And having given these hasty directions Magnus
hurried out to the chapel, and having restored everything there to
primal order, returned to the cottage. He found Alice sitting up by the
fire with her hands clasped, and her head bowed with a look of deep
thoughtfulness. Elsie had hung the tea-kettle on to make coffee, and had
set the table, and was now handing out the contents of the old man’s
cupboard.
As Dr. Hardcastle entered, Alice, without raising her head, held out her
hand to him, saying:
“Magnus, come here. Where am I?”
And Dr. Hardcastle went and drew a chair to her side, and took her hand,
and slowly, and gently, and cautiously made known to her the events of
the last two days. Alice made no comment.
The awful solemnity of the facts disclosed—the apparent death, the
burial, veiled, softened as they were in the telling—overwhelmed her
soul. She dropped her head upon her open hands, and neither moved nor
spoke for a long time, or until Elsie came to her side, passed one arm
earnestly over her shoulder, placed a cup of coffee at her lips with the
other hand, bending her bright, loving face smilingly upon her the
while. Then Alice lifted up her head, took the cup, and kissed the
gentle hand that gave it.
While Alice drank the coffee Dr. Hardcastle went out and attended to his
mules. When he returned they all gathered around the breakfast table. It
was during that meal that he proposed to Alice the plan of accompanying
them, urging upon her the strong necessity of her doing so.
Alice combated all his arguments as well as her instincts taught her.
Dr. Hardcastle avowed his intention of accompanying her back to Mount
Calm, and, remaining in the neighborhood, in case of her perseverance in
her present intention of returning. Alice sought to dissuade him from
that plan.
Finally, after much talk, Alice agreed to accompany them on the first
stage of their journey as far as Deep Dell, and remain there incognito,
while he should return to Mount Calm, and ascertain the disposition of
General Garnet, and, if possible and prudent, break gradually to him the
fact of his wife’s unexpected restoration to life.
Having agreed upon this plan Dr. Hardcastle made rapid preparations for
the recommencement of their journey. They—he and Elsie—restored
everything about the cottage to complete order; put out the fire,
fastened up the cupboard, and the windows, and then the doors, and,
tying a little purse of money to the door-key, by way of compensation
for all they had used, hid it “under the stone by the doorstep,” as
requested, entered the carriage, and commenced their journey.