The huge battlemented villa on the cliff was a gloomy enough residence
since the death of its owner. The remaining occupants, oppressed by
their bereavement, moved about the silent rooms like shadows. Mrs.
Applegate was of the opinion that a change of scene was absolutely
necessary to dissipate Edna's excessive grief, and that a continued stay
in their present habitation might tend to impair her health. Edna,
however, seemed reluctant to leave her home, and it was only at the
urgent solicitation of the Mumbies that she did so. Mr. Mumbie was one
of the executors of Mr. Heath's will, and was also appointed Edna's
guardian. Mr. Mumbie felt the loss of his old friend Rufus Heath deeply.
His first impulse was to put his whole family in mourning, but on second
thoughts he confined himself to delivering a eulogy on the character of
the deceased to every one he met, prefacing it by the sage remark,
solemnly delivered, that it was a very sudden death. As this was a
proposition that did not admit of much controversy, the listener
generally coincided. "Ah! sir, such is life," continued Mr. Mumbie,
addressing Dr. Wattletop, who added, "And death."
"Very true--and death," repeated Mr. Mumbie, pausing to reflect, as if
this side of the axiom had never struck him before, "and death, as you
very justly remark. Ah! sir, at a moment like the present, how hollow
everything looks! What's money at a time like this? How transitory and
vain are our pursuits--everything, in fact!"
"Paper-mills, for instance," observed the doctor.
"Yes, sir, every worldly matter; and the reflection will force itself
upon us, that in the midst of life we are in death, and there's no use
kicking against it. Now Mr. Heath was a very peculiar man; I knew him
thoroughly. We had been much together from boyhood, and we were always
like brothers--if anything, rather more intimate and affectionate than
brothers. We began life together; to be sure, I had a little the start
of him, but then our tastes and sympathies were exactly alike to a
shade. Mr. Heath, sir (impressively), was a very remarkable man--very
remarkable man, indeed. He was not only a scholar, and a Christian, but
a gentleman as well. He was also, if I may be allowed the expression, a
high-toned man--very high-toned indeed, sir. He was a man of wonderful
abilities, wide scope (with a circular flourish to exemplify the scope),
and great grasp (clenching his large fist)--great grasp of intellect. I
will state to you, and I trust you will see the importance of not
repeating it--I will state to you in confidence, that I was consulted in
regard to a plan on foot--a plan in which our most eminent men were
engaged: I am not at liberty to divulge names, but it is sufficient to
say that they were our most super-eminent men; consulted, sir, in regard
to a plan that would eventually have set Mr. Heath on the very pinnacle
of greatness--the very pinnacle."
"Rather an uncomfortable seat, I should fancy," commented the doctor.
Mr. Mumbie stared with a puzzled expression at the physician. He never
could understand him, and took refuge in repeating the eulogy in
succession to Blanks the stationer, and to Snopple the photographer. Mr.
Snopple acquiesced fully in Mr. Mumbie's estimate of Mr. Heath's
character and virtues, and stated that any one could see with half an
eye, by merely looking at a portrait of the defunct gentleman, that he
was no ordinary mortal, but had a very instructive and superior
physiognomy; and that, by the bye, reminded him that he had in his
studio a very fine negative representing Mr. Heath in three-quarter face
and characteristic pose, from which copies could be struck off, which he
would agree to furnish colored, if preferred, in the highest style of
art, for twenty dollars each, frame included; and which would be an
ornament to any parlor, and one that no family in Belton should be
without.
Mr. Mumbie said he would see about it. Mr. Mumbie had no time to think
of anything just then. He was overwhelmed with the responsibilities
thrust upon him.
"The fiduciary obligations imposed on me by the death of my friend Mr.
Heath, are very great--very great indeed, and onerous (with a sigh).
Still it is a duty I must perform; a sacred trust and burden I must
accept. We must all bow to the decrees of Providence;" and Mr. Mumbie,
to console himself, cast up mentally the fees the executorship was
likely to bring him, which completed and perfected his reconcilement to
the decrees of Providence.
To do him justice, he was a faithful guardian and trustee; and as for
his wife, she outdid herself in motherly solicitude for the young
heiress, whom she immediately took under her protecting wing.
Edna, Mrs. Mumbie insisted, must come and live with her. She must be
removed at once from the painful associations connected with her old
home, as Mrs. Applegate had very wisely advised, and her guardian's
family was the place for her. Edna complied, and the Mumbies treated her
like a favorite child. The best room in the house was allotted to her,
and nothing was considered too good for dear Edna. So the stately
dwelling of the late Mr. Heath was abandoned, and given over to the care
of the gardener, as Mrs. Applegate, who had been handsomely provided for
in her brother's will, departed to take up her residence in Philadelphia
with an aged relative.
Mrs. Mumbie had ulterior views in regard to Edna. The desirableness of
securing that young lady as a helpmeet for her son Bob, had not escaped
the attention of this sagacious and good mother, and she decided to
bring it about. Let us add, too, that whatever Mrs. Mumbie determined to
do she generally accomplished, as her husband had discovered at the
outset of his connubial life. Mr. Mumbie had a very high opinion of his
spouse's ability, and no little dread of her temper. She came of one of
the very first of the celebrated first-families of Virginia, the
Skinners, and was connected, moreover, on her mother's side with the
Yallabushas of Mississippi. Everybody had heard of her father, Colonel
Roger Skinner, of Pokomoke, one of the first poker-players of his day,
whose true Southern hospitality and peach-brandy were the themes of
universal commendation. Mumbie met the fascinating Miss Sallie Skinner
first at Saratoga, where he at once succumbed to the potent bewitchment
of her raven hair and brilliant eyes. He ventured, after many
misgivings, to propose, and was accepted, much to his surprise and
delight, as he had hardly dared to hope that such a divinity would link
herself with an ordinary mortal. Other people, who had heard the
vivacious belle ridicule poor Mumbie's large ears and amorphous feet,
marvelled too; but the truth was she had accepted him in a fit of spite
at some recreant lover's desertion. Of course the marriage was
considered a _mesalliance_ in the aristocratic circles of Pokomoke, and
the bride's relatives for a while treated the paper-maker rather
contemptuously, but as poker and peach-brandy had seriously impaired the
substance of the Skinner family, they gradually became reconciled to the
match, and condescended to accept largess from the wealthy manufacturer.
Mr. Mumbie had a heart corresponding in size to his ears and feet, and
proved a perfect dove and treasure of a husband. Malicious tongues said
he dared not be otherwise, for the first and only time he attempted to
cross his wife, she simply flung herself on the carpet, and beat a
tattoo with her heels, screeching terribly the while, until Mumbie,
frightened and subjected, promised anything and everything to avoid a
repetition of the scene. This, to be sure, was in the early period of
their union. Now Mr. Mumbie, through long servitude, was so thoroughly
broken to harness and under control, and Mrs. Mumbie had gained such
undisputed and serene ascendancy, that stratagems were unnecessary, and
she ruled through superior force of character.
This was the energetic and ingenious lady who determined to direct the
destiny of her husband's ward, and relieve her from the trouble and
difficulty of selecting a husband. To gain her ends, she surrounded Edna
with every attention, and was more than a mother to her in fact, pending
the time when she would be one in law. The young heiress began to find
herself installed as a being of immense importance, and was much
surprised at the vast amount of consideration shown to her by her
elders. She was shrewd enough to suspect that much of it was due to her
wealth, and despised it accordingly; for there was too much good sense
in the girl, and her character was too frank and independent to yield
readily to the pernicious influence of parasitism.
* * * * *
The correspondence which had been kept up with regularity between Edna
and her soldier-lover was interrupted by the death of her father, Mark's
intuitive delicacy forbidding him for a time from intruding on the grief
of a mourning daughter, further than in sending a formal letter of
condolence. It must be admitted, too, that Edna in her grief had but few
thoughts to bestow on the suitor who was serving another mistress in the
swamps of the Chickahominy. At length, to make amends for her
negligence, she wrote him a long epistle, the superscription of which
happened to meet Miss Ada Mumbie's eye. Notwithstanding the intimacy
existing between the two young ladies, and contrary to the usual custom
in such cases, Miss Heath had never confided her tender regard for Mark
Gildersleeve to her friend Miss Mumbie. The latter, anxious to know if
any such feeling existed, taxed Edna with it, and affected pique at her
want of confidence. That young lady at once, with a blush, admitted the
soft impeachment. Ada Mumbie was an outspoken young lady, and took after
her mamma in respect to having an opinion of her own. She raised her
eyebrows very significantly at Edna's confession, saying: "Why--Ed-na
Heath, the i-dea! I declare, I am surprised beyond anything. I never
would have thought it. He may be a very industrious, excellent young
man, but _so_ very much your inferior in every way. Why, he's not even a
person you could flirt with, much less correspond. His brother is an
exceedingly common man--exceedingly so. Why, what can you be thinking
of?"
Edna, nettled at this, bridled up and answered, "I don't know what you
mean by so much my inferior. He's far cleverer than I am, or you either,
Ada. He's very refined and polite and gentlemanly, I'm sure; and just as
good as gold."
"Mercy on us, Edna! I declare I didn't know you were so very much
interested in him, or I wouldn't have ventured to say a word. To be
sure, my acquaintance with the gentleman is so very slight that I am
hardly competent to judge of him. I expressed myself as I did solely out
of friendship for you. You know very well that the position you occupy
in society, and your large fortune--"
"Ada, you might have spared me that last remark," interrupted Edna in a
vexed tone. "I hear so much about my fortune--my wealth, that I detest
the very mention of it. Oblige me, please, by never again alluding to it
in my presence."
"Well, dear, don't let us quarrel over it. I'm sorry, and promise you
I'll never say another word about it: there now;" said Miss Mumbie, and
Edna kissed her friend in token of amity and restored concord. The
friend intended to be a valuable auxiliary to her mamma in bringing
about, in time, a match between her brother Bob and the young heiress;
but she found she had made a misstep. Thus far, though attentive and
agreeable in his clumsy way, Bob did not seem to make any appreciable
progress in his suit. When his sister imparted the discovery she had
made, to wit: that he had a rival, and one that Edna seemed to evince
considerable partiality for, he redoubled his efforts to please.
Unfortunately, Bob was not a being calculated to captivate the fair. His
physical graces were few, and his mental less, and he only served to
amuse Miss Heath until he succeeded in boring her. She, rightfully
ascribing this increase of homage on the part of the enamored Bob to her
ingenuous declaration to his sister, rather regretted it, especially as
she feared having perhaps shown too much warmth in her defence of Mark
Gildersleeve. Thenceforth by a tacit understanding, the subject was not
again referred to between the two girls.
Mrs. Mumbie, on learning of the danger to her son's prospects,
determined to nip it in the bud. "I am really astonished," said she to
her husband, "that so well-bred a girl could have allowed her thoughts
to stray away so unguardedly. A machinist, dear me, how low! Working
with a hammer--all over oil, and grease, and smoke. It's positively
amazing what crazy notions girls will get in their heads. I suppose,
though, it's all owing to his turning soldier. Of course, it's nothing
but a mere girlish fancy, but it might grow unless checked. Change of
scene and a new train of ideas will soon dissipate the foolish whim. A
tour abroad is just the very thing--the very thing. Mr. Mumbie, we must
go to Europe."
"But, my dear, it's impossible to go now. I can't leave--"
"Mr. Mumbie, we must go to Europe," was repeated with emphasis, "and the
sooner the better. Speak to Edna on the subject at once--she needs the
voyage. Ada needs it--so does Bob. It's time they saw something of the
world, and it will improve their minds vastly."
Mr. Mumbie did as he was bid. Edna was delighted at the idea of a trip
to Europe, and readily assented to her guardian's proposal. At the same
time he deemed it well to improve the opportunity, in view of what he
had learnt respecting his ward's inclinations, by imparting some
information which might tend to give her a better estimate of her worth
and position in the world than she seemed to possess.
"Edna, I believe I have never spoken a word to you about business
matters. I thought it would be as well to get everything into shape
before I said anything. Of course it is something that you don't know
much about, and yet I suppose I ought to ascertain if you've any wishes
in regard to the management of the estate, and so forth. If so, I am
ready to take them into consideration," said Mr. Mumbie.
"I have one wish, sir," said Edna.
"Well, what is it?"
"I should like to have father's intentions carried out in regard to
building the Home and the Hospital, exactly as if he were alive," said
Edna earnestly.
"But, my child, that would cost a great deal of money, a very great
deal, and--"
"I don't care if it takes all the estate; I presume there is enough to
do it," said Edna decidedly.
"Of course there's enough and more than enough, but I should not be
justified or permitted to use any funds in that way. So there's no use
in saying anything more about it now. When you come of age, why then, we
can talk it over again if you're of the same mind. Now, Edna," continued
Mr. Mumbie, taking up a roll of paper, "I've got something to show you
that will interest you. I have prepared and completed, after a great
deal of labor, an inventory of your late lamented father's estate. The
estimates are, if anything, in many cases below the real values. Here is
the schedule--and what do you think it all foots up? What do you think
it all amounts to in dollars and cents?"
"I don't know," replied Edna. "A great deal, I've no doubt."
"But guess--try and guess," insisted Mr. Mumbie with an air of triumph.
"Please don't ask me; I'd rather not," said Edna seriously.
"Rather not!" repeated Mr. Mumbie with astonishment; "why, bless me,
why not? Don't you want to know how much you are worth?"
"No--no--" said Edna quickly, and shaking her head.
"Why--why not?"
"Because--because--" said Edna, her eyes suddenly moistening, and
sensitive mouth quivering.
Mr. Mumbie looked perplexed. "Why, Edna, it is clearly your duty that
you should gain some knowledge of the way in which the vast fortune you
have inherited is invested. You must begin to learn something about it,
and about taking care of it. It is very seldom that so young a person is
so fortunate as to have such riches left them, and--"
Edna burst into tears. "Oh, please, sir, don't say anything to me about
it now. I suppose it's very wrong in me, but they all talk to me so
about my wealth, that it makes me feel wretched. They appear to envy
me--and to think I ought to be so happy in being rich, until it seems as
if they thought I had profited by my poor--poor father's death. I wish I
were poor and had nothing."
This is very extraordinary indeed, thought Mr. Mumbie, who imagined he
had prepared a pleasant surprise for his ward. "Well, well, Edna, dry
your eyes, my child. We won't talk business if you don't like it. Mrs.
Mumbie says she thinks the trip to Europe will do you good, and I've no
doubt it will. So get ready and we'll all be off as soon as possible."
In less than a fortnight after this conversation, Edna, and the Mumbie
family with the exception of the youngest member, were at sea on their
way to Liverpool. Before leaving, Edna wrote a letter to Mark, bidding
him an affectionate farewell; promising that her absence would be but a
short one, and reiterating her oft-expressed wish that the war would
soon end and enable him to return home safe and famous. By the time this
epistle reached its destination the one it was addressed to was a
captive in the hands of the enemy. An expedition had been planned to
make a dash into the capital of the Confederacy and rescue the prisoners
confined on Belle Isle. Mark Gildersleeve took part in this hazardous
undertaking, which through lack of support failed, and he with a few
others as rashly venturesome, were surrounded and captured; not,
however, until after a gallant struggle in which several were killed
and a number wounded. Among the latter Mark, who received on that
occasion a carbine bullet in his bridle-arm, which he repaid by lodging
the contents of his revolver into two of his assailants. Another shot,
however, disabled his horse, and he was made prisoner. He suffered
severely from his wound, owing to a want of proper medical attendance;
but fortunately the ball, which had taken an erratic course, was easily
extracted, and his vigorous constitution did the rest. He spent some
five weary months in Castle Thunder and was then exchanged. On his
return to his regiment he found the letter from Edna, announcing her
departure for Europe, awaiting him. He had written to her several times
during his captivity, without receiving any reply; now her silence was
explained. His letters had probably not been forwarded properly, or if
forwarded had not reached her. He had had an almost irresistible
inclination to revisit Belton, but now that it was bereft of its chief
attraction the desire vanished, and he returned to his duty, with an
increased determination to carve his way to distinction at whatever
cost.
Meanwhile Miss Heath and her friends had arrived in Europe. It was her
first visit there, and she found so much that was novel and pleasing
that her mind was constantly occupied and diverted. Some time was spent
travelling through England and Scotland; then they proceeded on the
usual tour through the Continent, making a lengthened stay in Paris. The
following summer was passed in Switzerland and at the German
watering-places. In the former country they met some pleasant English
people, and among them a party of Cambridge students. One of the Cantabs
was very attentive to the young ladies, and Edna declared he was the
most entertaining and agreeable young gentleman she had ever met. He was
handsome withal, judging from a description of him given in a letter of
Edna's to her friend Constance Hull, in which she said: "His complexion
is just lilies and roses--in fact it exactly matches the blush-rose in
his button-hole; and his large, limpid irids are of forget-me-not
blue--suggestive hue! Everything's 'awful jolly' with him, and he makes
the nicest beverages with sherry and claret, and sliced cucumbers,
called 'claret-cup,' or something of that sort, but at any rate, it's
perfectly delicious; and he's just as full of fun as he can be, and
always ready for some frolic or other." Such delightful walks and
excursions as they enjoyed together, and how sorry they all were to part
with him. Even Mrs. Mumbie seemed to regret the separation, perhaps
because he was the nephew of a lord, and had paid some attention to Ada,
who certainly was smitten with him. As for Edna, she was suspiciously
quiet for a few days after his departure, and we fear that during that
time her thoughts seldom reverted to her absent suitor, the striving
Union volunteer. But his image arose again to reproach her, as she
reflected that she had not written a line to him in a very long while.
To be sure he had not replied to her last epistle; in fact, she had
written three or four without receiving any response, and had half made
up her mind not to write again until she had received an acknowledgment
of her letters. Perhaps, thought she, they may not have reached him.
Still he might write to me at all events. Poor fellow! who knows, he may
be sick, or wounded, or in prison. Dear me, I've been so distracted with
all I've seen and heard, that I'm afraid I don't think as often of him
as I ought to. I'll sit down at once and write him a good, kind, long
letter to make amends. And she did so, but it met a fate similar to the
previous ones, bearing the same superscription, that she had sent, and
found its way, we regret to say, into the hands of Mrs. Madison Mumbie,
who consigned the tender lines to congenial flames, after having
cynically perused them. While in Paris, Edna, in recognition of the
kindness shown her by her guardian's family, had presented the mother
and the daughter with expensive _parures_ of diamonds. The one selected
for Mrs. Mumbie was in particular composed of the finest and most costly
stones. Mrs. Mumbie was profuse and almost abject in her acknowledgments
and thanks to dear Edna. Could that generous young heart have known that
this velvety woman had been treacherously intercepting her
correspondence--rifling the depositaries of her secret thoughts, she
would have shrunk from her as from a reptile. But to youthful innocence
baseness such as this exists not.
The next winter was spent in Italy, chiefly in Rome. Edna's enthusiasm
for the glorious old city knew no bounds. Between sight-seeing and
shopping she had not an idle moment. The quantities of silken sashes and
jewels of coral and mosaic she bought for presents, and the money she
spent and flung away to lazzaroni, would have driven her grandfather
Obershaw as wild as Shylock was at Jessica's extravagance. She created a
great sensation among the artists. The sculptors wanted to model her
lips and chin, and the painters raved about her hair and complexion;
altogether, between the studios, the ruins, the Carnival, and what not,
she was having, as she expressed it in her correspondence with Miss
Hull, "a splendid time." There was a long postscript to that letter to
this effect:
P.S. You remember I mentioned in my last, that we had engaged a
new courier in Paris, a handsome Italian named Luigi, who was so
very refined and _distingue_-looking, and such an excellent
linguist. Well the secret is out! He is a Count, and his name is
Borgia, Count Gasparone Alessandro Borgia, a scion of the
illustrious family of that name--just think of it! He betrayed
himself to Ada in an unguarded moment. He was stripped of his
patrimony by confiscation, and adopted his present vocation the
better to elude the malignity of his enemies, who are continually
seeking to persecute him. Who those enemies are, I do not clearly
understand. Sometimes he says they are the Jesuits, and at other
times he accuses Mazzini and the red-republicans. He hints also at
hereditary foes of his house, the Orsini and Sforzi. Evidently he
shrinks with intuitive delicacy from speaking of himself and his
misfortunes, and feels his position keenly. Ada caught him in tears
once or twice mourning the decadence of his house. He assured her,
on his word of honor, that all the stories that were in circulation
respecting the poisoning propensities of his family are malicious
falsehoods, and is very indignant at the outrageous way in which
the dramatists have treated his distinguished ancestress--and I
don't wonder at his anger. I think he says she was his
great-great-grand-aunt; but I won't be certain. Since we have
learned his title and rank, we have all felt a delicacy in treating
him as a courier. Mr. Mumbie almost insisted on his taking his
meals with us, but he firmly, and dignifiedly refused, which I
think was very honorable in him, don't you? I flatter myself not a
little on my sagacity and knowledge of people that I felt certain
the moment I saw him that he was no ordinary person. The seal of
high birth is unmistakably set on his noble brow and statuesque
features; and then, O Constance, such eyes! such flashing, melting
orbs!...
The Fosters leave for home next week. I intrusted them with a
present for you which they kindly consented to deliver. It's a
turquoise set, and I hope it will suit you. I'm sure it will be
becoming. I did intend to surprise you with it myself, but it's so
uncertain when we shall return that I thought I would avail of the
opportunity to send it at once. Please accept the set with the best
love of
Ever yours,