LOVE DREAMS.
Lina had slept sweetly through all this turmoil of the elements and of
human passions. Beautifully as a dove she lay in her pretty white bed,
with its snowy curtains brooding over her like summer clouds above
opening roses. A night-lamp of pale alabaster shed its soft moonlight
through the room, and when bursts of thunder shook the heavens, and the
lightning flashed and gleamed around the single Gothic casement of her
chamber, it only gave to this pearly light a golden tinge, and made Lina
smile more dreamily in her happy slumber.
She was abroad upon the hills again, and in sleep lived over the bright
hours that never return, save in dreams, to any human soul.
She had left Ralph in the hall, and hoarding up her new found happiness
she stole away to her room, kindled the alabaster lamp that no broader
light should look upon her blushes, and sat down lost in a trance of
thought. She veiled her eyes even from the pure light around her, and
started covered with blushes, when the happiness flooding her soul broke
in murmurs to her lips.
She longed to speak over his name, to whisper the words with which he
had blessed her, and ponder over and over the tone of those words. She
was bewildered and astonished by her own happiness. Now she longed to
steal into Mrs. Harrington's presence, and tell her of the great joy
that had fallen upon her life, but the first motion to that effect
brought the blushes to her cheeks, and made her cover them with both
hands, like a child who strives to hide the shame of some innocent joy.
At last she began to undress, softly and bashfully, as if she had found
some new value in her own beauty. Her hands lingered fondly among the
tresses of her hair, and gathering them up beneath her pretty
Valenciennes cap, she smiled to see its gossamer shadows fall upon her
forehead, giving the whole face a Madonna-like purity.
With a gentle sigh, she pillowed herself upon the couch, and looked up
through the cloud of snowy lace that overshadowed it with a wistful
smile, as if she expected to see stars break through, revealing new
glimpses of the Heaven already dawning in her young life.
Thus cradled in her own happiness, like a lily with its cup full of dew,
she laid that beautiful head upon her arm, and slept. The wind had no
power to arouse her, though it shook the old house in all its gables.
The thunder rolled through her dreams, like the reverberating strains of
a celestial harp, and when the lightning flamed through her room, it
only kindled the volume of lace over her head into a cloud of golden
tissue, under which she slept like a cherub in one of Murillo's
pictures.
Thus Lina spent the night. In the morning she arose at the usual hour,
and stole forth to walk. The household were astir in the kitchen, but
she saw no member of the family, and went out unconscious of Mrs.
Harrington's accident. When she came back, a shy terror seized upon her
at the thought of meeting Ralph again in the presence of his relatives;
and, evading the breakfast-room, she stole to her own chamber. But
loneliness at length became oppressive, and, with a breathless effort at
composure, she sought a little boudoir or private sitting-room, which
opened from Mrs. Harrington's bed-chamber, and where that lady usually
spent some hours of the morning. Lina unclosed the door softly and went
in, trembling with a world of gentle emotions as she approached Ralph's
mother.
Mrs. Harrington was seated in a large easy-chair. A morning shawl of
pale blue cashmere flowed over an under-dress of French embroidery. The
tint of these garments did not relieve the pallor of her cheek which
would have been painful, but for the crimson glow reflected upon it from
the brocaded cushions of the chair. Her foot rested upon an embroidered
cushion; and she was languidly sipping chocolate from a cup of embossed
parian which she had scarcely strength to hold. A beautiful Italian
grey-hound stood close by the cushion, regarding her with looks of eager
interrogation that seemed almost human.
Lina glided softly behind the easy-chair, and remained a moment
gathering courage to speak. At last, she bent softly forward:
"Mother!"
Mrs. Harrington looked up kindly, but with a touch of seriousness. She
had been wounded by Lina's seeming inattention.
Before another word could be spoken, the door opened noiselessly, and
Agnes Barker hesitated upon the threshold, regarding the two with a dark
glance. She stood a moment with the latch in her hand, as if about to
withdraw again, but seemed to change her mind, and stepped boldly into
the room.
Mabel was looking at her adopted daughter and the door opened so
noiselessly that neither of them had observed it. Thus Agnes Barker
remained some minutes in the room, listening to their conversation with
breathless attention.
"Mother," repeated Lina, and her face flushed like a wild rose, "I have
something to say; don't look at me, please, it makes me afraid."
"Afraid, my child!" said Mabel, smiling, "afraid of your mother! Shame,
Lina!"
"But I can only remember that you are _his_ mother now, dear Mrs.
Harrington!"
"Dear Mrs. Harrington! Why child what has come over you?"
"Something--something so strange and sweet that it makes the very heart
tremble in my bosom, dear mamma, and yet----"
"And yet you are afraid!"
"Yes, mamma; you have thought so highly of him--he is so much wiser and
nobler than I am--he--"
Mabel drew a quick breath, and turned her eyes almost wildly on the face
of the young girl.
"Of whom do you speak, Lina?"
Lina was terrified by her look, and faltered, "of--of Mr. Harrington,
dear mamma."
The Parian cup in Mabel's hand shook like a lily in the wind. She sat it
slowly down, and suppressing a thrill of pain that ran through her like
the creep of a serpent, remained for a moment bereft of all speech. It
was the first time that Lina had ever called Ralph, Mr. Harrington, and
the mistake drove the very blood from the heart of her benefactress.
"Mr. Harrington? and what of him?" inquired the pallid woman, clasping
her tremulous hands and striving to hold them still in her lap. "What of
Mr. Harrington, Lina?" Her voice was low and hoarse; the very atmosphere
around her froze poor Lina into silence.
"Nothing, indeed nothing at all!" she gasped at length. "I was so
terrified, I don't know what I wished to say. It took me so by surprise,
and--and--"
Mabel's face lighted. She remembered her adventure the night before, and
again mistook poor Lina.
"Oh, yes, my own sweet child, I forgot that they kept my peril from you
all night. Mr. Harrington did, indeed, save me."
"Save you, mamma? how? from what?"
"I see they have not told you how near death I was. Oh, Lina! it was
terrible when that wheel plunged me into the black depths. In a single
minute, I thought of everything--of my home, of Ralph, of you, Lina."
The young girl did not answer. She stood aghast with surprise and
terror.
"I thought," said Mabel, still excited and nervous, "I thought of
everything I had ever done in my life--the time, the place, the objects
with which each act had been surrounded, flashed before me like a living
panorama."
"Mother, how did this happen?" faltered Lina, trembling from head to
foot.
Mabel lifted her face, and saw how pale and troubled the young girl was.
"Sit down, darling, here at my feet, and I will tell you all. Move,
Fair-Star, and let your mistress sit down."
The beautiful Italian grey-hound that had been looking so wistfully at
his mistress all the morning, as if he knew all the risk she had run,
drew back from his place near the embroidered stool, and allowed Lina to
seat herself thereon. Then he stole back to his position, contrasting
the snowy folds of her morning-dress with the pretty scarlet housings,
edged with black velvet, which he always wore in chilly weather.
"Why, how you tremble! how white you are, Lina! and I was but just
thinking you neglectful."
"Neglectful--oh, mother!"
"Well, well, it was all a mistake, child; but what kept you from me so
long?"
"I went out to walk."
"What, after hearing of----"
"Oh! mamma, how can you think so? I have seen no one this morning."
"Then you knew nothing of this accident?" questioned Mabel,
thoughtfully.
"Indeed, indeed I did not. What could have kept me from your side, if I
had known? Oh, it was terrible! What must have become of us all had you
never returned--of me, of _him_?"
Lina could hardly speak, the whole thing had come upon her so suddenly,
but sat wistfully questioning her mother with those tender blue eyes.
Mabel told her all, even to the false illumination of the cedar tree,
and the appearance of Agnes Barker, like an evil shadow in the
firelight. All? no, no! The facts she related faithfully, but
feelings--those haunting spirits that fluttered in her heart even
yet--those Mabel Harrington could not have spoken aloud even to her God.
When Mabel had told all, Lina's face, that had been growing paler and
paler as the recital progressed, flushed with sudden thanksgiving; her
eyes filled with great bright drops, such as we see flash downward when
rain and sunshine strive together; and, creeping up to her mother's
bosom, she began to sob and murmur thanksgivings, breaking them up with
soft tender kisses, that went to Mabel's heart.
"You are glad to have me back again, my Lina?"
"Glad, mamma, glad? Oh, if I only knew how to thank God, as he should be
thanked!"
"I think you love me, Lina," answered Mabel, and her face was luminous
with that warm, tender light, which made her whole countenance
beautiful, at times, beyond any mere symmetry of features that ever
existed. "I think you love me, Lina."
The young girl did not answer but crept closer to Mrs. Harrington's
bosom. A deep breath came in a tremor from her bosom, as odor shakes the
lily-bell it escapes from.
Thus, for a little time, the two remained in each other's embrace,
blissful and silent. All this time Agnes Barker looked on, with a
dawning sneer upon her lip.
At length, Mabel lifted Lina's face from her bosom, and kissing the
white forehead, bade her sit down and partake of the breakfast that
stood upon a little table at her side. She filled a cup with chocolate
from the small silver kettle, and pressed it upon the young girl.
"My heart is too full--I cannot taste a drop," said Lina.
"Nonsense, child," answered Mabel, and, with a laugh and a bright look,
she hummed--
"Lips, though blooming, must still be fed,
For not even love can live on flowers."
Why did the rosy blood leap into that young face at the word "Love?" Why
did those eyelids droop so bashfully, and the little hand begin to shake
under the snowy cup it would gladly have put down? Lina remembered now
that her secret was still untold, while Mabel, startled by her blushes,
thought of the first words that had marked their interview, and grew
timid as one does, who has suffered and dreads a renewal of pain.
Thus these two persons, loving each other so deeply, shrunk apart, and
were afraid to speak. Poor Lina, with her exquisite intuition, which was
a remarkable gift, drooped bashfully forward, the roses dying on her
cheek beneath the frightened glance which Mabel fixed upon them, and her
eyelids drooping their dark lashes downward, as the leaves of a japonica
cast shadows.
At last Mabel spoke low and huskily, for, like all brave persons, she
only recoiled from pain for the moment. Her heart always rose to meet
its distresses at once, and steadily.
"Tell me, Lina, what is it? You have not heard of my escape, and yet
something disturbed you."
"Yes, mamma!"
"And, what is it?"
Lina struggled a moment, lifted her eyes full of wistful love, and,
dropping her head in Mabel's lap, burst into tears.
"You love some one?" said Mabel, with an instinctive recoil; "is that
it?"
"Yes, yes; oh, forgive us!" burst out from among Lina's sobs.
"Forgive us--and who is the other?" There was a tremble in Mabel's
voice--a premonitory shiver of the limbs. Oh, how she dreaded the answer
that would come.
"You know--you must guess," pleaded poor Lina.
"No, who is he?"
"Mrs.--Mrs. Harrington, oh, don't send me away!"
There was no danger that Mabel Harrington would send the young girl
away. Her nerves were yet unstrung, her strength all gone. A look of
anguish, keen but tender, swept over her face. Her hand fell slowly on
the bowed head of poor Lina. She struggled to sit upright and speak
words of encouragement, but the brave true heart sunk back, repulsed in
its goodness by the enfeebled body, and she fell back in her chair,
white and still, like some proud flower torn up by the roots.
She was so still, that Lina ventured to look up. The deathly white of
that face terrified her, and with a cry she sprang to her feet, looking
wildly around for help.