GENERAL HARRINGTON READS THE VELLUM BOOK.
General Harrington was alone in his library. His hat and cloak lay in a
heap on a sofa near the door, an indication of unwonted perturbation,
for with him, a misplaced article was a proof of excitement which he was
always ready to condemn. His dress was a good deal disturbed, and his
hair disordered, as if he had threaded it more than once with the white
fingers that now clasped the open covers of Mabel's Journal which he was
eagerly reading.
It was almost painful to see the excitement under which that old man
labored. The book trembled in his grasp, his lips clung more and more
firmly together, his blue eyes shone vividly from under his bent brows,
yet from beneath all, there stole out a gleam of triumph, as if he were
weaving some crafty web of underthought out from the angry tumult with
which his soul labored. There was no sorrow in his look, no feeling of
sadness or regret for the greatest loss man ever experienced, that of a
good woman's love. With him vanity was the grand passion. Touch that and
he became sensitive as a boy of fifteen. In all things else he was
invulnerable.
And yet Mabel's Journal might have touched deeper feelings than her
husband was capable of knowing. Another man would have been roused to
compassion by the fragments of thought, sometimes artless, sometimes
passionate, that seemed to have dropped fresh from her heart upon the
pages he was reading.
He opened the vellum book at the beginning, for with all his impatience,
the methodical habits of his life prevailed even then, and at first,
there was little to excite more than a strong curiosity. But as he read
on, the perturbation we have described in his countenance, became
evident. He turned over the leaves violently, glancing here and there,
as if eager to devour his mortification at a single dash. The cleft
heart, whose breaking had given him access to poor Mabel's secrets,
struck against his hand as he closed the book, and opened it again at
random. He tore the pretty trinket away, and dashed it into the grate,
and a curse broke from his shut teeth, as he saw it fall glowing among
the hot embers. Then he turned back to the beginning, and began to read
more deliberately, allowing his anger to cool and harden, like lava,
above his smouldering wrath.
Thus it was that Mabel commenced her journal.
* * * * *
"A letter from my guardian. This is indeed an event. A year ago he wrote
me a long letter of advice, touching my studies, and giving a world of
counsel regarding my deportment. That cold, half-dictatorial,
half-fatherly letter, seemed forced from his heart by a sense of duty.
This is brief, elegant and kind. He is satisfied with my progress at
school, and hears with pleasure, of the improvement in my person--this
means, probably, that I am not near so plain as he fancied me. They tell
him I have a sort of fire and animation of the countenance, more
effective than perfection of outline could render me. I wonder if this
be true--of course it is impossible to judge of one's self in a point
which depends so much upon the feelings. There is no animation in a
hurried or tedious toilet, and the beauty he speaks of is never given
back by the mirror. To my vision, now, this is a rather dull and
uninteresting face. I wonder if it ever does light up into anything like
beauty. Some one must have said this to my guardian. Could it have been
the young heir of Neathcote? He did not seem to look at me at all, when
he called at the school and I was frightened to death by his great,
earnest eyes; if my guardian proves half as imposing, I shall be afraid
to look up in his presence.
"There is something strange in the situation of my guardian. He is
considered one of the most eloquent men in America, and by his marriage
with the widow of a cousin, three or four times removed, is the master
of great wealth. But every dollar of it came by his wife, on whom the
son was left entirely dependent as he is now. They tell me that General
Harrington is a liberal step-father and gives the young man no reason to
complain, but it seems a little hard that all his father's great wealth
should have been swept into the possession of a comparative stranger;
for, though these two men bear one common name, and are remotely of the
same blood, they met for the first time at the wedding out of which
sprang these present rather singular relations.
"There is another strange thing about this. Mrs. Harrington can only
dispose of the property by will. She has no power to alienate it during
her life, but can bequeath it where she likes. So if the General should
outlive her, this young man may be utterly disinherited; a hard case it
seems to me, for the lady is very gentle and yielding, so devoted to her
handsome husband, that his faintest wish is a law to her. All this has
been told me from time to time, leaving such an impression of injustice
on my mind, that I fairly began to pity the young man before I saw him.
But after that, the idea of pity never entered my mind. Millions could
not enhance the nobility of his presence, or make him one shade more
interesting. His mother is said to be very beautiful. She should be, she
should be! But how foolishly I am writing about a person whom I have
never seen but once, and who seemed to have taken no interest in that
meeting, except to give me a letter from his Step-father, which will
alter my whole course of life. The young gentleman himself is only
passing this way on his travels westward.
"So, I am to start at once, now that my education is
completed--completed; I like the term--as if education were not always
progressive, rounded off by death only. Well, at least, I am grateful to
leave this tiresome routine of lessons, and yet there is something of
mournfulness in this abrupt entrance into life.
"I have just opened the window, and would gladly look forth upon the
morning. But this screen of Cherokee roses hangs before me like a
curtain, shedding fragrance from every fold. In parting its clusters
with my hands, tenderly--for to my fancy, flowers are sensitive and
recoil from a rude touch--the dew that has been all night asleep in
their heart, bathes my hands with its sweet rain, and through the
opening comes a gush of odor from the great magnolia that reaches out
its boughs so near my window, that I could lean forth and shake the
drops from those snowy chalices, as they gleam and tremble in the bright
air.
"What a beautiful world is this. The very breath one draws leaves a
delicious languor behind it, a languor that falls upon the senses and
gives back to the whole being a dreamy quietude that makes the mere
effort of existence an exquisite enjoyment. And yet there is a feeling
of strange loneliness in it all. It is pleasant to be happy, but oh! how
more than pleasant to have some one near, to whom all these charming
sensations can be expressed. I think one is never quite content alone,
but then who ever is really content?
"How exquisitely pure every thing seems; my little chamber here, with
its delicate matting and snowy draperies, looks like the nest of a
ring-dove, it is so white and quiet. The sweet visions which visit me
here are melodious as the warbling of the young bird, when the early
morning wakens it, as the dawn has just aroused me.
"I have been now three days beneath my guardian's roof. Dear Neathcote,
I love it already for its singular beauty! I shall never forget the
strange feelings which crowded my bosom, as the carriage passed through
the park gates and rolled slowly up the broad avenue. I threw open the
window and leaned out with the eagerness of a child to catch a sight of
my new home. When, as a sudden turn in the road brought the front of the
mansion in full view, I shrunk into my seat again, trembling from a
vague fear, which had as much of joy as pain in it.
"I grew fairly dizzy and faint with excitement, as the carriage paused
before the entrance, and I saw my guardian waiting on the steps to greet
me, standing up so stately and proud, with his wife by his side, her
sweet face lighted up with a sort of friendly curiosity, to see what her
unknown visitor would be like.
"It was not embarrassment that I felt, it was a deep, strange emotion
for which I could not account. It seemed as if in crossing that
threshold I was to bid an eternal farewell to the repose of my past
life. Like a flash of lightning those thoughts swept in a tumult through
my brain as I descended from the carriage, and went up the steps to meet
my guardian, and his wife, who came forward to welcome me.
"I shall always love to look back upon that arrival!
"Everything was so homelike and comfortable, in spite of the
magnificence which reigned around! My guardian's rather cold face
brightened into a smile that rendered him very handsome, and his wife
greeted me as if I had been indeed her child, returning home after a
long absence. Then I caught sight of a woman's face at the window--a
servant evidently, yet there was a singular look in her great black
eyes, as she raised them boldly to my face, which almost terrified me.
Neither my guardian nor Mrs. Harrington appeared to see her, but I
wondered how she ventured to thrust herself forward in that manner, on
the arrival of a stranger.
"It was she who followed me to my chamber, when Mrs. Harrington
conducted me there, yet she offered no assistance, until her mistress
bade her attend to my toilet; then she obeyed, searching my face all the
while from under her black eyelashes. Yet her singularity was probably
an exaggeration of my own fancy, for she seems quiet and well-behaved,
though a little sullen. I am glad she is not to be my attendant, for
there is certainly an evil look in her eyes, whenever she regards me,
and I could never feel quite comfortable at night if I knew that she
were any where near.
"The girl had just left my rooms after arranging the toilet, which was
already in order, as if for an excuse for the intrusion. She cannot be a
slave, for though a little dark, I can trace nothing of the African
blood in her face; there is a glossy ripple in the blackness of her
hair, but that is a beauty which any woman might envy. No, no, she
cannot be a slave. Her singular style of beauty forbids the thought;
besides, she is not an uneducated person, and there is a certain subtle
grace in her movements that I cannot resist admiring, and yet loathe.
This is strange. Why is the girl so constantly in my thoughts? Yesterday
I spoke to Mrs. Harrington about her, for my curiosity became
irresistible. She is a slave, a new purchase of Gen. Harrington's, and
the personal servant of his wife. Mrs. Harrington smiled in her usual
contented way, and gently complained of the girl's uselessness and
studied inattention, but she seems unused to opposition of any kind, and
languidly allows even her servants to control her wishes. This fiery
slave--for, with all her stillness, she _is_ fiery--overpowers the
gentle nature of her mistress, and really seems to drink up her strength
with the glances of those great black eyes.
"How indifferent proud men sometimes are to the beauty of their
inferiors! now, this girl Zillah is constantly charming even my
half-repulsed admiration by her rare loveliness, yet I have scarcely
seen General Harrington turn his eyes upon her face during the whole
time that I have been in his house, but then, his devotion to Mrs.
Harrington is so perfect, he evidently has no eyes for any one else.
"How long is it since I opened my journal? Three months, I really
believe, and not a word of record. Even now, when the world becomes more
real, I feel like one aroused very softly from dreaming among the
angels. How would I write and see emblazoned upon paper, doomed,
perhaps, frail as it is, to outlive me, thoughts that even yet are so
intangible, that, like the butterflies that I used to run after when a
child, they are constantly eluding my grasp, and as constantly
brightening all the atmosphere around me. Is it possible that so many
weeks have gone by since _he_ came home? It seems like a prolonged
sunset, when the summer is in prime, and one trembles to see a single
tint fade from the sky, or a single flower overshadowed, lest it should
depart forever. Can it be this heavenly atmosphere which imparts to the
whole being a languor so delightful, mingled with that sweet unrest
which only wakes you to a keener relish of existence? I have been
striving to interrogate my own heart, and ask many questions which it
cannot answer, because the whole world here is so new and strange, that
it is impossible to discriminate between the luxurious sweetness of
material life and those quieter impulses that I have known hitherto.
"I remember the delight with which I first looked out upon this lovely
scene, but with all the novelty and perfect freedom of a heart ready to
enjoy the beautiful, I never before felt enjoyment so intense. I come to
my room at night and lie down to rest, jealous of the sleep that
swallows up so many hours of happiness. I am fond of dreaming no
longer, for visions that the angels send are no compensation for the
lost thoughts that sleep steal from me.
"I sat down with a determination to write of events, and as ever dwell
only upon feelings. After all, what has happened? Another member has
been added to the family circle, that is all, and yet, what a change his
coming has made. His presence seems to pervade the whole house. The
servants look more cheerful when he speaks to them. His mother brightens
up, and throws off her languor as she hears his tread upon the veranda.
Even the General's courtly politeness is toned down into something like
affection, and all his artificial stateliness takes its natural level,
when contrasted by the simple dignity of this young man's nature.
Indeed, until James Harrington came, I had no idea how superficial and
untrue was the character of my guardian. But now, with the pure gold of
this fine heart as a test, I can more clearly see the entire selfishness
which lies under his elaborate manners.
"'James will be here to-day,' he said one morning, while we all lingered
around the breakfast table, 'and his company, I trust, will render your
new home more pleasant than we have been able to make it.'
"'He will be like an elder brother to you,' said Mrs. Harrington,
smoothing the lace ruffles over her fair arm, and turning her soft eyes
upon me with a look of gentle affection, 'and you--oh, he cannot help
liking you.'
"Why did the blood rush into my face so hotly? Why did the lashes droop
over my eyes, and the tears spring up beneath them? Was it that I am so
completely an orphan, that this loving hint of brotherly companionship
made me more lonely than harshness could have done? I cannot tell; but
at this word 'brother'--utterly strange to my life hitherto--my heart
made a sudden recoil, and I could scarcely keep from weeping outright.
General Harrington lifted his eyes to mine, with evident surprise, while
the little white hand of his wife crept into my lap, and softly pressed
mine. That moment a horse dashed up to the door, and young Harrington
came into the breakfast-room; his fine eyes full of eager affection; his
cheeks in a glow, and with the most beautiful smile I ever saw on mortal
lips breaking over his mouth.
"'Mother, mother!' he said, coming toward Mrs. Harrington, with both
hands extended. 'I rose at midnight, and have ridden fast ever since, in
order to surprise you at the breakfast-table.'
"Mrs. Harrington started up; a flush stole over her face, and for once
her eyes sparkled before they filled with pleasant tears. This arrival
was, indeed, a surprise to her.
"As he was about to release her hands from his clasp, she drew him
towards me, and said pleasantly:
"'This is Mabel Crawford--the General's ward.'
"He took my hand, and an expression of surprise or interest rose to his
face as he felt my poor fingers quiver in his; while my face was burning
with a consciousness of feelings more tumultuous by far, than the
occasion could warrant. He held my hand a moment longer than was
necessary to a cordial welcome, and, for an instant, seemed to wonder at
my perturbation; then his features relaxed into the most kindly
expression I ever saw, and some words of welcome fell upon my ears, but
to this hour I cannot recollect what they were; the sound entered my
heart, and that was enough.
"General Harrington seemed to watch us closely, for I saw a smile creep
over his face, as if my awkwardness rather amused him; while his lady
stood by, regarding us with her soft, brown eyes, which were beaming
with a thousand affectionate welcomes.
"I think it was from that moment this strange happiness of heart
commenced, which has made Neathcote seem so much like a pleasant corner
of paradise to me. I never knew what companionship was before. If I
wish to read, he seems ever to have the book uppermost in his mind that
meets my own thought. If I am restless--and this mood grows upon me of
late--he is ready to gallop by my side down to the quarters, where I am
never weary of watching the queer little negroes at their play, or
through the magnolia groves that envelope us with a cloud of perfume as
we sweep beneath their branches. In fact, I have no wish from morning to
night, which Harrington does not either share or anticipate; no brother
could be more kind; and yet it gives me a strange pang to feel that all
this----