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MACARIA
by
AUGUSTA J. EVANS WILSON
Author of
"Beulah," "St. Elmo," "Infelice,"
Etc., Etc.
[Illustration: "Urging her to visit them as often as possible, Mr. Young
withdrew." (_Chapter IX_) _Frontispiece_]
Ward, Lock & Co., Limited
London and Melbourne
1921
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I RUSSELL AUBREY 5
II IRENE'S FRIENDSHIP 13
III THE MISSING WATCH 19
IV ELECTRA'S DISCOVERY 28
V IRENE IS SENT AWAY 35
VI MASTER AND PUPIL 42
VII NEW FRIENDS 49
VIII A DISCOVERY 54
IX AN ORPHAN'S PROTECTORS 66
X IRENE'S COUSIN 70
XI ANXIETY 77
XII A SACRIFICE 83
XIII WARNINGS 88
XIV THE CLOSE OF THE VIGIL 94
XV AT HOME AGAIN 99
XVI THE LOAN REPAID 105
XVII IRENE MEETS RUSSELL 111
XVIII A REFUSAL 117
XIX RUSSELL VISITS ELECTRA 124
XX A CANDIDATE FOR THE LEGISLATURE 131
XXI THE MINISTER'S LOVE 139
XXII "COUSINLY--NO MORE" 143
XXIII THE FEVER 152
XXIV IRENE'S ILLNESS 162
XXV RECONCILED 171
XXVI CIVIL WAR 182
XXVII HOSPITAL STORES 187
XXVIII A CONFESSION 194
XXIX A DYING MESSAGE 202
XXX THE BLOCKADE RUNNER 211
XXXI RESULTS OF SECESSION 221
XXXII WOMANLY USEFULNESS 227
XXXIII IN THE HOSPITAL 233
XXXIV MORTALLY WOUNDED 240
XXXV "THE SANCTIFIED DEVOTION AND FULL WORK" 252
MACARIA
CHAPTER I
RUSSELL AUBREY
The town-clock was on the last stroke of twelve, the solitary candle
measured but two inches from its socket, and as the summer wind rushed
through the half-closed shutters, the melted tallow dripped slowly into the
brightly-burnished brazen candlestick. The flickering light fell upon the
pages of a ledger, and flashed fitfully in the face of the accountant, as
he bent over his work. Sixteen years growth had given him unusual height
and remarkable breadth of chest, and it was difficult to realize that the
stature of manhood had been attained by a mere boy in years. A grey suit
(evidently home-made), of rather coarse texture, bespoke poverty; and,
owing to the oppressive heat of the atmosphere, the coat was thrown
partially off. He wore no vest, and the loosely-tied black ribbon suffered
the snowy white collar to fall away from the throat and expose its
well-turned outline. The head was large, but faultlessly proportioned, and
the thick black hair, cut short and clinging to the temples, added to its
massiveness. The lofty forehead, white and smooth, the somewhat heavy brows
matching the hue of the hair, the straight, finely-formed nose with its
delicate but clearly defined nostril, the full firm lips unshaded by
moustache, combined to render the face one of uncommon beauty. Yet, as he
sat absorbed by his figures, there was nothing prepossessing or winning in
his appearance, for though you could not carp at the moulding of his
features, you involuntarily shrank from the prematurely grave, nay,
austere expression which seemed habitual to them. He looked just what he
was, youthful in years, but old in trials and labours, and to one who
analysed his countenance, the conviction was inevitable that his will was
gigantic, his ambition unbounded, his intellect wonderfully acute and
powerful.
"Russell, do you know it is midnight?"
He frowned, and answered without looking up--
"Yes."
"How much longer will you sit up?"
"Till I finish my work."
The speaker stood on the threshold, leaning against the door facing, and,
after waiting a few moments, softly crossed the room and put her hand on
the back of his chair. She was two years his junior, and though evidently
the victim of recent and severe illness, even in her feebleness she was
singularly like him. Her presence seemed to annoy him, for he turned round
and said hastily: "Electra, go to bed. I told you good-night three hours
ago."
She stood still, but silent.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing."
He wrote on for some ten minutes longer, then closed the ledger and put it
aside. The candle had burned low; he took a fresh one from the drawer of
the table, and, after lighting it, drew a Latin dictionary near to him,
opened a worn copy of Horace, and began to study. Quiet as his own shadow
stood the fragile girl behind his chair, but as she watched him a heavy
sigh escaped her.
"If I thought I should be weak and sickly all my life I would rather die at
once, and burden you and auntie no longer."
"Electra, who told you that you burdened me?"
"Oh, Russell! don't I know how hard you have to work; and how difficult it
is for you to get even bread and clothes? Don't I see how auntie labours
day after day, and month after month? You are good and kind, but does that
prevent my feeling the truth, that you are working for me too? If I could
only help you in some way." She knelt down by his chair and leaned her head
on his knee, holding his hands between both hers.
"Electra, you do help me; all day long when I am at the store your face
haunts, strengthens me; I feel that I am striving to give you comforts, and
when at night you meet me at the gate, I am repaid for all I have done. You
must put this idea out of your head, little one; it is altogether a
mistake. Do you hear what I say? Get up, and go to sleep like a good child,
or you will have another wretched headache to-morrow, and can't bring me my
lunch."
He lifted her from the floor, and kissed her hastily. She raised her arms
as if to wind them about his neck, but his grave face gave her no
encouragement, and turning away she retired to her room, with hot tears
rolling over her cheeks. Russell had scarcely read half a dozen lines after
his cousin's departure when a soft hand swept back the locks of hair on his
forehead, and wiped away the heavy drops that moistened them.
"My son, you promised me you would not sit up late to-night."
"Well, mother, I have almost finished. Remember the nights are very short
now, and twelve o'clock comes early."
"The better reason that you should not be up so late. My son, I am afraid
you will ruin your health by this unremitting application."
"Why--look at me. I am as strong as an athlete of old." He shook his limbs
and smiled, proud of his great physical strength.
"True, Russell; but, robust as you are, you cannot stand such toil without
detriment. Put up your books."
"Not yet; I have more laid out, and you know I invariably finish all I set
apart to do. But, mother, your hand is hot; you are not well." He raised
the thin hand, and pressed it to his lips.
"A mere headache, nothing more. Mr. Clark was here to-day; he is very
impatient about the rent. I told him we were doing all we could, and
thought that by September we should be able to pay the whole." He knew she
watched him, and answered with a forced smile. "Yes, he came to the store
this morning. I told him we had been very unfortunate this year, that
sickness had forced us to incur more expense than usual. However, I drew
fifty dollars, and paid him all I could. True, I anticipated my dues, but
Mr. Watson gave me permission. So for the present you need not worry about
rent."
"What is the amount of that grocery bill you would not let me see last
week?"
"My dear mother, do not trouble yourself with these little matters; the
grocery bill will very soon be paid. I have arranged with Mr. Hill to keep
his books at night, and therefore, you may be easy. Trust all to me,
mother; only take care of your dear self, and I ask no more."
"Oh, Russell! my son, my dear son!"
She had drawn a chair near him, and now laid her head on his shoulder,
while tears dropped on his hand. He had not seen her so unnerved for years,
and as he looked down on her grief-stained, yet resigned face, his
countenance underwent a marvellous change; and, folding his arms about her,
he kissed her pale, thin cheek repeatedly.
"Mother, it is not like you to repine in this way; you who have suffered
and endured so much must not despond when, after a long, starless night,
the day begins to dawn."
"I fear 'it dawns in clouds, and heralds only storms.' For myself I care
not, but for you, Russell--my pride, my only hope, my brave boy? it is for
you that I suffer. I have been thinking to-night that this is a doomed
place for you, and that if we could only save money enough to go to
California, you might take the position you merit; for there none would
know of the blight which fell upon you; none could look on your brow and
dream it seemed sullied. Here you have such bitter prejudice to combat;
such gross injustice heaped upon you."
He lifted his mother's head from his bosom, and rose, with a haughty,
defiant smile on his lip.
"Not so; I will stay here, and live down their hate. Mark me, mother, I
will live it down, so surely as I am Russell Aubrey, the despised son of a
----! Go to California! not I! not I! In this state will I work and
conquer; here, right here, I will plant my feet upon the necks of those
that now strive to grind me to the dust. I swore it over my father's
coffin!"
"Hush, Russell, you must subdue your fierce temper; you must! you must!
Remember it was this ungovernable rage which brought disgrace upon your
young, innocent head. Oh! it grieves me, my son, to see how bitter you have
grown. Once you were gentle and forgiving; now scorn and defiance rule
you."
"I am not fierce, I am not in a rage. If I should meet the judge and jury
who doomed my father to the gallows, I think I would serve them if they
needed aid. But I am proud; I inherited my nature; I writhe, yes, mother,
writhe under the treatment I constantly receive."
"We have trouble enough, my son, without dwelling upon what is past and
irremediable. So long as you seem cheerful I am content. I know that God
will not lay more on me than I can bear; 'As my day so shall my strength
be.' Thy will be done, oh! my God."
There was a brief pause, and Russell Aubrey passed his hand over his eyes,
and dashed off a tear. His mother watched him, and said cautiously--
"Have you noticed that my eyes are rapidly growing worse?"
"Yes, mother, I have been anxious for some weeks."
"You know it all then?"
"Yes, mother."
"I shall not murmur; I have become resigned at last; though for many weeks
I have wrestled for strength, for patience. It was so exceedingly bitter to
know that the time drew near when I should see you no more; to feel that I
should stretch out my hands to you, and lean on you, and yet look no longer
on the dear face of my child, my boy, my all. But my prayers were heard;
the sting has passed away, and I am resigned. I am glad that we have spoken
of it; now my mind is calmer, and I can sleep. Good night, my son."
She pressed the customary good night kiss on his lips, and left him. He
closed the dictionary, leaned his elbow on the table, and rested his head
on his hand. His piercing black eyes were fixed gloomily on the floor, and
now and then his broad chest heaved as dark and painful thoughts crowded
up.
Mrs. Aubrey was the only daughter of wealthy and ambitious parents, who
refused to sanction her marriage with the object of her choice; and
threatened to disinherit her if she persisted in her obstinate course. Mr.
Aubrey was poor, but honest, highly cultivated and, in every sense of that
much abused word, a gentleman. His poverty was not to be forgiven, however,
and when the daughter left her father's roof, and wedded the man whom her
parents detested, she was banished for ever from a home of affluence, and
found that she had indeed forfeited her fortune. For this she was prepared,
and bore it bravely; but ere long severer trials came upon her.
Unfortunately, her husband's temper was fierce and ungovernable; and
pecuniary embarrassments rarely have the effect of sweetening such. He
removed to an inland town, and embarked in mercantile pursuits; but
misfortune followed him, and reverses came thick and fast. One miserable
day, when from early morning everything had gone wrong, an importunate
creditor, of wealth and great influence in the community, chafed at Mr.
Aubrey's tardiness in repaying some trifling sum, proceeded to taunt and
insult him most unwisely. Stung to madness, the wretched man resented the
insults; a struggle ensued, and at its close Mr. Aubrey stood over the
corpse of the creditor. There was no mode of escape, and the arm of the law
consigned him to prison. During the tedious weeks that elapsed before the
trial his devoted wife strove to cheer and encourage him. Russell was about
eleven years of age, and, boy though he was, realized most fully the
horrors of his parent's situation. The days of his trial came at last; but
the accused had surrendered himself to the demon Rage, had taken the life
of a fellow creature; what could legal skill accomplish? The affair
produced great and continued excitement; the murdered man had been
exceedingly popular, and the sympathies of the citizens were enlisted in
behalf of his family. Although clearly a case of manslaughter only, to the
astonishment of the counsel on both sides, the cry of "blood for blood,"
went out from that crowded court-room, and in defiance of precedent, Mr.
Aubrey was unjustly sentenced to be hanged. When the verdict was known,
Russell placed his insensible mother on a couch from which it seemed
probable she would never rise. But there is an astonishing amount of
endurance in even a feeble woman's frame, and after a time she went about
her house once more, doing her duty to her child and learning to "suffer
and grow strong." Fate had ordained, however, that Russell's father should
not die upon the gallows; and soon after the verdict was pronounced, when
all Mrs. Aubrey's efforts to procure a pardon had proved unavailing, the
proud and desperate man, in the solitude of his cell, with no eye but
Jehovah's to witness the awful deed, took his own life with the aid of a
lancet. Such was the legacy of shame which Russell inherited; was it any
marvel that at sixteen that boy had lived ages of sorrow? Mrs. Aubrey found
her husband's financial affairs so involved that she relinquished the hope
of retaining the little she possessed, and retired to a small cottage on
the outskirts of the town, where she endeavoured to support herself and the
two dependent on her by taking in sewing. Electra Grey was the orphan child
of Mr. Aubrey's only sister, who, dying in poverty, bequeathed the infant
to her brother. He had loved her as well as his own Russell, and his wife,
who cradled her in her arms and taught her to walk by clinging to her
finger, would almost as soon have parted with her son as the little
Electra. For five years the widow had toiled by midnight lamps to feed
these two; now oppressed nature rebelled, the long over-taxed eyes refused
to perform their office; filmy cataracts stole over them, veiling their
sadness and their unshed tears--blindness was creeping on. At his father's
death Russell was forced to quit school, and with some difficulty he
succeeded in obtaining a situation in a large dry-goods store, where his
labours were onerous in the extreme, and his wages a mere pittance. Though
Russell's employer, Mr. Watson, shrank from committing a gross wrong, and
prided himself on his scrupulous honesty, his narrow mind and penurious
habits strangled every generous impulse, and, without being absolutely
cruel or unprincipled, he contrived to gall the boy's proud spirit and
render his position one of almost purgatorial severity. His eldest son was
just Russell's age, had been sent to various schools from his infancy, was
indolent, self-indulgent, and thoroughly dissipated. Having been a second
time expelled from school for most disgraceful misdemeanours, he lounged
away his time about the store, or passed it still more disreputably with
reckless companions.
The daily contrast presented by Cecil and Russell irritated the father, and
hence his settled dislike of the latter. The faithful discharge of duty on
the part of the clerk afforded no plausible occasion for invective; he felt
that he was narrowly watched, and resolved to give no ground for
fault-finding; yet during the long summer days, when the intense heat
prevented customers from thronging the store, and there was nothing to be
done, when Russell, knowing that the books were written up and the counters
free from goods, took his Latin grammar and improved every leisure
half-hour, he was not ignorant of the fact that an angry scowl darkened his
employer's visage, and understood why he was constantly interrupted to
perform most unnecessary labours. What the day denied him he reclaimed from
night, and succeeded in acquiring a tolerable knowledge of Greek, besides
reading several Latin books. Finding that his small salary was inadequate,
now that his mother's failing sight prevented her from accomplishing the
usual amount of sewing, he solicited and obtained permission to keep an
additional set of books for the grocer who furnished his family with
provisions, though by this arrangement few hours remained for necessary
sleep. The protracted illness and death of an aged and faithful servant,
together with Electra's tedious sickness, bringing the extra expense of
medical aid, had prevented the prompt payment of rent due for the
three-roomed cottage, and Russell was compelled to ask for a portion of his
salary in advance. His mother little dreamed of the struggle which took
place in his heart ere he could force himself to make the request, and he
carefully concealed from her the fact that at the moment of receiving the
money, he laid in Mr. Watson's hands, by way of pawn, the only article of
any value which he possessed--the watch his father had always worn, and
which the coroner took from the vest pocket of the dead, dabbled with
blood. The gold chain had been sold long before, and the son wore it
attached to a simple black ribbon. His employer received the watch, locked
it in the iron safe, and Russell fastened a small weight to the ribbon, and
kept it around his neck that his mother might not suspect the truth. It
chanced that Cecil stood near at the time; he saw the watch deposited in
the safe, whistled a tune, fingered his own gold repeater, and walked away.
Such was Russell Aubrey's history; such his situation at the beginning of
his seventeenth year.