"COUSINLY--NO MORE"
Says D'Alembert: "The industry of men is now so far exhausted in canvassing
for places, that none is left for fulfilling the duties of them;" and the
history of our government furnishes a melancholy parallel. The regular
quadrennial storm had swept over the nation; caucuses had been held and
platforms fiercely fought for, to be kicked away, plank by plank, when they
no longer served as scaffolding by which to climb to office. Buchanan was
elected, but destined to exemplify, during his administration, the truth of
Tacitus' words: "He was regarded as greater than a private man whilst he
remained in privacy, and would have been deemed worthy of governing if he
had never governed." The heat of the canvass cooled, people settled down
once more to a condition of lethargic indifference--bought and sold, sowed
and reaped, as usual--little realizing that the temporary lull, the perfect
calm, was treacherous as the glassy green expanse of waters which, it is
said, sometimes covers the location of the all-destroying maelstrom of
Moskoe. Having taken an active and prominent part in the presidential
campaign, and made frequent speeches, Russell found himself again opposed
by Mr. Huntingdon, who was equally indefatigable during the exciting
contest. The old feud received, if possible, additional acrimony, and there
were no bounds to the maledictions heaped upon the young and imperturbable
legislator by his virulent antagonist. Many predicted a duel or a street
encounter; but weeks passed, and though, in casual meetings, Mr.
Huntingdon's glare of hate was always answered by a mocking smile of cold
disdain, the cloud floated off without breaking into bloody showers.
Mr. Mitchell's health had failed so rapidly as winter approached, that Dr.
Arnold persuaded him to try the efficacy of a sea-voyage, and he had
accordingly sailed from New Orleans in a vessel bound for Genoa. Irene
begged the privilege of accompanying him, but her father peremptorily
refused; and she saw her uncle depart, and superintended the closing of his
house, with silent sorrow, and the feeling of one who knows that the night
is deepening around her.
Late in the afternoon of Christmas Day Irene went into the greenhouse to
gather a bouquet for an invalid friend in town, and had almost accomplished
her errand when the crash and whir of wheels drew her to the window that
looked out on the lawn. Her father had gone to the plantation early that
morning, and she had scarcely time to conjecture whom the visitor would
prove, when Hugh's loud voice rang through the house, and, soon after, he
came clattering in, with the end of his pantaloons tucked into his boots,
and his whip trailing along in true boyish fashion. As he threw down his
hat, scattering the petals of a snowy camellia, and drew near his cousin,
she saw that his face was deeply flushed, and his eyes somewhat bloodshot.
"Hugh! what are you doing here? Father expected you to overtake him at
Crescent Bend; you said last night that you would start by five o'clock."
"Merry Christmas, my beauty! I have come for my Christmas gift. Give it to
me, like the queen you are."
He stooped as if to kiss her, but she shrank back instantly, and said
gravely--
"You ought not to make promises which you have no idea of keeping; father
will be annoyed, and wonder very much what has happened. He was anxious
that you should go with him."
"Oh! confound the plantation! I wish it would sink! Of all other days none
but Christmas will suit him to tramp down there through mud and mire. The
fact is, I did not go to sleep till four o'clock, and nobody ought to be
unchristian enough to expect me to wake up in an hour. You may be quiet,
though, for I am on my way now to that paradise of black mud. I only
stopped to get a glimpse of you, my Sappho! my Corinna! so don't homilize,
I pray you."
"Better wait till daylight, Hugh; you know the state of the roads and
condition of the bridges. It will be safer, and an economy of time, to
defer it till morning, since you have made it so late."
"No; I must go to-night, for I have an engagement to ride with Maria
Henderson, and I can't get back in time if I wait till to-morrow morning. I
want to start back day after to-morrow. As for time, Wildfire will make it
the better for the darkness, he is as much afraid of night and shadows as
if he had a conscience, and had maltreated it, master-like. I shall
convince him that all Tam O'Shanter's witches are in full pursuit, and his
matchless heels his only salvation."
A shade of apprehension settled on her face, and, placing the bouquet in a
basket, she turned to her cousin, saying--
"Indeed, you cannot be insane enough to drive that horse such a night as
this weather threatens. If go you will, in the face of a coming rain, leave
Wildfire here, and drive one of the carriage-horses instead. I shall be
uneasy if you start with that vicious, unmanageable incarnation of
lightning. Let me ring the bell and direct Andrew to make the change."
She stepped into the parlour adjoining, and laid her fingers on the
bell-cord, but he snatched up the hand and kissed it several times.
"No! I'll be hanged if I don't drive my own pearl of Arabia! I can manage
him well enough; and, beside, what do you care whether he breaks my neck or
not? Without compunction you broke my heart, which is much the greater
catastrophe."
"Come into the library; you don't know what you are saying."
She drew him into the room, where a warm fire burned cheerfully, and made
him sit down.
"Where did you go last night when you left here? Tell me."
"To Harry Neal's; a party of us were invited there to drink egg-nog, and,
of course, found something stronger afterward. Then we had a game or so of
poker, and ----, the grand finale is that I have had a deuced headache all
day. Ah, my sweet saint! how shocked you are, to be sure! Now, don't
lecture, or I shall be off like a flash."
Without answering, she rang the bell and quietly looped back the heavy
crimson curtains.
"What is that for? Have you sent for John or old Nellie to carry me
upstairs, like other bad boys sent to bed in disgrace without even the cold
comfort of supper?"
"Hush, Hugh! hush."
Turning to John, who opened the door and looked in, she said--
"Tell William to make some strong coffee as soon as possible. Mas' Hugh has
a headache, and wants some before he leaves."
"Thank you, my angel! my unapproachable Peri! Ugh! how cold it is. Pardon
me, but I really must warm my feet."
He threw them carelessly on the fender of the grate.
"Shall I get you a pair of slippers?"
"Could not afford the luxury; positively have not the time to indulge
myself."
With a prolonged yawn he laid his head back and closed his eyes. An
expression of disgust was discernible in his companion's countenance, but
it passed like the shadow of a summer cloud, and she sat down at the
opposite side of the fireplace, with her eyes bent upon the hearth, and the
long silky lashes sweeping her cheeks. A silence of some minutes ensued;
finally she exclaimed--
"Here comes your coffee. Put the waiter on the table, John, and tell Andrew
to take Mas' Hugh's buggy."
"Do nothing of the kind! but send somebody to open that everlasting gate,
which would not have disgraced ancient Thebes. Are you classical, John? Be
off, and see about it; I must start in five minutes."
"Hugh, be reasonable for once in your life; you are not in a proper
condition to drive that horse. For my sake, at least, be persuaded to wait
till morning. Will you not remain, to oblige me?"
"Oh, hang my condition! I tell you I must and I will go, if all the stars
fall and judgment day overtakes me on the road. What splendid coffee you
always have! The most fastidious of bashaws could not find it in his
Moorish heart to complain."
He put on his hat, buttoned his costly fur coat, and, flourishing his whip,
came close to his cousin.
"Good-bye, beauty. I hate to leave you; upon my word I do; but duty before
pleasure, my heavenly-eyed monitress. I have not had my Christmas present
yet, and have it I will."
"On one condition, Hugh; that you drive cautiously and moderately, instead
of thundering down hills and over bridges like some express train behind
time. Will you promise?"
"To be sure I will! everything in the world; and am ready to swear it, if
you are sceptical."
"Well, then, good-bye, Hugh, and take care of yourself."
She allowed him to press his hot lips to hers, and, accompanying him to the
door, saw him jump into the frail open-topped buggy. Wildfire plunged and
sprang off in his usual style, and, with a crack of the whip and wave of
his hat, Hugh was fairly started.
Seven hours later Irene sat alone at the library table, absorbed in writing
an article on Laplace's Nebular Theory for the scientific journal to which
she occasionally contributed over the signature of "Sabaean." Gradually her
thoughts wandered from the completed task to other themes of scarcely less
interest. The week previous she had accompanied Hugh to an operatic concert
given by the Parodi troupe, and had been astonished to find Russell seated
on the bench in front of her. He so rarely showed himself on such occasions
that his appearance elicited some comment. They had met frequently since
the evening at Mr. Mitchell's, but he pertinaciously avoided recognizing
her; and, on this particular night, though he came during an interlude to
speak to Grace Harris, who sat on the same row of seats with Irene, he
never once directed his eyes toward the latter. This studied neglect, she
felt assured, was not the result of the bitter animosity existing between
her father and himself; and though it puzzled her for a while, she began
finally to suspect the true nature of his feelings, and, with woman's
rarely erring instincts, laid her finger on the real motive which prompted
him. The report of his engagement to Grace had reached her some days
before, and now it recurred to her mind like a haunting spectre. She did
not believe for an instant that he was attached to the pretty, joyous girl
whom rumour gave him; but she was well aware that he was ambitious of high
social position, and feared that he might possibly, from selfish, ignoble
reasons, seek an alliance with Judge Harris' only daughter, knowing that
the family was one of the wealthiest and most aristocratic in the State.
Life had seemed dreary enough before; but, with this apprehension added, it
appeared insupportable, and she was conscious of a degree of wretchedness
never dreamed of or realized heretofore. Not even a sigh escaped her; she
was one of a few women who permit no external evidences of suffering, but
lock it securely in their own proud hearts. The painful reverie might,
perhaps, have lasted till the pallid dawn looked in with tearful eyes at
the window, but Paragon, who was sleeping on the rug at her feet, started
up and growled. She raised her head and listened, but only the ticking of
the clock was audible, and the wailing of the wind through the leafless
poplars.
"Down, Paragon! hush, sir!"
She patted his head soothingly, and he sank back a few seconds in quiet,
then sprang up with a loud bark. This time she heard an indistinct sound of
steps in the hall, and thought: "Nellie sees my light through the window,
and is coming to coax me upstairs." Something stumbled near the threshold,
a hand struck the knob as if in hunting for it, the door opened softly,
and, muffled in his heavy cloak, holding his hat in one hand, Russell
Aubrey stood in the room. Neither spoke, but he looked at her with such
mournful earnestness, such eager yet grieved compassion, that she read some
terrible disaster in his eyes. The years of estrangement, all that had
passed since their childhood, was forgotten; studied conventionalities fell
away at the sight of him standing there, for the first time, in her home.
She crossed the room with a quick, uncertain step, and put out her hands
toward him--vague, horrible apprehension blanching the beautiful lips,
which asked shiveringly--
"What is it, Russell? What is it?"
He took the cold little hands tremblingly in his, and endeavoured to draw
her back to the hearth, but she repeated--
"What has happened? Is it father, or Hugh?"
"Your father is well, I believe; I passed him on the road yesterday. Sit
down, Miss Huntingdon; you look pale and faint."
Her fingers closed tightly over his; he saw an ashen hue settle on her
face, and in an unnaturally calm low tone, she asked--
"Is Hugh dead? Oh, my God! why don't you speak, Russell?"
"He did not suffer much; his death was too sudden."
Her face had such a stony look that he would have passed his arm around
her, but could not disengage his hand; she seemed to cling to it as if for
strength.
"Won't you let me carry you to your room, or call a servant? You are not
able to stand."
She neither heeded nor heard him.
"Was it that horse; or how was it?"
"One of the bridges had been swept away by the freshet, and, in trying to
cross, he missed the ford. The horse must have been frightened and
unmanageable, the buggy was overturned in the creek, and your cousin,
stunned by the fall, drowned instantly; life was just extinct when I
reached him."
Something like a moan escaped her as she listened.
"Was anything done?"
"We tried every means of resuscitation, but they were entirely
ineffectual."
She relaxed her clasp of his fingers, and moved toward the door.
"Where are you going, Miss Huntingdon? Indeed, you must sit down."
"Russell, you have brought him home; where is he?"
Without waiting for an answer, she walked down the hall, and paused
suddenly at the sight of the still form resting on a grey
travelling-blanket, with a lantern at its head, and an elderly man, a
stranger, sitting near, keeping watch. Russell came to her side, and,
drawing his arm around her, made her lean upon him. He felt the long, long
lingering shudder which shook the elegant, queenly figure; then she slipped
down beside the rigid sleeper, and smoothed back from the fair brow the
dripping, curling, auburn hair.
"Hugh, my cousin! my playmate! Snatched away in an hour from the life you
loved so well. Ah! the curse of our house has fallen upon you. It is but
the beginning of the end. Only two of us are left, and we, too, shall soon
be caught up to join you."
She kissed the icy lips which a few hours ago had pressed hers so warmly,
and, rising, walked up and down the long hall. Russell once more approached
her.
"Are you entirely alone?"
"Yes, except the servants. Oh, Russell! how am I to break this to my
father? He loves that boy better than everything else; infinitely better
than he ever loved me. How shall I tell him that Hugh is dead--dead?"
"A messenger has already gone to inform him of what has happened, and this
distressing task will not be yours. Herbert Blackwell and I were riding
together, on our return from T----, when we reached the ford where the
disaster occurred. Finding that all our efforts to resuscitate were
useless, he turned back, and went to your father's plantation to break the
sad intelligence to him."
His soothing, tender tone touched some chord deep in her strange nature,
and unshed tears gathered for the first time in her eyes.
"As you have no friend near enough to call upon at present, I will, if you
desire it, wake the servants, remain, and do all that is necessary until
morning."
"If you please, Russell; I shall thank you very much."
As her glance fell upon her cousin's gleaming face, her lip fluttered, and
she turned away and sat down on one of the sofas in the parlour, dropping
her face in her hands. A little while after, the light of a candle streamed
in, and Russell came with a cushion from the library lounge, and his warm
cloak. He wrapped the latter carefully about the drooping form, and would
have placed her head on the silken pillow; but she silently resisted
without looking up, and he left her. It was a vigil which she never forgot.
The fire had died out entirely, the curtains were drawn back to let in the
day; on the library table the startling glare of white linen showed the
outlines of the cold young sleeper, and Russell slowly paced the floor, his
arms crossed, as was their habit, and his powerful form unweariedly erect.
She stood by the table half-irresolute, then folded down the sheet, and
exposed the handsome, untroubled face. She studied it long and quietly, and
with no burst of emotion laid her flowers against his cheek and mouth, and
scattered the geraniums over his pulseless heart.
"I begged him not to start yesterday, and he answered that he would go, if
the stars fell and judgment day overtook him. Sometimes we are prophets
unawares. His star has set--his day has risen! Have mercy on his soul! oh,
my God!"
The voice was low and even, but wonderfully sweet, and in the solemn
morning light her face showed itself grey and bloodless; no stain of colour
on the still lips, only the blue cord standing out between the brow, sure
signs of a deep distress which found no vent. Russell felt a crushing
weight lifted from his heart; he saw that she had "loved her cousin
cousinly--no more"; and his face flushed when she looked across the table
at him, with grateful but indescribably melancholy eyes, which had never
been closed during that night of horror.
"I must now relieve you, Russell, from your friendly watch. Few would have
acted as you have done, and for all your generous kindness to poor Hugh I
thank you most earnestly as well for my father as myself. The day may come,
perhaps, when I shall be able to prove my gratitude, and the sincerity of
my friendship, which has never wavered since we were children together.
Until that day, farewell Russell; but believe that I rejoice to hear of
your successes."
She held out her hand, and as he took it in his, which trembled violently,
he felt, even then, that there was no quiver in the icy-white fingers, and
that his name rippled over her lips as calmly as that of the dead had done
just before. She endured his long, searching gaze, like any other Niobe,
and he dropped the little pearly hand and quitted the room. At ten o'clock
Mr. Huntingdon returned, and, with his hat drawn over his eyes, went
straight to the library. He kissed the face of the dead passionately and
his sob and violent burst of sorrow told his child of his arrival. She
lifted her rigid face, and extended her arms pleadingly.
"Father! father! here, at least, you will forgive me!"
He turned from her sternly, and answered, with bitter emphasis--
"I will not! But for _you_, he would have been different, and this would
never have happened."
"Father, I have asked for love and pardon for the last time."
She bent down and kissed her cousin, and, with a hard, bitter expression in
her countenance, went up to her own room, locking out Paragon and old
Nellie, who followed cautiously at her heels.