During the months of September and October Mrs. Murray filled the house
with company, and parties of gentlemen came from time to time to enjoy
the game season and take part in the hunts to which St. Elmo devoted
himself. There were elegant dinners and petits soupers that would not
have disgraced Tusculum, or made Lucullus blush when Pompey and Cicero
sought to surprise him in the "Apollo"; there were billiard-matches and
horse-races, and merry gatherings at the ten-pin alley; and laughter,
and music, and dancing usurped the dominions where silence and gloom
had so long reigned. Naturally shy and unaccustomed to companionship,
Edna felt no desire to participate in these festivities, but became
more and more absorbed in her studies, and her knowledge of the company
was limited to the brief intercourse of the table, where she observed
the deference yielded to the opinions of the master of the house, and
the dread that all manifested lest they should fall under the lash of
his merciless sarcasm. An Ishmael in society, his uplifted hand smote
all conventionalities and shams, spared neither age nor sex, nor
sanctuaries, and acknowledged sanctity nowhere. The punctilious
courtesy of his manner polished and pointed his satire, and when a
personal application of his remarks was possible, he would bow
gracefully to the lady indicated, and fill her glass with wine, while
he filled her heart with chagrin and rankling hate. Since the
restoration of the Dante, not a word had passed between him and Edna,
who regarded him with increasing detestation; but on one occasion, when
the conversation was general, and he sat silent at the foot of the
table, she looked up at him and found his eyes fixed on her face.
Inclining his head slightly to arrest her attention, he handed a
decanter of sherry to one of the servants, with some brief direction,
and a moment after her glass was filled, and the waiter said:
"Mr. Murray's compliments to Aaron Hunt's granddaughter." Observation
had taught her what was customary on such occasions, and she knew that
he had once noticed her taking wine with the gentleman who sat next to
her; but now repugnance conquered politeness, the mention of her
grandfather's name seemed an insult from his lips, and putting her hand
over her glass, she looked him full in the face and shook her head.
Nevertheless he lifted his wine, bowed, and drank the last drop in the
crystal goblet; then turned to a gentleman on his right hand, and
instantly entered into a learned discussion on the superiority of the
wines of the Levant over those of Germany, quoting triumphantly the
lines of M. de Nevers:
"Sur la membrane de leur sens, Font des sillons charmans."
When the ladies withdrew to the parlor he rose, as was his custom, and
held the door open for them. Edna was the last of the party, and as she
passed him he smiled mockingly and said:
"It was unfortunate that my mother omitted to enumerate etiquette in
the catalogue of studies prosecuted at the parsonage."
Instantly the answer sprang to her lips:
"She knew I had a teacher for that branch nearer home"; but her
conscience smote her, she repressed the words, and said gravely:
"My reason was, that I think only good friends should take wine
together."
"This is your declaration of war? Very well, only remember I raise a
black flag and show no quarter. Woe to the conquered."
She hurried away to the library, and thenceforth "kept out of his way"
more assiduously than ever; while the fact that he scrutinized her
closely, rendered her constrained and uncomfortable, when forced to
enter his presence. Mrs. Murray well understood her hostile feeling
toward her son, but she never alluded to it, and his name was not
mentioned by either.
One by one the guests departed; autumn passed, winter was ushered in by
wailing winds and drizzling rains; and one morning as Edna came out of
the hot-house, with a basketful of camellias, she saw St. Elmo bidding
his mother good-bye, as he started on his long journey to Oceanica.
They stood on the steps, Mrs. Murray's head rested on his shoulder, and
bitter tears were falling on her cheeks as she talked eagerly and
rapidly to him. Edna heard him say impatiently:
"You ask what is impossible; it is worse than useless to urge me.
Better pray that I may find a peaceful grave in the cinnamon groves and
under the 'plumy palms' of the far south."
He kissed his mother's cheek and sprang into the saddle, but checked
his horse at sight of the orphan, who stood a few yards distant.
"Are you coming to say good-bye? Or do you reserve such courtesies for
your 'good friends'?"
Regret for her former rudeness, and sympathy for Mrs. Murray's
uncontrollable distress, softened her heart toward him; she selected
the finest white camellia in the basket, walked close to the horse,
and, tendering the flower, said:
"Good-bye, sir. I hope you will enjoy your travels."
"And prolong them indefinitely? Ah, you offer a flag of truce? I warned
you I should not respect it. You know my motto, 'Nemo me impune
lacessit!' Thank you, for this lovely peace-offering. Since you are
willing to negotiate, run and open the gate for me. I may never pass
through it again except as a ghost."
She placed her basket on the steps and ran down the avenue, while he
paused to say something to his mother. Edna knew that he expected to be
absent, possibly, several years, and while she regretted the pain which
his departure gave her benefactress, she could not avoid rejoicing at
the relief she promised herself during his sojourn in foreign lands.
Slowly he rode along the venerable aisle of elms that had overarched
his childish head in the sunny morning of a quickly clouded life, and
as he reached the gate, which Edna held open, he dismounted.
"Edna, if you are as truthful in all matters as you have proved in your
dislikes, I may safely intrust this key to jour keeping. It belongs to
that marble temple in my sitting-room, and opens a vault that contains
my will and a box of papers, and--some other things that I value. There
is no possibility of entering it, except with this key, and no one but
myself knows the contents. I wish to leave the key with you, on two
conditions: first, that you never mention it to any one--not even my
mother, or allow her to suspect that you have it; secondly, that you
promise me solemnly you will not open the tomb or temple unless I fail
to return at the close of four years. This is the tenth of
December--four years from to-day, if I am not here, AND IF YOU HAVE
GOOD REASON TO CONSIDER ME DEAD, take this key (which I wish you to
wear about your person) to my mother, inform her of this conversation,
and then open the vault. Can you resist the temptation to look into it?
Think well before you answer."
He had disengaged the golden key from his watch-chain and held it in
his hand.
"I should not like to take charge of it, Mr. Murray. You can certainly
trust your own mother sooner than an utter stranger like myself."
He frowned and muttered an oath; then exclaimed: "I tell you I do not
choose to leave it in any hands but yours. Will you promise or will you
not?"
The dreary wretchedness, the savage hopelessness of his countenance
awed and pained the girl, and after a moment's silence, and a short
struggle with her heart, she extended her hand, saying with evident
reluctance: "Give me the key, I will not betray your trust."
"Do you promise me solemnly that you will never open that vault, except
in accordance with my directions? Weigh the promise well before you
give it."
"Yes, sir; I promise most solemnly."
He laid the key in her palm and continued:
"My mother loves you--try to make her happy while I am away; and if you
succeed, you will be the first person to whom I have ever been
indebted. I have left directions concerning my books and the various
articles in my rooms. Feel no hesitation in examining any that may
interest you, and see that the dust does not ruin them. Good-bye,
child; take care of my mother."
He held out his hand, she gave him hers for an instant only, and he
mounted, lifted his cap, and rode away.
Closing the ponderous gate, Edna leaned her face against the iron bars,
and watched the lessening form. Gradually trees intervened, then at a
bend in the road she saw him wheel his horse as if to return. For some
moments he remained stationary, looking back, but suddenly disappeared,
and, with a sigh of indescribable relief, she retraced her steps to the
house. As she approached the spot where Mrs. Murray still sat, with her
face hidden in her handkerchief, the touch of the little key, tightly
folded in her palm, brought a painful consciousness of concealment and
a tinge of shame to her cheeks; for it seemed in her eyes an insult to
her benefactress that the guardianship of the papers should have been
withheld from her.
She would have stolen away to her own room to secrete the key; but Mrs.
Murray called her, and as she sat down beside her the miserable mother
threw her arms around the orphan, and resting her cheek on her head
wept bitterly. Timidly, but very gently and tenderly, the latter strove
to comfort her, caressing the white hands that were clasped in almost
despairing anguish.
"Dear Mrs. Murray, do not grieve so deeply; he may come back much
earlier than you expect. He will get tired of travelling, and come back
to his own beautiful home, and to you, who love him so devotedly."
"No, no! he will stay away as long as possible. It is not beautiful to
him. He hates his home and forgets me! My loneliness, my anxiety are
nothing in comparison to his morbid love of change. I shall never see
him again."
"But he loves you very much, and that will bring him to you."
"Why do you think so?"
"He pointed to you, a few moments ago, and his face was full of
wretchedness when he told me, 'Make my mother happy while I am gone,
and you will be the first person to whom I have ever been indebted.' Do
not weep so, dear Mrs. Murray; God can preserve him as well on sea as
here at home."
"Oh! but he will not pray for himself!" sobbed the mother.
"Then you must pray all the more for him; and go where he will, he
cannot get beyond God's sight, or out of His merciful hands. You know
Christ said, 'Whatsoever you ask in my name, I will do it'; and if the
Syrophenician's daughter was saved not by her own prayers but by her
mother's faith, why should not God save your son if you pray and
believe?"
Mrs. Murray clasped Edna closer to her heart, and kissed her warmly.
"You are my only comfort! If I had your faith I should not be so
unhappy. My dear child, promise me one thing, that every time you pray
you will remember my son, and ask God to preserve him in his
wanderings, and bring him safely back to his mother. I know you do not
like him, but for my sake will you not do this?"
"My prayers are not worth much, but I will always remember to pray for
him; and, Mrs. Murray, while he is away, suppose you have family
prayer, and let all the household join in praying for the absent
master. I think it would be such a blessing and comfort to you. Grandpa
always had prayer night and morning, and it made every day seem almost
as holy as Sunday."
Mrs. Murray was silent a little while, and answered hesitatingly:
"But, my dear, I should not know how to offer up prayers before the
family. I can pray for myself, but I should not like to pray aloud."
There was a second pause, and finally she said:
"Edna, would you be willing to conduct prayers for me?"
"It is your house, and God expects the head of every family to set an
example. Even the pagans offered sacrifices every day for the good of
the household, and you know the Jews had morning and evening
sacrifices; so it seems to me family prayer is such a beautiful
offering on the altar of the hearthstone. If you do not wish to pray
yourself, you could read a prayer; there is a book called Family
Prayer, with selections for every day in the week. I saw a copy at the
parsonage, and I can get one like it at the book store if you desire
it."
"That will suit my purpose much better than trying to compose them
myself. You must get the book for me. But, Edna, don't go to school
to-day, stay at home with me; I am so lonely and low-spirited. I will
tell Mr. Hammond that I could not spare you. Beside, I want you to help
me arrange some valuable relics belonging to my son, and now that I
think of it, he told me he wished you to use any of his books or MSS.
that you might like to examine. This is a great honor, child, for he
has refused many grown people admission to his rooms. Come with me, I
want to lock up his curiosities."
They went through the rotunda and into the rooms together; and Mrs.
Murray busied herself in carefully removing the cameos, intaglios,
antique vases, goblets, etc., etc., from the tables, and placing them
in the drawers of the cabinets. As she crossed the room tears fell on
the costly trifles, and finally she approached the beautiful miniature
temple and stooped to look at the fastening. She selected the smallest
key on the bunch, that contained a dozen, and attempted to fit it in
the small opening, but it was too large; then she tried her watch-key,
but without success, and a look of chagrin crossed her sad,
tear-stained face.
"St. Elmo has forgotten to leave the key with me."
Edna's face grew scarlet, and stooping to pick up a heavy cornelian
seal that had fallen on the carpet, she said, hastily:
"What is that marble temple intended to hold?"
"I have no idea; it is one of my son's oriental fancies. I presume he
uses it as a private desk for his papers."
"Does he leave the key with you when he goes from home?"
"This is the first time he has left home for more than a few weeks
since he brought this gem from the East. I must write to him about the
key before he sails. He has it on his watch-chain."
The same curiosity which, in ages long past, prompted the discovery of
the Eleusinian or Cabiri mysteries now suddenly took possession of
Edna, as she looked wonderingly at the shining fagade of the exquisite
Taj Mahal, and felt that only a promise stood between her and its
contents.
Escaping to her own room, she proceeded to secrete the troublesome key,
and to reflect upon the unexpected circumstances which not only
rendered it her duty to pray for the wanderer but necessitated her
keeping always about her a SOUVENIR of the man whom she could not avoid
detesting, and was yet forced to remember continually.
On the following day, when she went to her usual morning recitation,
and gave the reason for her absence, she noticed that Mr. Hammond's
hand trembled, and a look of keen sorrow settled on his face.
"Gone again! and so soon! So far, far away from all good influences!"
He put down the Latin grammar and walked to the window, where he stood
for some time, and when he returned to his armchair Edna saw that the
muscles of his face were unsteady.
"Did he not stop to tell you good-bye?"
"No, my dear, he never comes to the parsonage now. When he was a boy, I
taught him here in this room, as I now teach you. But for fifteen years
he has not crossed my threshold, and yet I never sleep until I have
prayed for him." "Oh! I am so glad to hear that! Now I know he will be
saved."
The minister shook his gray head, and Edna saw tears in his mild blue
eyes as he answered:
"A man's repentance and faith can not be offered by proxy to God. So
long as St. Elmo Murray persists in insulting his Maker, I shudder for
his final end. He has the finest intellect I have ever met among living
men; but it is unsanctified--worse still, it is dedicated to the work
of scoffing at and blaspheming the truths of religion. In his youth he
promised to prove a blessing to his race and an ornament to
Christianity; now he is a curse to the world and a dreary burden to
himself."
"What changed him so sadly?"
"Some melancholy circumstances that occurred early in his life. Edna,
he planned and built that beautiful church where you come on Sabbath to
hear me preach, and about the time it was finished he went off to
college. When he returned he avoided me, and has never yet been inside
of the costly church which his taste and his money constructed. Still,
while I live, I shall not cease to pray for him, hoping that in God's
good time he will bring him back to the pure faith of his boyhood."
"Mr. Hammond, is he not a very wicked man?"
"He had originally the noblest heart I ever knew, and was as tender in
his sympathies as a woman, while he was almost reckless in his
munificent charities. But in his present irreligious state I hear that
he has grown bitter and sour and illiberal. Yet, however repulsive his
manner may be, I can not believe that his nature is utterly perverted.
He is dissipated but not unprincipled. Let him rest, my child, in the
hands of his God, who alone can judge him. We can but pray and hope. Go
on with your lesson."
The recitation was resumed and ended; but Edna was well aware that for
the first time her teacher was inattentive, and the heavy sighs that
passed his lips almost unconsciously told her how sorely he was
distressed by the erratic course of his quondam pupil.
When she rose to go home she asked the name of the author of the Family
Prayers which she wished to purchase for Mrs. Murray, and the pastor's
face flushed with pleasure as he heard of her cherished scheme.
"My dear child, be circumspect, be prudent; above all things, be
consistent. Search your own heart; try to make your life an exposition
of your faith; let profession and practice go hand in hand; ask God's
special guidance in the difficult position in which you are placed, and
your influence for good in Mrs. Murray's family may be beyond all
computation." Laying his hands on her head, he continued tremulously:
"O my God! if it be thy will, make her the instrument of rescuing, ere
it be indeed too late. Help me to teach her aright; and let her pure
life atone for all the inconsistencies and wrongs that have well-nigh
wrought eternal ruin."
Turning quickly away, he left the room, before she could even catch a
glimpse of his countenance.
The strong and lasting affection that sprang up between instructor and
pupil--the sense of dependence on each other's society--rarely occurs
among persons in whose ages so great a disparity exists. Spring and
autumn have no affinities--age has generally no sympathy for the
gushing sprightliness, the eager questioning, the rose-hued dreams and
aspirations of young people; and youth shrinks chilled and constrained
from the austere companionship of those who, with snowy locks gilded by
the fading rays of a setting sun, totter down the hill of life,
journeying to the dark and silent valley of the shadow of death.
Preferring Mr. Hammond's society to that of the comparative strangers
who visited Mrs. Murray, Edna spent half of her time at the quiet
parsonage, and the remainder with her books and music. That under
auspices so favorable her progress was almost unprecedentedly rapid,
furnished matter of surprise to no one who was capable of estimating
the results of native genius and vigorous application. Mrs. Murray
watched the expansion of her mind, and the development of her beauty,
with emotions of pride and pleasure, which, had she analyzed them,
would have told her how dear and necessary to her happiness the orphan
had become.
As Edna's reasoning powers strengthened, Mr. Hammond led her gradually
to the contemplation of some of the gravest problems that have from
time immemorial perplexed and maddened humanity, plunging one half into
blind, bigoted traditionalism, and scourging the other into the dreary
sombre, starless wastes of Pyrrhonism. Knowing full well that of every
earnest soul and honest, profound thinker these ontologic questions
would sooner or later demand audience, he wisely placed her in the
philosophic palaestra, encouraged her wrestlings, cheered her on,
handed her from time to time the instruments and aids she needed, and
then, when satisfied that the intellectual gymnastics had properly
trained and developed her, he invited her--where he felt assured the
spirit of the age would inevitably drive her--to the great Pythian
games of speculation, where the lordly intellects of the nineteenth
century gather to test their ratiocinative skill, and bear off the
crown of bay on the point of a syllogism or the wings of an audacious
hypothesis.
Thus immersed in study, weeks, months, and years glided by, bearing her
young life swiftly across the Enna meads of girlhood, nearer and nearer
to the portals of that mystic temple of womanhood, on whose fair
fretted shrine was to be offered a heart either consumed by the baleful
fires of Baal, or purified and consecrated by the Shekinah, promised
through Messiah.