"_And down on aching heart and brain
Blow after blow unbroken falls._"
BOKER
"A letter for you, sir," said the clerk, as Surrey stopped at the desk
for his key. It was a bulky epistle, addressed in his aunt Russell's
hand, and he carried it off, wondering what she could have to say at
such length.
He was in no mood to read or to enjoy; but, nevertheless, tore open the
cover, finding within it a double letter. Taking the envelope of one
from the folds of the other, his eye fell first upon his mother's
writing; a short note and a puzzling one.
* * * * *
"My dear Willie:--
"I have tried to write you a letter, but cannot. I never wounded you if
I could avoid it, and I do not wish to begin now. Augusta and I had a
talk about you yesterday which crazed me with anxiety. She told me it
was my place to write you what ought to be said under these trying
circumstances, for we are sure you have remained in Philadelphia to see
Miss Ercildoune. At first I said I would, and then my heart failed me. I
was sure, too, that she could write, as she always does, much better
than I; so I begged her to say all that was necessary, and I would send
her this note to enclose with her letter. Read it, I entreat you, and
then hasten, I pray you, hasten to us at once.
"Take care of your arm, do not hurt yourself by any excitement; and,
with dear love from your father, which he would send did he know I was
writing, believe me always your devoted
"MOTHER."
* * * * *
"'Trying circumstances!'--'Miss Ercildoune!'--what does it mean?" he
cried, bewildered. "Come, let us see."
The letter which he now opened was an old and much-fingered one,
written--as he saw at the first glance--by his aunt to his mother. Why
it was sent to him he could not conjecture; and, without attempting to
so do, at once plunged into its pages:--
* * * * *
"CONTINENTAL HOTEL,
PHILADELPHIA, JUNE 27, 1861
"MY DEAR LAURA:--
"I can readily understand with what astonishment you will read this
letter, from the amazement I have experienced in collecting its details.
I will not weary you with any personal narration, but tell my tale at
once.
"Miss Ercildoune, as you know, was my daughter's intimate at school,--a
school, the admittance to which was of itself a guarantee of
respectability. Of course I knew nothing of her family, nor of
her,--save as Clara wrote me of her beauty and her accomplishments, and,
above all, of her style,--till I met Mrs. Lancaster. Of her it is
needless for me to speak. As you know, she is irreproachable, and her
position is of the best. Consequently when Clara wrote me that her
friend was to come to New York to her aunt, and begged to entertain her
for a while, I added my request to her entreaty, and Miss Ercildoune
came. Ill-fated visit! would it had never been made!
"It is useless now to deny her gifts and graces. They are, reluctantly I
confess, so rare and so conspicuous--have so many times been seen, and
known, and praised by us all,--that it would put me in the most foolish
of attitudes should I attempt to reconsider a verdict so frequently
pronounced, or to eat my own words, uttered a thousand times.
"It is also, I presume, useless to deny that we were well pleased--nay,
delighted--with Willie's evident sentiment for her. Indeed, so
thoroughly did she charm me, that, had I not seen how absolutely his
heart was enlisted in her pursuit, she is the very girl whom I should
have selected, could I have so done, as a wife for Tom and a daughter
for myself.
"I knew full well how deep was this feeling for her when he marched
away, on that day so full of supreme splendor and pain, unable to see
her and to say adieu. His eyes, his face, his manner, his very voice,
marked his restlessness, his longing, and disappointment. I was
positively angry with the girl for thwarting and hurting him so, and,
whatever her excuse might be, for her absence at such a time. How
constantly are we quarrelling with our best fates!
"She remained in New York, as you know, for some weeks after the 19th;
in fact, has been at home but for a little while. Once or twice, so
provoked with her was I for disappointing our pet, I could not resist
the temptation of saying some words about him which, if she cared for
him, I knew would wound her: and, indeed, they did,--wounded her so
deeply, as was manifest in her manner and her face, that I had not the
heart to repeat the experiment.
"One week ago I had a letter from Willie, enclosing another to her, and
an entreaty, as he had written one which he was sure had miscarried,
that I would see that this reached her hands in safety. So anxious was I
to fulfil his request in its word and its spirit, and so certain that I
could further his cause,--for I was sure this letter was a
love-letter,--that I did not forward it by post, but, being compelled
to come to Burlington, I determined to go on to Philadelphia, drive out
to her home, and myself deliver the missive into her very hands. A most
fortunate conclusion, as you will presently decide.
"Last evening I reached the city,--rested, slept here,--and this morning
was driven to her father's place. For all our sakes, I was somewhat
anxious, under the circumstances, that this should be quite the thing;
and I confess myself, on the instant of its sight, more than satisfied.
It is really superb!--the grounds extensive, and laid out with the most
absolute taste. The house, large and substantial, looks very like an
English mansion; with a certain quaint style and antique elegance,
refreshing to contemplate, after the crude newness and ostentatious
vulgarity of almost everything one sees here in America. It is within as
it is without. Although a great many lovely things are scattered about
of recent make, the wood-work and the heavy furniture are aristocratic
from their very age, and in their way, literally perfection.
"Miss Ercildoune met me with not quite her usual grace and ease. She
was, no doubt, surprised at my unexpected appearance, and--I then
thought, as a consequence--slightly embarrassed. I soon afterwards
discovered the constraint in her manner sprang from another cause.
"I had reached the house just at lunch-time, and she would take me out
to the table to eat something with her. I had hoped to see her father,
and was disappointed when she informed me he was in the city. All I saw
charmed me. The appointments of the table were like those of the house:
everything exquisitely fine, and the silver massive and old,--not a new
piece among it,--and marked with a monogram and crest.
"I write you all this that you may the more thoroughly appreciate my
absolute horror at the final _denouement_, and share my astonishment at
the presumption of these people in daring to maintain such style.
"I had given her Willie's letter before we left the parlor, with a
significant word and smile, and was piqued to see that she did not
blush,--in fact, became excessively white as she glanced at the writing,
and with an unsteady hand put it into her pocket. After lunch she made
no motion to look at it, and as I had my own reasons for desiring her to
peruse it, I said, 'Miss Francesca, will you not read your letter? that
I may know if there is any later news from our soldier.'
"She hesitated a moment, and then said, with what I thought an unnatural
manner, 'Certainly, if you so desire,' and, taking it out, broke the
seal. 'Allow me,' she added, going towards a window,--as though she
desired more light, but in reality, I knew, to turn her back upon
me,--forgetting that a mirror, hanging opposite, would reveal her face
with distinctness to my gaze.
"It was pale to ghastliness, with a drawn, haggard look about the mouth
and eyes that shocked as much as it amazed me; and before commencing to
read she crushed the letter in her hands, pressing it to her heart with
a gesture which was less of a caress than of a spasm.
"However, as she read, all this changed; and before she finished said,
'Ah, Willie, it is clear your cause needs no advocate.' Positively, I
did not know a human countenance could express such happiness; there was
something in it absolutely dazzling. And evidently entirely forgetful of
me, she raised the paper to her mouth, and kissed it again and again,
pressing her lips upon it with such clinging and passionate fondness as
would have imbued it with life were that possible."
Here Willie flung down his aunt's epistle and tore from his pocket this
self-same letter. He had kept it,--carried it about with him,--for two
reasons: because it was _hers_, he said,--this avowal of his love was
hers, whether she refused it or no, and he had no right to destroy her
property; and because, as he had nothing else she had worn or touched,
he cherished this sacredly since it had been in her dear hands.
Now he took it into his clasp as tenderly as though it were Francesca's
face, and kissed it with the self-same clinging and passionate fondness
as this of which he had just read. Here had her lips rested,--here; he
felt their fragrance and softness thrilling him under the cold, dead
paper, and pressed it to his heart while he continued to read:--
"Before she turned, I walked to another window,--wishing to give her
time to recover calmness, or at least self-control, and was at once
absorbed in contemplating a gentleman whom I felt assured to be Mr.
Ercildoune. He stood with his back to me, apparently giving some order
to the coachman: thus I could not see his face, but I never before was
so impressed with, so to speak, the personality of a man. His physique
was grand, and his air and bearing magnificent, and I watched him with
admiration as he walked slowly away. I presume he passed the window at
which she was standing, for she called, 'Papa!' 'In a moment, dear,' he
answered, and in a moment entered, and was presented; and I, raising my
eyes to his face,--ah, how can I tell you what sight they beheld!
"Self-possessed as I think I am, and as I certainly ought to be, I
started back with an involuntary exclamation, a mingling doubtless of
incredulity and disgust. This man, who stood before me with all the ease
and self-assertion of a gentleman, was--you will never believe it, I
fear--_a mulatto_!
"Whatever effect my manner had on him was not perceptible. He had not
seated himself, and, with a smile that was actually satirical, he bowed,
uttered a few words of greeting, and went out of the room.
"'How dared you?' I then cried, for astonishment had given place to
rage, 'how dared you deceive me--deceive us all--so? how dared you palm
yourself off as white and respectable, and thus be admitted to Mr.
Hale's school and to the society and companionship of his pupils?' I
could scarcely control myself when I thought of how shamefully we had
all been cozened.
"'Pardon me, madam,' she answered with effrontery,--effrontery under the
circumstances,--'you forget yourself, and what is due from one lady to
another.' (Did you ever hear of such presumption!) 'I practised no
deceit upon Professor Hale. He knew papa well,--was his intimate friend
at college, in England,--and was perfectly aware who was Mr.
Ercildoune's daughter when she was admitted to his school. For myself, I
had no confessions to make, and made none. I was your daughter's friend;
as such, went to her house, and invited her here. I trust you have seen
in me nothing unbecoming a gentlewoman, as, _up to this time_, I have
beheld in you naught save the attributes of a lady. If we are to have
any farther conversation, it must be conducted on the old plan, and not
the extraordinary one you have just adopted; else I shall be compelled,
in self-respect, to leave you alone in my own parlor.'
"Imagine if you can the effect of this speech upon me. I assure you I
was composed enough outwardly, if not inwardly, ere she ended her
sentence. Having finished, I said, 'Pardon me, Miss Ercildoune, for any
words which may have offended your dignity. I will confine myself for
the rest of our interview to your own rules!'
"'It is well,' she responded. I had spoken satirically, and expected to
see her shrink under it, but she answered with perfect coolness and
_sang froid_. I continued, 'You will not deny that you are a negro, at
least a mulatto.'
"'Pardon me, madam,' she replied; 'my father is a mulatto, my mother was
an Englishwoman. Thus, to give you accurate information upon the
subject, I am a quadroon.'
"'Quadroon be it!' I answered, angrily again, I fear. 'Quadroon,
mulatto, or negro, it is all one. I have no desire to split hairs of
definition. You could not be more obnoxious were you black as Erebus. I
have no farther words to pass upon the past or the present, but
something to say of the future. You hold in your hands a letter--a
love-letter, I am sure--a declaration, as I fear--from my nephew, Mr.
Surrey. You will oblige me by at once sitting down, writing a peremptory
and unqualified refusal to his proposal, if he has made you one,--a
refusal that will admit of no hope and no double interpretation,--and
give it into my keeping before I leave this room.'
"When I first alluded to Willie's letter she had crimsoned, but before I
closed she was so white I should have thought her fainting, but for the
fire in her eyes. However, she spoke up clear enough when she said, 'And
what, madam, if I deny your right to dictate any action whatever to me,
however insignificant, and utterly refuse to obey your command?'
"'At your peril do so,' I exclaimed. 'Refuse, and I will write the whole
shameful story, with my own comments; and you may judge for yourself of
the effect it will produce.'
"At that she smiled,--an indescribable sort of smile,--and shut her
fingers on the letter she held,--I could not help thinking as though it
were a human hand. 'Very well, madam, write it. He has already told
me'--
"'That he loves you,' I broke in. 'Do you think he would continue to do
so if he knew what you are?'
"'He knows me as well now,' she answered, 'as he will after reading any
letter of yours.'
"'Incredible!' I exclaimed. 'When he wrote you that, he did not know, he
could not have known, your birth, your race, the taint in your blood. I
will never believe it.'
"'No,' she said, 'I did not say he did. I said he knew _me_; so well, I
think, judging from this,'--clasping his letter with the same curious
pressure I had before noticed,--'that you could scarcely enlighten him
farther. He knows my heart, and soul, and brain,--as I said, he knows
_me_.'
"'O, yes,' I answered,--or rather sneered, for I was uncontrollably
indignant through all this,--'if you mean _that_, very likely. I am not
talking lovers' metaphysics, but practical common-sense. He does not
know the one thing at present essential for him to know; and he will
abandon you, spurn you,--his love turned to scorn, his passion to
contempt,--when he reads what I shall write him if you refuse to do what
I demand!'
"I expected to see her cower before me. Conceive, then, if you can, my
sensations when she cried, 'Stop, madam! Say what you will to me;
insult, outrage me, if you please, and have not the good breeding and
dignity to forbear; but do not presume to so slander him. Do not presume
to accuse him, who is all nobility and greatness of soul, of a
sentiment so base, a prejudice so infamous. Study him, madam, know him
better, ere you attempt to be his mouth-piece.'
"As she uttered these words, a horrible foreboding seized me, or, to
speak more truthfully, I so felt the certainty of what she spoke, that a
shudder of terror ran over me. I thought of him, of his character, of
his principles, of his insane sense of honor, of his terrible will under
all that soft exterior,--the hand of steel under the silken glove; I saw
that if I persisted and she still refused to yield I should lose all. On
the instant I changed my attack.
"'It is true,' I said, 'having asked you to become his wife, he will
marry you; he will redeem his pledge though it ruin his life and blast
his career, to say nothing of the effect an unending series of outrages
and mortifications will have upon his temper and his heart. A pretty
love, truly, yours must be,--whatever his is,--to condemn him to so
terrible an ordeal, so frightful a fate.'
"She shivered at that, and I went on,--blaming my folly in not
remembering, being a woman, that it was with a woman and her weakness I
had to deal.
"'He is young,' I continued; 'he has probably a long life before him.
Rich, handsome, brilliant,--a magnificent career opening to
him,--position, ease, troops of friends,--you will ruthlessly ruin all
this. Married to you, white as you are, the peculiarity of your birth
would in some way be speedily known. His father would disinherit him (it
was not necessary to tell her he has a fortune in his own right), his
family disown him, his friends abandon him, society close its doors upon
him, business refuse to seek him, honor and riches elude his grasp. If
you do not know the strength of this prejudice, which you call infamous,
pre-eminently in the circle to which he belongs, I cannot tell it you.
Taking all this from him, what will you give him in return? Ruining his
life, can your affection make amends? Blasting his career, will your
love fill the gap? Do you flatter yourself by the supposition that you
can be father, mother, relatives, friends, society, wealth, position,
honor, career,--all,--to him? Your people are cursed in America, and
they transfer their curse to any one mad enough, or generous enough
(that was a diplomatic turn), to connect his fate with yours.'
"Before I was through, I saw that I had carried my point. All the fine
airs went out of my lady, and she looked broken and humbled enough. I
might have said less, but I ached to say more to the insolent.
"'Enough, madam,' she gasped, 'stop.' And then said, more to herself
than to me, 'I could give heaven for him,'--the rest I rather guessed
from the motion of her lips than from any sound,--'but I cannot ask him
to give the world for me.'
"'Will you write the letter?' I asked.
"'No.'--She said the word with evident effort, and then, still more
slowly, 'I will give you a message. Say "I implore you never to write me
again,--to forget me. I beseech of you not to try me by any farther
appeals, as I shall but return them unopened."' I wrote down the words
as she spoke them. 'This is well,' I said when she finished; 'but it is
not enough. I must have the letter.'
"'The letter?' she said. 'What need of a letter? surely that is
sufficient.'
"'I do not mean your letter. I mean his,--the one which you hold in your
hands.'
"'This?' she queried, looking down on it,--'this?'
"I thought the repetition senseless and affected, but I answered,
'Yes,--that. He will not believe you are in earnest if you keep his
avowal of love. You must give him up entirely. If you let me send that
back, with your words, he shall never--at least from me--have clew or
reason for your conduct. That will close the whole affair.'
"'Close the whole affair,' she repeated after me, mechanically,--'close
the whole affair.'
"I was getting heartily tired of this, and had no desire to listen to an
echo conversation; so, without answering, I stretched out my hand for
it. She held it towards me, then drew it back and raised it to her heart
with the same gesture I had marked when she first opened it,--a gesture
as I said, of that, which was less of a caress than a spasm. Indeed, I
think now that it was wholly physical and involuntary. Then she handed
it to me, and, motioning towards the door, said, 'Go!'
"I rose, and, infamous as I thought her past deceit, wearied as I was
with the interview, small claim as she had upon me for the slightest
consideration, I said 'You have done well, Miss Ercildoune! I commend
you for your sensible decision, and for your ability, if late, to
appreciate the situation. I wish you all success in life, I am sure;
and, permit me to add, a future union with one of your own race, if that
will bring you happiness.'
"Heavens! what a face and what eyes she turned upon me as, rising, she
once more pointed to the door, and cried, 'Go!' And indeed I went,--the
girl actually frightened me.
"When I got on to the lawn, I missed my bag and parasol, and had to
return for them. I opened the door with some slight trepidation, but had
no need for fear. She was lying prostrate upon the floor, as I saw on
coming near, in a dead faint. She had evidently fallen so suddenly and
with such force as to have hurt herself; her head had struck against an
ornament of the bookcase, near which she had been standing; and a little
stream of blood was trickling from her temple. It made me sick to behold
it. As I looked at her where she lay, I could not but pity her a little,
and think what a merciful fate it would be for her, and such as she, if
they could all die,--and so put an end to what, I presume, though I
never before thought of it, is really a very hard existence.
"It was no time, however, to sentimentalize. I rang for a servant, and,
having waited till one came, took my leave.
"Of course all this is very shocking and painful, but I am glad I came.
The matter is ended now in a satisfactory manner. I think it has been
well done. Let us both keep our counsel, and the affair will soon
become a memory with us, as it is nothing with every one else.
"Always your loving sister,
"AUGUSTA."
* * * * *
It is better to be silent upon some themes than to say too little. Words
would fail to express the emotions with which Willie read this history:
let silence and imagination tell the tale.
Flinging down the paper with a passionate cry, he saw yet another
letter,--the one in which these had been enfolded,--a letter written to
him, and by Mrs. Russell. As by a flash, he perceived that there had
been some blunder here, by which he was the gainer; and, partly at
least, comprehended it.
These two, mother and aunt, fearing the old fire had not yet burned to
ashes,--nay, from their knowledge of him, sure of it,--hearing naught of
his illness, for he did not care to distress them by any account
thereof, were satisfied that he had either met, or was remaining to
compass a meeting, with Miss Ercildoune. His mother had not the courage,
or the baseness, to write such a letter as that to which Mrs. Russell
urged her,--a letter which should degrade his love in his own eyes, and
recall him from an unworthy pursuit. "Very well!" Mrs. Russell had then
said, "It will be better from you; it will look more like unwarranted
interference from me; but I will write, and you shall send an
accompanying line. Let me have it to-morrow."
The next morning Mrs. Surrey was not well enough to drive out, and thus
sent her note by a servant, enclosing with it the letter of June
27th,--thinking that her sister might want it for reference. When it
reached Mrs. Russell, it was almost mail-time, and with the simple
thought, "So,--Laura has written it, after all," she enclosed it in her
own, and sent it off, post-haste; not even looking at the unsealed
envelope, as Mrs. Surrey had taken for granted she would, and thus
failing to know of its double contents.
Thus the very letter which they would have compassed land and sea to
have prevented coming under his eyes, unwisely yet most fortunately kept
in existence, was sent by themselves to his hands.
Without pausing to read a line of that which his aunt had written him,
he tore it into fragments, flung it into the empty grate; and, bounding
down the stairs and on to the street, plunged into a carriage and was
whirled away, all too slowly, to the home he had left but a little space
before with such widely, such painfully different emotions.