“My child,” answered the mother sorrowfully, “you will be surprised when
I state that the young man did go home and did not try to find where we
removed to, but soon became acquainted with a lady of high standing and
married her. They came over here, bought a large tract of land somewhere
in the New England states. Your father and I met him once on board a
vessel lying in harbor. Your papa, dear soul, knew of my first love and
also the name of his predecessor, and getting an introduction to him
made himself very inquisitive, as he found he was the same person and
had been married some twelve years. You see how deceitful some people
are in this world. It is a good saying and a true one, too, that
‘sometimes you think a friend you’ve got until trial proves you have him
not.’ Thus it proved out to be to me.”
“Mamma,” answered Nettie, “I am a trusting spirit. It might not have
been all his fault. He might have been deceived, as the story circulated
by the family deceived you. Perhaps he did try to find you but could not
get any clue to your whereabouts, as money sometimes will do a great
deal in the way of bribing people.”
“Well. Nettie, time will prove all things. As it is said, ‘Right
conquers might.’”
“Mamma, what is the name of the once young man you have been speaking
of?”
The mother looked sadly up in her daughter’s fair face as she answered,
“Paul Burton; with manly form, blue eyes, and hair the color of your
admirer’s. Nettie, I am so glad you had sense enough to come home, as it
is my conjecture that this young man is the son of him I have told you
of. God grant it may not be!” said the mother fervently. “I do not wish
my child to be deceived as I have been.”
“Your father and I lived very happy through the years of our married
life. No shadows came to mar the horizon of our union until he became
bankrupt through a person we supposed our friend. Poor soul, like many
others before him he could not stand the crash in his financial affairs,
and soon after died. It was a sad blow to me as I loved him fully as
well as I ever did Paul Burton, the baronet’s son.”
“Poor mamma!” exclaimed Nettie passionately. “God must have willed it to
be so. I love this strange young man and it was very hard for me to come
home and leave him whom I loved so fondly, but my English pride bade me
come home.”
“And I hope God will deal justly by us all. We must trust to Providence
and wait and see what time will bring in the future.”
“Oh mamma dear, I cannot believe Paul is false. Oh, no, no, it cannot
be!” exclaimed Nettie passionately.
“May God be merciful to me.”
“My child. God doeth all things. We can trust to Providence and all yet
may be well. This is a world of trouble and sorrow to us poor mortals
and what falls to our lot we must endure patiently, for what is to be
will be, in spite of all human aid. I sincerely hope for the happiness
of my only child,” said the mother, pressing Nettie fondly to her
breast.
Here I will leave them bemoaning their fate, and return to Paul, who, on
returning home, found his mother very ill. She gradually grew worse day
by day. All medical skill was of no avail and they could not restore her
to ordinary health. Time passed drearily at that once pleasant home.
Paul, sad hearted, went about the house as one in a dream, never
speaking to any one except to give orders to servants and inquire about
his mother, whom he loved more fondly than ever. He knew she would soon
leave him, and it grieved him very much to see her sad, pale face as she
would look fondly at him and say, “I will soon be at rest—free from all
earthly trouble.”
She lingered through the fall and long dreary winter months, and as the
buds came on the trees in the following spring she breathed her last,
while lying in the arms of her affectionate son. Sad was the scene, to
see the young man fondly clasp his mother to his breast while tears fell
like rain, on the sad, silent face.
A few moments before she died she called for her son, and when he did
not come immediately she said, “Must I die and not tell him? I ought to
have done it before now. Oh, where is my boy? Will he come soon?” she
asked faintly, turning her face to the wall.
Pompey, hearing her call, went into the room in time to hear her last
words. He went to her bedside as he said, “Paul will come soon. He went
down the lane to see if the doctor is coming. I’s sent for him and he
will come very fast when he hears de news. Missus, I’s been berry kind
and obedient to you, ain’t I? I’s lived with you ever since Paul was a
little chick. Anything you want me to tell him, Missus?”
“Yes, my faithful man, you know the whole history of my life, and when I
am gone tell him not to censure his father as it was all my fault—his
leaving home; but make my sin as light as you can. There is a little tin
box in the garret that will tell him all he wishes to know.”
She nearly held out her hand to the faithful man, saying, “It’s very
hard bidding you goodbye, Pompey, and may God bless you forever!”
She whispered the last words, and as her son came into the room her eyes
brightened for a moment and she tried to speak to him but could not. Her
breath grew shorter and shorter with each moment, and soon she was no
more.
They laid her beneath the weeping willow tree and at her grave the son
placed a neat monument in memory of her who reared him to manhood. Sad
and dreary was that house to Paul. The sunshine had fled and only
shadows remained. No mother now to kiss him good night; no father to
bear with him this sorrow, and the only being he loved beside his mother
was gone, he knew not where. The only friends that deeply sympathized
with him except the servants were John Hilton’s family, especially
Warren, who was there night and day and kept Paul company through this
sad affliction. When this kind companion went home Paul could not
reconcile himself to stay in the house where once was life and joy for
him.
“I cannot stay here; I must go somewhere; there is no comfort for me on
this earth. Oh, why did I live to see this trouble!”
Thus he would talk to Warren Hilton when they were alone.
“Why do you not go away from here for a while? The servants can look
after the farm, and I will run over now and then to see how they get
along. You can write me and you can hear all about them. You can go down
to the city of New York, or anywhere else you choose. Something may
change for the best. I would not stay here and moan myself to death if I
were you. What do you say to that, my friend?” said Warren, tapping his
friend on the shoulder, one summer evening as he saw how sad and lonely
Paul was. Warren’s sympathetic heart went out to his friend. It grieved
him sadly to see his lonely friend, as Paul was never seen to smile
since his mother’s death.
It was nearly a year since the opening of our story. All nature was
dressed in its mantle of green when Paul decided to travel. The evening
before he was to start he sat in the library with his head in his hands
thinking of the past. A light rap sounded on the door, which brought him
back to the present, and bidding the knocker come in Pompey put his
wooly head in the room and said, “Massa berry busy? I’s like to talk wid
you a little while before you goes away, as you go so early in de
morning, so I’s just come now to see you.”
“All right, Pompey, take a chair and tell me all the news.”
“I fear I has sad news for you, as you will get sad from what I’s got to
tell you. I’s lived here ever since you was a child. Well, I first lived
with Missus’ fodder, and when Missus got married I just came and lived
wid her, so you see, Massa Paul, I just knows nearly all de history of
your fodder and modder. Well, I suppose you would like to have me tell
something about them?”
“Yes, Pompey, tell me all you know about them,” answered Paul, all
animation to hear something about his parents.
“Well, just before Missus died she told me there was a little tin box
for you in de garret, and I was to tell you all I knows about her.
“Your modder was a lady—a perfect lady—and your father a gentleman, and
a baronet’s son in England. Your fadder had a fust lub, and your mudder
caught him looking at a picture of a sweet face and head all curls—a
pretty face it was, too. It made Missus very angry and she wanted him to
burn it up, but he wouldn’t and they quarreled often about it. He told
Missus it would not be any harm to her if he did keep it—the original
was dead. But he could not give up the picture. Well, Missus was bound
to have her way, so she stoled de picture and burned it up, and when
Massa found it out he just came to me and told me what I told you under
de tree. I told him to just stay, but he said, ‘No, no, I never can be
trampled on by a woman. We cannot lib peacefully together and I will go
and lebe her for a while.’
“I do not think he intended to stay away always. Massa Paul, you are
just like your fodder in every respect. You just look and act like him.
Your fodder was a British soldier and when he went to Boston with the
regiment your mother saw him and just fell in lub wid him ober head and
ears. Well, he was a baronet’s son and she a beautiful lady wid lots of
money—as your fodder supposed. Well, he was deceived, and Missus just
let him think what he might. I does not think your fodder lubber your
mudder very much; and your mother—beautiful and rich—he thought so—he
just married her for she loved him fondly; but she had such a temper and
did not care what she said when mad. Well, in their last quarrel she
just up and told him she wished he would go away, as she wished nebber
to see his face any more, and he just up and went away. But I always
thought he would come back. Wid de money out de army he bought dis big
farm and bringed Missus to lib wid him here, and all Missus’ fodder had
to gib her was me and my ole woman. Just before he left he went and
deeded de farm to Missus, free from all incumbrance, and told me to take
care of you. Dat is all I knows about your fodder.
“Your mudder neber was de same woman as before; she would not quarrel
wid anyone, and was just as docile as a lamb. If she had been so when
Massa was here he never would hab went away. I’s sure ob dat, as he
cried like a great baby when he bid me goodbye. Now, Massa Paul, let me
get de ole tin box an see what is in it. May be dar is something in it
you would like to see. Come, Massa, is you dreaming?” exclaimed Pompey,
seeing Paul sitting like a statue, gazing absent-mindedly before him
into the deep shadows of the room.
“My dear man,” answered Paul, extending his hand to his servant, “I see
clearly why mother always avoided telling me anything about my father,
as she knew she had done wrong and was afraid to lose my respect, as she
knew I dearly loved her.
“Pompey,” said Paul solemnly, “she was a kind and loving mother to me.”
“Yes, Paul, I’s seed her sit and cry ober your little curly head many a
time and say, ‘I love my baby and I will never let him see my temper;’
and I guess she never did. Shall we get de box tonight, or leave it
until morning? Den you can see to read better,” said Pompey, getting up
and yawning.
“We had better get it tonight, as I do not wish to let everybody know
what there is in the box,” answered Paul, getting up and taking the
candle and opening the library door.
They went up stairs and out into a little hall leading to the garret,
Pompey leading the way.
“Gosh, Massa, I just guess there has been nobody up here in a long time,
as de cobwebs are so thick I can just cut them down. Golly, Massa, what
a hole to put treasures away in,” said Pompey, pulling the cobwebs out
of his woolly hair.
He set the light down and opened a closet on his right, and after
searching a long time he exclaimed, “Dar is noffin here in dis hole but
cobwebs and dust and mice nests”—jerking out a handful and throwing it
on the floor. “I just like to know where dat box is,” said he, taking up
the light and viewing the place critically.
Pompey exclaimed, “Paul, if your mudder has hidden anything she didn’t
want everybody to find we will find it in a little closet made purposely
for it and well covered up from prying eyes.”
He was looking carefully around and hitting a cleet which hung loose
from the wall he espied a little door in the side, which the cleet
covered up entirely unless it was struck or run against.
“I think I have found the place where it is hidden,” said Paul, opening
the door and viewing the interior.
The wall was covered with dust, and at first he did not discover
anything that looked like a box. Just as he was giving up the search he
espied a little hole in the wall, and thrusting in his hand he drew out
a little box the size of a cigar box.
“I have found it at last,” said Paul, handing it to his servant.
He knew there was something in it which would deeply affect him. He
closed up the place and they went down stairs without speaking. They
went directly to the library and Pompey set the box on the table as he
said, “Golly, Massa, what do you suppose dar is in this box that your
mother took such pains to hide it?”
“I do not know,” answered Paul, “I dread to open it. Something seems to
tell me it will make me more deeply in trouble than I am now. But,
Pompey, that box must be opened,” said the young man, getting up and
taking the box in his trembling hands.
He viewed it over and saw it opened with a peculiar spring. He touched
it and the cover flew up and disclosed the contents. He drew the papers
out one after another until all lay on the table. He discovered a
picture case, and opening it the fair face of a young girl about
eighteen met his view. He gazed at it a moment and in a trembling voice
said, “It is like her; the same dreamy eyes and head. Who can it be?”
He took out the picture and in the case were the initials, M. H., and a
small tress of auburn hair. He put it back in its place of concealment
as he said, “My God, here is a mystery I cannot solve. It must be the
picture Pompey supposed burned.”
As he viewed the picture he exclaimed, “Just the same form and features.
I will keep this as my own, and if I can find her or any one it
resembles I will show it to her. I am bound to find out this mystery
sooner or later, as ‘where there’s a will there’s a way.’”
------------------------------------------------------------------------