"Well, Ulpian, are you convinced that 'Solitude' is an unlucky place,
and that misfortune dogs the steps of all who make it a home? Once you
laughed at my 'superstition.' What think you now, my wiseacre?"
"My opinion has not changed, except that each time I see the place I
admire it more and more; and, were it for sale, I should certainly
purchase it."
"Not with the expectation of living there?"
"Most assuredly."
Miss Jane had suspended for a moment the swift clicking of her
knitting-needles in order to hear her brother's reply, and now she
rejoined, almost sharply,--
"You will do no such silly thing while there is breath left in my body
to protest, or to persuade. Pooh! you only talk to tease me; for five
grains of observation and common sense will teach you that there is a
curse hanging over that old piratical nest."
"Dear Janet, when headstrong drivers persist in carrying a pair of
fiery, vicious horses into the midst of a procession of wild beasts
that would have scared even your sober dull Dapples out of their lazy
jog-trot, it is not at all surprising that snapped harness, broken
carriage, torn flesh, and strained joints should attest the folly of
the experiment. The accident occurred not far from my office, which is
haunted by nothing worse than your harmless sailor-boy."
"All very fine, my blue-eyed oracle, but I notice that the horses
belonging to 'Solitude' were the only ones that made mischief and came
to grief; and I promise you that all the hawsers in Gosport Navy-Yard
will never drag me inside the doomed place. How is your patient? If
you expect her to get well, you had better take a 'superstitious' old
woman's counsel, and send her away from that valley of Jehoshaphat."
"I am very sorry to tell you that she was more seriously hurt than I
was at first inclined to believe. Her spine was so badly injured that
although there is no danger of immediate death, she will never be
able to sit up or walk again. She may linger many months, possibly
years; but must, as long as life lasts, remain a bed-ridden cripple.
It is one of the saddest cases I have had to deal with during my
professional career; and Elsie Maclean bears her sufferings with
such noble fortitude, such genuine Christian patience, coupled with
stern Scotch heroism, that I cannot withhold my admiration and
earnest sympathy. Yesterday I held a consultation with four
physicians, and, when we told her the hopelessness of her condition,
she received the announcement without even a sigh, and seemed only
to dread that instead of an assistant she might prove a burden to her
mistress."
"She appears to be a very important personage in the household."
"Yes; she is Mrs. Gerome's nurse, housekeeper, and counsellor,--and I
have rarely seen such warm affection as exists between them. I wish,
Janet, that you were strong enough to call at 'Solitude,' for its
mistress leads a lonely, secluded life, and must require some
society."
"But, Ulpian, I hear strange things about her, and it is hinted that
she is deranged."
"Your knowledge of human nature should teach you how little truth is
generally found in the floating _on dits_ of social circles."
"How long has she been widowed?"
"I do not know, but presume that her affliction has not been very
recent, as she wears no mourning."
"If she has discarded widow's weeds, and dresses in colors, why should
she taboo society, and make herself the town-talk by refusing to
receive even the clergy and their wives? She has lived here ten
months, and I understand from Dolly Spiewell that not a soul has ever
seen her. Of course such eccentricities provoke gossip and tickle the
tongue of scandal, and if the world can't find out the real cause of
such conduct, it very industriously sets to work and manufactures
one."
"Which, in my humble opinion, constitutes a piece of unwarrantable
impertinence on the part of meddling Mrs. Grundy. The world might be
more profitably engaged in mending its own tortuous and mendacious
ways, and allowing poor solitary wretches to fondle their whims and
caprices. If Mrs. Gerome does not choose to receive visitors, what
right has the public to grumble, or even discuss the matter?"
As Salome spoke, she plunged her stiletto vigorously into a piece of
cambric, and her thin lip curled contemptuously.
"Abstractly true, my dear child; but, from the beginning of time,
people have meddled; and, since gossip she must, even Eve chatted too
freely with serpents. Besides, since we are in the world, we should
not turn eremites, and bristle at the sight of one of our own race;
for society has a few laws that are inexorable,--that cannot be
violated without subjecting the offender to being stung to death by
venomous tongues; and one of these statutes is, that all shall see and
be seen, shall talk and be talked about, and shall visit and be
visited. When a woman unaccountably turns recluse, she is at the mercy
of public imagination, stimulated by disappointed curiosity; and very
soon the verdict goes forth that she is either deformed or deranged."
"I dispute the prerogative of the public to dictate in such matters,
and I shall rebel whenever it presumes to lay even a little finger
across my path. What, pray tell me, is the world, but an aggregation
of persons like you and me, and what possible concern can you or I
have with the fact that Mrs. Gerome burrows like a mole, beyond our
sight? If she sees fit to found a modern sect of Troglodytes, I can't
understand that the wheels of society are thereby scotched, or that
the public has a shadow of right to raise a hue-and-cry and strive to
unearth her, as if she were a fox, a catamount, or a gopher. It is
useless for society to constitute itself a turning-lathe for rounding
off all individual angularities, and grinding people down to dull
uniformity until they are as indistinguishable as a bag of unpainted
marbles or of black-eyed peas; and, if God had intended that we should
all invariably think, feel, and act after one pattern, He would have
populated the world with Siamese twins; whereas, the first couple that
were born on earth were so dissimilar that all the universe was not
wide enough to hold them both, and manslaughter began when the race
only numbered a quartette. If mankind had not arrogated the privilege
of being its 'brother's keeper,' it would never have been forced to
deny the fact. I admire the honesty and truth with which Alexander
Smith bravely confessed, 'I love a little eccentricity; I respect
honest prejudices. It is high time, it seems to me, that a moral
game-law were passed for the preservation of the wild and vagrant
feelings of human nature.'"
"That is a dangerous doctrine, my dear child, especially for a woman
to entertain; because custom rules us with an iron rod, and flays us
alive if we contravene her decrees."
"I should be exceedingly glad to learn by what authority or process
Truth is provided with sex? Are some orthodox doctrines female and
others male? Why have not we women as clear a right to any given set
of principles as men? Truth is as much my property as that of the Czar
of Russia, and, if I choose to lay hold of any special province of it,
why must I perforce be dragged to the whipping-post of custom, simply
because by an accident I am called Susan or Hepzibah instead of Peter
or Lazarus? So long as my convictions of truth (which custom brands as
vagaries) are innocuous, I have a perfect and inalienable right to
indulge them; but the instant I become pestiferous to society, let me
be consigned to the tender mercies of strait-jacket and insane-asylum
regimen. If I creep quietly along my own intellectual and ethical
trail, taking heed not to touch the sensitive toes of custom, why
should it ungenerously insist upon bruising mine? My seer was right
when he boldly declared, 'The world has stood long enough under the
drill of Adjutant Fashion.' It is hard work, the posture is wearisome,
and Fashion is an awful martinet, and has a quick eye, and comes down
mercilessly on the unfortunate wight who can not square his toes to
the approved pattern. It is killing work. Suppose we try 'standing at
ease' for a little while? Wherefore, custom to the contrary
notwithstanding, I contend that Mrs. Gerome has as indisputable a
right to refuse admittance to Rev. Mrs. Spiewell as any anchorite of
the Nitrian Sands to decline receiving a bevy of inquisitive European
belles. If society rules like Russia or Turkey, then am I a candidate
for knout and bastinado. I do not wish to be unwomanly, and honesty
and candor are not necessarily unfeminine, because some coarse,
rough-handed, bold-eyed woman has possibly rendered them unpopular."
Miss Jane laid down her knitting, folded her hands, and, as she
watched the girl, her emotions were probably similar to those that
agitate some meek and staid hen, who, leading a young brood of ducks
from her nest, suddenly beholds them displaying their aquatic
proclivities by plunging into the horse-pond, and performing all the
evolutions of a regatta.
"Ah, child, I fear you think too little of what you wish or intend to
make yourself!"
"Only have patience, Miss Jane, and some day I will show you all the
graces of Griselda and Gudrun the second. Dr. Grey, have you seen Mrs.
Gerome?"
"Yes,--on two occasions."
"Is she not the most extraordinary and puzzling person you ever looked
at?"
"When and where could you have met her?"
"For a few minutes only, last winter, I saw her on the beach, near
'Solitude.' We exchanged a half-dozen words, and she left an
impression on my mind which all time will not efface. Since that
evening I have frequently endeavored to surprise her on the same spot,
but only once I succeeded in catching a glimpse of a blue shawl that
fluttered in the distance. She seemed to me a beautiful, pale
priestess, consecrated to the ministry of the shrine of sorrow; and,
when I hear snubbed-dom sneering at her, and remember the hopeless
expression with which her wonderful, homeless eyes looked out across
that grey, silent sea,--I cannot avoid thinking that she is very wise
in barring her doors, and heeding the advice of Montenebi, '_Complain
not of thy woes to the public: they will no more pity thee than birds
of prey pity the wounded deer_.'"
"My acquaintance with Mrs. Gerome is too slight to warrant the
utterance of an opinion relative to her idiosyncrasies, but I am
afraid cynicism rather than grief immures her from society. Her
prematurely white hair and the remarkable pallor of her smooth
complexion combine to render her appearance piquant and unnatural;
and, certainly, there is something in her face strangely suggestive of
old Norse myths, mystery, and magic. Her features, when analyzed,
prove faultlessly regular, but her life is out of tune, and the
expression of her countenance mars what would otherwise be perfect
beauty. I can, in some degree, describe the impression she produced
upon me by quoting the lines that were suggested when I saw her this
morning, standing by Elsie Maclean's bed,--
'I saw a vision of a woman, where
Night and new morning strive for domination;
Incomparably pale, and almost fair,
And sad beyond expression.
Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem,
Were stately, like the stars, and yet were tender;
Her figure charmed me, like a windy stem,
Quivering, and drooped, and slender.
She measured measureless sorrow toward its length
And breadth, and depth, and height.'"
Salome looked up from the eyelet she was working, but Dr. Grey had
turned his head towards his sister who had fallen asleep in her chair,
and the orphan could not see his face.
"Mrs. Gerome must have been very young when she married, and--"
"Hush! Janet looks so weary that I want her to have a long nap, and
our voices might disturb her."
He took his hat and gloves and left the room, and Salome forgot her
embroidery and fell into a reverie that proved neither pleasant nor
profitable, and lasted until Miss Jane awoke.
In the afternoon of the following day, when the orphan returned
from her clandestine visit to the Italian musician, she saw an
unusual number of persons on the front gallery, and found that the
long-expected party from New York had arrived during her absence. Miss
Jane was talking to the governess--a meek-looking, but exceedingly
handsome woman, of twenty-seven or eight years, with fair hair and
quiet brown eyes; and every detail of her dress, speech, and bearing
averred that Edith Dexter was no humble scion of proletariat. Her
polished yet reserved manners bespoke high birth and aristocratic
associations; but something in the composed, sad countenance, in the
listless drooping of the pretty head, hinted that she had long since
spilt the rosy sparkling foam of her cup of life, and was patiently
drinking its muddy lees.
On the upper step sat Dr. Grey, with his arm encircling the form of
his ward, whose head rested very confidingly against his shoulder.
Muriel Manton was dressed in deep mourning, and had evidently been
weeping, for her guardian was tenderly wiping the tears from her cheek
when Salome came up the avenue; and, with a keen, jealous pang that
she had never felt before, the latter scanned the stranger's claims to
beauty.
Very black eyes, brilliant complexion, and fine teeth, she certainly
possessed; but her features were rather coarse; her mouth was much too
large for classic requirements; and Salome was rejoiced to find her
nose indisputably _retrousse_.
Years hence she would doubtless be a large, well-formed, commanding
woman, who could exhibit Lyons silk or Genoese velvet to the best
advantage, and would be considered a fine-looking, rosy, robust
personage; but at present the face, which from under a small straw hat
anxiously watched hers, was infinitely handsomer, more attractive,
more delicate, and intellectual; and the miller's child felt that she
had little to apprehend from the merely personal charms of the wealthy
ward.
Salome felt injured as she eyed the doctor's arm, which had never
touched even her shoulder; and it was painful and humiliating to
notice the affectionate manner in which his hand stroked one of
Muriel's that lay on his knee,--and to remember that his fingers had
not met hers in a friendly grasp since long before his visit to
Europe,--had only clasped hers twice during their acquaintance.
"Come in, Salome, and let me introduce you to my ward Muriel, and to
Miss Dexter, who is prepared to receive you as a pupil."
Muriel silently held out her hand; but Salome only bowed and ran
lightly up the steps, as if she did not perceive the outstretched
fingers. Miss Dexter rose and advanced to meet her, saying, in a tone
that indexed great kindness of heart,--
"I am exceedingly glad to meet you, Miss Salome; for Dr. Grey has
promised that I shall find in you a most exemplary and agreeable
pupil."
"Thank you. I am indeed glad to hear that he has changed his opinion
of me; and I must endeavor not to lose my newly acquired amiable
character,--but he was rather rash to stand security for my good
behavior."
She saw that Dr. Grey was surprised at her cold reception of his pet
and _protege_, and perversity took possession of her. Going to the
back of Miss Jane's old-fashioned rocking-chair she put her arms
around her, and, leaning over, kissed her cheek several times. It was
not her habit to caress any one or any thing,--not even her little
brother,--and this unusual demonstrativeness puzzled and surprised the
old lady who said, fondly,--
"I presume Ulpian is brave enough to encounter all the risks of
standing security for your obedience and docility."
"Certainly I appreciate his chivalry, since none knows better than he
the danger--nay, probability, of a forfeiture of the contract on my
part."
Dr. Grey rose, and, looking steadily at her, said, in a tone which she
well understood,--
"Promises are, in my estimation, peculiarly sacred things; and that
which I made to Miss Dexter in your behalf was based upon one that I
gave you some time since, namely, that I would have faith in you. Come
with me, Muriel; I want to show you and Miss Dexter the finest cow
this side of Ayrshire, and some sheep that are handsome enough to
compare favorably with the best that ever browsed in the 'Court of
Lions.'"
He took his ward's hand and led her away to the cattle-yard, whither
Miss Dexter accompanied them.
As Salome looked after the trio her eyes flashed and scarlet spots
burned on her cheeks, while a feeling of suffocation oppressed her
heart.
"Why will you vex him, when you know that he tries so hard to like
you?" asked Miss Jane in a distressed tone, stroking the girl's hot
face, as she spoke.
The head was instantly lifted beyond her reach, and the answer came
swiftly, sharp and defiant,--
"Do you mean to say that it is so extremely difficult for him to
tolerate me?"
"You are obliged to know that you are not one of his favorites, like
that sweet-tempered Muriel, to whom he seems so warmly attached; and
it is all your own fault, for he was disposed to like you when he
first came home. Ulpian loves quiet and amiable people, who are never
rude and snappish; and it appears to me that you are trying to see how
hateful and spiteful you can be. Why upon earth did you not shake
hands with those strangers, and treat them politely?"
"Because I don't choose to be hypocritical,--and I don't like Miss
Muriel Manton."
"Nonsense! Stuff! I only wish you were half as well-bred and
courteous, and lady-like."
"Do you, really? Then, to be obedient and, oblige you, when they come
back, I will imitate her example, and throw myself into Dr. Grey's
arms, and rub my cheek against his shoulder, and fondle his hands. If
this be 'lady-like,' then, indeed, I penitently cry '_peccavi!_' and
promise that in future you shall not have cause to complain of me."
"Pooh, pooh, child! What ails you? Muriel has known Ulpian all her
life, and looks upon him now as her father. He has petted her since
she was a little girl, and loves her almost as well as if she were his
child, instead of his ward. You know she is an orphan; and it is very
natural for her to cling to her guardian, who was for a great many
years her father's most intimate friend."
"We are both orphans, and she is certainly not my junior, yet your
propriety would be shocked if I behaved as she does. Where is
Stanley?"
"Studying his geography lesson, with the assistance of the globe, in
the library. What do you want with him?"
"I am going to the beach, and wish him to walk with me."
"It is too late for you to start for the seaside, and, moreover, it
would appear very discourteous in you to absent yourself the first
evening that these strangers spend here. Ulpian would be displeased."
"According to your statement a few minutes since, that is his chronic
condition, as far as I am concerned; and, as I do not belong to the
mimosa species, I think I may brave his frowns."
"That is not the worst you have to apprehend. Child, I think it would
be bitter indeed, to bear Ulpian Grey's contempt."
"I shall take care not to deserve it; and Dr. Grey never forgets to be
just."
"My dear little girl, what right have you to be jealous of his love
for his young ward?"
The flame that was slowly dying out of her face leaped up fiercer than
before, and she crimsoned to the edges of her hair.
"Jealous! Good heavens, Miss Jane, you must be dreaming! I merely
question the taste that allows his 'lady-like' favorite to caress him
so openly, and should not have expressed my disapprobation so
strongly if you had not rated me soundly, and held her up as a model
for my humble imitation. If she and her governess are to stir up
strife between you and me, I shall heartily wish them a speedy passage
to Halifax or heaven. Beyond all peradventure I shall get murderously
jealous if you dare to give this sloe-eyed, peony-faced girl, my place
in your dear old heart. She, of course, will fondle her guardian as
much as she pleases, or as often as he sees fit to allow; but woe unto
her if I catch her hands and lips about you, my dearest and best
friend! Don't scold me and praise her, or some fine day I shall jump
at and strangle her, which you know would not be 'well-bred' or
'lady-like,' much less moral and Christian."
She almost smothered the old lady in her arms, and kissed her several
times.
"What has stirred up the evil spirit in you? You look as wicked as
your mother Herodias, thirsting for the blood of John the Baptist; or
as Jezebel plotting against the prophet--"
"And telling me that like her I am 'going to the dogs' is not the
surest way to reform me. Stanley! Stanley! get your hat and come
here."
"Your awful temper will be your ruin if you don't put a curb-bit on
it. See here, Salome, don't be so utterly silly and childish! I do not
wish you to go to the sea-shore this evening."
"Please, Miss Jane, don't order me to stay at home, because, then of
course, I should feel bound to obey you, and I should not behave
prettily, and you would wish me at the bottom of the sea, instead of
on its brink. Let me go, and I will come back cool as a cucumber, and
well-behaved as Miss Muriel Manton. Please don't prohibit me; and I
promise I will lose my evil spirit in the sea, like that Gergesene
wretch that haunted the tombs. Here comes Stanley. Don't shake your
head. I am off."
Miss Jane would not receive the proffered farewell kiss, but tears
gathered and dimmed her eyes as she looked after the graceful, girlish
figure, swiftly crossing the lawn; and sad forebodings filled her
affectionate heart when she thought of the unknown future that
stretched before that impetuous, jealous, imperious nature.
Anxious that the strangers should feel thoroughly welcome and at home,
she joined them as soon as possible after their return from the
sheepfold, and exerted herself to keep the shuttlecock of conversation
in constant motion; but her brother's watchful eyes discerned the
perturbed feeling she sought to hide; and, when she insisted, for the
first time in two years, upon taking her seat and presiding at the
tea-table, he busied himself in arranging her cushions comfortably,
and whispered,--
"How good and considerate you are, my precious sister. A thousand
thanks for this generous effort, which I trust will not fatigue you."
He placed himself opposite, and was about to ask a blessing on the
meal, but paused to inquire,--
"Where are the children, Salome and Stanley?"
"They have gone down to the beach, and we will not wait for them."
Soon after, Muriel said,--
"I think Salome is almost beautiful. She has splendid eyes and hair.
Miss Edith, does she not remind you of a piece of sculpture at
Naples?"
"Yes; I noticed a resemblance to the _Julia-Agrippina_, and the
likeness must be remarkable, since it impressed us simultaneously.
Salome's brow is fuller, and her chin more prominent than that of the
Roman woman we admired so ardently; and, besides, I should judge that
she had quite as much or more will than the daughter of Germanicus,
for her lips are thinner."
Dr. Grey changed the topic of conversation, and Miss Dexter
courteously followed the cue.
The moon was high in heaven when Salome and her brother came up the
avenue; and, observing that the lights were extinguished in the front
rooms, she surmised that the new-comers had retired very early, in
consequence of fatigue from their long journey. Sending Stanley to
bed, she sat down on the steps to rest a few moments before going
upstairs, and began to fan herself with her straw hat.
She had grown very calm, and almost ashamed of her passionate
ebullition in the presence of strangers; and numerous good resolutions
were sending out fibrous roots in her heart. How long she rested there
she knew not, and started when Dr. Grey said, in a subdued voice,--
"Salome, I am waiting to lock the door, and should be glad if you will
come in now, or be careful to secure the inner bolt whenever you do.
As I always shut up the house, I was afraid you might not think of it;
and burglaries are becoming alarmingly frequent."
She rose instantly, and entered the hall.
"What time is it?"
"Eleven o'clock."
"Is it possible? You know, sir, that the evenings are very short
now."
"Yes."
He was removing a chair from the gallery and closing the Venetian
blinds, and she could not see his face. Hoping to receive some
friendly look, which she was painfully aware she did not deserve, she
loitered till he turned around.
"Salome, have you a light in your room?"
"I do not know, but suppose so."
"There are two candles in the library, and you had better take one,
rather than stumble along in the dark and wake everybody."
He brought out one, and handed it to her.
"Thank you. Good-night, Dr. Grey."
"Good-night, Salome."
The candle-light showed no displeasure in his countenance, which was
calm as usual, and there was not a hint of harshness in his unwontedly
low voice; but she read disappointment in his grave, kind eyes. She
knew that she could not sleep until she had made her peace with him;
and, though it cost her a great effort to conquer her pride, she said,
humbly,--
"'And if he trespass against thee seven times in a day, and seven
times in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent,--thou shalt
forgive him.'"
"Yes; but the frequency of the offence renders it difficult to believe
the repentance genuine."
"Christ, your master, did not doubt it."
"I am less than the disciples whom he addressed; and they answered,
'Increase our faith.'"
"You did not pray for me this morning."
"I never neglect my promises. Why do you doubt that I fulfilled them
this morning?"
"This has been one of my sinful days, when Satan runs rough-shod over
all my good intentions, and drags me through the mire that I was
trying to hold my soul far above. I tell you, sir, that the 'unclean
spirit' that vexed the daughter of the Syrophoenician woman was mild,
and harmless, and well-mannered, in comparison with the demon that
takes bodily possession of me, and whose name is not '_Suset_'! but a
fearful _Ruach_ demanding the ban _Cherem_. I once thought all that
part of Scripture which referred to the casting out of devils was
metaphorical; but I know better now; for the one that Luther assaulted
with his inkstand was not more palpable than that which enters into my
heart every now and then, and overturns the altars of the 'true, good,
and beautiful,' and sets up instead a small hall of Eblis, as full of
horrible, mis-shapen things as that hideous 'Last Judgment' of
Orcagna, in the Campo Santo at Pisa, which you once showed me in a
portfolio of engravings. Oh, Dr. Grey! you ought to be merciful to me;
for indeed God gave me a fearfully wicked and cunning spirit for a
perpetual companion and tempter. Even Christ had Lucifer and
Quarantina."
"Yes, and conquered both, and promised assistance to all who earnestly
desire and resolve to follow his example."
"You cannot forgive my rudeness?"
"The act of incivility was very slight; but, my young friend, the
unaccountable perversity of your character certainly fills my mind
with serious apprehension concerning your future. Of course, I can
very readily forgive the occasion that displayed it, but I cannot
entirely forget the spirit that distresses me when I least expect
it."
"If you will dismiss this afternoon from your mind, I will never--"
"Stop! Make me no more promises till you are strong enough to keep
them inviolate. Promise less and pray more; I am not angry, but I am
disappointed."
She drooped her head to avoid his grave, sad gaze, and for a moment
there was silence.
"Dr. Grey, will you shake hands with me, in token of pardon?"
"Certainly, if you wish it."
He took her hand in both of his, pressed it kindly, and said, in a
low, solemn tone,--
"Good-night, Salome. May God guide, and strengthen, and help you to be
the noble woman, the consistent Christian, which only His grace and
blessing can ever enable you to become. Remember the cheering words of
Jean Paul Richter, 'Evil is like the nightmare, the instant you bestir
yourself it has already ended.'"