"I have had a long conversation with Ulpian, and find him violently
opposed to the scheme you mentioned to me several days since. He
declares he will gladly share his last dollar with you sooner than see
you embark in a career so fraught with difficulties, trials, and--"
Miss Jane paused to find an appropriate word, and Salome very promptly
supplied her.
"Temptations. That is exactly what you both mean. Go on."
"Well, yes, dear. I am afraid the profession you have selected is
beset with dangerous allurements for one so inexperienced and
unsophisticated as yourself."
"Bah! Speak out. I am sick of circumlocution. What do you understand
by unsophisticated?"
"Why, I mean,--well, what can I mean but just what the word
expresses,--unsophisticated? That is, young, thoughtless, ignorant of
the ways of the world, and the excessive cunning and deceit of human
nature."
"Begging your pardon, it has another significance, which you will find
if you look into your dictionary,--that blessed Magna Charta of
linguistic rights and privileges. I do not claim the prerogatives of
Ruskin's class of the 'well educated, who are learned in the peerage
of words; know the words of true descent and ancient blood at a
glance, from words of modern _canaille_;' but I venture the assertion
that I am sufficiently sophisticated to plunge into the vortex of
public life, and yet keep my head above water."
"I don't want to see my little girl an actress, or a _prima donna_,
bold, forward, and eager to face a noisy, clamorous crowd, who feel
privileged to say just what they please about her. It would break my
heart; and, if you are bent on such a step, I hope you will wait, at
least, till I am dead."
"You ought to be willing to see me do anything honest, that will
secure my dependent brother and sister from want."
"The necessity of laboring for them is not especially imperative at
this juncture, and why should you be more sensitive now than formerly?
Do not deceive yourself, dear child, but face the truth, no matter how
ugly it may possibly be. It is not a sense of duty to the younger
children, but an inflated vanity, that prompts you to parade your
beauty and your wonderful voice on the stage, where they will elicit
applause and flattering adulation. My little girl, that is the most
dangerous, the most unhealthy atmosphere, a woman can possibly
breathe."
"Pray tell me how you learned all this? You, who have spent your life
in this quiet old house, who have been almost as secluded as some
Cambrian Culdee, can really know nothing of that public life you
condemn so bitterly."
"The history of those who have walked in the path you are now
preparing to follow, proves the deleterious influences and ruinous
associations that surround that class of women."
"Jenny Lind and Sarah Siddons redeem any class, no matter how much
maligned."
"But what assurance have I, that, unlike the ninety-nine, you will
resemble the one-hundredth?"
"Only try me, Miss Jane."
"Ah, child! A rash boy said the same thing when he tried to drive
the sun, and not only consumed himself but nearly burned up the
world. There is rather too much at stake to warrant such reckless
experiments."
"Quit mythology,--it is not in your line,--and come back to stern
facts and serious realities. Because I wish to dance a quadrille or
cotillion, and acquit myself creditably, does it ensue as an
inexorable consequence, that I shall join some strolling ballet
troupe, and out-Bayadere the Bayaderes?"
"That depends altogether upon your agility and grace. If you could
reasonably hope to rival your Hebrew namesake, I am afraid my little
girl would think it 'her duty' to dance instead of to sing, for the
acquisition of a fortune; and insist upon executing wonderful things
with her heels and toes, instead of her voice."
"You and Dr. Grey seem to have simultaneously arrived at the
charitable conclusion that my heart is pretty much in the same
condition that the Hebrew temple was, when Christ undertook to drive
out the profane. Thongs in hand you two have overturned my motives,
and, by a very summary court-martial, condemned them to be scourged
out. Now, mark you, I am neither making change nor selling doves, and
still less are you and your brother--Jesus. Dr. Grey does me the honor
to indulge a chronic skepticism concerning the possibility of any good
and unselfish impulse in my nature, and I am sorry to see that you
have caught the contagious doubt of me, and of my motives."
She began the sentence in a challenging, sneering voice, but it was
ended in a lower and faltering tone.
"While in the light of her large angry eyes,
Uprose and rose a slow imperious sorrow."
"My dear, don't attempt to whip Ulpian over my shoulders. You know
very well that I have invested in you an amount of faith that the
united censure of the world cannot shake; and if Ulpian does not
follow my example, whose fault is it, I should be glad to know?
Evidently not his,--certainly not mine,--but undoubtedly yours. I have
noticed that you took extraordinary care and a very peculiar pleasure
in making him believe you much worse in all respects than you really
are; and since you have labored so industriously to lower yourself in
his estimation, it would be a poor compliment to your skill and energy
if I told you that you had not entirely succeeded in your rather
remarkable aim. Before he came home you were as contented, and
amiable, and happy, as my old cat there on the rug; but Ulpian's
appearance affected you as the entrance of a dog does my maltese, who
arches her back, and growls, and claws, as long as he is in sight. I
am truly sorry you two could never agree, but I feel bound to tell you
that you have only yourself to blame. I do not claim that my
sailor-boy is a saint, but he is assuredly some inches nearer
sanctification than my poor little Salome. Don't you think so? Be
honest, dear."
Miss Jane's hand tenderly caressed the beautiful head; and, as Salome
was too sullen or too much mortified to reply, the old lady
continued,--
"Nevertheless, Ulpian is a true and devoted friend, and can not bear
the thought of your leaving us, for any purpose, much less the one you
contemplate. Last night he said, 'Janet, I am her brother, and think
you I shall allow my sister to go out from the sacred precincts of
home, and become a target for the envy and malice of the better
classes who will criticise her, and for the coarse plaudits of the
pit? Do you suppose I can willingly see her bare feet turned towards a
path paved with glowing ploughshares? Tell her, for me, that if ever
she should carry her unfortunate freak into execution, I shall never
wish to touch her hand again, for I shall feel that it has lost its
purity in the clasp of many to whom she can not refuse it during a
professional career.'"
The orphan lifted her head from the arm of Miss Jane's chair, where it
had rested for some minutes, and striking her palms forcibly together,
she exclaimed, proudly,--
"Tell Dr. Grey I humbly thank him, but the threat has lost its sting;
and if I should chance to meet him years hence, though my hands shall
be pure and clean as Una's, and as unsullied as his own,--so help me
heaven! I will never thrust my touch on his, nor so far forget myself
as to suffer his fingers to approach mine. When I pass from this
threshold, we will have shaken hands forever."
"Dr. Grey's ears are not proof against such elevated, ringing tones of
voice, and he could not avoid hearing, as he came up the steps, the
childish words which he assures you he has no intention of believing
or remembering."
He had tapped twice at the half-open door, and now came forward with
a firm, quick step, to the ottoman where Salome sat. Taking her
hands, he patted the palms softly against each other, and smiling
good-humoredly, continued,--
"They are very white, and shapely, and pure, and I am not afraid that
my little sister will soil them. Her brother looks forward to the day
when they will gently and gracefully help him in his work among God's
suffering poor. I have not forgotten how dexterous and docile I found
your fingers, when I had temporarily lost the use of my own, and I
shall not fail to levy contributions of labor in the coming years."
She had snatched her fingers from his, and no sooner had he ceased
speaking, than she bowed haughtily, and answered,--
"Our reconciliations all belong to the Norman family, and are quite as
lasting as Lamourette's. Ceaseless war is preferable to a violated
truce, and since I have not swerved from my purpose, I shall not
falter in its enunciation. If I live it shall not be my fault if I
fail to go upon the stage. I am not so fastidious as Dr. Grey, and one
who sprang from _canaille_ must be pardoned if she betrays a longing
for the 'flesh-pots of Egypt.'"
She would have given her right hand to recall her words,--when, a
moment later, she met the gaze of profound pity and disappointment
with which Dr. Grey's eyes dwelt upon her countenance, hardened now by
its expression of insolent haughtiness; but he allowed her no
opportunity for retraction, even had she mastered her overweening
pride, and stooping to whisper a brief sentence in his sister's ear,
he took a medical book from the table, and left the room.
The silence that ensued seemed interminable to Salome, and at last she
turned, bowed her head in Miss Jane's lap, and muttered through set
teeth,--
"You see it is best that I should go. Even you must be weary of this
strife."
The old lady's trembling hands were laid lovingly on the girl's hot
brow and scorched cheeks.
"Not half so weary as your own oppressed heart. My dear child, why do
you persist in tormenting yourself so unmercifully? Why will you say
things that you do not mean?--that are absolute libels on your actual
feelings? I have often seen and deplored affectations of generosity
and refinement, but you are the first person I ever met who delighted
in a pretence of meanness, which her genuine nature abhorred. Salome,
I have tried to prove myself a mother to you since the day that I took
you under my roof; and now, when I am passing away from the
world,--when a few short months will probably end my feeble life, I
think you owe it to me to give me no sorrow that your hands can easily
ward off. Don't leave me. When I am gone there will be time and to
spare, for all your schemes. Stay here, and let me have peace and
sunshine about me, in my last fading hours. Ah, dear, you can't be
cruel to the old woman who has long loved you so tenderly."
The orphan pressed the withered hands to her lips, and, covering her
face with the folds of Miss Jane's black silk apron, exclaimed
passionately,--
"Do not think me ungrateful,--do not think me insensible to your love
and kindness; but, indeed I am very miserable here. Oh, Miss Jane! if
you knew how I have suffered, you would not chide, you would only pity
and sympathize with me; for your heart will never steel itself against
your poor wretched Salome!"
She lost control of herself, and sobbed violently.
"My dear little girl, tell me all your sorrows. To whom can you reveal
your trials and griefs, if not to me? For some weeks past I have
observed that you shunned my gaze, and seemed restless when I
endeavored to discover how you were employing your time; and I have
realized that you were sorely distressed, but I disliked to force your
confidence, or appear suspicious. Now, I have a right to ask what
makes you miserable in my house? Is the little girl ashamed to show me
her heart?"
"One month since, I would have gone to the stake rather than have
shown it to you, or have had any one dream of the wretchedness locked
in its chambers; but a week ago I was overwhelmed with humiliation,
and now I am not ashamed to tell you. Now that Dr. Grey knows it, I
would not care if the whole world were hissing and jeering at my
heels, and shouting my shame with a thousand trumpets. I tried to keep
it from him, and failing, the world is welcome to roll it as a sweet
morsel under its busy, stinging, slanderous tongue. Miss Jane, I have
intended to be sincere in every respect, but it appears that, after
all, I have probably been an arrant hypocrite if you believe that I
dislike your brother. I want to go away, because I can no longer
endure to live in the same house with Dr. Grey, who shows me more
plainly every hour that he can never return the affection I have been
idiotic and presumptuous enough to cherish for him. There! I have said
it,--and my lips are not blistered by the unwomanly confession, and
you still permit my head to rest in your lap. I expected you would be
indignant and insulted, and gladly send such a lunatic from your
family circle,--or that you would dismiss me coolly, with lofty
contempt; but only a woman can properly pity a woman's weakness, and
you are crying over me. Ah, if your tears were falling on my grave,
instead of my face!"
Miss Jane was weeping bitterly, but now and then she stooped and
kissed the quivering lips of her unhappy charge, who found some balm
in the earnest sympathy with which her appeal was received.
"My precious child, why should you be ashamed of your love for the
noblest man who ever unconsciously became a woman's idol? I do not
much wonder at your feelings, because you have seen no one else in any
respect comparable to him, and it is difficult for you to realize the
disparity in your ages. Poor thing! It must be terrible, indeed, to
one who loves him as you do, to have no hope of possessing his
affection in return. But I suppose it can't be helped,--and one half
the world seem to pour out their love on the wrong persons, and find
misery where they should have only joy and peace. Thank God, all this
mischief is shut out of heaven! Dear, don't hide your face, as if you
had stolen half of my sheep; whereas my poor innocent sailor-boy has
unintentionally stolen my little girl's heart."
"Miss Jane, you are too good,--too kind. Do not help me to excuse
myself,--do not teach me to palliate my pitiable weakness. It is a
grievous, a shameful, a disgraceful thing, for a woman to allow
herself to love any man who gives her no evidence of affection, and
shows her beyond all doubt that he is utterly indifferent to her. This
is a sin against womanly pride and delicacy that demands sackcloth and
ashes, and penance and long years of humiliation and self-abasement;
and I tell you this is the one sin which my proud soul will never
pardon in my poor weak, despised heart."
"If you feel this so keenly, you will soon succeed in conquering and
casting out of your heart an affection, which, having nothing to feed
upon, will speedily exhaust itself. You are young, and your elastic
nature will rebound from the pressure that you now find so painful. My
dear, a few months or years will bring comparative oblivion of this
period of your life."
"No; they will engrave more deeply the consciousness that I have
missed my sole chance of earthly happiness, for Dr. Grey is the only
man I shall ever love,--is the only man who can lift me to his own
noble height of excellence. I know it is customary to laugh at a
girl's protestations of undying devotion, and that the theory of
feminine constancy is as entirely effete as the worship of the Cabiri,
or the belief in Blokula and its witches; but, unfortunately, the
world has not sneered it entirely out of existence, and I am destined
to furnish a mournful exemplification of its reality. Whether my
nature is unlike that of the majority of women, I shall not undertake
to decide; but this I know,--God gave me only so much love to spend,
and I poured it all out, I deluged my idol with it, instead of doling
it carefully through the future years. Like the woman of Bethany, I
have broken my box of alabaster, and spilled all my precious ointment,
which might have served for a lifetime of anointing, and I cannot
renew the shattered receptacle, nor gather back the wasted fragrance;
and so my heart must remain without spikenard or balm during its
earthly sojourn. I have been prodigal,--have beggared my womanly
nature,--and henceforth shall feast on husks. But this piece of folly
can be laid on no shoulders but my own, and I must not wince if they
are galled by burdens which only I have imposed. Some women, under
similar circumstances, console themselves by fostering a tender and
excessive gratitude, which they pet and fondle and call second love;
but the feeling belongs to a different species, and is to strong,
earnest, genuine love, what the stunted pines of second growth are to
the noble, stalwart, unapproachable oaks, that spring from the
primitive virgin soil."
Miss Jane lifted the bowed face, and rested the head against her
bosom.
"If you are so thoroughly convinced of the impossibility of mastering
this affection, why talk of going away? You will be happier here,
under any circumstances, than among strangers."
"Do not misapprehend me. I do not intend to cherish my weakness,--to
caress and pamper it. I mean to strangle, and mangle, and bury it, if
possible. I meant, not that I should always love Dr. Grey, but that I
should never be able to regard any one else as I once loved him. I can
not stay here, seeing him daily trample my alabaster and ointment
under his feet. I can not endure the humiliation that has for some
days past made this house more intolerable than I may one day find
Phlegethon. I want to go into the whirl and din of life, where my
thoughts can dwell on some more comforting theme than the peerless
preeminence of the man who is master here, where I can spend hours in
elaborating _toilettes_ and _coiffures_ that will show to the greatest
advantage my small stock of personal charms; where the admiration and
love of other men will at least amuse and soothe the heart that has no
more love for anybody, or anything. Miss Jane, if I had never become
so deeply attached to Dr. Grey, it might perhaps be unsafe for me to
venture into the career which now lies before me; but when a woman's
heart is cold and dead in her bosom, there is no peril she need fear;
for only her warm, pleading heart, can ever silence the iron clang of
conscience and the silvery accents of reason. Worshipping some clay
god, my loving, yearning heart, might possibly have led me astray; but
now, pride and ambition stand as sentinels over its corpse, and a
heartless woman, desirous only of amassing a fortune and making
herself a celebrity in musical circles, is as safe from harm as the
bones of her grandmother, twenty years buried."
The agony that convulsed the orphan's features, and shivered the
smoothness of her usually sweet voice, touched the old lady's
sympathy, and she wept silently; straining her imagination for some
argument that would make an impression on the adamantine will with
which she found her own in conflict.
"My child, tell me how long you have had this trouble. When did you
first feel an interest in Ulpian?"
Unhesitatingly Salome related all that had occurred in her intercourse
with Dr. Grey, and her companion was surprised at the frankness and
mercilessness with which she analyzed her own feelings at each stage
of the acquaintance that proved so disastrous to her peace of mind;
and not only held her weakness up for scorn, but exonerated Dr. Grey
from all censure.
The minuteness of the confession was exceedingly painful; and, at its
conclusion, she pressed her palms to her cheeks, and moaned,--
"There, Miss Jane, I have not winced; I have kept back nothing. I have
been as patient and inexorable in laying open my nature, in treating
you to a _post-mortem_ examination of my heart, as a dentist in
scraping and chiselling a sensitive tooth, or a surgeon in cutting out
a cancer that baffled cauterization. Now you know all that I can tell
you, and I here lay the past in a sepulchre, and roll the stone upon
it, and henceforth I trust you will respect the dead; at least, let
silence rest upon its ashes. _Hic jacet cor cordium._"
Salome extricated herself from the arms of her best friend, and
smoothed the hair that constant strokes had somewhat disordered.
"Salome, I can not live much longer."
"I know that, dear Miss Jane, and it pains me even to think of leaving
the only person who ever really loved me."
"For my sake, dear child, bear the trial of remaining here a little
longer; at least, until I die. Do not desert me in my last hours. I do
not want the hands of strangers about me, when I am cold and stiff."
Salome rose and walked several times up and down the room; then paused
beside the easy-chair, and laid her clasped hands in Miss Jane's.
"You alone have a right to control me. Do with me as you think best. I
will not forsake the true, tender friend, who has done more for me
than all else on earth, or in heaven. For the present I remain here;
but allow me to say that I do not abandon my scheme. I relinquish none
of its details,--I only bide my time."
"'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' Thank you, my precious
little girl, for yielding to my wishes when they conflict with yours.
Some day you will rejoice that you made what seemed a sacrifice of
inclination on the altar of duty. Now, listen to me. Ulpian is so
enraptured with your voice, that, while he will never consent to this
stage-struck madness, he is exceedingly anxious that you should enjoy
every musical advantage, and is curious to ascertain to what degree of
perfection your voice can be trained. After consulting me, he wrote
two days ago to a celebrated professor of music in Philadelphia or New
York (I really forget where the man is now residing), and offered him
a handsome salary if he would come and teach you for at least six
months, or as much longer as he deems requisite. I believe the
gentleman is delicate and threatened with consumption, which obliges
him to spend the winters in a warm climate, and Ulpian first met him
in Italy. My boy thinks that the opinion of this Professor Von
Somebody is oracular in musical matters; and, as he has trained some
of the best singers in Europe, Ulpian wishes him to have charge of
your voice. Say nothing about it until we hear whether he can accept
our offer. Kiss me."
Salome's face crimsoned, and she said, hesitatingly,--
"Miss Jane, I can not consent that Dr. Grey should contribute one cent
toward my musical tuition. I can humbly and gratefully accept your
charitable aid, but not his. You love me, and therefore your bounty
is not oppressive or humiliating, but he only pities and tolerates
me, and I would starve in some gutter rather than live as the
recipient of his charity. If you can conveniently spare the money
necessary to give me additional cultivation, I shall thankfully
receive it, for Barilli has taught me all of which he is master,
and there is no one else in town in whom I have more confidence.
It was my desire and determination that the work of my hands should
pay for polishing my voice, but embroidery-fees would not suffice
to defray the expenses of the professor to whom you allude; and, if
Dr. Grey pays for his services, I must in advance assure you and
him that I shall decline them, and rely upon Barilli and myself."
"Pooh! pooh! It is poor philosophy to quarrel with your bread and
butter, no matter who happens to hand it to you. Don't be so savage on
Ulpian, who really cares more for you than you deserve. But if it
comforts your proud, fierce spirit, you are welcome to know that
I--Jane Grey--pay Professor Von--whatever his name may be; and
Ulpian's pocket, about which you seem so fastidious, will not be
damaged one dollar by the transaction. Are you satisfied,--you pretty
piece of beggarly pride?"
"I am more grateful to you, dear Miss Jane, than I shall ever be able
to express. God only knows what would have become of me if you had not
mercifully snatched me, soul and body, from the purlieus of ruin."
She stooped to receive the fond kiss of her benefactress, and went
into her own room.
Nearly an hour later she slowly descended the stairs, and took her hat
from the stand in the hall. As she adjusted it on her head, and tied
the ribbons behind her knot of hair, Mr. Granville came out of the
parlor and seized her hand.
"Why will you torment me so cruelly? I have been waiting and watching
for you, at least half an hour."
She haughtily took her fingers from his, and indignantly drew herself
up,--
"Mr. Granville presumes on his position as guest, to intrude upon some
who do not desire his society. I was not aware, sir, that I had any
engagement with you."
"Forgive me, Salome! How have I offended you? If you could realize how
much pleasure your presence affords me, you would not punish me by
absenting yourself as you have persistently done for three days
past."
He bent his handsome face closer to hers, looking appealingly into her
beautiful flashing eyes; but she put up her hands to push him aside,
and answered,--
"I shall be happy to entertain you in the evenings, when the remainder
of the household assemble in the parlor; and will, with great
pleasure, sing for you whenever Miss Muriel will kindly oblige me by
playing my accompaniments; but I prefer to confine our acquaintance to
such occasions."
"Will you not allow me the privilege of accompanying you in the walk
for which you seem prepared?"
"No, sir; I respectfully decline your attendance."
She saw his cheek flush, and he said, hastily,--
"Salome, I shall begin to hope that you fear to trust your own
heart."
"Do not forget yourself, sir. If you knew where my heart is housed,
you would spare yourself the fruitless trouble, and me the annoyance,
of attentions and expressions of admiration which I avail myself of
this opportunity to assure you are particularly disagreeable to me. I
wish to treat you courteously, as the guest of those under whose roof
I am permitted to reside, but 'thus far, and no farther,' must you
venture. Moreover, Mr. Granville, since we are merely comparative
strangers, I should be gratified if you will in future do me the honor
to recollect that it is one of my peculiarities,--one of my
idiosyncrasies,--to prefer that only those I respect and love should
call me Salome. Good afternoon, sir."
She took her music-book, bowed coolly, and made her exit through the
front door, which she closed after her.
In the hammock that was suspended on the eastern side of the piazza,
Dr. Grey had thrown himself to rest; and meanwhile, to search for some
surgical operation recorded in one of his books.
Just behind him a window opened from the hall, and to-day, though a
rose-colored shade was lowered, the sash had been raised, and every
word that was uttered in the passage floated distinctly to him.
The whole conversation occurred so rapidly that he had no opportunity
of discovering his presence to the persons within, and though he
cleared his throat and coughed rather spasmodically, his warning was
unheeded by those for whom it was intended.
He knew that Salome could not possibly have guessed his proximity, as
he was not accustomed to use this hammock, and was completely shielded
from observation; and, while pained and surprised by Mr. Granville's
dishonorable course, which threatened life-long wretchedness for poor
Muriel, Dr. Grey's heart throbbed with joy at the assurance that
Salome was not so ungenerous as he had feared. Probably no other human
being would have so highly appreciated her conduct on this occasion;
and, as he mused, with his thumb and forefinger thrust between the
leaves of the book, a glad smile broke over his grave face.
"God bless the girl! Her prayers and mine have not been in vain, and
she is putting under her feet the baser impulses that mar her
character. Granville is considered by the world exceedingly handsome
and agreeable, and many,--yes, the majority of women, would have
yielded, and indulged in a 'harmless flirtation,' where Salome stood
firm. There was something akin to the scornful ring of Rachel's voice
in that child's tones, when she told Gerard he presumed on his
position as guest; and I will wager my hand that her large eyes did
not exactly resemble a dove's when she informed him it was not his
privilege to call her Salome. She has a fierce, imperious, passionate
temper, that goads her into mischief; but, after all, she is--she
must be--nobler than I have sometimes thought her. God grant it! God
bless her!"
"But blame us women not,--if some appear
Too cold at times; and some too gay and light.
Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear.
Who knows the Past? And who can judge us right?"