"Muriel, where can I find Miss Dexter?"
"She went out on the lawn an hour ago, to regale herself with what she
calls, 'atmospheric hippocrene,' and I have not heard her come in,
though she may have gone to her room. Pray tell me, doctor, why you
wish to see my governess?--to inquire concerning my numerous
peccadilloes?"
Muriel adroitly folded her embroidered silk apron over a package of
letters that lay in her lap, and affected an air of gayety at variance
with her dim eyes and wet lashes.
"I shall believe that conscience accuses you of many juvenile
improprieties, since you so suspiciously attack my motives and
intentions. Indeed, little one, you flatter yourself unduly, in
imagining that my interview with Miss Dexter necessarily involves the
discussion of her pupil. I merely wish to enlist her sympathy in
behalf of one of my patients. Muriel, I would have been much more
gratified if I had found you walking with her, instead of moping here
alone."
"I am not moping."
The girl bit her full red lip, and strove to force back the rapidly
gathering tears.
"At least you are not cheerful, and it pains me to see that anxious,
dissatisfied expression on a face that should reflect only sunshine.
What disturbs you?--the scarcity of Gerard's letters?"
Dr. Grey sat down beside his ward, and throwing her arms around his
neck, she burst into a passionate flood of tears. The sudden movement
uncovered the letters, which slipped down and strewed the carpet.
"Oh, doctor! I am very miserable!"
"Why, my dear child?"
"Because Gerard does not love me as formerly."
"What reason have you for doubting his affection?"
"He scarcely writes to me once a month, and then his letters are short
and cold as icicles, and full of court gossip and fashion items, for
which he knows I do not care a straw. Yesterday I received one,--the
first I have had for three weeks,--and he requests me to defer our
marriage at least six months longer, as he cannot possibly come over
in May, the time appointed when he was here."
She hid her face on her guardian's shoulder, and sobbed.
An expression of painful surprise and stern displeasure clouded Dr.
Grey's countenance, as he smoothed the hair away from the girl's
throbbing temples.
"Calm yourself, Muriel. If Gerard has forfeited your confidence, he is
unworthy of your tears. Do you apprehend that his indifference is
merely the result of separation, or have you any cause to attribute it
to interest in some other person?"
"That is a question I cannot answer."
"Cannot, or will not?"
"I know nothing positively; but I fear something, which perhaps I
ought not to mention."
"Throw aside all hesitancy, and talk freely to me. If Granville is
either fickle or dishonorable, you should rejoice that the discovery
has been made in time to save you from life-long wretchedness."
"If we were only married, I am sure I could win him back to me."
"That is a fatal fallacy, that has wrecked the happiness of many
women. If a lover grows indifferent, as a husband he will be cold,
unkind, unendurable. If as a devoted fiancee you can not retain and
strengthen his affection,--as a wife you would weary and repel him.
Have you answered the last letter?"
"No, sir."
"My dear child, do you not consider me your best friend?"
"Certainly I do."
"Then yield to my guidance, and follow my advice. Lose no time in
writing to Mr. Granville, and cancel your engagement. Tell him he is
free."
"Oh, then I should lose him,--and happiness, forever!" wailed Muriel,
clasping her hands almost despairingly.
"You have already lost his heart, and should be unwilling to retain
him in fetters that must be galling."
"Ah, Dr. Grey! it is very easy for you who never loved any one, to
tell me, in that cold, business-like way, that I ought to set Gerard
free; but you cannot realize what it costs to follow your counsel. Of
course I know that in everything else you are much wiser than I, but
persons who have no love affairs of their own are not the best judges
of other people's. He is so dear to me, I believe it would kill me to
give him up, and see him no more."
"On the contrary, you would survive much greater misfortune than
separation from a man who is unworthy of you. I cannot coerce, but
simply counsel you in this matter, and should be glad to learn what
your own decision is. Do you intend to wait until Gerard Granville
explicitly requests you to release him from his engagement?"
She winced, and the tears gushed anew.
"Oh, you are cruel! You are heartless!"
"No, my dear Muriel; I am actuated by the truest affection for my
little ward, and desire to snatch her from future humiliation. My
knowledge of human nature is more extended, more profound than yours,
but since you seem unwilling to avail yourself of my experience, it
only remains for you to acquaint me with your determination. Are you
willing to tell me the nature of your answer?"
"I intend to accede to Gerard's wish, and will defer the marriage
until November; but in the meantime, I shall endeavor to win back his
heart, which I believe has been artfully enticed from me."
"By whom?"
She made no reply, and lifting her head from his shoulder, Dr. Grey
looked keenly into her face, and repeated his question.
"Do not urge me to express suspicions that may possibly be unjust."
"That are entirely unjust, you may rest assured," said he, almost
vehemently.
"By what means did you so positively ascertain that fact?"
"The result will prove. Now, my dear child, you must acquit me of
heartlessness and cruelty when I tell you, that, under existing
circumstances, I cannot and will not consent to the solemnization of
your marriage until you are of age. Once the conviction that an
earlier consummation of your engagement was essential to the happiness
of both parties, overruled the dictates of my judgment, and induced me
to acquiesce in your wishes; but subsequent events have illustrated
the wisdom of my former opposition, and now I am resolved that no
argument or persuasion shall prevail upon me to sanction or permit
your marriage until you are twenty-one."
With a sharp cry of chagrin and amazement, Muriel sprang to her feet.
"You surely do not mean to keep me in this torture, for nearly three
years? I will not submit to such tyranny, even from Dr. Grey."
"As a faithful guardian, I can see no alternative, and fear of
incurring your displeasure shall not deter me from the performance of
a stern duty to the child of my best and dearest friend. I must and
will do what your father certainly would, were he alive. My dear
Muriel, control yourself, and do not, by harsh epithets and unjust
accusations, wound the heart that sincerely loves you. To-day, as your
guardian, I hearken to the imperative dictates of my conscience, and
turn a deaf ear to the pleadings of my tender affection, which would
save you from even momentary sorrow and disappointment. Since my
decision is irrevocable, do not render the execution of my purpose
more painful than necessity demands."
Seizing his hand, Muriel pressed it against her flushed cheek, and
pleaded falteringly,--
"Do not doom your poor little Muriel to such misery. Oh, Dr. Grey!
dear Dr. Grey, remember you promised my dying father to take his
place,--and he would never inflict such suffering on his child. You
have forgotten your promise!"
"No, dear child. It is because I hold it so sacred that I cannot yield
to your entreaties; and I must faithfully adhere to my obligations,
even though I forfeit your affection. I shall write to Mr. Granville
by the next mail, and it is my wish that henceforth the subject should
not be referred to. Cheer up, my child; three years will soon glide
away, and at the expiration of that time you will thank me for the
firmness which you now denounce as cruelty. Good-morning. Be sure to
think kindly of your guardian, whose heart is quite as sad as your
own."
She struggled and resisted, but he kissed her lightly on the
forehead, and as he left the room heard her bitter invectives against
his tyranny and hard-heartedness.
Crossing the elm-studded lawn, he approached a secluded walk, bordered
with lilacs and myrtle, and saw the figure of the governess pacing to
and fro.
During the four months that had elapsed since his last visit to
"Solitude," he scrutinized and studied her character more closely than
formerly, and the investigation only heightened and intensified his
esteem.
No hint of her history had ever passed the calm, patient lips, which
had forgotten how to laugh, and now, as he watched her pale,
melancholy face, which bore traces of extraordinary beauty, he
exonerated her from all blame in the ruinous deception that had
blasted more lives than one; and honored the silent heroism which so
securely locked her disappointment in her own heart. He knew that
consumption was the hereditary scourge of her family, that she bore in
her constitution the seeds of slowly but surely developing disease,
and did not marvel at the quiet indifference with which she treated
symptoms which he had several times pointed out as serious and
dangerous.
To-day her manner was excited, and her step betrayed very unusual
impatience.
"Miss Dexter, from the frequency of your cough I am afraid you are
imprudent in selecting this walk, which is so densely shaded that the
sun does not reach it until nearly noon. Are not your feet damp?"
"No, sir; my shoes are thick, and thoroughly protect them."
She paused before him, and, in her soft, brown eyes, he saw a strange,
unwonted restlessness,--an eager expectancy that surprised and
disturbed him.
"Are you at leisure this morning?"
"Do you need my services immediately?"
She answered evasively; and he noticed that she glanced anxiously
toward the road leading into town.
"You will greatly oblige me, if some time during the day, you will be
so good as to superintend the preparation of some calves'-feet jelly,
for one of my poor patients. I would not trouble you, but Rachel is
quite sick, and the new cook does not understand the process. May I
depend upon you?"
"Certainly, sir; it will afford me pleasure to prepare the jelly."
Looking more closely at her face, he saw undeniable traces of recent
tears, and drew her arm through his.
"I hope you will not deem me impertinently curious if I beg you to
honor me with your confidence, and explain the anxiety which is
evidently preying upon your mind."
Embarrassment flushed her transparent cheek, and her shy eyes glanced
up uneasily.
"At least, Miss Dexter, permit me to ask whether Muriel is connected
with the cause of your disquiet?"
"My pupil is, I fear, very unhappy; but she withholds much from me
since she learned my disapproval of her approaching marriage."
"Will you acquaint me with your objections to Mr. Granville?"
"Against Mr. Granville, the gentleman, I have nothing to urge; but I
could not consent to see Muriel wed a man, who, I am convinced, has no
affection for her."
"Have you told her this?"
"Repeatedly; and, of course, my frankness has offended and alienated
her. Oh, Dr. Grey! the child totters on the brink of a flower-veiled
precipice, and will heed no warning. Perhaps I should libel Mr.
Granville were I to impute mercenary motives to him,--perhaps he
fancied he loved Muriel when he addressed her,--I hope so, for the
honor of manhood; but the glamour was brief, and certainly he must be
aware that he has not proper affection for her now."
"And yet, she is very lovable and winning."
"Yes,--to you and to me; but her good qualities are not those which
gentlemen find most attractive. What is Christian purity and noble
generosity of soul, in comparison with physical perfection? Muriel
often reminds me of one whom I loved devotedly, whose unselfish and
unsuspicious nature wrought the ruin of her happiness; and from her
miserable fate I would fain save my pupil."
He knew from the tremor of her lips and hands, and the momentary
contraction of her fair brow, to whom she alluded; and both sighed
audibly.
"My convictions coincide so entirely with yours, that I have had an
interview with my ward, and withdrawn my consent to her marriage until
she is of age."
"Thank God! In the interim she may grow wiser, or some fortuitous
occurrence may avert the danger we dread."
In the brief silence that ensued, the governess seemed debating the
expediency of making some revelation; and, encountering one of her
perplexed and scrutinizing glances, the doctor smiled and said,
gravely,--
"I believe I understand your hesitancy; but I assure you I should
never forfeit any trust you might repose in me. You have some cause of
serious annoyance, entirely irrespective of my ward, and I may be
instrumental in removing it."
"Thank you, Dr. Grey. For some days I have been canvassing the
propriety of asking your advice and assistance; and my reluctance
arose not from want of confidence in you, but from dread of the pain
it would necessarily inflict upon me, to recur to events long buried.
It is not essential, however, that I should weary you with the minutiae
of circumstances which many years ago smothered the sunshine in my
life, and left me in darkness, a lonely and joyless woman. I have
resided here long enough to learn the noble generosity of your
character, and to you, as a true Christian gentleman, I come for
aid,--premising only that what I am about to say is strictly
confidential."
"As such, I shall ever regard it; but if I am to become your coajutor
in any matter, let me request that nothing be kept secret, for only
entire frankness should exist between those who have a common aim."
A painful flush tinged her cheek, and the fair, thin face, grew
indescribably mournful, as she clasped her hands firmly over his arm.
"Dr. Grey, when unscrupulous men or women deliberately stab the
happiness of a fellow-creature, they have no wounded sensibilities, no
haunting compunction,--and if remorse finally overtakes, it finds them
well-nigh callous and indurated; but woe to that innocent being who is
the unintentional and unconscious agent for the ruin of those she
loves. I cannot remember the time when I did not love the only man for
whom I ever entertained any affection. He was the playmate of my
earliest years,--the betrothed of my young maidenhood,--and just
before my poor father died, he joined our hands and left his blessing
on my choice. Poverty was the only barrier to our union, but I took a
situation as teacher, and hoarded my small gains in the hope of aiding
my lover, who went abroad with a wealthy uncle, and completed his
education in Germany. I knew that Maurice had contracted very
extravagant and self-indulgent habits,--but in the court of love is
there any 'high crime' or misdemeanor for which a woman's heart will
condemn her idol? Nay, nay; she will plead his defence against the
stern evidence of her own incorruptible reason; and, if need be, share
his punishment,--die in his stead. I denied myself every luxury, and
jealously husbanded my small salary, anticipating the happy hour when
we might invest it in furniture for our little home; and, indeed, in
those blessed days of hope, it seemed no hardship,--
'And joy was duty, and love was law.'
From time to time our marriage was deferred, but I well knew I was
beloved, and so I waited patiently, until fortune should smile upon
me. In the interim I became warmly attached to a young girl in the
school where I taught, and whose affection for me was enthusiastic and
ardent. Evelyn was an orphan, and the heiress of enormous wealth,
which she seemed resolved to share with me; and, more than once, I was
tempted to acquaint her with the obstacle that debarred me from
happiness. Ah! if I had only confided in her, and trusted her faithful
love, how much wretchedness would have been averted! But she appeared
to me such an impulsive child that I shrank from unburdening my heart
to her, while she acquainted me with every thought and aim of her
pure, guileless life. She was singularly, almost idolatrously fond of
me, and I loved her very sincerely, for her character was certainly
the most admirable I have ever met.
"At vacation we parted for three months, and I hurried to meet my
lover, who had promised to join me in Vermont, where my mother had
gone to recruit her failing health. For the first time Maurice proved
recreant, and wrote that imperative business detained him in New York.
Did I doubt him, even then? Not in the least; but endeavored by
cheerful letters to show him how patiently I could bear the separation
that might result in pecuniary advantage to him. My mother looked
anxious, and foreboded ill; but I laughed at her misgivings, and
proudly silenced her warning voice. In the midst of my blissful dream
came a lengthy telegraphic dispatch from my young girl-friend Evelyn,
inviting me to hasten to New York, and accompany her on a bridal tour
through Europe. In a brief and almost incoherent note, subsequently
received, she accidentally omitted the name of her future husband, and
designated him as 'my prince,' 'my king,' 'my liege lover.' The same
mail brought me a long and exceedingly tender letter from my own
betrothed, informing me that at the expiration of ten days he would
certainly be with me to arrange for an immediate consummation of our
engagement. A railroad accident delayed me twenty-four hours, and I
did not reach New York until the morning of the day on which my friend
was married. The ceremony took place at ten o'clock, and when I
arrived, Evelyn was already in the hands of the hair-dresser. I was
hurried into the room prepared for me, and while waiting for my trunk,
noticed a basket containing some of the wedding cards. I picked up
one, and you can perhaps imagine my emotions, when I saw that my own
lover was the betrothed of my friend. Dr. Grey, eight miserable years
have gone wearily over my head since then, but now, in the dead of
night, if I shut my eyes, I see staring at me, like the rayless,
glazed orbs of the dead, that silver-edged wedding card, bearing in
silver letters--Maurice Carlyle, Evelyn Flewellyn. Oh, blacker than
ten thousand death-warrants! for all the hopes of a lifetime went down
before it. Every ray of earthly light was extinguished in a night of
woe that can have no dawn, until the day-star of eternity shimmers on
its gloom."
She shuddered convulsively, and the agonized expression of her face
was so painful to behold that her companion averted his head.
"I was alone with my misery, and so overwhelming was the shock that I
fainted. When the hair-dresser came to offer her services, she found
me lying insensible on the carpet. How bitterly, how unavailingly,
have I reproached myself for my failure to hasten to Evelyn, even
then, and divulge all. But with returning consciousness came womanly
pride, and I resolved to hide the anguish for which I knew there was
no cure. As soon as I was dressed, we were summoned down stairs to
meet the remainder of the bridal party, and there I saw the man whom I
expected to call my husband talking gayly with his attendants.
"Evelyn impetuously presented me as her 'dearest friend,' and,
without raising his eyes, he bowed profoundly and turned away. How I
endured all I was called to witness that morning, I know not; but
my strength seemed superhuman. The ceremony was performed in
church, and after our return to the house, Mr. Carlyle asserted and
claimed the right to kiss the bridesmaids. There were four, and I was
the last whom he approached. I was standing in the shadow of the
window-curtain, which I had clutched for support, and, as he came
close to me, our eyes met for the first time that day, and I can
never, never forget the pleading mournfulness, the passionate
tenderness, the despair, that filled his. I waved him from me, but
he seized my hand, and pressed his hot lips lingeringly to mine.
Then he whispered, 'My only love, my own Edith, do not judge till you
hear your wretched Maurice. Meet me in the hot-house when Evelyn
goes to change her dress, and I will explain this awful, this
accursed necessity.' A few moments later he stood with his bride at
the head of the table in the breakfast-room, while I was placed
close to Evelyn, and the mirror opposite reflected the group. I know
now it was sinful, but, oh! how could I help it? As I looked at
the reflection in the glass, and compared my face with that of the
bride, I felt my poor wicked heart throb with triumph at the
thought that my superior beauty could not soon be forgotten,--that,
though her husband, he was still my lover. Dr. Grey, do not despise me
for my weakness, as I should have despised him for his perfidy; and
remember that a woman cannot in a moment renounce allegiance to a man
who is the one love of her life. They forced me to drink some wine
that fired my brain and made me reckless, and an hour after, when
Maurice came up and offered his arm, inviting me to promenade for a
few minutes in the hot-house, I yielded and accompanied him. He told
me a tale of dishonorable financial transactions, into which he had
been betrayed solely by the hope of obtaining money that would enable
him to hasten our union; but the utter failure of the scheme
threatened him with disgrace, possibly with imprisonment, and the
only mode of preserving his name from infamy, was to possess
himself of Evelyn's large fortune. Just as he clasped me in his
arms, and vehemently declared his deathless affection for me,--his
contempt and hatred of his poor childish bride,--I heard a strange
sound that was neither a wail nor a laugh, a sound unlike any other
that ever smote my ears, and looking up, I saw Evelyn standing before
us."
Miss Dexter groaned aloud, and covered her eyes with her hand.
"Oh, my God! help me to shut out that horrible vision! If I could
forget that distorted, death-like face, with livid lips writhing away
from the gleaming teeth, and desperate, wide eyes, glaring like globes
of flame! She looked twenty years older, and from her clenched
hands,--her beautiful, exquisite hands,--that were wont to caress me
so tenderly, the blood was dripping down on her lace veil and her
white velvet bridal dress. How much she heard I know not, for I never
saw her again. I swooned in Maurice's arms, and was carried to my own
room; and when I finally groped my way to Evelyn's apartment, they
told me she had been gone two hours,--had sailed for Europe, leaving
her husband in New York. What passed in her farewell interview with
him none but he and her lawyer knew; but they separated there on
condition that his debts were cancelled. She went abroad with a
faithful old Scotch woman who had been her nurse, and her husband told
the world she was a maniac."
"Did he tell you so? Did you believe it?" exclaimed Dr. Grey, with a
degree of vehemence that startled the governess.
"I have never seen Maurice Carlyle since that awful hour in the
hot-house. He came repeatedly to my home, but I refused to meet him,
and dozens of his letters have been returned unopened. Once, while I
was absent, he obtained an interview with my mother, and besought her
intercession in his behalf, pleading for my pardon, and assuring her
that, as his wife was hopelessly insane, he would apply for a divorce,
and then claim the hand of the only woman he had ever loved. I dreaded
the effect upon Evelyn, and had no means of ascertaining her real
condition. Soon after, I lost my mother, whose death was hastened by
grief and humiliation; and, when I had laid her down beside my father,
I went in search of Evelyn. Several times I had attempted to
communicate with her, and with Elsie, the nurse, but my letters always
came back unopened, and bearing the London stamp. Having been informed
that she was in an insane asylum in England, I took the money that had
been so carefully hoarded for a different purpose and went to London.
One by one, I searched all the asylums in the United Kingdom, and
finding no trace of her, came back to America. Finally, on the
death-bed of Mr. Clayton, her lawyer, who understood my great anxiety
to discover her, I was told in strict confidence that she was
perfectly sane,--had never been otherwise,--but preferred that the
false report in circulation should not be corrected, since her husband
had set it in motion. I learned that she was well and pleasantly
located somewhere in the East, but would never see the faces of either
friends or foes, and absolutely refused all intercourse with her race.
From one of her letters (which, a moment after, he burned in the
grate) Mr. Clayton read me a paragraph: '_The greatest mercy you can
show me is to allow me to forget. Henceforth mention no more the names
of any I ever knew; and let silence, like a pall, shroud all the past
of Vashti._' He died next day, and since then--"
The sad, sweet voice, which for some moments had been growing more and
more unsteady, here sank into a sob, and the governess wept freely,
while her whole frame shook with the violence of long-pent anguish,
that now defied control.
"Oh, if I could find her! If I could go to her and tell her all, and
exonerate myself! If I could show her that he was mine always,--mine
long before she ever saw him,--then she would not think so harshly of
me. I know not what explanation Maurice gave her, nor how much of our
conversation she overheard; and I cannot live contentedly,--oh! I
cannot die in peace till I see my poor crushed darling, and hear from
her lips the assurance that she does not hold me responsible for her
wretchedness. Dr. Grey, I love her with a pitying tenderness that
transcends all power of expression. Perhaps if Maurice had ever loved
her, I could not feel as I do towards her; for a woman's nature
tolerates no rival in the affection of her lover, and, unprincipled as
mine proved in other respects, I know that his heart was always
unswervingly my own. My dear, noble Evelyn! My pure, loving little
darling! Ah! I have wearied heaven with prayers that God would give
her back to my arms."
Unable to conceal the emotion he was unwilling she should witness, Dr.
Grey disengaged his arm and walked away, striving to regain his usual
composure.
Did the governess suspect the proximity of her long-lost friend? If
she claimed his assistance in prosecuting her search, what course
would duty dictate?
Retracing his steps, he found that she had seated herself on a bench
near one of the tallest lilacs, and having thrown aside her quilted
hood of scarlet silk, her care-worn countenance was fully exposed.
She was gazing very intently at some object in her hand, which she
bent over and kissed several times, and did not perceive his approach
until he stood beside her.
"Dr. Grey, I believe my prayer has been heard, and that at last I have
discovered a clew to the retreat of my lost Evelyn. Last week I went
to a jewelry store in town, to buy a locket which I intended as a
birthday gift for Muriel. Several customers had preceded me, and while
waiting, my attention was attracted towards one of the workmen who
uttered an impatient ejaculation and dashed down some article upon
which he was at work. As it fell, I saw that it was an oval ivory
miniature, originally surrounded with very large handsome pearls, the
greater portion of which the jeweller had removed and placed in a
small glass bowl that stood near him. I leaned down to examine the
miniature, and though the paint was blurred and faded, it was
impossible to mistake the likeness, and you cannot realize the thrill
that ran along my nerves as I recognized the portrait of Evelyn. So
great was my astonishment and delight that I must have cried out, for
the people in the store all turned and stared at me, and when I
snatched the piece of ivory from the work-table, the man looked at me
in amazement. Very incoherently I demanded where and how he obtained
it, and, beckoning to the proprietor, he said, 'Just as I told you;
this has turned out stolen property.' Then he opened a drawer and took
from it a similar oval slab of ivory, and when I looked at it and saw
Maurice's handsome face, my brain reeled, and I grew so dizzy I almost
fell. 'Madam, do you know these portraits?' asked the proprietor.
"I told him that I did,--that I had seen these jewelled miniatures
eight years before on the dressing-table of a bride, and I implored
him to tell me how they came into his possession. He fitted them into
a dingy, worn case, which seemed to have been composed of purple
velvet, and informed me that he purchased the whole from an Irish lad,
who asserted that he picked it up on the beach, where it had evidently
drifted in a high tide. On examination, he found that the case had
indeed been saturated with sea-water, but the pearls were in such a
remarkable state of preservation that he doubted the lad's statement.
He had bought the miniatures in order to secure the pearls, which he
assured me were unusually fine, and to satisfy himself concerning the
affair had advertised two ivory miniatures, and invited the owners to
come forward and prove property. After the expiration of a week, he
discontinued the notice, and finally ordered the pearls removed from
their gold frames. When I had given him the names of the originals, he
consented that I should take the portraits which were now worthless to
him, and gave me also the name of the boy. It was not until two days
afterward that I succeeded in finding Thomas Donovan, a lad about
fourteen years old, whose mother Phoebe is a laundress, and does up
laces and fine muslins. When I called and stated the object of my
visit he seemed much confused, but sullenly repeated the assertion
made to the jeweller. Yesterday I went again and had a long
conversation with his mother, who must be an honest soul, for she
assured me she knew nothing of the matter, and would investigate it
immediately. The boy was absent, but she promised either to send him
here this morning or come in person, to acquaint me with the result. I
offered a reward if he would confess where he obtained them; and if he
proved obstinate, threatened to have him arrested. Now, Dr. Grey, you
can understand why I have so tediously made a full revelation of my
past, for I wish to enlist your sympathy and claim your aid in my
search for my long-lost friend. These portraits inadequately represent
the fascinating beauty of one of the originals, and the sweetness and
almost angelic purity of the other."
She held up the somewhat defaced and faded miniatures for the
inspection of her companion, but scarcely glancing at them, he said,
abstractedly,--
"You are sure they belong to Mrs. Carlyle?"
"Yes. As she put on her diamonds just before going down stairs she
showed me the portraits in her jewelry casket, where she had also
placed a similar one of myself. Ah! at this instant I seem to see her
beaming face, as she bent down, and sweeping her veil aside, kissed my
picture and Maurice's."
"Do you imagine that she is in America?"
"No; I fear she is dead, and that these were stolen from the old
nurse. Who is that yonder? Ah, yes,--Phoebe Donovan. Now I shall hear
the truth."
Forgetting her shawl, and unmindful of the fact that the sun was
streaming full on her head and face, she hurried to meet the woman who
was ascending the avenue, and very soon they entered the house.
A quarter of an hour elapsed ere Phoebe came out, and walked rapidly
away; and, unwilling to prolong his suspense, Dr. Grey went in search
of the governess.
He met her in the hall, and saw that she was equipped for a walk. Her
cheeks were scarlet, her brown eyes all aglow with eager expectation,
and her lips twitched, as she exclaimed,--
"Oh, doctor, I hope everything; for I learn that the pictures were
found on the lawn at 'Solitude,' where Phoebe was once hired as cook;
and she recognized the case as the same she had one day seen on a
writing-desk in the parlor. The boy confessed that he picked it up
from the grass, and, after taking out the contents, soaked the case in
a bucket of salt-water. Phoebe says the pictures belong to Mrs.
Gerome, the gray-headed woman who owns that place on the beach, and I
am almost tempted to believe she is Elsie, who may have married again.
At all events, I shall soon know where she obtained the portraits."
"You are not going to 'Solitude'?"
"Yes, immediately. I cannot rest till I have learned all. God grant I
may not be mocked in my hopes."
The unwonted excitement had kindled a strange beauty in the whilom
passive face, and Dr. Grey could for the first time realize how lovely
she must have been in the happy days of eld.
"Miss Dexter, Mrs. Gerome will not receive you. She sees no visitors,
not even ministers of the gospel."
"She must--she shall--admit me; for I will assure her that life and
death hang upon it."
"How so?"
"If Evelyn is alive, and I can discover her retreat, I will urge her
to go to her husband, who needs her care. You know Mrs. Gerome,--she
is one of your patients. Come with me, and prevail upon her to receive
me."
In her eagerness she laid her hand on his arm, and even then noticed
and wondered at the crimson that suddenly leaped into his olive face.
"Some day I will give you good reasons for refusing your request,
which it is impossible for me to grant. If you are resolved to hazard
the visit, I will take you in my buggy as far as the gate at
'Solitude,' and when you return will confer with you concerning the
result. Just now, I can promise no more."
An expression of disappointment clouded her brow.
"I had hoped that you would sympathize with and be more interested in
my great sorrow."
"Miss Dexter, my interest is more profound, more intense, than you can
imagine, but at this juncture circumstances forbid its expression. My
buggy is at the door."