The quiet, systematic routine of life at Nutwood was by no means
cloistral in its seclusion, and though the term "house-party" had not
yet taken root south of the Potomac, guests from various parts of the
State frequently spent a week with Mrs. Maurice, and were entertained at
dinners, luncheons, and teas with the lavish hospitality traditional in
the family. Accustomed early to meeting strangers, Eglah was neither
bashful nor awkward, but she understood fully that her father was
unpopular in the social world around her, and she deeply resented an
antipathy which, though never discussed in her presence, she felt it
impossible to forgive or remove. The explanatory assistance of Minerva,
daughter of the cook, had enabled her to comprehend all the unpleasant
significance of "scallawag" and "carpet-bagger," and with the fervor of
indignant loyalty she promptly espoused whatever cause her father was
reputed to represent. Alert and _en garde_, she expected attacks, felt
eager to retaliate, and consequently was often stung by the young people
of her circle with whom she was no favorite. For many months after Judge
Kent's second marriage, Mrs. Maurice yielded to a new and yearning
tenderness toward her grandchild, whom she heartily pitied, but the
overtures came too late; the plastic season had passed, the angles had
stiffened, the childish heart had hardened hopelessly, and caresses that
formerly might have won her love were received in cold, irresponsive
passiveness.
Once she had gone under Eliza's care to spend Christmas in Washington,
and though the pretty, gay, good-natured stepmother laid siege to the
girl's heart and fondled and pampered her, Mrs. Kent knew from the
defiant gleam in her watchful, jealous eyes that the daughter would
never tolerate a usurper who sat on her own mother's throne and divided
her father's affections.
During the following year, Mrs. Maurice was prostrated by an attack of
pneumonia that resulted in heart weakness, from which she never fully
rallied. The reins of household government slipped easily into Eliza's
hands, and that reticent, faithful young woman proved worthy of the
confidence so long reposed in her by her benefactress.
The last link in the chain of daily duties to which the invalid clung
was her habit of listening to Eglah's recitations from text-books, but
the hour came when she reluctantly laid down the self-imposed task.
"My dear, in future say your lessons to Eliza. I find I am not strong
enough to be patient, and without perfect patience no one should attempt
to teach. Go now and practise your piano exercises; it will not disturb
me in the least."
She took into her own cold, beautifully shaped hand Eglah's slender,
warm fingers, looked at them critically, and smiled as she drew them
tenderly across her cheek.
"Kiss me, little one. Try always to obey Eliza, for she will never fail
you when you need comfort, and in all this world nobody loves you as she
does. Send her to me."
When the nurse came in and seated herself, darning gourd in hand, Mrs.
Maurice was glancing over a blank book used for memoranda.
"Eliza, here are some instructions you must follow faithfully when I am
gone. I have written them carefully, so that you cannot misunderstand. I
leave nothing to your discretion, not because your judgment is
defective, but simply for the reason that I desire my wishes executed
exactly. It is an absolute condition of my will that you should have the
personal care of Eglah until she marries. If she should be sent to a
new-fangled college (one of her father's Yankee fads), you will board in
sight of her; when she travels, you go with her. Nothing but her death,
or marriage, shall separate you, and with this provision I can safely
leave her. Egbert and Marcia will understand I have done what was
possible for the poor baby. Proud little thing! she will be tortured
indeed if ever the time comes when she feels ashamed of her father--and
wily though he is, her eyes are keen. She is all Kent in appearance,
except her hands and feet; they are dainty, beautiful, patrician,
genuinely Maurice like my Marcia's."
She laid the book on Eliza's lap, motioned her away, and, turning her
head aside, closed her eyes.
With the ebbing of summer tide her pulse waned slowly but steadily, like
a star going down to the gates of the west. Leaning heavily on her
husband's cane, followed by the aged pointer, the tall, wasted figure
went to and fro through the old house, as one having packed and waiting
for departure looks to see if aught has been forgotten; and over the
pallid face with its cloud of black hair an exultant smile sometimes
shone, as she realized how soon she should reclaim her treasures in the
beckoning Beyond. It was an August night when the pilot's signal came,
and swiftly and gladly she "crossed the bar." Eliza was aroused from a
sound sleep by Eglah, who shook her.
"Ma-Lila, I am so frightened! I heard grandma call out 'Egbert!'
'Marcia!' Something had already waked me suddenly."
"Oh, dearie, you were only dreaming."
She sprang up and lighted a candle, but the girl clung to her.
"No, it was not a dream. I heard it clear and loud like a quick cry. I
was so scared I waited a while, and then I went to her room--but she is
not there! I could see the bed was empty, because Dinah had left the
night lamp burning in the passage. What can it mean?"
"Grandmother is often restless, and goes out on the colonnade, where the
fresh air relieves her oppressed breathing. No doubt she is there now.
Baby, do not tremble so."
Clutching Eliza's nightgown, Eglah followed her to the sick room, which
was unoccupied, and waking Dinah, who slept on a cot in the hall, they
searched the entire length of the piazza, the foster-mother shielding
the light with her hand. Turning to re-enter the house, they were
startled by the howl of a dog, answered instantly by a scream from
Herod, roosting on one of the arched chimney tops. Eglah was so
terrified she threw her arms around Eliza, thereby dashing the candle
from her trembling hand.
"She must be in the general's room, and old Hector is there also."
Swiftly they crossed the halls, and found a light shining through the
partly open door of the memorial chamber. A candle burned low under the
portrait over the mantel, and Hector, with his head thrown back against
his mistress's knee, howled feebly. She sat in her husband's easy chair,
her head pillowed on his dressing gown, where a fresh Cape jasmine
gleamed, and over her lap flowed the yellowed lace of Marcia's
christening robe, half hiding the baby shoes of white kid. She had laid
one hand on the Confederate uniform folded on the couch beside her
chair, and about the long, white fingers of the other were wrapped
strands of vivid red seed-coral--the necklace and bracelets of her only
child. Stern lines and shadows of sorrow had faded forever from the
frozen face, where eternal peace set its blessed seal, and in the wide
eyes fixed on her husband's portrait was the rapt expression that comes
only with the lifting of the veil as the soul drifts through its windows
of flesh. The icy shiver that runs across the world when day dawns grew
into a windy gust from the west, extinguishing the fluttering candle
flame and blowing the lace curtains out eastward like white sails
bearing away the happy spirit to crystal seas. At the edge of the sky,
where the morning star burned, a thread of orange glowed in the soft
pearl grey of the new day, and only the crowing of the game cocks from
their cedar thicket broke the silence that death consecrates.