HOME IN A STORM.
The storm was still raging upon the ocean and sweeping its cold way
across the island; but Mellen was not a man to rest within sight of his
own dwelling, after a long absence, without an effort to reach it in
defiance of wind or weather. So, heedless of all protestations, he
mounted his horse and rode forward, with the wind howling around him and
the rain beating in his face. His temporary attendant grumbled a little
at the violence of the storm, while the darkness was so intense that
both the horses went stumbling on their way like blind creatures on an
unknown path. But Mellen scarcely heeded the danger or discomfort. His
eyes were fixed on the lights of his own home, which twinkled now and
then through the fog and rain, like stars striving to break through a
cloud.
Their road ran along the coast, and they had the rushing winds and roar
of the ocean all the way. Before they reached the Piney Cove grounds the
blackness of the tempest began to break away overhead; the wind had
lulled a little, but the rain still beat, and at intervals the moon
would burst through the clouds and add to the ghostly effect of boiling
foam in the distance.
They passed through the strip of woodland which extended down to the
water's edge, and at last reached the grounds connected with the
dwelling upon that side, and came out upon the broad lawn.
"Home at last!" cried Mellen, as a warm glow of lights shone out from
his dwelling. "Ride on, my man; you shall sleep here to-night, and
return in the morning."
In his exultation Mellen dashed forward, urging his horse across the
open space till he was considerably in advance of his attendant. The
moon shivered out again for an instant, and Mr. Mellen saw a woman
shrouded in a long cloak rushing towards the house. Some instinct,
rather than any real recognition of her person, made him cry out, as he
leaped from the horse and left him free:
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"
The figure paused. There was a faint cry; at the same instant Mellen
heard a violent rustle in the shrubbery, with a sudden downpour of
raindrops, scarcely noticed, as he hurried towards the lady, but well
remembered afterwards. She was standing upright and still, as if that
unexpected voice had changed her to stone; her hair had broken loose and
was streaming wildly over her shoulders; one hand was lifted above her
eyes, as she strained her sight through the gloom.
"Elizabeth!" he called again.
"Who is it?" she cried, in a suppressed voice, that had all the
sharpness of an agonised shriek. "Who calls to me?"
He reached her side as she spoke.
"Don't you know me?" he exclaimed. "My wife! my wife! I have come back
at last!"
There was one wild look--one heavy breath--he heard a low exclamation:
"My God! oh, my God!"
Before he could discover whether this was a cry of thanksgiving or not,
she fell forward and lay motionless at his feet.
After that first second of stupefaction, Mr. Mellen checked the
wonderment of the man--who by this time had come up--and between them
they carried the senseless woman to the house.
The servant who met them in the hall gave a cry of dismay at the sight
of her master thus suddenly entering the house with his wife lying like
a dead woman in his arms, and was ready to believe that the whole sight
was a ghostly illusion.
"Bring some wine," called Mellen; "is there a fire? Are you deaf and
blind, girl?"
"It is the masther!" exclaimed the frightened creature. "It's the
masther come back--oh, I thought I'd seed ghosts at last!"
Her cries brought the whole household up from the basement; but
regardless of their wonder and alarm, Grantley Mellen carried his wife
away towards the library, and laid her upon a couch.
It was some moments before Elizabeth Mellen opened her eyes, then she
glanced about with a vacant, startled look, as if unable to comprehend
what had happened.
Her husband was standing in the shadow, gazing down at her with the
strange, moody look so unlike the active alarm which would have filled
the mind of most men, and she did not at first perceive his presence.
"I thought I saw Grantley," she murmured. "I--I have gone mad at last."
"Elizabeth!"
She struggled up on the couch, and looked towards him with a wild
expression of the eyes, forced out by recent terror or sudden joy at
finding that she had not been deceived by some mental illusion.
"Is it you, Grantley?" she exclaimed. "Is it really you?"
"It is I," he said; "but it is a strange welcome home to a man when he
finds his wife wandering about in the storm, and sees her faint at the
sound of his voice."
Elizabeth Mellen forced her physical strength back by a sheer exercise
of will. She sat upright--a singular expression passed over her face--an
inward struggle to appear like herself and act as was natural under the
circumstances.
"I was so frightened," she gasped; "I did not expect you for a
fortnight--perhaps a month. When I heard your voice I can't tell what I
thought--a dread--a terror of something terrible--something
supernatural, I mean, came over me."
"But what could have taken you out of doors on a night like this?" he
persisted.
She did not hesitate; she hurried to answer, but it was like a person
repeating words studied for the occasion, and all the while her two
hands clutched hard at the arm of the sofa.
"I don't know what drove me out, the storm made me wild. I thought of
the sea--you on it, perhaps--I don't know why I went."
"You are wet," he said--"thoroughly drenched. You must change your
dress."
She seemed to grasp at the opportunity to go away, and started up with
such eagerness that his suspicious eyes noticed it.
"This is a singular meeting," he said, bitterly; "two years apart, and
not a word of welcome."
She turned impulsively towards him, and threw her arms about his neck,
with a burst of passionate tears.
"I do love you, Grantley," she cried; "I do love you! I am so glad to
see you; but this fright--it was so sudden--so----"
Her voice died away in a sob, and she clung more closely to him, while
he kept his arm about her waist, pressed his lips on her forehead and
gave himself respite from the whirl of dark thoughts which had been in
his jealous mind. The joy of reunion and the pleasure of finding himself
at home after that long absence, broke through it all.
He felt her shiver all over, and remembered the danger they both ran
standing there in their wet clothing.
"You are cold--shivering--and I am keeping you in these wet things!"
cried Grantley, gathering her in his arms and mounting the stairs. "You
are drenched, my sweet child. It was wrong to go out in a storm like
this. Indeed, indeed it was, dear one."
She made no answer, but was seized with a cold shivering fit in his
arms. He carried her into the little sitting-room, and, seating her in
an easy chair, took off her hood and cloak, speaking soft, tender words
as he removed the garments, and smoothed her hair with a caressing
movement of the hand.
"You must change your dress, Elizabeth," he said. "Do it at once. I have
some dry clothes in my room, I suppose, which I shall put on."
"Yes," she returned, hurriedly; "go--go at once. You are glad to get
home, are you not--glad to see me, Grantley?"
There was a tone of almost piteous entreaty in her voice; she was so
disturbed by the shock of his sudden presence that her nerves could not
recover their firmness at once.
Grantley Mellen held his wife to his heart and whispered fond and loving
words, such as he had breathed during their brief courtship before a
shadow clouded over the beauty of their lives.
"There shall be no more clouds," he whispered, "no more trouble. Look
up, Elizabeth! Say that you love me--that you are glad as I am."
"I do love you, my husband--with all my heart and soul I love you! I
_am_ glad--very, very glad."
"And I love you, Bessie. I did not know how well until I went away. But
we shall never part any more--never more."
Elizabeth was weeping drops as cold as the rain on her face. It was
unusual for her to allow any feeling of joy or pain to overcome her so
completely.
"You are weak and nervous to-night, Bessie," he said, tenderly. "I was
wrong to come upon you so suddenly."
"No, no!" she cried, vehemently. But even in her denial she shuddered,
remembering whom she had just left and how she had met her husband.
Then she arose to go, but staggered in her walk and held herself up with
difficulty. He looked at her with such tender love in his eyes that she
held out her arms to him. He drew her close to his bosom:
"Elizabeth, we will be happy now."
"Yes, yes," she said, in the same hurried manner, "we will be happy
now--quite happy."
She went out of the room as she said these words and entered her
chamber, locking the door carefully behind her, as if she feared that he
might intrude upon her.
Half an hour after the newly-united husband and wife met at the
supper-table, and Grantley Mellen saw that Elizabeth had quite recovered
from the sudden shock of his arrival in that unexpected way.
"I cannot realize it yet," she said, coming into the room and walking up
to the hearth where he stood; "I cannot believe you are actually here."
She stole close to his side and folded his hand in hers. For an instant
there was a slight hesitation amounting almost to timidity, as if she
were doing something or assuming a place to which she had no right, but
it passed quickly. She was looking up into his face with a pleasant
smile, a little pale yet from her recent emotion, or else those two
years which had elapsed since their parting had robbed her of a portion
of her girlish bloom,--but self-possessed and full of happiness.
Grantley Mellen looked at her more closely as she stood there in the
cheerful light. Two years had changed her, but that was natural; he was
altered too.
"Do I look very different, Elizabeth?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"You are browned, you look a little older, perhaps; but you are not
really changed--you are Grantley still."
"I cannot tell if you are altered," he said; "I must wait till I have
seen you a day or two. You seem paler--thinner."
She shivered a little, but quickly regained her self-control and
cheerfulness.
"You cannot judge how I look to-night," she said. "I am sorry Elsie is
gone."
"When did she go away, Elizabeth?"
"Only yesterday; she seemed to be getting low spirited, so I advised her
to visit Mrs. Harrington for a while."
"I suppose she has not left you often--you two kept together?" he asked,
the old jealousy creeping through his voice.
"Of course; she has visited a little," replied his wife, quietly, but
she turned away to the table as she spoke.
A servant brought in the supper, and they sat down opposite to each
other at the board; but even during those first hours of reunion the
strange greeting which his return had met would linger in Grantley
Mellen's suspicious mind, and, in spite of Elizabeth's cheerful manner,
her color would come and go with tremulous fitfulness. Sometimes there
was a restless expression in her eyes, and she seemed with difficulty to
repress a nervous start at any sudden sound--she had not recovered
wholly, it appeared, from her surprise.
"You will send for Elsie in the morning," he said.
"Oh, yes. One of the men will go to town early."
"Don't tell her I have come."
Elizabeth hesitated.
"She would be so startled if I did not," she said. "I really think her
happiness will be greater if she expects to meet you."
"As you please," he returned, a little coldly. "I believe you are right.
Surprises generally are failures."
"Where is Dolf?" Elizabeth asked.
"I sent him on with the steamer to deliver some letters I had brought
for various people; he will be up in the morning. He is just the same
remarkable darkey as ever. His language is even grander, I think."
When they were sitting over the fire again, Mr. Mellen said:
"Now, tell me everything that has happened; your letters were all so
vague."
"I had nothing of importance to write, you know," she answered; "we were
very quiet here."
"Has Elsie changed much?" he asked.
"Not at all; gay and thoughtless as ever."
There seemed a suppressed bitterness in her voice. Perhaps that gayety
and frivolity had sometimes jarred upon the deeper chords in her own
nature.
"Little darling!" he said, fondly, "I feel more attached to her than
ever since I went away--she seems more like my daughter than my sister."
"And she loves you very dearly, you may be sure of that."
"Oh, yes; nothing could ever come between Elsie and me! I have thought
of the promise I made our dying mother; I have kept it,
Elizabeth--wherever else I have erred, I have kept that vow."
"Yes," she said; "yes."
But the tone grew a little absent, her eyes wandered about the room as
if she were perplexed anew by some thought far away from the subject of
their conversation.
"You have been happy and content here, Elizabeth?"
"Not happy," she answered, "I forced myself to be patient; but the time
seemed very long."
"Then you do love me?" he cried, suddenly.
She looked at him reproachfully, with some pain stirring under that
reproach.
"Can you ask me such questions now?"
"No, no; you do love me. I believe it. But you know what a morbid,
suspicious character mine is."
"I had hoped--"
She did not finish her sentence, but sat twisting the links of her
chatelaine about her fingers, and looking almost timidly away from his
face.
"Go on," he said, "what did you hope?"
"That this long absence might have--that--I hardly know how to say it
without offending you."
"You hoped I had learned to accept life more like a reasonable being,
isn't that it? I think I have, Bessie; we will be happy now, very happy;
you and Elsie and I."
He took her hand and held it in his own; was it true that it trembled,
or only his fancy that made him think so?
"We shall be happy, Elizabeth?" he repeated, this time making the words
an inquiry.
"I hope so--oh, I do hope so!" she exclaimed with sudden passion; "I
want to be happy, oh, my husband! I want to be happy."
She threw her arms about his neck, and her head dropped on his shoulder;
but the face which he could not see wore a strained, frightened look, as
if she saw some dark shadow rise between her and its fulfilment.
Mellen strained her to his heart, and showered kisses down upon her cold
face,--kisses, so warm from the heart, that her cheeks kindled into
scarlet under them, and she began to weep those gentle tears that drop
from a loving heart like dew from a flower.
"Our lives shall go on quietly and pleasantly now," he continued, giving
himself to the full happiness of this reunion; "we will have one long
summer, Bessie, and warm our hearts in it."
"I have been in the cold so long," she murmured.
"But that is over--over for ever! We will be trustful Bessie: we will be
patient and loving always; can't we promise each other this, my wife?"
he said, drawing her closer to his bosom.
"I can, Grantley; I do!"
"And I promise, Elizabeth, I will never be suspicious or harsh again.
You and I could be so happy now."
"You will love me and trust me!" she cried, almost hysterically.
"Always, Bessie, always!"
Again he clasped her in his arms, pressing kisses upon her forehead, and
murmuring words which, from a husband's lips are sweeter and holier than
the romance of courtship could ever be, even in the first glow of its
loveliest mystery.
Elizabeth nestled closer to his heart, and a feeling of rest and
serenity stole over her so inexpressibly soothing and sweet, that she
almost longed to float away for ever from the care and dimness of this
world upon the sacred hush of that hour.
There was a sound without which startled them both, making Mellen turn
hastily, and sending the sickly pallor anew across Elizabeth's face.
"Only the wind," he said, "blowing one of the shutters to with a crash."
"That is all, it----"
She did not finish; her eyes were fixed upon the window; she made one
movement; tried to control herself; looked in the other direction before
her husband could observe the eagerness with which her eyes had been
strained out into the night; but all her attempts at self-control were
in vain; she gave one heavy sigh, and sank lower and perfectly helpless
in his arms.
For the second time that evening Elizabeth Mellen had swooned completely
away.