UTTER LONELINESS.
When Elizabeth Mellen quitted the graveyard, she was for the moment
insane. Mellen had left her alone with the dead and the man she had so
hated. He had forsaken her there in that cold, desolate night,
regardless that she had once been his wife, scorning to remember her
even as a woman. This thought stung her proud soul through all its
anguish. She would not return home; not a single hour would she rest
under the roof which loomed up so gray and ghostly behind those weird
trees. But where could she go? in all the headlands that spread away
from the coast there was no shelter for her. Degraded, broken-hearted,
abandoned to her fate, like a wild animal, she stood alone among the
graves of those who had been happy enough to die.
This terrible blow, long as it had been dreaded, came upon the poor
woman suddenly at last. At the bottom of her heart there had been all
the while a desperate hope of escape. But it was over now. The worst had
come, and that was almost annihilation. She looked up to the sky. The
stars were all out. The soft gray clouds which had floated over them
only a little while before were turning leaden and heavy, so heavy that
the ocean was one mass of blackness, as if the mighty deep had veiled
itself with mourning, while the throes of a coming tempest heaved its
inner depths.
The man North had left her at last--she was utterly alone.
Never in this world had a human being been cast forth to such utter
desolation. She looked down on the torn earth at her feet, and her poor
heart ached to lie down with that other woman who had found her rest so
early, and was at peace. She thought of her with strange envy,
remembering that the ocean had cast her forth when it moaned and heaved
as she could hear it now,--the grand, beneficent ocean, that could give
death to a poor soul pining for it as she did. She bent her head and
listened to the far-off voice which held her with a sort of fascination.
"I will go," she said, "I will go. It calls me--with ten thousand voices
it calls me."
She started from the tombstone against which she had leaned, and swiftly
treading a passage through the graves, forced her way out by the broken
pickets. That moment Mellen stood in the cedar grove and saw her pass.
Had he come forth all might have been well, but fierce pride rushed in
and checked the noble impulse that had brought him back so far. She
swept swiftly by him and was lost in the fog. Some strong impulse of
love broke up through the insane fascination which drove her toward the
ocean, and in spite of herself she drifted homewards. Once a break in
the clouds sent down wild gleams of light, throwing up black vistas of
gloom through every break in the woods, and revealing dense, gray masses
of vapor, frowning over the waters. Then came darkness again, and she
wandered on.
Without knowing how, Elizabeth found herself on the lawn before her old
home. The odor of dead leaves and late autumn blossoms rose up from the
soil, and enveloped her with sickening remembrances. All at once the
woman recognised the place. That pile with its gables and towers had
been her home only a few short hours before. Why had she turned that
way? What mocking fiend had driven her back against her will? The
thought maddened her, but she could not move. The passionate love in her
heart anchored those weary feet. She flung up her arms towards a window
through which a light shone dimly--the window of his room, and an
agonising cry of farewell broke from her. It was his name that fled from
her lips like a burning arrow, and reached her husband in the gloomy
stillness of his chamber.
The window opened. She tore her feet from the earth and fled. Her
husband, of all others, should not know that she was there, prowling
about the home from which he had driven her. That cry of agony coming
from her lips frightened back her pride.
She darted away across the flower-beds, through thickets and over the
lawn, which lay moist and heavy under the fog. Her wet feet got
entangled among clusters of dead heliotrope and crysanthemums, still
blooming in defiance of storm and frost. The shawl blew loose from her
hands, which unconsciously huddled it close to her bosom, and was torn
by the thorny rosebushes. Fragments of her dress were left behind. She
plunged into a swampy hollow where clusters of tall catstail, sweet flag
and sedgy rushes grew around a little pond, swarming with trout and gold
fish. Her feet sank into the marsh till the water gurgled over her
gaiters. She stood a moment, looking out upon the black pool, tempted to
throw herself in; but some water-rat or frog, frightened by her
approach, made a great leap, and plunged into the black depths, giving
out a horrible idea of reptile life.
Not there, not there; no one should find her after she was dead. The
ocean, the great heaving ocean had called her; why was she lingering by
that miserable pool of black water, full of living things? Again she
plunged forward, broke through the tangled sedges, and trampled down the
spicy peppermint, till she reached firm land again. Then on--on--on till
she stood under the beetling cliff which frowned over the shore tavern.
It was the dark hour now which comes just before daylight. The gleam of
a candle shone through one of the tavern windows, and this faint idea of
warmth drew her that way. She crept up close to the building, and
through the little panes of glass saw Benson with his daughter and her
children at breakfast together.
When the days grew short it had always been the old man's habit to eat
his breakfast by candlelight. It was a pleasant, homely picture that the
wretched woman looked upon. Her haggard eyes grew wild at the sight of
so much warmth, while her teeth chattered with cold, and terrible chills
shook her from head to foot. A noble wood fire blazed on the hearth,
filling the small white-washed room with its golden glow. The soft steam
from the tea-kettle curled up the chimney, broiled fish and hot Indian
cakes sent a savory odor through the ill-fitted sash.
Elizabeth had eaten nothing for the past two days, and with the sight of
this comfortable breakfast, an aching desire for food seized on her.
Food and warmth; let her have them and she was ready to die. This animal
want drew her close to the window. A child at the table saw that white
face with its wild burning eyes, and pointed its finger, uttering
frightened shrieks.
Elizabeth darted away, crying out to the storm, "They will not have me;
even his menials drive me forth."
The beach was not far off, and from it rose a sound of lashing waves,
hoarse with the thunder of mustering storms. Afar off the moan of the
deep had sounded like an entreaty, but now it came full and strong,
commanding her to approach. She obeyed these ocean voices like a little
child; her powers of reasoning were gone; all consciousness of pain or
danger benumbed; everything else had rejected her, but the great ocean
was strong, boundless. With one heave of its mighty bosom it would sweep
her away forever.
She walked steadily on to the beach, forcing her way to the sands;
through drifts of seaweed and slippery stones, on, on she walked,
slowly, but with horrible firmness, through great feathers of foam that
curled upon the sands; on and on through whirlwinds of spray, till a
great wave seized her in its black undertow and she was gone.