THE COLUMBIAN.
It was very quiet at the Columbian, and the few gentlemen seated upon
the piazza seemed to be of a different stamp from those at the more
fashionable houses, as there were none of them smoking, nor did they
stare impertinently at the gayly dressed lady coming up the steps, and
inquiring of the clerk if Miss Alice Johnson were there.
“Yes, she was, and her room was No. ——. Should he send up the lady’s
card? Miss Johnson had mostly kept to her room.”
’Lina had brought no card, but she gave her name and passed on into the
parlor, which afforded a striking contrast to the beehive down town. In
a corner two or three were sitting; another group occupied a window
while at the piano were two more, an old and a young lady; the latter of
whom was seated upon the stool, and with her foot upon the soft pedal,
was alternately striking a few sweet musical chords, and talking to her
companion, who seemed to be a servant. Taking her seat near these last,
’Lina watched them curiously; a thought once crossing her mind that this
might be _Alice Johnson_. But no; Alice, of course, would be habited in
deepest black, while the dress this lady wore was a simple, pure white,
unrelieved by any color save the jet bracelets upon the snowy arms and
the jet pin at the throat. This was not Alice sure, and she felt glad to
know it, for she would rather that Alice Johnson should be a shade less
lovely than the young girl before her. How dazzling she was in her
radiant beauty, with all that wealth of chestnut hair shading her fair
brow and falling almost to her waist; but the soft, dreamy eyes of blue,
with their long silken lashes, were to ’Lina the chief attraction. None
could withstand those eyes, now cast down upon the keys as if heavy with
unshed tears, and now upraised to the woman beside her who appeared to
regard her with a species of adoration, occasionally laying her hand
caressingly upon the sunny hair, and letting it slide down until it
rested upon the shoulder.
As the minutes went by ’Lina grew very impatient at Alice’s long delay.
“I mean to ring,” she said, just as the servant to whom she had
delivered her message appeared.
Very haughtily ’Lina asked if he had found Miss Johnson. “If she’s not
in, we don’t care to stay here all night,” she said, angrily, whereupon
she became conscious that the blue eyes of the lady were fixed
inquiringly upon her, as if wondering how a well bred person could
betray so much ill nature.
“Miss Johnson? I beg pardon, I supposed you knew her and had found her,
as she was in here. This is Miss Johnson,” and the waiter bowed toward
the musician, who, quick as thought seized upon the truth, and springing
to Mrs. Worthington’s side, exclaimed,
“It’s Mrs. Worthington, I know. Why did you sit here so long without
speaking to me? I am Alice Johnson,” and overcome with emotions awakened
by the sight of her mother’s early friend, Alice hid her face with
childlike confidence in Mrs. Worthington’s bosom, and sobbed for a
moment bitterly.
Then growing calm, she lifted up her head, and smiling through her
tears, said,
“Forgive me for this introduction. It is not often I give way, for I
know and am sure it was best and right that mother should die. I am not
rebellious now, but the sight of you brought it back so vividly. You’ll
be my mother, won’t you?” and the impulsive girl nestled closer to Mrs.
Worthington, looking up into her face with a confiding affection which
won a place for her at once in Mrs. Worthington’s heart.
“My darling,” she said, winding her arm around her waist, “as far as I
can I will be to you a mother, and _’Lina_ shall be your sister. This is
’Lina,” and she turned to ’Lina, who, piqued at having been so long
unnoticed, was frowning gloomily.
But ’Lina never met a glance purer or more free from guile than that
which Alice gave her and it disarmed her at once of all jealousy, making
her return the orphan’s kisses with as much apparent cordiality as they
had been given.
Sitting down beside them Alice made many inquiries concerning Kentucky,
startling them with the announcement that as she had that day received a
letter from Col. Tiffton, who she believed was a friend of theirs,
urging her to come on at once, and spend a few weeks with him, she had
about decided to do so, and only waited for Mrs. Worthington’s advice
ere answering the colonel’s friendly letter. “They heard from you what
were mother’s plans for my future, and also that I was to meet you here.
They must be very thoughtful people, for they seem to know that I cannot
be very happy here.”
For a moment, ’Lina and her mother looked aghast, and neither knew what
to say. ’Lina, as usual, was the first to rally and calculate results.
Had Alice been less beautiful she would have opposed her going to
Colonel Tiffton’s where she might possibly hear something unfavorable of
herself from Ellen, but, as it was, it might be well enough to get rid
of her, as she was sure to prove a most formidable rival. Thus it was
pure selfishness which prompted her to adopt the most politic course
which presented itself to her mind.
“They were very intimate at Colonel Tiffton’s. She and Ellen were fast
friends. It was very pleasant there more so than at Spring Bank; and all
the objection she could see to Alice’s going was the fear lest she
should become so much attached to Moss Side, the colonel’s residence, as
to be homesick at Spring Bank.”
Against this Alice disclaimed at once. She was not apt to be homesick.
She had made up her mind to be happy at Spring Bank, and presumed she
should.
“I am so glad you approve my plan, for my heart is really set on going,”
and she turned to Mrs. Worthington, who had not spoken yet.
It was not what she had expected, and she hardly knew what to say,
though, of course, “she should acquiesce in whatever Alice and ’Lina
thought best.”
“If she’s going, I hope she’ll go before Dr. Richards sees her, though
perhaps he knows her already—his mother lives in Snowdon,” ’Lina
thought, and rather abruptly she asked if Alice knew Dr. Richards, who
was staying at the Union.
Alice blushed crimson as she replied,
“Yes, I know him well, and his family, too.
“His mother is here,” ’Lina continued, “and I like her so much. She is
very familiar and friendly, don’t you think so?”
Alice would not tell a lie, and she answered frankly,
“She does not bear that name in Snowdon. They consider her very haughty
there. I think you must be a favorite.”
“Are they very aristocratic and wealthy?” ’Lina asked, and Alice
answered,
“Aristocratic, but not wealthy. They were very kind to me, and the
doctor’s sister Anna is one of the sweetest ladies I ever knew.” Then as
if anxious to change the conversation she spoke of _Hugh_. Where was he
now? How did he look, and should she like him?
’Lina and her mother exchanged rapid glances, and then, in spite of the
look of entreaty visible on Mrs. Worthington’s face, ’Lina replied,
“To be candid with you, Miss Johnson, I’m afraid you won’t like Hugh. He
has many good traits, but I’m sorry to say we have never succeeded in
cultivating him one particle, so that he is very rough and boorish in
his manner, and will undoubtedly strike you unfavorably. I may as well
tell you of this, as you will probably hear it from Ellen Tiffton, and
must know it when you see him. He is not popular with the ladies; he
hates them all, unless it is a Mrs. Hastings, whom he took in from the
street.”
Alice looked up inquiringly, while ’Lina began to tell her of Adah. She
had not proceeded far, however, when with a cry of terror she sprang up
as a large beetle, attracted by the light, fastened itself upon her
hair.
Mrs. Worthington was the first to the rescue, while Lulu, who had
listened with flashing eye when _Hugh_ was the subject of remark, came
haggardly, whispering slily to Alice,
“That’s a lie she done tell you about Mas’r Hugh. He ain’t rough nor
bad, and we blacks would die for him any day.”
Alice was confounded by this flat contradiction between mistress and
servant, while a faint glimmer of the truth began to dawn upon her. The
“horn-bug” being disposed of, ’Lina became quiet, and might, perhaps,
have taken up Hugh again, but for a timely interruption in the shape of
Irving Stanley, who had walked up to the Columbian, and seeing ’Lina and
her mother through the window, sauntered leisurely into the parlor.
“Ah, Mr. Stanley,” and ’Lina half rose from her chair thus intimating
that he was to join them. “Miss Johnson, Mr. Stanley,” and she watched
jealously to see what effect Alice’s beauty would have upon the young
man.
He was evidently pleased, and this was a sufficient reason for ’Lina to
speak of returning. She would not hasten Mr. Stanley, she said, but
Irving arose at once and bidding Alice good night, accompanied the
ladies back to Union hall, where Mrs. Richards sat fanning herself
industriously, and watching John with motherly interest as he sauntered
from one group of ladies to another, wondering what made Saratoga so
dull, and where Miss Worthington had gone. It is not to be supposed that
Dr. Richards cared a fig for Miss Worthington as _Miss Worthington_. It
was simply her immense figure he admired, and as, during the evening, he
had heard on good authority that said figure was made up mostly of
cotton growing on some Southern field, the exact locality of which his
informant did not know, he had decided that of course Miss ’Lina’s
fortune was over estimated. Such things always were, but still she must
be wealthy. He had no doubt of that, and he might as well devote himself
to her as to wait for some one else. Accordingly, the moment he spied
her in the crowd he joined her, asking if they should not take a little
turn up and down the piazza.
“Wait till I ask mamma’s permission to stay up a little longer. She
always insists upon my keeping such early hours,” was ’Lina’s very
filial and childlike reply as she walked up to mamma, not to ask
permission, but to whisper rather peremptorily, “Dr. Richards wishes me
to walk with him, and as you are tired you may as well go to bed.”
Mrs. Worthington was tired, but motherlike, she thought it would be
pleasant to stay where she could see her daughter walking with Dr.
Richards, and then, too, she wanted to hear the band playing in the
court.
“Oh, I ain’t very tired,” she said. “I begin to feel rested, and I guess
I’ll set a little while with Mrs. Richards on the sofa yonder. She seems
like one of our folks.”
’Lina did not care to leave her truthful, matter-of-fact mother with
Mrs. Richards, so she said, rather angrily,
“How do you know Mrs. Richards wants you to sit by her? She has her own
set, and you are not much acquainted; besides, I shall feel easier to
know you are up stairs. Go, do. He’s waiting for me,” and in the black
eyes there was a gleam which Mrs. Worthington always obeyed.
With a sigh, and a lingering glance at the comfortable sofa, where Mrs.
Richards sat in solemn state, she left the comparatively cool parlor,
and climbing the weary flights of stairs, entered her hot, sultry room,
and laying her head upon the table, cried a grieved kind of cry, as she
recalled ’Lina’s selfishness and evident desire to be rid of her.
“She’s ashamed of me,” and the chin quivered as the white lips whispered
it. “She wants me out of the way for fear I’ll do something to mortify
her. Oh, ’Lina, ’Lina, I’m glad I’ve got one child who is not ashamed of
his mother,” and the tears dropped like rain upon the table, as Mrs.
Worthington remembered Hugh, longing for him so much, and reproaching
herself so bitterly for having consented to receive Alice Johnson
without even consulting him. “I’ll write to-night,” she said. “I’ll
confess the whole,” and glad of something to occupy her mind, Mrs.
Worthington took out her writing materials, and commenced the letter,
which should have been written long before.
Meantime the doctor and ’Lina were walking up and down the long piazza,
chatting gayly, and attracting much attention from ’Lina’s loud manner
of talking and laughing.
“By the way, I’ve called on Miss Johnson, at the Columbian,” she said.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Ra-ather pretty, some would think,” and the doctor had an uncomfortable
consciousness of the refusal, in his vest pocket.
If Alice had told; but no, he knew her better than that. He could trust
her on that score, and so the dastardly coward affected to sneer at what
he called her primness, charging ’Lina to be careful what she did, if
she did not want a lecture, and asking if there were any ragged children
in Kentucky, as she would not be happy unless she was running a Sunday
school!
“She can teach the negroes! Capital!” and ’Lina laughed so loudly that
Mrs. Richards joined them, laughing, too, at what she did not know, only
“Miss Worthington had such spirits; it did one good; and she wished Anna
was there to be enlivened. Write to her John, won’t you?”
John mentally thought it doubtful. Anna and ’Lina would never
assimilate, and he would rather not have his pet sister’s opinion to
combat until his own was fully made up.
As it was growing rather late Mrs. Richards ere long expressed a wish to
retire, and hoping to see more of Miss Worthington to-morrow, she bowed
good night, and left the doctor alone with ’Lina.
But, somehow, he did not get on well without his mother. There was
nothing in common between himself and ’Lina, except deception. She had
read but little, and only talked well on commonplace matters, of which
he soon grew tired. But she was rich, and perfectly willing to be
admired by him, so he put aside his weariness, and chatted with her
until the parlors were deserted, and the servants came to extinguish
some of the burners.
“She had no idea it was so late, or she would not have staid for
anything. He must excuse her. What would mamma think?” and bidding him
good night, ’Lina hurried up to where mamma sat waiting for her, the
traces of tears still on her patient face, which looked white and worn.
“In the name of the people, what are you sitting up for?” was ’Lina’s
first remark, followed by a glowing account of what Dr. Richards had
said, and the delightful time she’d had. “Only play our cards well, and
I’m sure to go home the doctor’s _fiancée_. The doctor thinks I’m very
rich. So do all the people here. Lulu has told that I’m an heiress; now
don’t you upset it all with your squeamishness about the truth. Nobody
will ask you how much I’m worth, so you won’t be compelled to a lie
direct. Just keep your own counsel, and leave the rest to me. Will you?”
There was, as usual, a feeble remonstrance, and then the weak woman
yielded so far as promising to keep silent was concerned, but she asked
timidly,
“What will you do if you succeed? He must then know how you’ve deceived
him.”
“Humph! so far, it will be an easy thing.
“He thinks I am rich, and I am supposed to think he is. It’s no thanks
to him that I know better. But they are very aristocratic, and family
position is sometimes better than money. On the whole, I prefer it to
wealth. It will be something in this wise,” she continued; “after the
honeymoon is past, and my lord hears nothing about bank stock, negroes
or lands, he’ll come straight out, and say, ‘Mrs. Richards, I supposed
you were rich!’ while Mrs. Richards would retort, ‘And I thought you
were rich!’ Don’t you see, it will be an equal thing, and I shall take
my chance.”
Meantime the doctor sat in his own room near by, thinking of ’Lina
Worthington, and wishing she were a little more refined.
“Where does she get that coarseness?” he thought. “Not from her mother,
certainly. She seems very gentle and lady-like. It must be from the
Worthingtons,” and the doctor wondered where he had heard that name
before, and why it affected him rather unpleasantly, bringing with it
memories of Lily. “Poor Lily,” he sighed mentally. “Your love would have
made me a better man if I had not cast it from me. Dear Lily, the mother
of my child,” and a tear half trembled in his eye lashes, as he tried to
fancy that child, tried to hear the patter of the little feet running to
welcome him home, as they might have done had he been true to Lily;
tried to hear the baby voice calling him “papa;” to feel the baby hands
upon his face—his bearded face—where the great tears were standing now.
“I _did_ love Lily,” he murmured; “and had I known of the child I never
could have left her. Oh, Lily, come back to me, come!” and his arms were
stretched out into empty space, as if he fain would encircle again the
girlish form he had so often held in his embrace.
It was very late ere Dr. Richards slept that night, and the morning
found him pale, haggard, and nearly desperate. Thoughts of Lily all were
gone, and in their place was a fixed determination to follow on in the
course he had marked out, to find him a rich wife, to cast remorse to
the winds, and be as happy as he could. In this state of feeling ’Lina
did not find it hard to keep him at her side, notwithstanding that
_Alice_ herself came down in the course of the day. Mrs. Richards had
not quite given up all hopes of Alice, and she received her very
cordially, watching closely when the doctor joined them. A casual
observer would not have seen the flush on Alice’s cheek or the pallor
upon his, so soon both came and passed away, but they did not escape
’Lina’s notice, and she felt glad when told that she intended starting
for Kentucky on the morrow.
“So soon,” she said faintly, feeling that something like remonstrance
was expected from her, but Alice was not in the least suspicious, and
when next day she stood at the depot with Mrs. Worthington and ’Lina she
never dreamed how glad the latter was, in knowing that the coming train
would take away one whom she dreaded as a rival.