WAKING TO CONSCIOUSNESS.
The warm still days of September were gone and a wild October storm was
dying out in a gentle shower, when Hugh awoke from the sleep which had
so long hung over him, and listened, with a vague kind of delicious
happiness, to the lulling music of the rain falling so softly upon the
window sill, and sifting through the long boughs of the trees, visible
from where he lay. Gazing about him in a maze of perplexity, he wondered
what had happened, or where he could be.
“I must have been sick,” he whispered, and pressing his hand to his
head, he tried to recall and form into some definite shape the events
which had seemed, and which seemed to him still, like so many phantoms
of the brain.
Was it a dream—his mother’s tears, upon his face, his mother’s sobs
beside him? Was it a dream that _Adah_ had bent over him with words of
tenderness, praying for him that he might not die, as he was sure he had
heard her? And,—oh how Hugh started as he thought this;—Was it all a
dream that the Golden Haired had been with him constantly?
No, that was not a dream, and Hugh lay panting on his pillow, as gleam
after gleam flashed across his mind, bringing remembrance of the many
times when another voice than Adah’s had asked that he might live, had
pleaded as only Golden Hair could plead with God for him. She did not
hate him, else she had not prayed, and words of thanksgiving were going
up to Golden Hair’s God, when a footstep in the hall announced the
approach of some one. Alice perhaps, and Hugh lay very still, with half
shut eyes, until Muggins, instead of Alice, appeared. She had been
deputed to watch by her master while the family were at dinner, pleased
with the confidence reposed in her, determined strictly to obey Alice’s
injunction to be very quiet, and not wake him if he were sleeping.
He was asleep, she said, as, standing on tiptoe, she scanned his face,
in her own dialect, Muggins talked to herself about him as he lay there
so still, not a muscle moving, save those about the corners of his
mouth, where a smile was struggling for life, as Hugh listened to Mug’s
remarks.
“Nice Mas’r Hugh—most as white as Miss Alice. De sweat has washed de
dirt all off. Pretty Mas’r Hugh!” and Mug’s little black hand was laid
caressingly on the face she admired so much. “I mean to ask God about
him, just like I see Miss Alice do,” she continued, and stealing to the
opposite side of the room, Muggins kneeled down, and with her face
turned towards Hugh, she said, first, the prayer taught by Alice after
an immense amount of labor and patience, after which she continued, “If
God is hearin’ me, will he please do all dat Miss Alice ax him ’bout
curin’ Mas’r Hugh, only not take him to heaven as she say, and scuse
Mug, who is nothin’ but poor little lazy nigger, all-us round under
foot.”
This was too much for Hugh. The sight of that ignorant negro child,
kneeling by the window, with her hands clasped supplicatingly together,
as she prayed for him in imitation of the Golden Haired, unmanned him
entirely, and hiding his head beneath the sheets, he sobbed aloud. With
a nervous start, Mug arose from her knees, and coming towards him, stood
for an instant gazing in mute terror at the trembling of the bed-clothes
which hid her master from sight.
“I’ll bet he’s in a fit. I mean to screech for Miss Alice,” and Muggins
was about darting away, when Hugh’s long arm caught and held her fast.
“Oh, de gracious, Mas’r Hugh,” she cried, “you skeers me so. Does you
know me, Mas’r Hugh?” and somewhat relieved by the expression of his
face, she took a step towards him.
“Yes, I know you, and I want to talk a little. Where am I, Mug? What
room, I mean?”
“Why, Miss Alice’s in course. She ’sisted, and ’sisted till ’em brung
you in here, ’case she say it cool and nice. Oh, Miss Alice so fine.”
“In Miss Johnson’s room,” and Hugh looked perfectly bewildered, while
Mug explained how Miss Alice “had prayed for Mas’r Hugh, and cried for
Mas’r Hugh, and she didn’t know but she had actually kissed Mas’r Hugh;
any way, she got mighty clus to him sometimes. “Where is she now?” Hugh
asked, and Mug replied, “Eatin her dinner, she watched las’ night and
bimeby she’s gwine to lie down. I hearn her say so, an’ old Miss comin’
to set long of you!”
Hugh felt a pang of disappointment that he should not probably see Alice
that afternoon. But she needed sleep, he knew, and he was mentally
chiding himself for his selfishness, when his mother stepped into the
room. She looked so pale and thin that Hugh involuntarily groaned as he
thought how she had grown weary and worn for him who had sometimes
accused her of indifference. The groan caught Mrs. Worthington’s ear,
and bending over him she said,
“What is it, Hugh?” “Are you worse? Do you want anything?”
“No, I’m better—the cobwebs are gone. I am myself again—dear, darling
mother,” and Hugh stretched his hands towards her.
“Oh, my boy, I am so glad, so glad! God is good to give you back, when
I’ve never served Him all my life, but I’m trying to now. Oh, Hugh, my
heart is so full,” and Mrs. Worthington’s tears dropped fast, as like a
weary child, which wanted to be soothed, she laid her head upon his
bosom, crying quietly.
And Hugh, stronger now than she, held the poor, tired head there, and
kissed the white forehead, where there were more wrinkles than when he
last observed it.
Folding his weak arms about her, mother and son wept together in that
moment of perfect understanding and union with each other. Hugh was the
first to rally. It seemed so pleasant to lean on him, to know that he
cared so much for her, that Mrs. Worthington would gladly have rested on
his bosom longer, but Hugh who noticed that she held an open letter in
her hand brought her back to something of the old, sad life, by asking.
“If the letter were from ’Lina?”
“Yes, and I can’t make it all out you know she writes so blind.”
“It never troubles me, and I feel perfectly able to read it,” Hugh said,
and taking the letter from her unresisting hand, he asked that another
pillow should be placed beneath his head, while he read it aloud.
The pillow was arranged, and then Mrs. Worthington sat down upon the bed
to hear the letter, which read as follows:
“FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL, NEW YORK,
“October, 1860:
“DEAR MOTHER,—
“What a little eternity it is since I heard from you, and how am I to
know that you are not all dead and buried. Were it not that no news is
good news, I should sometimes fancy that Hugh was worse, and feel
terribly for not having gone home when you did. But of course if he
were worse, you would write, and so I settle down upon that, and quiet
my troublesome conscience.
“Now, then, to business, I want Hugh to send me some money, or all is
lost. Let me explain.
“Here I am at Fifth Avenue Hotel, as good as any lady, if my purse is
almost empty. Plague on it, why didn’t that Mrs. Johnson send me two
thousand instead of one? It would not hurt her, and then I should get
through nicely.”
“You see that thousand is almost gone and as board is two and a half
dollars per day, I can’t stay long and shop in Broadway with old Mrs.
Richards as I am expected to do in my capacity of heiress. There never
was so lucky a hit as that, or anything that took so well, just
think—I, Adeline Worthington, _nee_ Adeline Murdoch, who used to help
wash her own clothes in Elmwood, and who once talked of learning a
vulgar trade, and did sew a week for old Aunt Jerusha Tubbs, here am
I, metamorphosed into a Kentucky heiress, who can say and do anything
she pleases on the strength of being an heiress, and hailing from a
State where folks own niggers. I tell you, _Spring Bank, Kentucky_—has
done wonders for me in the way of getting me noticed.
“You see I am a pure Southern woman here; nobody but Mrs. Richards
knows that I was born, mercy knows where. But for you, she never need
have known it either, but you must tell that we had not always lived
in Kentucky. Honestly, I was glad when you left.
“But to do Mrs. Richards justice, she never alludes to my birth, and
you ought to hear her introduce me to some of her friends, ‘Mrs. So
and So, Miss Worthington from Spring Bank, Kentucky,’ then in an
aside, which I am not supposed to hear, she adds, ‘A great heiress of
a very respectable family. You may have heard of them.’ Somehow, this
always makes me uncomfortable, as it brings up certain cogitations
touching that scamp you were silly enough to marry, thereby giving me
to the world, which my delectable brother no doubt thinks would have
been better off without me. But to proceed—
“We left Saratoga a week ago—old lady Richards wanted to go to Terrace
Hill awhile and show me to Anna who it seems is a kind of family
oracle. If she approve _Johnny’s_ choice, it is all right.”
“Who is _Johnny_?” Hugh asked, his face a purplish hue and contrasting
strangely with the ashen one resting on his shoulder.
Mrs. Worthington explained to him what she knew of Dr. Richards, and
Hugh went on:
“After counting the little gold eagles in my purse, I said perhaps I’d
go for a few days, though I dreaded it terribly, for the doctor had
not yet bound himself fast, and I did not know what the result of
those three old maid sisters, sitting on me, would be. Old lady was
quite happy in prospect of going home, when one day a letter come from
Anna. I happened to have a headache, and was lying on madam’s bed,
when the dinner bell rang. Of course I insisted that madam should go
down without me, and of course she went. It was tedious lying there
alone, and to pass away the time I just peeped into the letter,
feeling amply rewarded by the insight I obtained into the family
secrets.
“They are poorer than I supposed, but that does not matter, position
is what I want. Anna has an income of her own, and, generous soul that
she is, gives it out to her mother. You see there had been some talk
of her coming to Saratoga, and in referring to it, said, ‘Much as I
might enjoy it, I cannot afford to come, I can pay your bills for some
time longer, if you really think the water a benefit, but my presence
would just double the expense. Then, if brother does marry, I wish to
surprise him with a handsome set of pearls for his bride, and I am
economizing to do so.’ (Note by ’Lina)—Isn’t she a clever old soul?
Don’t she deserve a better sister-in-law than I shall make her, and
won’t I find the way to her purse often?”
Hugh groaned aloud, and the letter dropped from his hand.
“Mother,” he gasped, “it must not be. ’Lina shall not thrust herself
upon them. This Anna shall not be so cruelly deceived. I don’t care a
picayune for the doctor or the old lady. They are much like ’Lina, I
reckon, but this Anna awakens my sympathy. I mean to warn her.”
“Hugh,” and in the mother’s voice there was a tone which startled him,
“Hugh, let her alone. Let Dr. Richards marry her if he will. You and I
shall be——”
The trembling voice faltered, for it could not say “happier without
her,” but Hugh understood it, and smoothing the soft, thin hair of the
head nestling close to him, he replied,
“Yes we should be happier with ’Lina gone, but there’s a right and
there’s a wrong, which is it best to choose?”
“I don’t know. Oh, I don’t know. The right, I suppose. We’ll decide by
and by. Read on.”
And Hugh did read on, feeling as if he, too were guilty, thus to know
what Anna Richards had intended only for her mother’s eye.
“‘From some words you have dropped, I fancy that Miss Worthington does
not suit you in all respects, and you wish me to see her. Dear mother,
John marries for himself, not for us, and though I could wish my new
sister to be every way congenial, I shall try to like her, even if
there are certain little coarse points about her. These may result
from education rather than bad blood, and if so, they can easily be
rubbed off. If she is bright and observing she will soon learn that
slang phrases together with loud talking and laughing, are not
lady-like or marks of cultivation. But we must be very cautious not to
let her know what we are doing. Extreme kindness and affection must
mark every action, and in the end we shall succeed. If John is
satisfied and happy, that is all I ask. Asenath and Eudora think you
had better persuade her to come home with you for a few days before
going to New York and I concur in their wishes. The house will seem
dull to her, no doubt, after Saratoga gayeties but we will make it as
pleasant as possible.
“‘When will you come? Asenath has sent the curtains in the north
chamber to the laundress, but will go no farther until we hear for
certain that Miss Worthington is to be our guest. Write immediately.
“‘Yours, affectionately, ANNA.’
“‘Remember me to John and Miss W——’
“There then, this is what I read, lying on madam’s bed, and it decided
my future course. Do you suppose I’m going to Terrace Hill to be watched
by that trio of old maids? No, ma’am, not by a ——, I was going to say
‘jug full,’ but remembered slang phrases just in time. Anna would be
delighted with that improvement.
“I am resolved now to win Dr. Richards at all hazards. Only let me keep
up the appearance of wealth, and the thing is easily accomplished; but I
can’t go to Terrace Hill yet, cannot meet this Anna, for, I dread her
decision more than all the rest, inasmuch as I know it would have more
weight with the doctor.
“But to come back to madam. I was fast asleep when she returned. Had not
read Anna’s letter, nor anything! You should have seen her face when I
told her I had changed my mind, that I could not go to Terrace Hill,
that _mamma_ (that’s you!) did not think it would be proper, inasmuch as
I had no claim upon them. You see, I made her believe I had written to
you on the subject, receiving a reply that you disapproved of my going,
and brother Hugh, too, I quote him a heap, making madam laugh till she
cries with repeating his odd speeches, she does so want to see that
eccentric Hugh, she says.”
Another groan from Mrs. Worthington—something sounding like an oath from
Hugh, and he went on:
“I said, brother was afraid it was improper under the circumstances for
me to go, afraid lest people should talk; that I preferred going at once
to New York. So it was finally decided, to the doctor’s relief, I
fancied, that we come here, and here we are—hotel just like a beehive,
and my room is in the fifth story.
“It is very expensive staying here at two dollars and a half per day,
and I want so much to see England’s future king. Then, too, I am
determined to bring the doctor to terms, and so rid you and Hugh of
myself, but to do this, I must have more money, and you must manage some
way to get it. Beg, borrow, pawn, or _steal_, any thing to get it at
once.
“Your distracted
“Lina.”
“P. S. One day later. Rejoice, oh, rejoice! and give ear. The doctor has
actually asked the question, and I blushingly referred him to mamma, but
he seemed to think this unnecessary, took alarm at once, and pressed the
matter until I said yes. Aren’t you glad? But one thing is sure—Hugh
must sell a nigger to get me a handsome outfit. There’s Mug, always
under foot, doing no one any good. She’ll bring six hundred any day,
she’s so bright and healthy. Nobody will think of abusing her either,
she’s so cunning, and thus Hugh can swallow his Abolition principles for
once, and bestir himself to find a buyer for Muggins. Lulu he must give
me out and out for a waiting-maid. There’s no other alternative.”
So absorbed were Hugh and his mother, as not to hear the low howl of
fear echoing through the hall, as Mug fled in terror from the dreaded
new owner to whom Master Hugh was to sell her. Neither did they hear the
cat-like tread with which Lulu glided past the door, taking the same
direction Mug had gone, namely, to Alice Johnson’s room.
Lulu had been sitting by the open window at the end of the hall, and had
heard every word of this letter, while Mug, sent by Chloe on some errand
to Mrs. Worthington, had reached the threshold in time to hear all that
was said about selling her. Instinctively both turned for protection to
Alice, but Mug was the first to reach her. Throwing herself upon her
knees and hiding her face in Alice’s dress she sobbed frantically,
“You buys me, Miss Alice. You give Mas’r Hugh six hundred dollars for
me, so’t he can get Miss ’Lina’s weddin’ finery. I’ll be good, I will.
I’ll learn de Lord’s prar, ebery word on’t; will you, Miss Alice, say?”
In amazement Alice tried to wrest her muslin dress from the child’s
grasp, asking what she meant.
“I know, I’ll tell,” and Lulu scarcely less excited, but more capable of
restraining herself, advanced into the room, and ere the bewildered
Alice could well understand what it all meant, or make more than a
feeble attempt to stop her, she had repeated rapidly the entire contents
of ’Lina’s letter, omitting nothing of any consequence, but, as was
quite natural, dwelling longest upon the engagement, as that was the
point which particularly concerned herself and Muggins.
Too much amazed at first to speak, Alice sat motionless, then rallying
her scattered senses, she said to Lulu,
“I am sorry that you told me this, sorry you knew it to tell. It was
wrong in you to listen, and you must not repeat it to any one else. Will
you promise?”
Lulu would do anything which Alice asked, and she gave the required
promise, then with terror in every lineament of her face she said,
“But, Miss Alice, must I be Miss ’Lina’s waiting-maid? Will Master Hugh
permit it?”
Alice did not know Hugh as well as we do, and in her heart there was a
fear lest for the sake of peace he might be overruled, resolving in her
mind that Lulu and Muggins should change owners ere the capricious
’Lina’s return, and endeavoring as far as she could to quiet both. It
was no easy task, however, to soothe Muggins, and only Alice’s direct
avowal that if possible she would herself become her purchaser, checked
her cries at all, but the moment this was said her sobbing ceased, and
Alice was able to question Lulu as to whether it was really Hugh who had
read the letter.
Lulu assured her that it was, and feeling that he must be better, Alice
dismissed both Lulu and Mug, and then sat down to reflect as to her next
best course of action.
Adah must go to Terrace Hill, and if Alice’s suspicions were correct the
projected marriage would be prevented without further interference, for
’Lina was not bad enough deliberately to take for a husband one who had
so cruelly wronged another, and even if she were, _Anna_ had power to
stop it. Adah must go, and Alice’s must be the purse which defrayed all
the expense of fitting her up. If ever Alice felt thankful to God for
having made her rich in this world’s goods, it was that morning when so
many calls for money seemed crowding on her at once. Only the previous
night she had heard from Col. Tiffton that the day was fixed for the
sale of his house, that he had no hope of redeeming it, and that _Nell_
had nearly cried herself into a second fever at the thoughts of leaving
Mosside. “Then there’s _Rocket_,” the colonel had said, “Hugh cannot buy
him back, and he’s so bound up in him too, poor Hugh,” and with
quivering lip the colonel had wrung Alice’s hand, hurrying off ere she
had time to suggest what all along had been in her mind.
“It does not matter,” she thought. “A surprise will be quite as
pleasant, and then Mr. Liston may object to it as a silly girl’s fancy.”
This was the previous night, and now this morning another demand had
come in the shape of Muggins weeping in her lap, and Lulu begging to be
saved from ’Lina Worthington.
Meantime in the sick room there was a consultation between mother and
son, touching the money for which ’Lina had asked, and which Hugh
declined sending to her. She had shown herself too heartless for any
thing, he said, and were it not for _Anna_, who was too good to be so
terribly duped, he should be glad when that Dr. took her off his hands;
then he spoke of Alice asking many questions concerning her, and at last
expressing a wish to see, and talk with her. This wish Mrs. Worthington
at once communicated to Alice, who rather reluctantly went to his room,
feeling that it was to all intents and purposes her first meeting with
Hugh.
“This is Miss Johnson,” Mrs. Worthington said, as Alice drew near, a
bright flush spreading over her face as she met Hugh’s look, expressive
of more than gratitude.
“I fancy I am to a certain degree indebted to Miss Johnson for my life,”
Hugh said, offering her his hand, while he thanked her for her kindness
to him during the long weeks of his illness.
“I was not wholly unconscious of your presence,” he continued, still
holding her hand. “There were moments when I had a vague idea of
somebody different from those I have always known bending over me, and I
fancied, too, that this somebody was sent to save me from some great
evil. I am glad you were here, Miss Johnson; I shall not forget your
kindness.”
He dropped her hand then, while Alice attempted to stammer out some
reply.
“Adah, too, had been kind,” she said, “quite as kind as herself.”
“Yes, Adah is a dear, good girl,” Hugh replied. “She is to me all a
sister could be. Do you like Adah?”
“Yes, very much.”
“I’m glad, for she is worthy of your love. She has been terribly
wronged, sometime she may tell you.”
“She has told me,” Alice replied, while Hugh continued, “I am sure you
will respect her just the same.”
Alice had not intended to talk with him of Adah then, but he had
introduced the subject and so she said to him,
“I had thought to tell you of a plan which Mrs. Hastings has in view,
but perhaps, I had better wait till you are stronger.”
“I am strong enough now—stronger than you think. Tell me of the plan,”
and Hugh urged the request until Alice told him of Terrace Hill and
Adah’s wish to go there.
For a few minutes Hugh lay perfectly still. Once he would have spurned
the idea, for Spring Bank would be so lonely without Adah and the little
boy, but Alice was there now; Alice was worth a dozen Adahs, and so he
said at last, “I have heard of the Richards family before. You know the
Dr. I believe. Do you like him? Is he a man to be trusted?”
“Yes, I know Dr. Richards,” Alice replied, half resolving to tell Hugh
all she feared, but feeling that possibly she might be wrong in her
suspicions, she concluded not to do so, Adah’s presence at Terrace Hill
would settle that matter, and she asked again if he did not think it
well for her to go.
“Yes, on some accounts,” Hugh answered, thinking of ’Lina. “But it looks
too much like sending her out alone into the world. Does she wish to go?
Is she anxious? Call her please. I would hear from her what she has to
say.”
Adah came at once, advancing so many reasons why she should go that Hugh
consented at last, and it was finally settled that she should leave as
soon as the necessary additions could be made to her own and Willie’s
wardrobe.
This being arranged, Alice and Adah withdrew, and Hugh was left alone to
think over the incidents of his interview with Alice. He had not
expected her to recognize him by his name, because she had not learned
it when on board the steamer, neither did he really expect her to
recognize his features, for he knew he had changed materially since that
time, still he was conscious of a feeling of disappointment that she did
not remember him, and once he thought to tell her who he was, but he
would rather she should find that out herself; and while wondering what
she would do and say when it did come to her knowledge that he was the
lad who tried to save her life, he fell away to sleep.
Three weeks later there came another letter from ’Lina, and with his
mother sitting beside him, Hugh read it aloud, learning “that Irving
Stanley’s widowed sister, Mrs. Carrie Ellsworth, was in New York and had
come to the hotel with her brother, that having an object in view ’Lina
had done her best to _cultivate_ Mrs. Ellsworth, presuming a great deal
on their relationship, and making herself so agreeable to her child, a
most ugly piece of deformity, that _cousin Carrie_, who had hired a
furnished house for the winter, had invited her to spend the season with
her, and she was now snugly ensconced in most delightful quarters on
Twenty-second street, between Fifth and Sixth avenues. Sometimes,” she
wrote, “I half suspect Mrs. Ellsworth did not think I would jump at her
invitation so quick, but I don’t care. The doctor, for some reason or
other, has deferred our marriage until spring, and dear knows I am not
coming to Spring Bank any sooner than I can help. The doctor, of course,
would insist upon accompanying me, and that would explode my bubble at
once. When I am ready to return, Hugh must do the brotherly, and come
for me, so that the first inkling the doctor gets of Spring Bank will be
when he comes to have tied the nuptial knot. I’m half sorry to think how
disappointed he will be, for I begin to like him, and mean to make up in
goodness what I lack in gold.
“By the way, Adah must _not_ go to Terrace Hill as you wrote she thought
of doing. You are crazy to think of it, of course they would quiz her to
death about me and Spring Bank. So tie her up, or throttle her, or do
some thing if she persists in going.
“I shall buy my bridal trousseau under Mrs. Ellsworth’s supervision. She
has exquisite taste, and Hugh must send the money. As I told him before,
he can sell Mug. Harney will buy her. He likes pretty darkies.”
“Oh, horror! can Ad be a woman, with womanly feelings!” Hugh exclaimed,
as he deliberately tore the letter in fragments, and scattered them over
the floor, feeling for a moment as if he hated his sister.
But he struggled hard to cast the bitterness away, and after a moment
was able to listen and answer calmly, while his mother asked if it would
not be better to persuade Adah not to go to Terrace Hill.
“It may interfere with ’Lina’s plans,” she said, “and now it’s gone so
far, it seems a pity to have it broken up. I know it is not right to
deceive him so, but—but—I don’t know what. It’s—it’s very pleasant with
’Lina gone,” and with a choking sob, Mrs. Worthington laid her face upon
the pillow, ashamed and sorry that the real sentiments of her heart were
thus laid bare.
It was terrible for a mother to feel that her home would be happier for
the absence of an only daughter, but she did feel so, and it made her
half willing that Dr. Richards should be deceived. But Hugh shrank from
the dishonorable proceeding. He would not interfere himself, but if Adah
could be the agent through whose instrumentality the fraud was
prevented, he would be glad, and he answered decidedly that “She must
go.”
Mrs. Worthington always yielded to Hugh, and she did so now, mentally
resolving, however, to say a few words to Adah, relative to her not
divulging anything which could possibly harm ’Lina, such as telling how
poor they were, or anything like that. This done, Mrs. Worthington felt
easier, and as Hugh looked tired and worried, she left him for a time,
having first called Muggins to gather up the fragments of ’Lina’s letter
which Hugh had thrown upon the carpet.
“Yes, burn every trace of it,” Hugh said, watching the child as she
picked up piece by piece, and threw them into the grate.
“I means to save dat ar. I’ll play I has a letter for Miss Alice,” Mug
thought, as she came upon a bit larger than the others, and when she
left the room there was hidden in her bosom that part of ’Lina’s letter
relating to herself and Harney.