SOWING THE WIND.
Merry days those were in Richmond House, with the old halls resounding
with music and laughter, and the hum of gay voices, from morning till
night. Astonished and awed were the people of Burnfield by the
glittering throng of city fashionables, who promenaded their streets and
swept past them in the sweeping amplitude of flashing silks and rich
velvets and furs. As for our city friends themselves, the ladies
pronounced the place "horrid stupid;" but as the young gentlemen, with
one or two exceptions, found the country girls exceedingly willing to be
flirted with, they rather liked it than otherwise.
A proud man was the Reverend Mr. Barebones the first Sunday after their
arrival, when the bewildering throng flashed into the meeting-house,
and, with a great rustle of silks and satins, and an intoxicating odor
of _eau de Cologne_, filled the two large front pews that from time
immemorial had belonged to Richmond House. It was not religion
altogether that brought them--at least, not all. Languid Miss Reid, for
instance, went because the rest did, and it was less trouble to go than
to form excuses for staying; and that quintessence of exquisiteness,
Mr. Adolphus Lester, who was tender on that young lady, went because she
did. Miss Harper went because Captain Arlingford was going, and Miss
Freddy Richmond went because she was a very discreet young lady and it
was "proper" to attend divine worship, and Miss Richmond never shocked
the proprieties. Georgia went because she _had_ to, and Lieutenant
Gleason and his father went to kill time, which always hung heavy on
their hands, on Sunday. Of the whole party, only Master Henry Gleason
and Mr. Curtis were absent; Master Henry, having pronounced the whole
establishment of Christian churches on earth and their attendant
Christian ministers "horrid old bores," declared his intention of
staying at home and having a "jolly good snooze."
Every one seemed to have enjoyed themselves the last week at Richmond
House but its young mistress. There were rides, and drives, and
excursions during the day, and sailing parties on the river in Mr.
Wildair's yacht; and there were dancing, and music, and acting charades,
and all sorts of amusements for the evening, into which all the young
people entered with eager zest--all but Georgia.
Those days, few as they were, had wrought a marked change in her. The
flush of her health and happiness had faded from her cheeks, leaving
only two dark purple spots, that burned there like tongues of flame; her
eye had lost its sparkle, her brow was worn and haggard, and her step
was slow and weary. She lived in daily martyrdom, such as none but a
spirit so morbidly proud and keenly sensitive can comprehend. Slights,
insults, insolence, and little galling acts of malice, "making up in
number what they wanted in weight," were daily to be borne now from her
supercilious mother-in-law and her malicious, insolent shadow and echo,
Miss Richmond. And these were offered openly, in the presence of all;
not an opportunity was allowed to escape of mortifying her; until
sometimes, wild and nearly maddened, she would fly up to her room, and,
alone and frenzied, struggle with the storm raging in her heart.
Richmond, absorbed in attending to the comfort and amusement of his
guests, knew nothing of all this. It was not their policy to let him
suspect their dislike--yes, _hatred_ of his bride; and, as they well
knew, the rest, who saw it all, would not venture to speak on so
delicate a subject to their proud host. It is true, he saw the change in
Georgia's face, and the freezing coldness her manners were assuming to
all, even to him; but from some artfully dropped hints of immaculate
Miss Freddy's, he set it down to stubborn sullenness. And believing her
to be incorrigible in her disagreeableness and insubordination, he grew
markedly reserved and cold when alone in her society; and thus the
misunderstanding between them daily widened.
Georgia was too proud to complain of what she herself suffered and
endured--she was dumb; and indeed if she had been inclined, she would
have found it hard to make out a list of her grievances and relate them,
for Miss Freddy's insults were offered in such a way that, keenly as
they struck home, they dwindled into nothing when related to a third
party. Had he not been so absorbed in the duties of hospitality, and
striving to atone for his wife's neglect, he might have seen for
himself; but he was blind and deaf to all, and only saw her uncourteous
treatment of his friends and her wifely disobedience. And before
long--no one scarcely knew how--Georgia was pushed aside, and Mrs.
Wildair and Freddy began to take the place of hostess, and Richmond
looked on and tacitly consented. All were consulted in their plans and
amusements but Georgia; _she_ was overlooked with the coolest and most
insolent contempt; and if sometimes, as a matter of form, her opinion
was asked by either of the ladies, it was worded in such a way or
uttered in such a tone as made it even a more galling insult. And
Georgia, with a swelling heart and with lips compressed in proud, bitter
endurance, consented to bare her place usurped, without a word or
attempt to regain it. With a heart that underneath all her calmness
seemed ready to burst at such times, she would refuse to accompany them,
pleading indisposition, or sometimes giving no reason at all; and Mrs.
Wildair would turn away with an indifferent, "Oh, very well, just as you
please," and Richmond would say nothing at the time, until he would find
her alone, and then he would coldly begin:
"Mrs. Wildair, may I beg to know the reason you will not honor us with
your company to-morrow?"
"Because I do not wish to," she would flash, with all her old defiance
flaming up in her dusky eyes.
"_Because you do not wish to!_ Insolent! Madam, I _insist_ upon your
accompanying us to-morrow!"
"You find my society so brilliant and agreeable, no doubt, that my
absence will destroy your pleasure," she would say, with a bitter laugh
that jarred painfully on the ear.
"No, madam, I regret to say that your fixed determination to disobey me,
and be uncourteous and disagreeable, is carried out in the very letter
and spirit. Still, I cannot allow my guests to be treated with marked
discourtesy. _I_ have some regard for the laws of hospitality, if you
have not. Therefore, Mrs. Wildair, you will prepare to join our party
to-morrow."
"And if I refuse?"
His eye flashed, and his mouth grew stern.
"You will be sorry for it! Do not attempt such a thing! You may disobey,
but you shall not trifle with me."
She lifted her eyes, and he would see a face so haggard and utterly
wretched that his heart would melt, and he would go over and put his arm
around her, and say, gently:
"Come, Georgia, be reasonable. What evil spirit has got into you of
late? Why will you persist in treating our friends in this way?"
"_Our_ friends!--_your_ friends, you mean."
"It is all the same; for my sake you ought to treat my friends
differently."
Her heart swelled and her lip quivered. Yes, his friends might slight
and insult her, but she was to put her head under their heels, and smile
on those who crushed her.
"Well, Georgia, you do not speak," he would say, watching her closely.
"Mr. Wildair, I have nothing to say. Your mother and cousin are
mistresses here; my part is to stand aside and obey them. If you
_command_ me to go to-morrow, I have no alternative. I am still capable
of submitting to a great deal, sooner than willingly displease you."
"My mother and cousin undertook no authority here, Georgia, until you
neglected all your duties as hostess, and they were obliged to do so. It
is all your own fault, and you know it, Georgia."
She smiled bitterly.
"We will not discuss the subject, if you please, Richmond. I make no
complaint; they are welcome to do as they please, and all I ask for is
the same privilege. I cannot have it, it appears, and--I will go
to-morrow, since you insist; my absence or presence will make little
difference to your friends."
"Georgia, why _will_ you persist in this absurd nonsense?" he would
exclaim, almost angrily. "Really you are enough to try the patience of a
saint. I wish some of this foolish, morbid pride of yours had been kept
where it came from, and a little plain, practical common sense put in
its place. You have taken a most unaccountable prejudice to my mother
and cousin, which, if you had that regard for me you profess, you
certainly would not pain me by displaying; in fact, you resolved from
the first to dislike _all_ I invited, and you have kept that promise
wonderfully well I must say, except as regards the two Arlingfords,
toward whom you evince a partiality that makes your neglect of the rest
all the more glaring. It is certainly a pity you did not receive the
education of a lady, Georgia, and then common politeness would teach you
to act differently."
In silence, and with a curling lip and an unutterable depth of scorn in
her beautiful eyes, Georgia would listen to this conjugal tirade, but
her lips would be sealed; and Richmond, indignant and deeply offended,
would leave the room, and the next moment, all smiles and suavity,
rejoin his guests. And Georgia, left alone, would press her hand to her
breast with that feeling of suffocation rising again until the very air
of the perfumed room would seem to stifle her. And such scenes as this
were of frequent occurrence now, and one and all sank deep in her
heart, to rankle there in anguish and bitterness untold.
Perhaps it may seem strange that Mrs. Wildair and Miss Richmond should
hate Georgia; but so it was. Mrs. Wildair was the haughtiest, the most
overbearing, and the most ambitious of women. Her sons were her pride
and her boast, in public as well as in private, and she had often been
heard to declare that they should marry among the highest in the land,
and perpetuate the ancient glory of the Richmonds. When Charley had
disappointed all this expectation, and had become an alien from her
heart and home, the shock, given more to her ambition than to her
affections, was terrible, and when she recovered from it, all her hopes
centered in her first-born, Richmond.
There was an English lady of rank, the daughter of an earl, at that time
visiting an acquaintance of Mrs. Wildair in New York, and to this
high-born girl did she lift her eyes and determine upon as her future
daughter-in-law. But before she had time to write to Richmond, and
desire him to return home for that purpose, _his_ letter came, and there
she read the quiet announcement that, in a week or two, he was to be
married in Burnfield to a young, penniless girl, "rich alone in beauty,"
he wrote.
Mrs. Wildair sat nearly stunned by the shock. Down came her gilded
coroneted _chateau d'Espagne_ with a crash, to rise no more. Her son
was his own master; she knew his strong, determined, unconquerable will
of old, to combat which was like beating the air. Nothing remained for
her but to consent, which she did with a bitter hatred against the
unconscious object that had thwarted her burning in her heart, and a
determination to make her pay dearly for what she had done, which
resolution she proceeded to carry into effect the moment she arrived in
Richmond House.
"To think that she--a thing like that--sprang from the dregs of the
city, for she is not even an honest farmer's daughter--should have dared
to become my son's wife," she said, hissing the words through her
clenched teeth; "a low wretch, picked up out of the slime and slough of
the city filth, to come between me and my son. Oh! was Charley's act not
degradation enough, that this must fall upon us too?"
"Let us hope, my dear aunt, that the place she has had the effrontery to
usurp will not long be hers," murmured the dulcet voice of her niece, to
whom she had spoken. "We have built up already a wall of brass between
them, and I have a plan in my head that will transform it to one of
fire. Recollect, aunt, divorces are easily obtained, and then your son
will be free once more, and our queenly pauper will be ignominiously
cast back into the slime she rose from."
Miss Freddy's hatred came from pretty much the same cause as Mrs.
Wildair's. In any case, she would have considered it her duty to follow
that lady's lead: but now she had her own private reasons for hating her
with all the bitter intensity of a mean little mind.
Miss Freddy was to have married Charley, and was quite ready and willing
to do so at a moment's notice, but in her secret heart she would have
far preferred his elder brother. Differing from the rest of the world,
Richmond, even "from boyhood's hours," had been her favorite; but when
she saw his mother's hopes aspire to a coronet and a title, she was
overawed, and made up her mind to be cast into the shade. To be rivaled
by a lady like this could be borne, but that a peasant girl--a
nameless, unknown girl--should win the prize for which she had sought in
vain--oh! it was a humiliation not to be endured. So she entered heart
and soul into all her aunt's plans, and won that lady's approbation for
her dutiful conduct, while she carefully concealed her own motives. And
this, then, was the secret of Georgia's persecutions.
The "wall of fire" the amiable young lady had referred to was to make
Richmond jealous. Now, jealousy was never a fault of his, but artful
people can work wonders, and Miss Freddy went carefully, but surely, to
work, with Mrs. Wildair for her stanch backer. And Georgia, all
unconscious, walked headlong into the snare laid for her.
As her husband had said, the Arlingfords were the only ones in the house
whom Georgia could at all endure. The frank, genial, honest
straightforwardness of brother and sister pleased her; and, indignant at
the treatment so openly offered her, they devoted themselves in every
way to interest and amuse her. And Miss Freddy seeing this, her little
keen eyes fairly snapped with gratification, and by a thousand little
devices and pretenses she would manage to dispose of the sister, and
leave Georgia altogether to be entertained by the brother. And then the
attention of the company would be artfully directed to the twain who
were so much together, and Richmond would hear from one and another:
"What friends Mrs. Georgia" (so she was called to distinguish her from
the other) "and captain Arlingford are!"
"How _very_ intimate they are!"
"Yes, _indeed_; just see how she smiles upon him--don't you think her
handsome when she smiles?"
"Very much so. Captain Arlingford seems to think so, too. What a pity he
is the only one she will honor by one of them."
"Well, it is fortunate she has met some one who can please her--she
seems so dull, poor thing!"
"A handsome man like Captain Arlingford does not find it very hard to be
agreeable, I fancy; he is decidedly the best-looking young man here."
"Mrs. Georgia's opinion exactly," said Miss Harper, sending a spiteful
glance at the unconscious objects of these remarks, who sat conversing
on a sofa at some distance. "I asked her, yesterday, and she said, 'Yes,
she thought he most decidedly was.'"
"Poor, dear Georgia!" chimed in Miss Freddy, looking tenderly toward
her; "I am so glad she likes him; she seems to like so few, and indeed
nobody could help liking him, he is so charming. What a nice nose, and
lovely mustache, and sweet curling hair he has, to be sure!"
"And, by George! he shows his good taste, too, in flirting with the
prettiest woman among you," exclaimed Harry Gleason, bluntly.
"Arlingford knows what's what, I tell you; he'll go in and win, I'll
bet!"
Now these remarks, though at first he paid no attention to them beyond
what the words conveyed, jarred disagreeably on Richmond's mind. But as
days passed on and they grew more frequent and more meaning in tone, and
he saw the curious smiles with which they were regarded, and the
expression of his mother's face as she watched them, and saw his cousin
look first at them and then at him with a sort of anxiety and tender
pity, he felt a growing disagreeable sensation of uneasiness for which
he could hardly account. Even to himself, he was ashamed to own he was
jealous of Georgia--his leal, true-hearted, straightforward Georgia,
whom he had never known to be guilty of a dishonorable thought in her
life. Fiery, rash, high-spirited she was, but treacherous, deceitful,
_wicked_ she was not. He could have staked his soul upon her truth, and
yet--and yet by slow degrees the poison began to enter his mind, and he
commenced to watch his wife with an angry, suspicious eye.
Oh, Richmond! Richmond! that you should fall so low as this! You, whom
Georgia once regarded as a demi-god; you whom she still believes, in
spite of your sorrowful misunderstanding, everything that is upright and
true; you, whom, had heaven, and earth, and hades accused of infidelity,
she would not have believed. And now, you are growing jealous of your
rash but leal-hearted wife, whom you have completely neglected yourself,
to attend to others. Oh, Richmond!
"Really, my dear, you are a jewel without price--worth a million in
cash!" exclaimed Mrs. Wildair to Freddy, delighted at the success of her
diabolical scheme. "Your plan has succeeded beyond all my expectations.
I really did not think you could make Richmond jealous without alarming
him, and putting him on his guard against us; but, positively, he is
growing as jealous as a Turk, and never suspects either of us in the
least."
Miss Freddy smiled her sinister and most evil smile.
"Poor Richmond! What a hard time he is going to have of it with that
green-eyed monster! And how delightfully unconscious Mrs. Georgia walks
into the pit with her eyes open! Really, it is as good as a farce! Oh!
the stupidity of these earthworms!"
"Poor Rich! he _did_ look so deliciously miserable to-night when he saw
those two sitting together in a corner by themselves, turning over those
prints, just as innocent as a couple of angels."
And both ladies leaned back in their seats and laughed immoderately.
Poor Georgia! the sky was rapidly darkening around her, though this, the
blackest cloud, was still invisible to her eyes. Sometimes, in her
desolation, it seemed to her as if she had not a single friend in the
world, for Emily never ventured near Richmond House now, and she had
only seen Miss Jerusha once since her return. She _could not_
dissimulate. She had tried it in vain, and she would not bring her
haggard face and anguished eyes to tell the tale her tongue was too
proud to speak. So she did not visit the cottage, until at last Miss
Jerusha grew seriously uneasy, and resolved to brave all obstacles, the
impudent footman included, and go up to the house and see Georgia.
Until she was fairly gone, Miss Jerusha had never known how large a
share of her heart her _protegee_ had monopolized; and so, worthy
reader, behold her arrayed in that respected "kaliker geownd" you are
acquainted with, for brown silk could not be worn on a week-day, with
the faded shawl, and a pink calico sun-bonnet, a recent addition to her
wardrobe, knocking at the hall door of Richmond House.
It was some time in the afternoon, and the household were dressing for
dinner, and so the servant told her, respectfully enough, for her first
visit had taught them a lesson they did not soon forget.
"Dinner! you git out!" said Miss Jerusha, indignantly, "and it nigh onto
four o'clock. Don't tell me no such stuff! Jist be off and tell Georgey
I want to see her. Clear!"
The man hesitated; Miss Jerusha looked dangerous; he expected the
dinner-bell to ring every moment, and his mistress was in her room; so
while he stood hesitating, a rustling of silk was heard behind him, and
the next moment Mrs. Wildair stood gazing in haughty surprise on the
intruder.
Now, Mrs. Wildair knew well enough who Miss Jerusha was; her niece had
pointed her out one day; but as this was an excellent opportunity for
mortifying Georgia, she chose to be quite ignorant of the matter.
"What is this?" she said, stepping back haughtily. "What does she want?
Wilson, how dare you allow beggars to enter the hall-door?"
"She--she ain't no beggar, ma'am," said Wilson, casting an apprehensive
glance at Miss Jerusha, "she's----"
"I don't care what she is. Persons of her class should go round to the
kitchen door. Send her out, and let her go there if she wants anything,"
exclaimed Mrs. Wildair, sharply.
Up to this point Miss Jerusha had stood fairly stupefied. She mistaken
for a beggar! She--Miss Jerusha Glory Ann Skamp--whose ward was lady of
this great house! For an instant she was speechless, with the blood of
all the Skamps boiling within her, and then she burst out:
"Why, you yeller old lantern-jawed be-frizzled be-flowered, impident old
woman, to call me a beggar! Oh, my gracious! to think I should be called
that in my old ages o' life? _A beggar!_ My-y-y conscience! If you hev
the impidence to call me that agin, I'll--I'll----"
"Turn her out, she is crazy! turn her out, I tell you," said Mrs.
Wildair, white with passion. "Do you hear me, Wilson? Turn this old
wretch out."
The noise had now brought a crowd down into the hall, who stood gazing
in mingled curiosity and amusement on this scene between the lady and
the beggar, as they supposed her to be.
"Turn me out! Let them try it!" exclaimed Miss Jerusha, looking daggers
at the startled Wilson.
"Do you hear me, sir? Am I to be obeyed? Turn this woman out," said Mrs.
Wildair, stamping her foot.
"Touch her if you _dare_!" screamed a fierce voice; and Georgia, with
blazing eyes and passionate face, rushed through the crowd, flashed past
Mrs. Wildair, and stood, white, panting, and fierce, like a hunted stag
at bay, beside Miss Jerusha. "Lay one finger on her at your peril! How
_dare_ you, madam!" she almost screamed, facing round so suddenly on the
startled lady that she recoiled. "How dare you order her out--how _dare_
you do it?"
"Really, young lady," said Mrs. Wildair, recovering her calm hauteur,
"this is most extraordinary language addressed to me. I was not aware
that persons of her condition were ever received in my son's house."
"Then learn it now," said Georgia, fiercely; "while I am here, this
house shall be free to her in spite of you all. Perhaps you are not
aware, madam, who she is?"
"Some of _your_ relations, most probably," said Mrs. Wildair, with a
withering sneer. "She looks like it."
"Mother! Georgia! What in the name of wonder is all this?" exclaimed a
hurried, startled voice; and Richmond Wildair, pale and excited, made
his way toward them.
"It means, sir, that I have been grossly insulted by your wife," said
Mrs. Wildair, her very lips white with anger; "insulted, too, in the
presence of your guests; spoken to as I never was spoken to before in my
life."
"Mother, for mercy's sake, hush!" he said, in a fierce whisper, his face
crimson with shame. "And, Georgia, if you _ever_ loved me, retire to
your room now, and make no exhibition before these people. Miss Jerusha,
persuade her to go before I am eternally disgraced."
"Come, honey, come; I'll go with you," said Miss Jerusha, tremulously,
quite nervous at this unexpected scene.
With heaving bosom and flashing eyes Georgia stood, terrible in her
roused wrath, as a priestess of doom. Miss Jerusha put her arm around
her and coaxingly drew her along, and passed with her into the empty
breakfast parlor near. When she was gone, Richmond turned to his guests,
who stood gazing at each other in consternation, and forcing a smile,
said:
"My friends, you must be surprised at this extraordinary scene, but it
will not appear so extraordinary when explained. The singular-looking
person who was the cause of all this was a sort of guardian of my wife,
and upon her entrance here my mother, deceived by her singular dress,
mistook her for a beggar, and ordered her out. An altercation ensued,
which my wife overheard, and, indignant at what she supposed a direct
intentional insult to her old friend, rushed down, and in the excitement
of the moment, thoughtlessly uttered the hasty words you have all
overheard. Mother, I beg you will think no more about it; no one will
regret them more than Georgia herself when she cools down. And now,
there goes the dinner-bell; so, my friends, we will forget this
disagreeable little scene, and not let it spoil our appetites."
With a faint smile he offered his arm to Mrs. Gleason and led the way to
the dining-room, saying, as he did so:
"You will oblige me by presiding to-day, mother. Georgia, in her
excitement, will not care to return to table, I fancy."
With a stiff bow Mrs. Wildair complied, and Richmond, beckoning to a
servant, whispered:
"Go to the parlor and request Mrs. Wildair, with my compliments, to
retire to her own room, and say I wish her to remain there for the
evening."
"My dear cousin," said a low voice, and the small, sallow hand of Freddy
was laid on his arm, "allow me to go. It would mortify our proud Georgia
to death to have such a message brought by a servant. Remember, she only
spoke hastily, and we _must_ have consideration for her feelings."
"My dear, kind little cousin," said Richmond, with emotion, as he
pressed her hand, "she does not deserve this from _you_. But go, lest
she should make another scene before the servants."
With her silky smile Freddy glided out and opened the parlor door
without ceremony. Sitting on a sofa was Miss Jerusha, while Georgia
crouched before her, her face hidden in her lap, her whole attitude so
crushed, desolate, and full of anguish, that it is no wonder Miss
Jerusha was exclaiming between her sobs:
"There, honey, there! _don't_ feel it so. I wouldn't if I was you.
Where's the good of minding of 'em at all? Don't, honey, don't! It's
drefful to see you so."
The malicious smile deepened and brightened on Freddy's evil face at the
sight.
Miss Jerusha looked sharply up as she entered, and seeing her
triumphant look, her tears seemed turned to sparks of fire.
"Well, what do _you_ want?" she demanded.
Without noticing her by look or word, Freddy went over and laid her hand
on Georgia's shoulder.
"Georgia," she said, authoritatively.
With a bound Georgia leaped to her feet, and with eyes that shone like
coals of fire in a face perfectly white, she confronted her mortal
enemy.
Freddy, with all her meanness, was no coward, else she would have fled
at sight of that fearful look. As it was she recoiled a step, and her
smile faded away as she said:
"My cousin sent me here to tell you to go to your room and stay there
until he comes."
Slowly and impressively Georgia lifted her head, and keeping her
gleaming, burning eyes fixed on the sallow face before her, pointed to
the door.
"Go!" she said, in a hollow voice, "Go!"
Freddy started, and her face flushed.
"I have delivered my message, and intend to. If you don't do as my
cousin orders you--take care, that's all."
"Go!" repeated the hollow tones, that startled her by their very
calmness, so unnatural was it.
For the very first time in her life Freddy Richmond was terrified, and
Miss Jerusha appalled. Without a word, the former glided past, opened
the door, and vanished.
For a moment Georgia stood stock-still, like one turned to stone, and
then, throwing up her arms with a great cry, she would have fallen had
not Miss Jerusha caught her.
"Oh, my heart! my heart!" she cried, pressing her hands over it as
though it were breaking. "Oh, Miss Jerusha, they have killed me!"
"Oh, Georgia!" began Miss Jerusha, but her voice choked, and she
stopped.
"Oh, leave me! leave me! dear, best friend that ever was in this world,
leave me, and never come to this dreadful house again. Oh, Miss Jerusha,
why did you not leave me to die that night long ago!"
Miss Jerusha essayed to speak, but something rose in her throat and
stopped her. Nothing broke the silence of the room but her sobs and that
passionate, despairing voice.
"Go! leave me! I cannot bear you should stay here; and never, never come
back again, Miss Jerusha. Oh, me! oh, me! that I were dead!"
There was such painful anguish in her tones that Miss Jerusha could not
stay to listen. Throwing her arms around her neck in one passionate
embrace, she hurried from the house, sobbing hysterically, and startling
the servant who opened the door.
Then Georgia reeled rather than walked from the room, up stairs, and
into her own bedroom; and there, sinking down on the floor, she lay as
still and motionless as if she were indeed dead. For hours she lay thus,
as if frozen there, as if she would never rise again--crushed, humbled,
degraded to the dust. Sounds of laughter and music came wafted up the
stairs; she heard the voice she hated most singing a gay Italian
barcarole, and now another voice joins in--_her husband's_.
Oh, Georgia, your hour of anguish has come, and where is your help now?
Heaven and earth are dark alike; you did not look up when life's
sunshine shone on you, and now, in your utter misery, there is no helper
near.
Oh, Georgia, where, in your humiliation, is the pride, the independence
that has supported you hitherto? Gone--swept away, like a reed in the
blast, and you lie there prostrate on the earth, prone in the dust, a
living example of human helplessness, unsupported by divine grace.
Hour after hour passed, and still she lay there. The door opened at
last, but she did not move. The footsteps she knew so well crossed the
threshold, but she was motionless. A voice pronounced her name, and a
shiver ran through her whole frame, but the collapsed form was still. A
hand was laid on her arm, and she was lifted to her feet and borne to a
chair, and then she raised her sunken eyes and saw the stern face of her
husband bent upon her.