A FAIRY BOWER
Marble walled and crystal windowed,
Vailed with silken drapery,
Dressed with ornaments of silver,
Interlaid with gems and gold;
Filled with carvings from cathedrals,
Rescued in the times of old;
Eloquent with books and pictures,
All that luxury can afford;
Warm with statues that Pygmalion
Might have fashioned and adored,
In the island’s groves and grottoes,
Lovely are the light and gloom,
Fountains sparkle in the grotto,
And exotics breathe perfume.
MACKAY.
“Come, my darling, I wish to show you something,” said the Lady of
Edengarden, as she took the hand of Emolyn Palmer and led her out of the
front door and down the marble steps to the first terrace, which was
still green and fresh, though all around was touched with frost. Then
she turned her around, and they stood facing the beautiful windows
glistening in the morning sun like alabaster and rainbows.
“Look,” said the lady, pointing to one high, airy white tower with many
windows, whose summit seemed to be almost up among the clouds.
“Oh, I have often gazed at that tower, dear lady! How elegant it is!”
exclaimed Em.
“Look at the top,” said the lady.
“Oh, how lovely, with its crystal windows shaded with rose-colored silk
and opening upon marble balconies. It is like a chamber in Paradise
surely. I have often gazed at it while on my solitary visits to the
island, and thought it was too beautiful, aerial and ideal ever to be
used, and often wondered if any one ever lived in it! The white tower is
the most elegant part of the palace, and that aerial chamber in the
clouds the most beautiful part of the tower.”
“It has never been occupied. It is a virgin bower. But come in and I
will take you at once to your apartment,” murmured Emolyn, as she drew
her young companion’s arm within her own and conducted her into the hall
and up the fairy flight of stairs leading to the upper floors.
“I think I know your taste in lodgings. You have a cat-like love of
garrets,” said the lady, smiling.
“Oh, yes, indeed I have; but I wonder how you know it, madam?” exclaimed
the girl in open-eyed astonishment.
“I think I should have known it by intuition even if your mother had not
told me, as she did,” said the lady, as she passed the second landing
and led her companion still higher.
They went up to the attic hall, with a floor inlaid of maple and black
walnut; with broad, stained glass windows at each end, which threw a
cathedral light over all, and doors on each side leading into closed
rooms; and, lastly, with one tall and narrow door in the corner, toward
which the lady led her guest.
They passed through it and up a narrow but very pretty flight of stairs
that led them to an upper door, which the lady opened.
Em. made an exclamation of surprise and delight.
“This is your apartment, my little love,” said Emolyn.
The simple maiden gazed around her in a perfect ecstasy of admiration.
The sudden transit from the staircase to this radiant scene was almost
like the work of enchantment.
Now I wish my readers to see this beautiful room in their mind’s eye as
clearly as I saw it.
It was at the top of the highest tower of the Edengarden Villa. It was a
large, lofty, octagon-shaped room, whose eight sides were filled with
high, broad mirrors and windows, alternating with each other, and all
alike draped with rose-colored silk and white lace curtains to give
uniformity. The floor was covered with a carpet which, from its hue and
softness, seemed formed of blush roses and water lilies. Elegant
cabinets, stands and tables of white satinwood, inlaid with flowers
formed of malachite, mother-of-pearl, coral and turquoise, stood near
the silver-gilded pillars between the windows and the mirrors.
Sofas, divans and luxurious chairs of white satinwood, upholstered in
rose-colored velvet and white chenille fringe, sat about in convenient
places, inviting repose. Statuettes of Parian marble—miniature copies of
the great masterpieces of sculpture, and vases of rare Sèvres china,
Bohemian glass, or alabaster, loaded with choice exotics, adorned the
brackets which were attached around the walls.
The ceiling was a cupola, painted in fresco, of opal-tinted clouds on a
pale blue morning sky. But the central summit of this cupola was a
skylight composed of one solid sheet of thick, clear plate-glass,
through which the heavens could be seen by day or night.
Em. gazed around on this fairy chamber, too much lost in admiration even
to ask herself whether it were not too rare and costly, too dainty and
delicate for daily use.
“This is your boudoir, my bird. It is the topmost room in the high
tower. But this tower, as you may have observed from seeing it on the
outside, is flanked by four turrets, each with its row of long, narrow
windows.”
“Oh, yes, madam, I have seen them all, and this chamber lifted up among
the clouds, as it seemed to be.”
“Well, my dear, now look here. First, these four windows give you a wide
view of the country toward the four points of the compass. Then these
four mirrors between the windows are on hinges, and behind their silken
curtains open into turret chambers belonging to your suite of
apartments. See here!” she said, gently pushing one of the mirrors
outward and revealing an alcove of pure white silk and lace in which
stood a fairy bed of soft white draperies.
“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed the delighted girl.
“Now look here,” the lady said, opening a second mirror and revealing a
dressing-room fitted with marble bath, basins, ewers, bureaus, presses
and all conveniences for the toilet.
“Here is everything that even a princess might desire!” exclaimed Em.
“And here!” continued the lady, turning in a third mirror, showing a
little room fitted up as an oratory, library or study.
The floor was covered with a carpet of shaded green, like forest leaves;
the walls were lined with white satinwood shelves, filled with choice
books; in the middle of the room stood an elegant rosewood
writing-table, covered with a richly-embroidered green cloth. Near the
table stood an ebony-backed reading chair, cushioned with green and
gold; under the window, which was draped with green and gold fringe
velvet, stood a lounge in the same colors.
“Oh, this is like the inside of an elegant casket!” exclaimed Em. with
enthusiasm.
“Yes, it is a casket, and there are the jewels,” said the lady, pointing
to the books. “And now let me show you the fourth turret room,” she
continued, leading Em. to the only remaining mirror. Turning it inward,
she revealed the fairy-like, spiral staircase by which they had ascended
to this floor, and by which she now proposed that they should mount
still higher to the observatory.
Em. followed her conductress up an aerial flight of steps and through a
stained glass window, which the lady slid aside, and thence out upon the
top of the tower.
It was round. The center was formed of the clear glass crystal that gave
light to the chamber below. Around this crystal was a slender ring of
white marble balustrades; around that a marble walk; outside the walk a
row of white benches, and around the edge of the tower a circular
colonnade so massive as to insure the safety even of a sleepwalker, if
such should venture upon the giddy height.
But the grand view, north, east, south, west, from that high and central
point! There was the island immediately beneath, with its lovely
grounds; the river all around; the wooded banks; the distant mountains!
“Em.,” exclaimed Mrs. Lynn, “you can see The Breezes, Commodore Bruce’s
place, and the Wilderness Manor-house, and even the spire of Gray Rock
church from this point.”
“Oh, it is grand! It is glorious!” exclaimed Em. in delight.
“When you wish to leave the world far below you, you can come up here to
meditate, read, sew, sketch, dream, do as you please.”
“It is like a place in a vision!” murmured Em.
“And now, dear, we will go down,” said Mrs. Lynn, leading the way.
When they had reached the beautiful octagon chamber, Em. said:
“The season is late autumn, and the weather seems cold outside, yet the
temperature in here is that of summer, although I see no means of
heating this charming place.”
“Do you not?” inquired the lady, smiling.
“No, indeed.”
“What do you take this to be?” she asked, pointing to a piece of
furniture that looked like a large pedestal and vase of alabaster and
Bohemian glass and stood near the center of the room.
“That? Why, an elegant flower stand, to be sure!” said Em., wondering.
“Why, so it is in summer; but in autumn and winter we put it to a
different use. Lay your hand on it—lightly, Em.”
The girl placed her hand on the pedestal and quickly withdrew it,
exclaiming:
“It is hot!”
“Yes, and it heats the room. It is one of those porcelain stoves, such
as those with which the Russian palaces are partly heated. And see,
dear, the vase on top is kept full of rose-water, which diffuses both
moisture and perfume throughout the atmosphere.”
“Oh, how perfect! I could not have conceived of a place so perfect, if
indeed it is not all a dream!” breathed Em.
“And now, love, I will leave you to make your toilet for dinner. There,
in those drawers and wardrobes of your dressing-room, you will find an
outfit, such as I wish you to wear. Youth should always dress in white
while in the house, Em. At least I think so, even at this time of the
year. And you may do so with impunity, for, as you say, although the
season is autumn, the atmosphere is summer. It is _always_ summer at
Edengarden,” the lady added with a smile as she pressed a kiss upon the
lips of Em. and left the room.
Em. stood for a moment looking about herself, still dazzled and
bewildered by the novelty and beauty of her surroundings, and then,
child like, she went to each rosesilk and lace-draped window and in turn
opened it and stepped out upon the marble balcony. There were four of
these, be it remembered, each affording strict privacy and commanding a
magnificent view. While she was still standing on the balcony outside of
the east window she was startled by a voice in the room calling out:
“Miss Em.! Where is yer, honey? Come out here, honey.”
“I _am_ ‘out here,’ Pony,” laughed the girl, “but I will step _in_, if
you want me.”
“Oh, I t’ought you was in your bedroom, maybe. My mist’ess has sent me
up here to help yer to dress, chile.”
“Thank you, aunty,” said Em. as she came into the room.
Pony herself went into the dressing-closet and began to overhaul the
fresh wardrobe, saying:
“There’s your nice gauze flannels in this bottom drawer, honey, and yer
cambric skirts in this, and yer dresses in the wardrobe, and yer——”
“Pony,” interrupted Em., “I have not known your dear and lovely mistress
for a week, and here she has a complete outfit for me. How on earth
could she have got it?”
“Oh, chile, maybe she may tell you herself some o’ dese days. _I_ ain’t
at liberty to explain, Miss Em. Only this I’ll say, dat dis wardrobe
wasn’t got for _you_, nor was dese rooms prepared for _you_, nor was——”
“For whom, then, were the rooms fitted up and the wardrobe selected?”
inquired the wondering girl.
“I can’t tell you, Miss Em. It ain’t my secret, but de madam’s. ’Haps,
as she has taken sich a fancy to you, she may tell you herself.”
Em. looked so puzzled, and even distressed, that Pony hastened to say:
“But you have got the beautiful rooms and the beautiful dresses all to
yourself now, honey, with no one to dispute them with you.”
“I am afraid, though, that my gain is somebody else’s——”
“No, indeed, Miss Em.! There you are very much mistaken, for I can tell
you this much——” eagerly interrupted the woman; and then she suddenly
paused.
Em. waited for her to go on, grew impatient, and then demanded:
“What, Pony?”
“_These beautiful rooms and most beautiful raiment was never designed
for no mortal girl!_”
“Pony! WHAT do you mean?” breathlessly exclaimed Em. as a mental vision
of the radiant White Lady of the Wilderness Manor-hall sent an electric
thrill through her veins.
“I daren’t tell you, honey, what I mean. ’Haps _she’ll_ tell you some ob
dese days, since she’s took sich a liking to you, which I hopes, honey,
you’ll be a blessing to her and win her away from de solitary life as I
think has all but turned her brain. I has hopes of you, honey, ’cause
you’s de berry first person she has ever bided to make a companion of
for dese seventeen years or more. Your folks is de berry first people in
all dese many days as she has ever ’vited to her house.”
“Oh, how lonely must such a life have been!” sighed the girl.
“Yes, honey, but it was her own choosing. Why, dere was even Dr. Willet,
her ’ticklerest old friend! When he came here t’other day she _seed_
him, to be sure, but she didn’t ax him to stay to dinner!”
“Oh, I am _so_ glad she let me come!” said Em.
“Yes, so am I. My hopes is all in you, Miss Em. My hopes for my dear
mist’ess is all in you! Why, honey, she is so _young_ to shet herself up
from deciety! She ain’t more’n thirty-two years old, and she don’t look
nigh _that_ even. She don’t look so much older’n you, Miss Em. And if
she would go out she might marry happy! She might, indeed, for dere’s
many and many an unmarried single young lady of her age what passed
theirselves off _well_ for a miss in her ’teens! And nobody know to de
contrary!”
“Oh, if I could only do anything to make her happy! To make her forget
the past, whatever it is! To win her back to her fellow-beings!” sighed
Em., clasping her hands prayerfully.
“I ’pends on you for to do dat, Miss Em. And now, my honey-bee, come
dress yerself as pretty as ever you can, for my lady loves to look at
pretty things. So dress yerself pretty, Miss Em.”
“In the ghost’s clothes?” inquired Em., half jestingly, half
shudderingly.
“No, honey, not de ghost’s! Don’t be afeard—dere’s no ghost. In de
_angel’s_ clothes, more like.”
“What_ever_ do you mean, Pony?”
“I daren’t say no more’n dis, honey—what I said afore—as dese things,
dese lovely rooms and lovely raiments, was never prepared for _you_,
_nor for no mortal lady_, dough you has got dem now! So, my honey, don’t
ax me no more questions, ’cause you wouldn’t have me ’tray my mist’ess’
trust, would you?” seriously inquired Pony.
“Oh, no, no, no!” earnestly exclaimed Em., who had not considered the
subject in that light before.
“Well, den, honey, don’t ax me no more questions on dat subject, ’cause
talking is my weakness, anyhow; but, come, now and dress yerself pretty
as a fairy, to go down and sit wid my mist’ess.”
Em. looked over her simple and elegant wardrobe and selected a costume
of embroidered white India muslin, lightly trimmed with pale blue
ribbons.
When she was ready she followed Pony down to the presence of her
mistress, whom she found in a little boudoir connected with the long
saloon on one end and a small, elegant dining-room on the other.
The lady had changed her own dress, and wore a silver-gray silk with
point lace falls, and no jewelry.
“We dine early here, my dear girl,” said Mrs. Lynn as she touched the
bell.
No one answered it, for the signal at that hour was understood, and in
about five minutes dinner was announced.
No more need be said of this than that it was a dainty little dinner for
two, elegantly served in the small but sumptuous dining-room.
After dinner Mrs. Lynn took Emolyn into the library, where they spent a
few pleasant hours seated in luxurious chairs at a table covered with
books of engravings after the old masters.
When tired of this amusement at the lady’s suggestion they drew their
chairs to the fire and fell into a confidential chat.
The lady drew Em. out to speak of her childhood, of Laundry Lane, of her
journey to the mountains, and of her first impressions of the new home.
In the course of her narrative Em. spoke of the radiant vision she had
seen in the moonlit hall on the first night of her stay at the old
manor-house.
“Life is full of mysteries,” muttered the lady thoughtfully—then, seeing
Em. watching breathlessly, she added—“But your vision was probably a
dream, inspired by the stories you had heard about the so-called
‘haunted hall.’”
“But I never heard any stories, dear lady. To be sure, old ’Sias, the
gatekeeper, startled mother by hinting that no one who knew the house
could be induced to go into it. But he absolutely refused to explain his
words, so we heard no story,” said Em.
“What? Why should you have dreamed of the bride’s ghost if you never had
heard the story?”
“Dear lady, I did not dream. I _saw_ the radiant spirit.”
“You think you did, my dear, at all events, and it is very strange that
your dream should have corresponded so well with the legend you never
heard.”
“No, but please tell it to me, dear lady,” said Em., who had all a
child’s eagerness to hear a story.
“It is very old; but one of my remote ancestors was a terrible domestic
tyrant, and had, among many sons, only one beautiful daughter. She loved
a poor young man, but was ordered by her father to marry an old one.
Parents did not trifle in those days. Ethelinde was to be forced to
obey. She was locked in her room and guarded till the wedding night.
“The time came. The guests were assembled, the feast was spread. The
bridegroom and his attendants waited in the hall, the bishop and the
rector were ready in the drawing-room. The bride was dressed in splendid
bridal array; but every once noticed how pale she looked, even to her
lips.
“At length the summons came and she went down, followed by her
bridesmaids.
“From the lower end of the hall her aged bridegroom came to meet her. He
was bowing and smiling and holding out his hand.
“But as he touched her she fell at his feet—DEAD!
“The overtaxed heart had broken. There, those are the facts, Em.! The
fiction is that on every anniversary of that fatal day the bride goes
through her death march again, sometimes followed by a faithful
attendant, sometimes alone. You _must_ have heard the story and
forgotten it, else why should you have dreamed the dream?”
“It was no dream, dear lady. Yours is a veritable ghost story, and I
have seen a veritable ghost,” said Em. in a voice of awe.
“Come, let us go to bed and sleep off such morbid fancies,” said Mrs.
Lynn as she arose and rang for bedroom lights.