A Night of Misery
"Man on the dubious waves of error tossed,
His ship half foundered and his compass lost,
Sees, far as human optics many command,
A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land:
Spreads all his canvas, every sinew plies,
Pants for it, aims at it, enters it, and dies."
--_Truth. Cowper._
The night was warm, and Beatrice found her poultice exceedingly
uncomfortable. She had heaped the leaves on a clean cloth, mashed them
to a pulp, spread the mass between two other cloths through which were
cut small holes for the eyes and nostrils, and then, with a resolution
worthy of a better cause, bound the whole upon her face.
The juices of the crushed leaves soon wet the mask through and through,
making her face wet and sticky. The greenish odor of the weed was
sickening, and the poor child found her condition unpleasant to say the
least. She tossed restlessly from side to side in the vain effort to
find sleep, but slumber fled her call. The night wore on, and the mask
became so oppressive that it seemed to stifle her.
"I can not stand it," she exclaimed at last, springing out of bed. "I
can not! I shall smother."
She reached up to tear off the bandages that bound the suffocating thing
on, but paused in the act.
"I must not give up," she said aloud. "I should be sorry in the morning
if I did. I must stand it somehow, even though the night does seem as if
it would never end. I must bear it."
Fortified by this determination she drew a chair to the window and tried
to distract her thoughts by humming softly to herself.
"I know," she thought, tiring of this pastime. "I'll see if I can't make
up some poetry, and forget all about the horrid thing. If it were not
for father I would not stand it for a second. Let me see! I have it:
"Bee was an ugly duckling,
And Adele a princess fair;
Bee's locks were black and heavy,
Adele had yellow hair.
"Pshaw! That's sing-songy. I'll try again:
"Adele's hair is sunny and golden,
Mine is as black as sin;
For there's nothing yellow about me
Excepting my yellow skin.
"Dear, dear! It's most as hard to make rhymes as to be beautiful. How
long the night is!"
She arose and paced the floor restlessly. Eleven, then twelve o'clock
struck. In all her life she had never spent a night without sleep. A
first experience is very trying, and the hours seem interminable. At two
o'clock she was about as miserable as she could well be, and only the
thought of her father made her hold to her determination to stick it
out. Suddenly she remembered that she had left a book she was reading on
the library table.
"I'll go down and get it," she ejaculated, pleased with the distraction.
"If anything will make me forget myself it's the 'Woman in White.'"
Suiting the action to the word she lighted a small night lamp, and
glided softly down the stairs to the library. Turning the knob gently
she opened the door, stepped across the threshold, and then--It was a
wonder that she did not shriek aloud; for there in the room were two
men, one of whom held a bag into which the other was putting the
household silver which was piled on the table in front of them. They
wore slouch hats drawn well down over their faces, and were working by
the light of a dark lantern.
Beatrice entered so quietly that they did not notice her and for a
second she stood unobserved, too frightened to speak. Then something
made one of the men look up. A look of terror flashed into his eyes and
his face whitened. The other turned to see what his companion was doing,
but at sight of the figure that stood in the doorway he uttered a yell,
dropped the bag, and ran for the window.
"It's a sperrit, Bill," he cried wildly. "Come on, man!"
Bill needed no second bidding. He glanced once more at the startling
apparition and followed his comrade.
In truth Beatrice did present rather a ghostly appearance. She was clad
in a long white night gown; her yellow hair bushed in all its bleached
glory around the white mask through which her eyes gleamed with feverish
brilliancy. The greenish juice of the jimpson had permeated the cloth,
giving it just enough of a stain to be ghastly under the rays of the
lamp. As the men gained the window the girl, hardly conscious of what
she was doing, moved toward them. Uttering cries of fear the fellows
jumped through and made a dash for the road. Doors began to open and
close, and Bee knew that the household was aroused. It brought her to
her senses quickly. She had been so frightened that she had not fully
grasped the meaning of the scene through which she had just passed, but
now it flashed upon her that it was her beautifying mask that had
terrified the burglars.
"Father must not see me," she thought with an hysterical giggle. "I
should frighten him, too."
There was not a moment to lose, so setting her lamp upon the table she
crept under the couch and drew back as far as she could, just as her
father ran in, followed by Aunt Fanny, Joel her husband, and old Uncle
Billy, the gardener.
"Well, upon my word!" exclaimed Dr. Raymond. "It's burglars. See, here
is the silver. What made them leave it? Something scared them. What
could it have been?"
"'Twuz a hant," cried Aunt Fanny, ashy with terror. "Didn't you heah 'em
say 'twuz a hant?"
"It certainly sounded that way, but that is nonsense of course. Joel, do
you come with me, and we will search the grounds. Uncle Billy, go at
once to the stable and see if everything is all right there. Aunt Fanny
will look after the house."
"Lawsie, Massa doctah, yer ain't a gwine ter leab me heah, is yer?"
queried Aunt Fanny fearfully.
"Why, there is nothing to hurt you. Come on, Joel."
Dr. Raymond leaped through the window, followed by Joel, while Uncle
Billy left for the stable. Aunt Fanny, left alone, began to soliloquize
audibly:
"Hant, eh? I spec' hit's a hant. Dis house dun bin shet up too long fer
it not to be a hant. Dis heah chile ain't a gwine ter stay in no house
wid a hant. No, sah; she a gwine ter leab shore yer bo'n. She--"
"Aunt Fanny," spoke Bee in muffled tones.
"Good Lawd," cried Aunt Fanny, starting up. "Hit's the hant. Lawd, Lawd,
spar dis niggah! You doesn't want no ole worman like me. You--"
"Hush, Aunt Fanny! It's only Bee. Don't you know me?"
Beatrice crept out of her hiding place and arose to her feet. Aunt Fanny
gave a suppressed cry and sank back in her chair, staring at the girl in
open-eyed wonder.
"You, you ain't no Miss Bee," she gasped.
"Yes, I am. I just had my hair fixed at the hairdresser's this
afternoon, and I have on that jimpson poultice you told me about. I came
down stairs to get a book and frightened the robbers away. I want to go
upstairs now before father comes back so he won't see me."
"Yas; go on up stairs," said Aunt Fanny severely, now completely
reassured. "Yer pa mustn't see you like dat. He won't 'prove ob no sech
doin's, an' I doesn't eider. Yaller ha'r! Looks like flax! No'm; yer pa
oughtn't ter see yer."
"Then don't say a word about seeing me," cautioned Bee, turning to go.
"You won't, will you?"
"I ain't gwine ter say nuffin'. 'Tain't none ob my lookout ef yer wants
ter spile yer ha'r. I ain't gwine ter hab nuffin' ter do wid hit,"
returned the negress with dignity.
So, feeling very much like a culprit, Bee stole upstairs. Presently she
heard her father re-enter the house, and soon there came a rap on her
door.
"What is it?" she asked from under the cover which, girl like, she had
drawn over her as soon as she was safely in bed.
"Are you all right, Beatrice?" came her father's voice.
"Yes father."
"Don't be alarmed, but--" Dr. Raymond hesitated, evidently considering
whether it would be best to tell her about the intruders. "You are not
nervous, are you?"
"No----o;" answered Bee weakly. She was.
She would have liked to have somebody cuddle her for a time, but--there
was that awful mask.
"If you should be disturbed about anything, Beatrice, just call me. I
shall be in the next room, where I shall read for the remainder of the
night."
"Thank you, father," said the girl gratefully. "I was afraid, but I
won't be now."
"Then good night."
"Good night, father," replied the maiden who little guessed that her
father went away from her door wondering and perplexed that she did not
come out to speak with him, and to find what was the matter.
Her father's near presence brought so much of comfort to Bee's heart
that she found herself forgetting all about the discomfort of the
jimpson, and after a time she fell into a troubled sleep.