now, if you know of a room near by which can be comfortably fitted up,
you may set about it, while Miss Betsy and Aunt Sally get her washed
and her clothes changed."
"We had better take Miss Druett's room, I think," said Calista, to Mrs.
Fabian, as they stood in the entry. "The bed is tolerably good, and it
is the only one, except mine, which has been used since I came to the
house."
"And where was yours?"
"Up in the attic," answered Calista. "This is Miss Druett's room," she
continued, opening the door as she spoke. "It does not seem to have
been disturbed. Here are all the seals just as Mr. Fabian put them on.
I wonder they did not break open the drawers."
"Very likely some superstition restrained them," said Mrs. Fabian. "It
was a sad day for your poor aunt when Miss Druett died."
"Yes, she was the only person who had any influence with her. Shall I
open all the windows? It seems very close."
"Do, my dear, and see if you can procure some wood and the means of
making a fire. Nothing freshens up the air of a room like an open fire."
When Calista came back with her basket of wood and chips, and looked in
the cupboard for a tinder-box (there were no lucifers or parlor matches
in those days), Mrs. Fabian attacked the bed as energetically as any
housemaid.
By the time the poor invalid had been washed and dressed, the room had
assumed a neat and habitable aspect. Sally carried her in her arms as
if she had been an infant, and laid her in bed.
"Is she dead?" asked Calista, in a tearful whisper.
"Oh no, honey; she's better. She opened her eyes, and swallowed some
water. Now I'll just run down and make a little wine-whey—that's soon
made and very strengthening—and if she takes that, we'll try her with
some broth. But we must be very careful, for I don't believe she has
had any food for two or three days. I suppose there is wine in the
house?"
"There ought to be plenty in the cellar, but I have no notion where
the keys are or what may be left," replied Calista. "For aught I know,
these wretches may have drunk it all."
"Oh, I've got the keys. She had them hid in the bed, as if that would
do any good."
And Sally departed, leaving Mrs. Fabian and Calista with the invalid.
Presently Aunt Sally came back with her whey, and with great care
proceeded to feed Miss Priscilla, who swallowed two or three spoonsful
apparently without the least consciousness of what she was doing.
"That's well," said Sally. "When folks can swallow, there's always
hopes of them. Now, I must go home for a little, but I'll come back and
stay to-night. Do you mean to stay, Miss Calista?"
"Oh yes. Please do let me, Mrs. Fabian," said Calista, anticipating
Mrs. Fabian's cautious—"Really, I don't know." "You know she might come
to herself any time and know me. Oh, it would be worth so much if she
would. After all, she was my father's sister, and she did give me a
home. I am afraid I have been very ungrateful."
"Some folks is thankful for small favors, ain't they?" said Sally,
aside, to Mrs. Fabian. "I wouldn't treat a stray cat as Miss Priscy
used to treat that poor child. But there is something in what she
says," she added, aloud. "Miss Priscy might come to and know her, and
perhaps say something she ought to hear."
"I will ask Mr. Fabian," said the lady, perplexed between her feeling
for Miss Priscy and her care for Calista. "He will know what is best."
"Really, my love, I think Calista is right," said Mr. Fabian. "I think
there is no real danger. These wretches are already on their way to
Cohansey jail under a very sufficient guard, and Mr. Davis and his son
have volunteered to remain in the house all night. As Calista says, it
is very desirable she should be with her aunt when she recovers her
senses, both from motives of affection and because the poor lady may be
able to give us important information."
"I think you said you had recovered all the property," said Mrs. Fabian.
"All that is recoverable; that is, all the silver and such like. A
great deal has been destroyed in mere wantonness. And as for the wines,
real Burgundy and the most valuable Madeira wasted like water." And
Mr. Fabian shut his eyes and groaned. "They must have been tipsy when
they planned their flight, or they would have been more clever about
it. The old woman, who seemed to feel some gratitude to Tom Edgar for
rescuing her from a terrible death in the bog, said they tried to open
the bricked up cellar, but every time they did, they heard the old
gentleman firing pistols at them inside."
"Lawful Suz!" said Sally. "What do you s'pose it was?"
"No doubt the bursting of champagne and cider bottles disturbed by the
concussion. I think, my love, we had better go back and send Calista
some comforts and necessaries in the way of provisions and the like.
One or both of us can come out in the morning."
Mrs. Fabian bade Calista farewell with many embraces. In about two
hours the horses came back with a load of bedding, provisions, and the
like, and also with Chloe, who, on hearing of the catastrophe, had at
once and adroitly inserted Jubalina in her place at Miss McPherson's,
and came out to help take care of her old and her young miss.
Calista's watch was destined to last more than one or two days. Miss
Priscilla remained in about the same state, eating and drinking what
was given her, but, as it seemed, almost without consciousness. Mrs.
Fabian had fitted up a comfortable room for Calista, and Miss Betsy
would not allow her to sit up at night; but by day she only left the
sick room for her meals and the open air exercise her friends insisted
on.
One afternoon she was sitting alone with her aunt, Miss Betsy having
gone to lie down. It was one of those perfect days which never come
except late in the autumn, and both windows were open, though a little
fire was burning on the hearth. Calista sat by the open window musing
over all the changes that had taken place in a year. She almost felt
inclined to doubt her own identity. Chloe had just been up to ask what
Miss Calista would have for supper; and as Miss Calista, as usual, had
no opinion of her own, she had suggested hot cream biscuit and fried
oysters.
"Just to think,—" said Calista to herself, as she leaned out of the
window to watch a flight of birds making for the reed-beds on the
river—"just to think of Chloe's asking 'me' what I would like for
supper! I, who used to be snapped at and sent away from the table for
asking for more butter. To think how many times I have gone to bed
hungry in this very house! I wonder if it is all a dream, like the
dreams of pudding and roast meat I used to have in those days."
A slight movement at the bed made her look round. Miss Priscilla was
regarding her with a look of intelligence and full of wonder. Calista
felt the need of perfect calmness, but her heart beat fast as she bent
over her aunt.
"Calista! It is Calista, isn't it?"
"Yes, Aunt Priscy. Are you better? Do you want anything?"
She waited in a kind of awe for her aunt's first words, anti when they
came, she almost laughed aloud in the sudden revulsion of feeling.
"Calista, who is frying oysters?"
"Chloe, aunt. Mrs. Fabian sent some."
"Chloe!" in a tone of surprise. Then, as memory came slowly back, "But
how did you come here?"
"I came to take care of you, Aunt Priscy."
"But you must not stay!" said Miss Priscilla, in a low tone of abject
terror. "They will come back and kill you, and give me more of that
dreadful medicine. Oh, Calista, I haven't been good to you, but can't
you get me away from them? Can't you?"
"You need have no more fear of those wretches, Aunt Priscy," said
Calista, trembling between fear and excitement. "They are all safe in
Cohansey jail."
"All! What, Jael too?"
"Yes, all; and you have no more to fear from them. Aunt Betsy and
myself are taking care of you; and Chloe has come back to do the work."
"But how was it? And, where am I?" asked Miss Priscy, bewildered. "This
is not my room; this is Druey's!"
"We moved you in here to have your room and bed cleaned, Aunt Priscy.
Don't you like it?"
"Yes, it is all very nice; and you are a good girl to come back—a very
good girl. You won't leave me, will you?"
"No, indeed, aunt," said Calista, trying to steady her voice. "You know
I would not have gone if I could have helped it."
"I know! But my mind is confused," said the poor lady. "Are you sure
those people are gone?"
"Quite sure, aunt. Did they use you badly?"
"They beat me and starved me to make me tell where my father's money
was hid, and when I said I didn't know, they gave me horrible stuff. It
made me crazy."
"But you are better now," said Calista.
"Yes; I am not crazy now. Calista, I want to see Mr. Settson. Send for
him."
"Yes, we'll send for him right away," said Miss Betsy, who had entered
the room unperceived; "but thee mustn't talk any more now. Calista, go
to thy supper, and tell John Davis to go for Mr. Settson—
"And the doctor," she added, following her to the door. "I mistrust she
will not last long now she has come to herself."
Calista returned to kiss her aunt, and Miss Priscy held her with her
thin hand and looked wistfully at her.
"I should like a nice fresh raw oyster," she said. "Could I have one?"
"Yes, yes, dear; you shall have what you want," said Calista, unable
to keep back her tears at the changed tone and manner; "shall she not,
Aunt Betsy?"
"Yes, an oyster is just the thing; but let Calista go now."
"And, Calista, tell Chloe not to use butter to fry with. It is
extravagant, and lard is just as good."
"I will, aunt." And Calista finally escaped.
She sent a messenger for the doctor and lawyer, who came together.
"Let her have just what she fancies; it won't make any difference,"
was the doctor's sentence; "she is running down like a clock. There is
nothing to be done but to give her a little stimulant to keep her up as
long as we can. But it is wonderful how clear her mind is. She seems as
bright as ever."
Miss Priscilla had a short private conference with Mr. Settson, who
came out of the room wiping his glasses and his eyes.
"She wants you, Calista," said he. "She understands the whole affair
now, and says she is glad all will come to you. Shall I send any one
out to you?"
"Oh, if Mary would come! If she is not afraid, I should so like to have
her."
But Mary was afraid, and showed it so obviously that her father decided
that she would be neither a help nor a comfort, and accepted Miss
Meeks's offer instead. Mr. Fabian was disabled by one of his rare
attacks of illness, and his wife could not leave him; but she heaped
Miss Meeks with everything she thought could be a comfort to herself or
Calista, remarking in her silvery, emphatic voice, that she was glad
Calista had friends who would not desert her in the hour of trial.
Poor Mary fled into her room to cry herself into a fit of sick
headache. It was a terrible tumble, but a wholesome, and it was noticed
that Mary's Christianity was hereafter much more charitable and less
didactic in its character.
When Calista came back to her aunt's bedside, she took both her hands
and drew her down beside her.
"Mr. Settson has told me all about the will," said she. "I did not hide
it, Calista. I did not believe my father ever made it. But it is quite
right. I was a wicked woman. I had Richard's letters, and never let my
father see them. Poor Dick! He was such a pretty boy, with curly hair.
'Pity' he used to call me; but I had not much pity on him. But father
need not have taught him—"
She seemed to be wandering and, desirous to call her back, Calista
said, gently—
"But you are sorry now, Aunt Priscy. You wouldn't do so again."
"Yes, I am sorry. I would take it back, but we can't take back the
past. It won't come back. Calista, I was not good to you, but you won't
turn me out of the house, will you? I was born here, and I should like
to—You won't turn me out, will you?" she repeated, wistfully looking
into Calista's face.
"No, indeed, aunt! Don't think of such a thing!" said Calista. "But
don't mind about business—not now. Don't you want to have Mr. Alger or
Mr. Lee come to see you?"
"No, no!" said Miss Priscy. "But you may get your Bible and read to me,
if you like. Read in St. John. Your grandmother liked that."
Glad of so much concession, Calista got her book and read on far into
the night. The restlessness of death was on Miss Priscilla, but so long
as Calista read, she was tolerably quiet, sometimes murmuring over
words that struck her mind or fancy.
At last she dropped asleep, and Calista dozed too, leaning on the side
of the bed. She was wakened by a gentle touch from Miss Meeks, who had
shared her vigil and spent almost the whole night in prayer.
Calista looked at her aunt, and by the light of a new day saw the awful
gray shadow which never falls but once.
Her aunt was sensible; she pressed Calista's hand and spoke faintly—
"Child—never love money—it is poison if you do; you'll have a great
deal—but you had better lose it all—than set your heart on it."
"You will forgive me, won't you, aunt?" said Calista, through her tears.
"There was nothing to forgive," said she; "I am the one to need
forgiveness—you and Druey were good to me—always." She held Calista's
hand fast in hers, and looked fixedly at her.
Then collecting her strength for a last effort, "God bless you!" she
said, in her old strong tones—"God bless you!" Her head fell back.
"She is gone," said Aunt Chloe, coming forward and closing the poor
eyes that had looked their last. "The Lord have mercy on her! She
confessed him in her death, if she didn't in her life."
There is little more to tell. Old Jael was no sooner in Cohansey
jail than she was attacked with rheumatic fever, of which she died
after long suffering. She seemed much struck with Tom Edgar's bravery
in saving her life at the risk of his own. She had every comfort
consistent with her situation, but there was no cure and little
alleviation was possible. At first she positively refused to hear one
word on religion; but Tom Edgar at last won her to hear the Bible read,
and by slow degrees her mind opened to the truth.
Before she died she made a full confession. She said she and her
husband had imposed on Miss Priscilla's credulity, in order to gain
access to General Stanfield's house and get possession of the treasure
which they believed he had hidden there. They had meant to frighten
away Miss Druett and Calista, or to work on Miss Priscilla till she
drove them out of the house, but the death of the former had opened the
way for them more easily than they expected.
They had found Miss Priscilla harder to deal with than they expected.
Her suspicions became aroused, and she insisted on keeping the keys
herself, so that at last they had given her things to make her keep her
bed. What the "things" were she obstinately refused to tell, saying
that some one might make a bad use of them again, but they were roots
and herbs that her people knew of.
She declared that her daughter had nothing to do with the robbery or
with ill-treating Miss Priscilla. There being no proof against the
younger woman, she was allowed to go free. And after her mother's
death, she disappeared from the place.
Zeke was tried and convicted, but his mind failed so entirely before
the end of the trial that he was sent to an asylum; from which,
however, he contrived to escape, and was found dead in the Red Hollow,
to which some glimmering of remembrance had no doubt led him.
The old house was put in good repair, but Calista did not come to live
in it for several years. She lived as a daughter with Mr. and Mrs.
Fabian, cheering their old age with daughterly care and affection.
As soon as she was of age, she visited her mother's old home, where
she found Mrs. Tom Folsom old and poor, but still working to support
herself and her helpless son, and after much persuasion prevailed on
that lady to accept a tolerable provision, which should place her
above the need of labor much too hard for her age. Miss Malvina's
little old red house happening to be in the market, Calista bought
and fitted it up neatly as a residence for her cousin, and saw her
comfortably established before leaving her. Mrs. John Folsom, who was
still preaching self-denial, thought Miss Stanfield might have used
her money to better purpose, but every one else was pleased to see the
hard-working, independent woman so well provided for.
Nor was this Calista's only work of benevolence. Her money was not
like a stagnant reservoir, poisoning all who came near, but being
kept running like a flowing stream, it brought many a blessing which
returned to the owner again. It paid Mary Burns's way through school
till she was able to take a first-class place as teacher. It brightened
and soothed the declining years of Miss Meeks. And far and wide, in
heathen lands and at home, it helped to spread the good tidings of the
gospel of peace.
"Calista is not spoiled, though she has seen so much of the world and
had so much money," remarked Mary Settson, when Calista came home from
Europe, whither she had gone on her bridal tour when she married Mr.
Fabian's nephew. "I was a little afraid for her, but she is not spoiled
at all."
"The world has not spoiled her, because she has never loved the world,"
said Belle Adair—Belle Adair no more, but the hard-working wife of a
city clergyman. "Neither money nor the world can do us any harm unless
we let them into our hearts. And depend upon it, Mary, those who live
for this world most entirely are those who get the least enjoyment out
of it."
"THEY THAT WILL BE RICH FALL INTO TEMPTATION AND A SNARE . . . THE LOVE
OF MONEY IS THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL."—_Paul to Timothy._