BOSTON.
The bridal party had returned from the Falls, and after spending a
week or more at Capt. Thompson's the doctor took down his sign, boxed
up his books, pills, powders, and _skeleton_, which some called his
_'natomy_, while Dell packed up her six morning gowns with hosts of
other finery, and then one day in August they started for Boston;
where the doctor hoped for a wider field of labor, fully expecting to
be aided by the powerful influence of Mr. Marshall, his wife's uncle,
whose high station in the city he never once doubted. For this
opinion he had, as the world goes, some well-founded reasons; for not
only did Dell often quote "my Aunt Marshall of Boston," but the lady
herself also managed to impress the people of Pine District with her
superiority over them, and her great importance at home.
Notwithstanding that she frequently spent several weeks at Capt.
Thompson's she still could not endure the country--"the people were
so vulgar--'twas so dull there, and no concerts, no operas, no
theaters, no star actors, no parties, and more than all, no dear,
delightful old Common, with its shaded walks and velvet grass."
Of course Dr. Clayton, in thinking of her city home, fancied to
himself a princely mansion on Beacon Street, overlooking the "dear,
delightful old Common," and it is scarcely more than natural that his
heart expanded with some little degree of pride, as he saw in
contemplation the dinner parties, evening parties, soirées, etc.,
which he confidently expected to attend at said princely mansion. At
first he had entertained a faint hope that he might possibly board
with his new uncle; but this idea was instantly repelled by his wife,
who did not seem so much inclined to talk of her "city Aunt" as
formerly. So it was decided that they should for a time take rooms
at the Tremont.
It was a dark, rainy night when they arrived, and as it was cold for
the season, their rooms seemed cheerless and dreary, while, to crown
all, the bride of six weeks was undeniably and decidedly out of
temper; finding fault with everything, even to her handsome husband,
who fidgeted and fussed, brought her the bottle of hair oil instead
of cologne, stepped on her linen traveling dress with his muddy boot,
spit in the grate instead of the spit-box, breathed in her face when
he knew how she disliked tobacco, thought of Rosa Lee, and wondered
if she were ever cross ("_nervous_" Dell called it), thought not, and
_almost wished_--no, didn't wish anything, but as an offset thought
of the $10,000, asked Dell how _old_ her grandmother was, received
for an answer, "I don't know, and I don't care;" after which he went
down-stairs and regaled himself with a cigar until informed that
supper was ready. Ate all alone, Dell refusing to go down--found her
in tears on returning to his room, was told that she "was homesick,
and wished she had never come." _He_ began to wish so too, but said
"she'd feel better by and by." Sat for an hour or more cross-legged
listening to the rain, and wondering if there _was_ a cure for
_nervousness_; finally went to bed and dreamed of Rosa Lee and the
moonlight night, when they sat under the old oak tree, and of the
thunderstorm when he gave her the little gold ring.
The next morning Mrs. Doctor Clayton was all smiles, and when, with
her handsome eyes, shining hair, and tasteful wrapper, she descended
to the breakfast-room, she attracted much attention, and more than
one asked who she was, as they turned for a second glance. Nothing
of this escaped the doctor, and with a glow of pride he forgot the
vexations of the night previous, and gave vent to a mental _pshaw!_
as he thought of his dream; for well he knew that the little
plain-faced Rosa could not compare with the splendid woman at his
side. Breakfast being over, he ventured to suggest the possibility
of their soon receiving a call from her aunt; but Dell hastily
replied, that such a thing was hardly probable, as her Aunt had her
own affairs to attend to, and would not trouble herself about them.
The doctor's hands went into his pockets, and his eyes went over
inquiringly to his wife, who continued speaking rapidly, as if it
were a painful duty which she felt compelled to perform.
"I don't know where you got the idea that Uncle Marshall is such a
great man--not from me, certainly. But got it you have, and it's
time you knew the truth. He is a good, honest man, I dare say, and
respectable, too; but he is not one of the _ton_, by any means. Why,
he's nothing more nor less than a _tailor_, and earns his bread from
day to day."
"But his wife"--interrupted the doctor--"how happens it that she
supports so much style?"
"Oh, that's easily accounted for," returned Dell. "They have no
children--she is fond of dress, and spends all she can get for that
purpose. She was an apprentice girl and learned her trade in my
uncle's shop, and it is said, sometimes helps him now when he is
pressed hard."
"Why did you never tell me this before?" asked the doctor, his brow
growing thoughtful.
"And why should I tell you?" answered Dell. "What did I suppose you
cared whether he were a _prince_ or a _tailor_. You married me, I
hope, for myself, and not for my relations."
The doctor thought of the ten thousand dollars just in time to force
down the answer which sprang to his lips, and which was far better to
be unuttered; so, in its place, he asked, "Where do they live?"
"On a back street, some distance from here," said Dell; adding, that
their house, though small, was pleasant and neatly furnished. "It is
well enough in the country to have a _city Aunt_ on which to plume
one's self," she continued, laughingly; "but here, where she is
known, I do not intend having much intercourse with her, for a
_physician_ and _tailor will_, of course, occupy entirely different
positions. However, I must treat her, at first, with a show of
politeness, and if you are so disposed, we'll go round there and call
this morning."
The doctor made no objections, and ere long they were walking over
the stony pavement towards R---- street, which, as Dell had said, was
rather out of the way. The house, however, at which they stopped,
was a pleasant little cottage, with a nicely-kept yard in front,
while the parlor, into which they were shown, was quite tastefully
furnished. Mrs. Marshall herself answered their ring, appearing
greatly surprised when she saw them, but not more so than Doctor
Clayton, who would never have recognized the dashing lady of Pine
District in the plain-looking woman, who, in a cheap calico wrapper,
unbrushed hair, and checked apron, now sat before him--his Aunt. And
yet he could not help thinking her far more agreeable than he had
ever seen her before. The truth was, that Mrs. Marshall was one of
those weak-minded women who, being nothing at home, strove to make
amends by "making believe" abroad; assuming everything in the latter
and nothing in the former condition. Consequently, she, who in the
country was proud and overbearing, affecting ignorance of the most
trivial matters, was, at home, a comparatively quiet, domestic woman;
doing her own work, and, aside from being a little jealous and
envious of her more fortunate neighbors, generally minding her own
business.
After the first flutter of meeting the doctor was over, she became
herself again, and set about entertaining them to the best of her
ability, inviting them to stay with her to dinner, and urging as an
inducement, that she was going to have "peaches and cream for
dessert." But Dell rather haughtily declined, whereupon her aunt
asked "when she would come round and spend the day?" saying, "she
must do so before long, or they might not be in that house."
"Not be in this house! Why not?" asked Dell; and Mrs. Marshall
replied, "Why, you know, we have always rented it of _Mr. Lee_, and
he talks of selling it."
Instantly the doctor thought of Rosa, and involuntarily repeated the
name--"Lee--Lee"----
"Yes," said Mrs. Marshall. "He has a brother in Meadow Brook, whom
you may know.'"
"Is he wealthy?" asked the doctor.
"Why, ye-es, I s'pose so," said Mrs. Marshall, hesitatingly, as if
unwilling to admit what she could not deny. "He lives in a big house
on Beacon street--keeps his carriage--and they say the curtains in
the front parlor cost a thousand dollars, and there are only two
windows either."
Here she cast a deprecating glance towards her own very prettily
embroidered muslin curtains, which probably cost about a hundredth
part of that sum. Soon after, the newly married pair arose to go,
the doctor feeling, in spite of himself, a little uncomfortable,
though at what he hardly knew; for he would not acknowledge to
himself that he was at all disappointed, because Dell's uncle was a
tailor instead of a millionaire, or because Rose's uncle lived on
Beacon street, and sported curtains which cost a thousand dollars.
This did not in the least affect Dell. _She_ was his wife, and as
such he would love and cherish her, ministering as far as possible to
her wants, and overlooking the faults which he knew she possessed.
Thus reasoned his better nature as he rode home, unconscious that the
object of his thoughts was at that very moment misconstruing his
silence into disappointment, and writing against him bitter things in
her heart.
It was a peculiarity of Dell's to get angry when people least
expected it, and then to _sulk_ until such time as she saw fit to be
gracious; so when they reached the Tremont, the doctor was astonished
to find her _past speaking_; neither could he by any amount of
coaxing elicit a word from her for more than an hour. At the end of
that time, however, her pent-up wrath exploded; and, in angry tones,
she accused him of feeling sorry that he had married her, because her
uncle didn't prove to be a great man as he had supposed.
"I saw it all in your face when we were in the omnibus," said she;
"it is of no use for you to deny it," adding, as she burst into
tears, "but you cannot regret _your_ marriage more than I do mine,
and you needn't feel so smart either, for your father was a poor
shoemaker in Maine, and when you went to college you rang the bell in
part payment of your tuition."
This was a phase of married life for which the doctor was wholly
unprepared, and during the first part of his wife's speech he stood
confounded, but by the time sha had finished, his mind was pretty
well made up to _box her ears_! This, however, he did not do, though
he bade her "shut up her head," repenting the harsh words the moment
they were uttered, and having manliness enough to tell her so.
Winding his arm around her, he talked to her calmly and rationally
until she came out of her pet, and agreed "to make up." This process
we leave to the imagination of the reader, only suggesting that no
one who saw the handsome, loving pair, which half an hour after went
down to dinner, would have dreamed of the dark cloud which had so
recently lowered on their matrimonial horizon.
* * * * * *
Here, wishing the doctor success in procuring patients, we leave them
for a time, while we go back to Meadow Brook, where our house was one
day thrown into a state of unusual excitement by the arrival of a
letter from Aunt Charlotte, which contained an invitation for Anna
and myself to spend the remainder of the autumn and the whole of the
coming winter with her in the city. "Rosa," she wrote, "could go to
school, while Anna would be introduced into society."
Of course we were greatly surprised, wondering what had come over our
haughty aunt, who, as the reader will recollect, once spent a
Thanksgiving with us. She must have changed, we thought, or else
there was some mistake about the invitation. But this could not be,
for there it was in black and white, written evidently in all
sincerity, while added to it was a postscript from Uncle Joseph, who
also joined in the request. That, if nothing more, proved that the
invitation was genuine, for there was no mistaking my uncle's
peculiar handwriting, and it only remained for us to decide whether
we would accept or not. Anna and myself said "Yes," at once, and
after a grave deliberation in grandma's room, the same conclusion was
also reached by my parents, who, after giving us abundance of good
advice (not a word of which _I_ heard, as I was wondering if I should
ever meet the doctor and Dell), enjoined it upon Anna, first, never
to dance at the parties which she might sometimes attend; second,
never to wear her dresses indecently low, as some of the city girls
did; and third, not to flirt with Herbert Langley. For this last
injunction they probably fancied there was little need, it being now
five years since she had seen him, and as they knew nothing of the
perfumed, gilt-edged notes which lay hidden in her work-box, they
very naturally supposed she had forgotten him. I thought so, too,
for hers was the last letter, which had been unanswered for many
months, and Anna, I knew, was far too proud to care for one who had
forgotten her.
Occasionally we had heard of him through others, and it was always
the same story, viz., that he was going down to a drunkard's grave,
as fast as daily drams and weekly sprees could carry him; but if
these reports produced any effect upon Anna, it was imperceptible.
She was now twenty years of age, and was a fair, delicate-looking
girl, whom some called _proud_, others _cold_, and a few _selfish_;
but this last I deny, for though she might appear so to strangers,
there was not in our whole family, if I except brother Charlie, one
who would sacrifice more of their own comfort for that of another
than would my sister Anna; neither was there one whom I loved better,
for though she was six years my senior, she always treated me as one
nearer her own age, while I looked up to her as my oracle, thinking
that whatever she did must necessarily be right.
When it was decided that we were to go, the next important, and to
me, most delightful task, was the looking over and fixing up of our
wardrobes, which kept us busy for some time. As Anna was to go into
society, she of course had nearly all the new things, and much as I
loved her, I must confess to a feeling of envy when I saw the black
silk, blue merino, crimson and brown delaine, etc., which were
purchased for her, while I was put off with her old dresses, "made
over as good as new," but when I too, was presented with a blue
merino by Charlie, who was now a clerk in one of the Meadow Brook
stores, all my bad feelings left me, and with great alacrity I
assisted in the preparations:
It was a lovely day late in October, that old Sorrel stood at the
door ready to convey us to the dépôt. This was the first time I had
really left home, and when I saw the tears in my mother's eyes, and
the trembling of grandma's whole body; when Juliet held me so long to
her bosom; when Lizzie and Carrie stole from me a hasty kiss, and
then ran off to hide their grief; when Charlie and John, who were
both clerks, came down to the dépôt to bid us good-by, affecting to
be very manly, notwithstanding that their chins quivered; and when,
last of all, my father's fervent "God bless you, my children,"
resounded in my ears, I began to have a faint idea of the bitterness
there is in parting, be it but for a few months. As we expected, we
found our uncle's carriage at the dépôt in Boston, and ere long we
had reached his house in Beacon street.
I remember the thrill of delight which I experienced, when first I
entered my Aunt Charlotte's stylish house, and felt that it was to be
my home, at least for a time. Everything was in perfect order, and
for an instant I looked around me in silent wonder, almost forgetting
to reply to the greeting of my aunt, who, in heavy brocade and long
blue streamers depending from her head, met us kindly and hoped we
were well. She had changed since last I saw her, but it was more the
work of care than of time. She was much thinner, and the crow-tracks
around her eyes were now decidedly deep-cut wrinkles, while her hair
was here and there streaked with more than one silver thread.
My uncle was still the same good-humored, pleasant man, a little
afraid of his wife, it may be, but evidently master of his own house.
I glanced around for Herbert, but he was not there, and when, on
Anna's account more than my own, I asked for him, I was told that he
was down street, but would soon be home. Ringing a bell, my aunt
bade the girl who appeared, "show the young ladies to their rooms,"
which proved to be a large airy chamber with a bedroom,
dressing-room, and closet adjoining. After a hasty toilet we again
returned to the parlor, where we found a tall, richly dressed young
man, whom I should never have recognized as Herbert Langley. He was
much altered from when I last saw him: there was a deep flush on his
cheeks, which had reached even to his nose; while the eyes I had once
thought so handsome were watery and unsteady in their movement. On
the whole, however, he was still what some would call good-looking.
He was sitting with his back to the door, but at the sound of our
footsteps he turned around, and coming towards us, welcomed us most
cordially to Boston, calling us "cousins," and claiming a cousin's
privilege of kissing us--me _once_, and Anna _three_ times, if not
four.
She was a little piqued at his neglect in answering her last letter,
and wishing to show proper resentment, she drew back rather
haughtily, as if wondering how he dare "take such liberties." This
he readily perceived, and instantly assuming an air quite as
indifferent as her own, he turned towards me, hardly noticing her
again, though it was easy to see that the reserve of both was merely
affectation. That evening he was gone until nine o'clock, and when
he entered the parlor, I noticed on the face of my aunt the same
anxious expression which I remembered having seen there, when, from
our sitting-room window, she watched his return. But he was
perfectly sober, and with a sigh of relief she resumed her work;
while he, coming round to my side, startled me by saying that "he had
just met with a friend of mine--Dr. Clayton."
"Where did you see him?" asked Anna, while I bent lower over the book
I was reading; for that name had still a power to move me strongly.
"Why," answered Herbert, "Tom Wilson, an old schoolmate of mine,
boards at the Tremont, where he is now lying very sick. All the old
physicians have given him up, and so he has employed this Dr.
Clayton, who, it seems, has been at the same hotel for six weeks or
more. I called on Tom this evening, and while I was there Dr.
Clayton came in. In the course of our conversation he spoke of
Meadow Brook, and then, as a matter of course, I said there were now
in our family two young ladies from that place. When I mentioned
Rosa's name, he turned almost as white as Tom himself, and if she
were not so young, I should be inclined to think there was something
between them. What do you say, coz?"
Here Anna came to my aid, saying, "Why, he's a _married man_, and his
wife is with him at the Tremont."
"The dickens he is!" said Herbert, looking a little puzzled. Then
turning to his mother, he added, "Mother, you ought to call on this
Mrs. Clayton, for if she is an acquaintance of Anna and Rosa, they
will very naturally wish to see her occasionally."
"She needn't call for me," said I, quickly.
"Nor for me, for I don't know her," rejoined Anna, while with a
haughty toss of her head, Aunt Charlotte replied, that "her circle of
acquaintances was quite large enough now, and she'd no idea of
extending it by taking in people about whom she knew nothing."
I know it was very wrong in me, but I could not help straightening up
a little in my chair as I wondered what the proud Dell Thompson would
say if she knew that the despised Rosa Lee was living as an equal in
a family which looked down upon her and her husband as nobodies. I
was roused from my reverie by my aunt's asking Herbert in a low tone,
"how _Ada_ was to-night," and glancing towards him, I fancied that
said _Ada_, whoever she might be, was to him not a very pleasant
subject just then, for his brow darkened visibly, while he replied,
"I never once thought to inquire, but I dare say she's no worse, or
she would have sent for you post haste."
There was a moment's silence, and then my aunt again spoke, "Herbert,
I wish you'd do better. You know how lonely she is, and how much she
must necessarily feel your neglect."
"Fudge!" was his answer, as he folded his hands over his head, and
leaning back in his chair, looked straight into the astral lamp.
That night, when Anna and I were alone in our room, the former sat
for a time in deep thought, saying, when I at last told her the clock
was striking eleven, "I wonder who _Ada_ is!"
_I_ wondered so, too, and my interest was not at all diminished when
the next morning, at the breakfast-table, Aunt Charlotte said to her
son, "Herbert, I shall be busy this morning making arrangements about
a school for Rosa, and I wish you'd go in and see Ada, will you?"
"Yes, yes, I will," said he, rather impatiently, adding, "and if I
don't find her any better, I mean to assume the responsibility of
discharging that old superannuated _greeny_ who attends her, and
install Dr. Clayton in his place. I took quite a fancy to him, and
I'm going to give him my patronage!"
"Oh, I wish you would!" I exclaimed involuntarily; for in spite of
the wrong he had done me, I cherished no feeling of animosity towards
him.
Then again, I had heard that it was sometimes very difficult for a
young physician to obtain much practise in a strange place with no
one to help him, and I thought, perhaps, Herbert's "patronage" might
be of some avail.
"I see," said Herbert laughingly, "there _has_ been something, and
though he is a married man, you still feel an interest in him, and
want him to succeed; all right, and I'll do what I can to help him;
for I verily believe he'll get Tom on his legs again in spite of what
the temperance folks say about his blood's being all turned into
whisky!"
At these words a shadow passed over Aunt Charlotte's face, but it was
soon chased away by the next remark of Herbert, which was, "Ain't you
glad, mother, I reformed before I got to be as bad as Tom? Why,
girls (addressing Anna and me), I haven't drank a drop
since--since--how long is it mother, since I left off"--_drinking_ he
could not say, so he finally added, "left off imbibing occasionally?"
There was a look of happiness on that mother's face, as she replied,
"Almost a year."
Yes 'twas almost a year since her son had tasted ardent spirits, and
had she not good reasons for thinking he would never fall again?
Assured of this fact, how proud she would have been of her only boy;
for, aside from this great error, he possessed many noble, generous
qualities; and during my stay in Boston, I found that, in spite of
his well-known habits, he was a pretty general favorite. Oh, how
lovingly my aunt looked after him when he went out, and how earnestly
she watched him when he came in, and all the while she was tempting
him beyond what most men could bear; for regularly on her
dinner-table appeared either porter, champagne, or madeira, one taste
of which would set him all on fire. But, unfortunately, she belonged
to that class of fashionable people who deem the wine-bottle a
necessary appendage to the dinner table, and if, in the sequel, her
son should fill a drunkard's grave, would there be any just cause
why, in her anguish, she should murmur at Providence for having dealt
with her thus harshly? Ought she not rather to blame herself for
having thus daily tempted him to sin by placing before him what she
well knew was sure to work his ruin?
But to our story. We were at dinner when Herbert came in from his
morning ramble, and taking his accustomed seat at the table, he said
to his mother, "I called on Ada as you desired, and found her sitting
up in a rose-colored dressing-gown, which she thinks very becoming to
her, I know, for she sat directly opposite the mirror, and I should
not dare tell how many times I caught her casting admiring glances at
herself."
Aunt Charlotte frowned, while Herbert, turning to me,
continued--"Miss Montrose is so much better that I don't believe I
can patronize your doctor in that quarter, but I'll do something for
him--break my leg, maybe--or have the delirium tremens."
This species of jesting seemed to be a kind of mania with Herbert,
for almost every day of his life he referred to his former habit of
drinking, greatly to the annoyance of his mother, who, on the
occasion just mentioned, turned slightly pale, while Anna looked down
upon the carpet and sighed. Thinking this as favorable an
opportunity for making inquiries concerning Ada Montrose as I should
have, I asked Herbert who she was. His mother's lips moved as if she
would answer the question, but ere she could speak, Herbert replied,
"She's a Georgia lady, a great coquette, who is spending the winter
here with a fortieth cousin. Some call her handsome, and I believe
mother thinks her beautiful, but if Anna paid as much attention to
her toilet and dressed as elegantly as Ada Montrose, she would, in my
opinion, look far better."
'Twas the first compliment he had paid Anna since our arrival, and it
brought a bright flush to her usually marble cheek; for Herbert
Langley possessed a strange power over my sister, which she did not
try to resist. I fancied that my aunt was not quite pleased with
Herbert's comparing Miss Montrose to Anna, but ere she could frame
any answer, he asked us if we would like to attend the theater that
evening. Notwithstanding my father's hostility to _circuses_, I did
not remember having heard him say much against _theaters_, and so I
answered quickly, "Oh, yes, Anna, let's go. I want to see what they
do."
And so, with my aunt's permission, it was settled that we should go,
and at the usual hour I found myself in the National Theater, which
was densely crowded, for a celebrated actress appeared that night for
the last time in Boston. Perfectly bewildered, I followed Herbert
and Anna to my uncle's box, which commanded a fine view of the stage,
and then, when I became a little accustomed to the glare of lights
and the hum of voices, which in some degree reminded me of that
never-to-be-forgotten circus of Cousin Will memory, I ventured to
look over the sea of faces, half starting from my seat as I
recognized among the crowd Dr. Clayton and his wife, the latter
appearing to be looking at us through what I thought resembled the
dice boxes of a backgammon board tied together, but which I soon
learned was an opera-glass. The doctor was paler and thinner than
when I last saw him, and it was with more than one pang that I
watched him as, from time to time, he cast a glance of pride at the
splendid-looking woman at his side, who attracted considerable
attention, and at whom, in the course of the evening, more than one
glass was leveled.
Ere long my attention was diverted from them to a tall, dark, and
rather peculiar-looking gentleman, who entered the box at our right.
Sinking into a seat, he abandoned himself apparently, to his own
thoughts, which could not have been very pleasant; for his forehead,
which was high and white, seemed at times to be one mass of wrinkles,
while his eyes, large, black, and deepset in his head, alternately
flashed with anger and vexation. I am not much of a physiognomist,
but there was in the face of the stranger something which at once
attracted and riveted my attention. He was not handsome, like Dr.
Clayton--nay, I am not sure but many would call him ugly, but I did
not; and, somehow, I felt certain that no girl of _fourteen_ had ever
wept over his fickleness, for he looked the soul of honor and
integrity. Gradually, too, as the play proceeded, the expression
which I had at first observed passed away; his dark eyes lighted up;
and when, at last, a bright smile broke over his face, I pronounced
him far better looking than the doctor, who was fast losing ground in
my good opinion.
The play was the "Lady of Lyons," and though I was familiar with the
story, I seemed now to hear it for the first time; so fully did I
enter into the feelings of the heroine, Pauline, whose distress I
could not believe was feigned. All was real to me; and I can now
scarcely repress a smile, as I recall to mind how I must have looked,
standing there with flushed cheeks, clasped hands, staring eyes, and
lips slightly apart, drinking in every word of the actress. Once
Anna pulled my dress, whispering to me, "Do sit down, Rosa; they are
all looking at you, and Mrs. Clayton is laughing and pointing you out
to her husband."
"I didn't care for Dell Thompson, or the doctor either," and so I
said, while at the same time I glanced towards the stranger, whose
eyes were fixed upon me with an expression I could not fathom.
He was not making fun of me, I was sure of that; but as if there were
a magnetic influence in his look, which I could not resist, I dropped
into my seat, and remained motionless until the closing scene, where,
with a piercing shriek, Pauline rushed into the arms of her husband.
Then there came over me the same sensation which I had experienced
years before in the old school-house at Meadow Brook. Everything
grew dark around me, and with a faint cry I fell across Anna's lap.
I was not entirely unconscious, for I have a dim remembrance of being
led from the heated room, the close atmosphere of which had probably
helped to bring on my faintness. The cool air outside revived me in
a measure, but it was the mesmeric touch of two large, warm hands
which fully restored to me my faculties, and, looking up, I saw
bending over me the gentleman in whom I had been so much interested.
Dr. Clayton, too, was there, looking worried and anxious, but
instinctively leaving me to the care of the stranger, who seemed to
know exactly what to do.
"You are better now, I think," said he, gazing down upon me with his
deep black eyes, and adding, with the same peculiar smile I had
before observed, "Miss ----'s acting seldom receives so genuine a
compliment as this. I imagine she ought to feel flattered."
At this moment a loud stamping and hallooing came to my ear, and,
pulling Anna's shawl, Herbert exclaimed, "Come, let's go in again;
they are calling back the dancing-girl, and I wouldn't miss it for
anything. Come, Rose, you want to see it all, and we'll stand right
by the door."
I felt perfectly well, and started to follow him, when something in
the stranger's face arrested me, for it seemed to say, "I wouldn't
go." But he did not speak, and bowing to me very politely, he walked
away, while I went after Herbert and Anna, reaching them just in time
to witness a part of Mlle. Lisette's dance, which seemed to me a good
deal like the performance of the _Circus girl_, only "a little more
so;" and I felt certain that Cousin Will, had he been there, would
have pronounced her superior even to the boasted _Albany girl_!
When at last it was over, and we were again leaving the room, Dr.
Clayton, as if seeing me for the first time, offered me his hand, and
in a low tone expressed to me his pleasure that I was to be in the
city during the winter; adding, as he cast a furtive glance towards
his wife, "You'll come and see me often, won't you; for I am very
lonely?"
For an instant I felt a thrill of pride, to know that there was yet
aught in me which could interest _him_, but 'twas only for a moment,
and then there came up before me thoughts of the stranger, and owing
to some unknown influence, which I shall not attempt to explain, the
doctor's power over me was from that moment at an end; and though I
still liked him, it was as I would like any friend who evinced a
regard for me.
Of the stranger I often thought, wondering who he was and whence he
came; but no one knew, and all that I could learn was, that Herbert
saw him the next morning standing on the steps of the Revere House,
and chancing the same afternoon to be at the Worcester dépôt, he saw
him enter the cars bound for Albany, and heard from one of the
bystanders that he was a Georgian, and had probably come to Boston
after "_a runaway nigger!_" Being a true born daughter of
freedom-loving Massachusetts, this intelligence of course had the
effect of cooling my ardor somewhat, and wishing in my heart that
every one of his negroes would run away, I banished him for a time
from my mind.
After many inquiries, and much consultation with her particular
friend Mrs. Ashley, my aunt at last decided to send me to Madam
----'s school; while Anna, after a two weeks' siege with dressmakers,
was introduced into society, where, if she was not a reigning belle,
she was at least a favorite; and more than once I heard the most
flattering compliments bestowed upon _her_, while it was thought to
be "a pity that her sister was so _plain_ and unpretending in her
appearance!"