Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Christine Aldridge
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2. A list spelling corrections, word variations and other information
regarding the original text are located at the end of this e-text.
* * * * *
[Illustration: IDA GLENWOOD, (The Blind Bard of Michigan.)]
LILY PEARL
AND
THE MISTRESS OF ROSEDALE
BY
IDA GLENWOOD,
"The Blind Bard of Michigan."
AUTHOR OF
"THE FATAL SECRET," "KATE WYMANS AND THE
FORGER'S DAUGHTER," "BLACK
FRANCE," ETC.
EDITED BY
MAJOR JOSEPH KIRKLAND.
CHICAGO:
DIBBLE PUBLISHING CO.
1892.
COPYRIGHT 1892
BY DIBBLE PUBLISHING CO.
CHICAGO.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
PREFACE.
It matters but little to the average reader whether a book be wholly
historical or purely imaginary if it be of sufficient interest to hold
the attention in a pleasurable excitement to its close.
There are those however, who will be glad to know that the following
work was wrought out of historical facts gleaned from a large parcel of
letters written by a son while a soldier in the army of the rebellion,
to his widowed mother, then in Springfield, Mass.
Graphic were his descriptions of scenes and incidents coming to his
personal knowledge during that memorable march from "Atlanta to the
sea."
These I have woven into a web of fiction mingling their lights and
shadows, blending them as best I could amid denser shades, hoping that
peradventure their coming to you, gentle reader, may prove as great a
pleasure in the perusing as the author has enjoyed in the weaving.
IDA GLENWOOD.
Fenton, Mich.
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
My editing of this most interesting story has been little more than
proof-correction. On reading the manuscript in advance of the
type-setting I soon found it safer to leave the author's style to take
care of itself, sure that it will strike the public, as it struck me,
with renewed respect and admiration for one who, sightless, can excel so
many of us having all the senses.
It is touching to observe how the blind narrator dwells on outward
things,--color, light and shade, sunset skies, human features and
expressions,--which must come to her only in imagination. She seems to
dwell with peculiar intensity on a world of beauty which we others,
sated by abundance, pass by unrecorded if not unnoticed.
Sightless she is not, for in her the mind's eye is of a brilliancy that
seems to make our mere physical vision useless by comparison. Better the
soul's sight without eyes, than the eyesight without soul.
JOSEPH KIRKLAND.
PUBLISHERS' ANNOUNCEMENT.
We would be pleased to have the reading public patronize "LILY PEARL AND
THE MISTRESS OF ROSEDALE," because of the benefit to the author, "The
Blind Bard of Michigan," and for the pleasure it will give the following
gentlemen and firms, who have freely and generously given their time to
the production of the work: Major Joseph Kirkland, editor; G. M. D.
Libby, printer; L. Braunhold, artist; A. Zeese & Co., electrotypers, and
Donohue & Henneberry, binders. But the best reason for buying will be
found in the charming story itself.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTERS.
I MIDNIGHT AT "CLIFF HOUSE," 17
II THE LITTLE MARINER ALONE UPON THE OCEAN, 29
III THE WAIF AFTER THE STORM, 39
IV RECEPTION NIGHT AT THE NEW HOME, 50
V DEATH IN THE LITTLE COTTAGE, 61
VI "CRAZY DIMIS" AND THE TWILIGHT SCENE, 71
VII CHANGES IN THE COTTAGE HOME, 81
VIII OUT INTO THE WORLD, 91
IX AN UPPER ROOM IN THE HOTEL, 99
X THE OPENING OF A NEW LIFE, 108
XI ROSEDALE, 117
XII HEART'S SECRETS REVEALED, AND UNREVEALED, 127
XIII THE MOTHER'S CURSE, 137
XIV THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER, 147
XV SCENES UPON THE PLANTATION, 157
XVI THE BIRTHNIGHT ENTERTAINMENT, 167
XVII THE THRILLING REVELATION, 177
XVIII THE LITTLE PARTY AT THE WASHBURN'S, 189
XIX DEATH OF "UNCLE BOB," 201
XX THE ABDUCTION, 211
XXI BREAKING OF HOME TIES, 225
XXII LEADING HER ON, 237
XXIII A DAY IN THE HOSPITAL, 247
XXIV THE DARK, DARK WAVE, 259
XXV THE RECOGNITION, 271
XXVI THE "PHANTOM" REMOVED, 283
XXVII NEW RESOLVES AND NEW ADVENTURES, 295
XXVIII FLIGHT OF THE SOUTHERN SPY, 307
XXIX A NIGHT UPON THE BILLOWS, 319
XXX THE SHADOWS AS THEY FLY, 331
XXXI CHANGING CLOUDS, 343
XXXII THE DARKNESS THICKENS, 355
XXXIII LIGHT THROUGH THE RIFTED CLOUD, 367
XXXIV A STORM ABOUT THE WIDOW'S COTTAGE, 375
XXXV A PROUD SPIRIT BROKEN, 387
XXXVI UNFOLDINGS AND REVEALINGS, 397
XXXVII THE GOLDEN CLASP RELINKED, 407
XXXVIII CHANGES AND REVOLUTIONS, 417
XXXIX THE HAZY MISTS ARE LIFTING, 427
XL AUNT VINA IN THE NEW HOME, 441
XLI "GOOD BYE," 450
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
Ida Glenwood, the Blind Bard of Michigan, Midnight, 17
The Cliffs, 28
By the Sea, 38
"Look at her, Shipmates," 42
At the New Home, 60
The Church Yard, 70
The Brook, 90
"Oh, Mrs. Gaylord, I am so Lonely!" 104
The Inn at Kirkham, 136
Park Scene, 145
"Give Me That Paper!" 146
Nest-building, 200
The Death of Uncle Bob, 207
The Haystacks, 210
"She Placed the Cup to His Lips," 253
The Capitol in War Times, 258
Scene in the Dismal Swamp, 294
Camp Fires, 306
"Did You Say Her Husband?" 312
The Night Train, 318
The Billows, 329
Lily Pearl, 342
Mrs. St. Clair, 354
Scene on the Schuylkill, 365
Lillian, 373
Plantation Scene, 385
Arrival at Kirkham, 406
Meeting of Lily Pearl and Her Mother, 408
Aunt Vina, 426
[Illustration: MIDNIGHT.]
CHAPTER I.
MIDNIGHT AT "CLIFF HOUSE."
It was a dismal night out upon the ocean where the huge billows tossed
high their foaming crests, or dashed with maddening fury upon the rocky
shore as if unwilling longer to submit to the powers that shut them in;
while ever and anon the deep-mouthed thunder answered back through the
darkness "thus far shalt thou go, and no farther."
Then ran the echoes along the shore and up the ragged cliff on whose
summit one feeble ray of light struggled through the narrow crevice of a
curtained window out into the midnight gloom. The howling winds made sad
music through the long corridors and curious wrought lattice work that
partially enclosed it; slamming the heavy iron gate that had broken
loose from its fastenings and kept swaying to and fro upon its rusty
hinges, wakening by its unusual noise the huge watch dog in his kennel,
who growled menacingly at being disturbed at such a late hour. The rain
beat furiously against the windows and ran in rapid cascades down the
steep declivity into the sea, falling on the sandy shore that extended
along the beach at the foot of the cliff.
It was October, and the cottage on the summit was usually deserted
before this time, for the invalid who had resided there during five
successive seasons could not well endure the autumn breezes when the
frost-king had chilled them.
To-night, however, a tall, richly-dressed lady sat alone in the spacious
parlor, her black gown lying in heavy folds on the white matting that
covered the floor, her head drooping wearily upon her hand as her elbow
rested on the table where the wasting candle flickered low in the
socket; but she heeded it not. Now and then she would raise her head
with a sudden start and look intently at the door opposite and then sink
back again into the same posture as before.
There was sadness upon her face, such as awakens the deepest sympathy of
a human heart; but in the keen, glistening eye there was a deeper,
sterner look that would send a sister's tenderest love back to its
secret chamber, chilled and trembling!
There are hours made so big with actions and resolves that _years_ full
of circumstances and results are made to hang their heavy weights upon
them. Such an one was now passing, bearing away on its dark wings the
fearful impress made by a silent finger, yet in characters that in after
years will reflect back upon the soul, filling it with horror and
dismay! A loud peal of thunder echoed through the apartment and then
rolled away in the distance, leaving behind the mingled voices of the
winds and waves, with the fast falling rain on the roof above.
The door suddenly opened and a servant girl stealthily entered with a
newly lighted candle, placed it on the table exchanging it for the one
almost spent, and then as stealthily retired.
The lady did not seem to notice the intruder, as she did not enter the
door where her expectant eyes had so often turned with a wild, weird
look, and she remained as motionless as before.
Two o'clock. The little silvery bell on the mantel proclaimed the hour,
and the tall bent figure at the table gave a sudden start, as though a
new pang had penetrated her sensitive brain.
A few moments after, the door toward which her eyes had so often
wandered slowly opened and a little girl scarcely ten years of age,
timidly entered and approached the lady.
"Mother would like to come in," she said, with a faltering voice, while
her pale blue eyes were fixed on the matting at her feet.
"Tell her to come," was the laconic reply, and the child hurried away
with a much quicker step than that with which she had entered.
Immediately a small, nervous little woman appeared, with a cold, rigid,
sallow face, small gray eyes and sandy hair, bearing in her arms a
bundle of soft white flannel, which she pressed mechanically to her
well-rounded bust, and without any salutation seated herself upon a
wicker chair, and with the utmost _sang froid_ commenced unrolling the
white flannel she had laid upon her lap.
"It's a wee darling," she said, after a lengthy pause, during which time
she had exposed a little red face and a pair of diminutive fists all
ready to begin the fierce battles of life, and towards which the lady
did not deign to look.
"But it's a pretty thing," she continued. "Look at it, ma'am; it's as
fat and plump as a baby three weeks old, and sleeps as quietly as though
it had not been born in such a terrible storm. The pretty dear!"
"How is she?" coolly interrupted the stately lady. "Your patient above
stairs, I mean; is she comfortable?"
"Of course she is--they always are, ma'am." And she chuckled a low,
unmusical laugh which accorded well with the mingled murmurings of the
expiring storm without.
"Tell me more of her," demanded the lady imperiously. "Will she recover
soon?"
"I think so ma'am; but she will need a long rest. She is sleeping now as
gentle as a kitten. But she was pert enough, I can tell you, when she
knew she had a little girl. She actually laughed and said she was '_so_
glad,' and was going to call it Lily Pearl. 'That will be _our_ pet
names joined; he called me Lily and I called him Pearl. Lily-Pearl,
_that_ shall be her name.' And I thought I would name her as she wished,
it will do no harm. It will be a queer thing to fix into Blunt; but we
shall get used to it."
The lady frowned, but there might have been seen a moisture in her large
dark eyes, as though the heart had sent up a little maternal love from
its hidden depths, yet her stern cold words checked them, and they did
not reveal it.
"You remember our contract?" she interrogated.
"O yes, ma'am; I am to have two hundred dollars upon the spot, and a
hundred and fifty every year until the child is five years old; and then
we are to have a new bargain, and if I keep the girl I shall expect you
to do something handsome, for you know she will be of no earthly use to
_me_ before that time, nor after for that matter, if she is no better
than my Maria." Here the woman paused, for the infant on her lap threw
up its tiny fists and uttered a feeble cry.
"Poor thing. It's cold, and will want something to eat pretty soon," she
continued as she folded the soft flannel again around it.
"I see you have not forgotten the _reward_; your duties, I hope, are
equally clear to your memory."
"O yes, ma'am."
"Well then, I do not want _her_ to see the child again! It will be so
much easier for her to forget that she ever had one. It is no doubt a
lawful child as she asserts, as far as her age can make it so--but as I
told you she is only fifteen and a few years will cover up this night
forever! As soon as it is light, take it to your home and care for it as
you will; that is, be a mother to it and _I_ will take care of the rest.
But remember one thing! I demand you to forget that she _ever_ mentioned
the silly name of 'Lily Pearl!' Call her anything else you please; let
me see,--Phebe, yes--that will do! _Phebe Blunt!_ Now leave her with me
for a few moments and return to the chamber, she may need you by this
time. But stay a moment"; and the lady reached out her hands to receive
the little bundle.
"Can you not keep her dozy--_sleepy_, I mean for a short time until she
gains a little strength? She will need it you know in order to bear the
news, she will be obliged to hear! Are you sufficiently skilled in your
profession to do this without injury?"
"To be sure I am ma'am! It's what she needs, and if we don't there will
be no pacifying her about her baby."
"You can tell her"; replied the lady, "If she is troublesome, that she
is not able to see it at present; she must wait awhile! Now go!"
The woman obeyed and with a cat-like tread left the room a very
significant smile lighting her hard features; and the little babe who
had just entered upon a life of storms and tempests lay still and
motionless upon the rich dress of the beautiful lady who should have
wound her jeweled arms about the tiny form and vowed to protect the
helpless one in whose veins her own blood was coursing; from the terrors
of the threatening blasts. But pride and an unnatural ambition had taken
the place of the love that had once ruled her heart and better nature,
and the good God had give her knelt in humble subjugation at their feet.
She uncovered the little features before her and gazed long and fixedly
upon them, while her thoughts ran back over the short path which had
wound so pleasantly along through the last fifteen years since her own
beautiful Lillian lay upon her lap, the idol of him who had fallen by
the flowery way over which her memory was wandering; and for a time it
stopped by a grassy mound at which she often knelt in the twilight hour
under the shadows of the fir tree, and a tear fell upon the innocent
upturned face; and a low wail penetrated her ear. For a moment she
pressed the tiny form to her heaving bosom and her heart whispered, "She
shall not want--_I_ will care for her--my Lillian's babe!" She took the
little hand in hers and pressed it to her lips, and then with an impulse
unpremeditated she unfastened its dress and exposed the pretty pink
shoulders to view. She started, and a faint cry broke from her lips
which awoke the slumbering echoes in the room. Upon either shoulder a
little purple spot was plainly visible, the same over which her maternal
pride had lamented sixteen years before! There they were--the very same!
With a tremor of deep regret she hastily covered them again and wrapped
the soft warm blankets about it tenderly as she laid it down once more
upon her lap. A few moments later the timid Maria entered to take the
babe to the kitchen, and with an assumed hauteur the lady yielded up her
charge and it was carried from the room. The fury of the storm had
passed, though there were clouds still lurking in the sky and the dismal
Atlantic kept up its fitful roar; but the winds had ceased and the rain
drops fell leisurely from the eaves down upon the gravel walks, and the
old house-dog slept quietly in his kennel by the gate. But greater than
the storm without had been, was the tumult of emotion that was still
raging in the bosom of her who now walked with unsteady step up and down
the spacious parlor with folded hands and care-worn expression on her
handsome face, which many long years with all their changes and
bereavements could not have placed there. "It must be!" she exclaimed at
last, and slowly leaving the room she ascended to a distant chamber
where her daughter,--her beautiful Lillian, lay pale and restless on her
bed in an unnatural sleep.
The mother drew aside the thick folds of the curtains which shut her in
and gazed fixedly upon her waxen features. How wan they looked! The rose
tints were all faded from her cheeks and lips; and face seemed as cold
and white as though just chiseled from the unfeeling marble by the
cunning hand of art. By and by the white lips moved and a few audible
words escaped them.
"She is dreaming" the mother thought, and bent her stately head to
listen. "It is ours--my Pearl--our sweet Lily--_ours_, I am
dying--dying--Pearl--Lily!" The curtains fell again around the uneasy
sleeper and with a wildly throbbing heart the wretched mother sank down
upon a chair and buried her face in her hands, while the angel of
maternal pity came and rolled away the stone from the sealed fountain of
her tears, and she wept!
Three days with their gloomy nights dragged laggardly and wearily by,
and the tall lady in black bent tenderly over the pale languid form on
the bed, bathing the white brow and striving to arouse her from the long
stupor by endearing words and soft caresses.
"Mother," she said at last; "bring my babe to me will you? I want to see
her sweet face before I die! Love her Mother, and call her your own
precious Lillian,--give her _my_ room and tell her when old enough to
understand that there the life began which withered and died when its
beautiful blossom budded into life! Will you Mother?"
"You are not going to die my daughter! You are very weak now, it is
true, but you will soon be stronger. Wait until then, for it would be
disastrous for you to see her now. The excitement might overcome you.
Wait dear--your mother knows best. Close your eyes and rest. Just as
soon as it is proper you shall see your babe." And she kissed the pale
brow with hot quivering lips, and turned away to gain new strength from
the vile spirit within for the conflict through which it was to lead
her.
A week more and the cry of the mother's heart for its first born would
not be hushed.
"My daughter," whispered the weeping mother, "believe me, my poor,
_poor_ child! _This_ is the bitterest hour of my life, for the words
your entreaties compel me to utter will fall sadly on your heart my poor
Lillian! But it must be done! Bear them my daughter with all the
fortitude of which you are capable!" The lips that were already polluted
with the falsehoods they were about to utter pressed the white ashy ones
of her child as the demon of remorse was introduced into the chamber of
her soul which was to poison ever after the fountain of her existence,
and people her midnight vigils with spectral fears.
"It is all for the best! Think so my darling and do not grieve that God
has transplanted your beautiful Lily to a more genial clime before its
purity was soiled by the contaminations of this tainted life. It is safe
now; and by and by it shall be given back to you, and with this
assurance do not murmur!" Her words fell unheeded upon ears that were
sealed from all earthly sounds; but _they were heard_! The dark, _dark_
falsehood was registered in letters of fire where no mortal hand could
ever blot them out. How true that "upon the wicked he shall rain snares,
fire and brimstone, and a horrible tempest, and this shall be the
portion of their cup."
"I have killed her! I have killed her!" almost shrieked the miserable
mother, and with a trembling hand she frantically rang the bell. Little
Maria immediately appeared, and with as much composure as she could
command the lady asked if Mother was still in the house.
"No ma'am, she's just gone," was the reply.
"Then _run_ for her! Hasten, O hasten!" pleaded the miserable woman, and
the child obeyed. Rapidly did she chafe the cold hands of the insensible
Lillian, but no "comforter" came to the sin-stained heart to drive away
its despair. Many moments passed and she was alone with the motionless
form of her for whom she would sixteen years before have laid down her
life. What agonizing thoughts burned themselves into her brain as she
watched the feebly returning breath and saw with a bound of joy the soft
tint steal again into the closed lips. At last the eyes were slowly
opened and fixed themselves on the blanched face bending over her. Then
came a whisper so feeble that the stately head bent low to listen. "I am
better now. Kiss me Mother. Let me lay my head on your bosom, and sing
to me as you used to do! Hark! how the ocean roars! Listen--it is
calling--calling--my Lily, my noble Pearl. O my husband, when may he
come to me? We are not children! Am I not a mother? Is he not the father
of my child?"
"Do _not_, Lillian, you are very ill! Have you forgotten what your
father told you? He is where your babe has gone you know; but his last
words were: 'My daughter; trust your mother always, and be guided by her
superior wisdom.' I am older than you and know what is best for one in
your present position; and if you will wait and be quiet all things will
come out right at last."
"Yes, Mother. Let us go home where the odor of the orange-blossoms will
bring me back to life, and Old Auntie can tell me all about it! _Her_
little ones were all taken, and I never knew how her poor heart ached.
I think I dreamed Mother, for I saw my pretty Lily carried away from me
and I could not reach it although I stretched out my arms to possess
her! O Mother! Mother! _Is my child dead_?" and the large eyes looked
with a steady gaze into the blanched face of her only parent, who was
chafing with a caressing motion the little white hand that was lying so
lifelessly in her own. In vain did the pallid lips strive to answer but
no word came to them.
"_Is_ my _child dead_?" she asked again without removing her eyes.
"_Dead_, my daughter," at last fell from her icy lips, and another
sin-stain was stamped on her already polluted soul that an ocean of
tears could never wash away.
"_Dead_" she murmured, and the beautiful eyes again closed while the
wretched mother sat by and trembled.
In the darkness that enveloped her how gladly would the soul have looked
up for one little ray of light and comfort, but the pall of sin, the
thick darkness of an abiding 'remorse' had settled down over every
glimmering hope and not a gladsome beam of light could penetrate its
dense folds. Poor soul! More terrible than the storm that had swept over
the sea, when the words of the dark falsehood were registered where no
mortal hand could blot them out, were the commotions of the tempest
tossed soul as the mother watched on and the moments went wearily by!
"Dead!" again whispered the pale lips. "My Lily, my Pearl! Gone--all,
all are gone! Take me home Mother--the ocean roars--the dark waves are
rolling over your poor Lillian;--let us go home," and the beautiful
head turned wearily upon its pillow and the wretched watcher moaned in
her anguish; for she was _alone_!
[Illustration]