HEART'S SECRETS REVEALED AND UNREVEALED.
"He--he--he! Didn't Massa George make Spit-fire fly, tho'? Gorry!
'specks them bobolishenis 'll have to take it now, no 'stake.
He--he--he!"
"O you get out. What you talk 'bout bobolishenis anyhow? Think you're
mighty smart nigger, don't ye? It's my opinion ye don't know
nothin'--that's all." And Aunt Lizzy moved away with the air of one who
did understand and utterly despised one who was not as fortunate as
herself, as the toss of her lofty turban perfectly demonstrated.
"'Specks old woman, ye'd jus' like to know all what dis nig' duz.
'Mighty smart! He--he--he! Gals ain't 'speeted to know nothin' no how,"
and Pete, who was the especial favorite of his young master, turned away
from his unappreciative auditor with all the dignity supposed to have
been handed over to him with the last suit of young massa's cast-off
clothing in which he was pompously arrayed.
Just then the soft folds of a white dress peeped out from behind the
foliage of the "Prairie Queen," which scrambled about in native
abandonment everywhere over the corridor on one side of the moss-covered
terrace. Pete saw it as it waved in the noonday breeze, which was
scarcely sufficient to move a leaf or flower, so stealthily it came
ladened with its burden of perfume. Discovering that some one was so
near, the astonished slave was about to retreat in much confusion, when
Grace Stanley stepped from behind the massive vine and stood before him.
Evidently there had been tears in her brilliant eyes that were unused to
weeping, but they had succeeded only in leaving transparent shadows over
their brightness. Sad traces, to be sure, of what had been, as well as
presentiments of what might be. Her soft cheek wore a deeper tint than
was usual to it, and her long lashes drooped lower, casting a sombre
shade beneath them, and that was all. Yet the little heart, all unused
to sorrow, throbbed beneath the pure white bodice with a wound it
seemingly had not the power to bind up. She had come to Rosedale as free
and joyous as the birds that flitted among the orange blossoms where the
zephyrs were then gathering their sweets, and the future over which her
feet would gladly tread decked with the brightest and sweetest flowers,
among which the trailing serpent had never for a moment showed his
treacherous head; but she had found that the blossom of hope will wither
and the golden sunshine fade; and this consciousness had pierced her
sensitive nature as a cruel dart, and the pain had made her cheek
tear-stained and brought shadows of disappointment. She had met George
St. Clair two years before her present visit, and thought him the most
noble and true of all his sex, and who can tell of the dreams that came
uninvited into her nightly visions as well as in her peaceful day
reveries? Can you, gentle reader? There comes a day to us all when the
kaleidoscope of every heart's experience gives a sudden turn as it
presents to view more complex minglings of brilliant colors and
perplexing designs than has ever been seen in any previous whirl, weird
fancies through which we are all looking.
Grace Stanley had been watching their ever changing glow until the
brilliant tints had imprinted their rosy hues over every hope and
promise of her life; but on this very morning there had been another
turn, and the sombre shades were now uppermost. He loved "Lily-Bell,"
and had flown from her presence a rejected lover, but without one word
of farewell to her. "My country shall henceforth be my bride," she had
heard him say, and who could tell what the terrible war might bring to
them all. He was gone, and this fact alone was sufficient to sadden her
future, still "no one shall know it," she thought as she walked across
the garden and stepped upon the moss-covered terrace. "This hour shall
be covered from sight forever, even from myself." She had grown calm as
she stood there listening to the conversation just outside, and with a
faint smile flitting among the sombre tints of sadness that were
retreating from her pretty face, she bluntly asked the bewildered Pete--
"What did I hear you say about Master George?"
She had drawn more closely the thick veil of indifference, and suddenly
her face was wreathed in smiles as she stood there looking into the
dark, perplexed visage of the scared negro boy; just as flowers will
grow and thrive in beauty on the graves where our idols lie buried.
"O nothin', Miss Grace--nothin', nothin' at all. But he did make
Spit-fire look buful, sartin, sure. _Gorry!_ didn't she _go_, tho'?
Dat's all, Miss Grace, sure dat's all."
"I thought I heard you say something about his going to shoot the
abolitionists, Pete, was I mistaken? Do you know what they are?"
"Don't know nothin', Miss Grace, sartin. 'Spects dey be somethin' what
hunts a nigger mighty sharp, 'cause I heard Massa Charles say he'll pop
'em over--dat's all, young missus, sartin, sure, dat's all."
"Well, Pete, let me tell you something. In my opinion you will be wiser
than you are now, and that before many years; only keep your eyes open."
"Neber you mind, Miss Gracy. Dis nig' 'll keep his eyes peeled, dat's
what he will."
Grace Stanley passed leisurely into the hall which ran through the main
building leading to the open court beyond where the fountain was
throwing its cool, sparkling jets into the sunshine. She did not heed
it, however, but passed on up the broad winding stairway, meeting no one
on the way as she ascended to the hall above. The sun had nearly reached
his meridian glory, and the oppressive heat had as usual driven the
inmates of that elegant home to their shaded retreats, where in
comfortable deshabille they lounged on beds and sofas drawn up by the
open windows, that perchance they might catch some stray breeze that
would flit up from the orange groves or come from the woodland far away
on the hill side.
"Grace," called a sweet voice through the half-open door of Lillian's
room, "I thought it was your light step I heard on the stairs. Come in
here, darling. See how nice and cool it is." Grace obeyed, but Lillian
did not notice the sombre shadows that were playing over the usually
sunny face of her cousin, so absorbed was she with the hovering glooms
that had fallen from her own passing clouds, and so she continued,
pleasantly: "Perhaps you would like to make yourself a little more
comfortable? Put on this wrapper, dear, and then come and sit by me,
will you? I want to talk a little."
This was just what her companion did not care to do; still, remembering
that her mission to Rosedale was to cheer by her lively mirth and
vivacity her drooping cousin, she hastened to obey. Yet how was she to
accomplish her task? Only three weeks had passed since her arrival, yet
weeks so heavy with their weight of circumstance that her very soul
seemed pressed down beneath their weight. Where now was her native
joyousness? The cheering powers she was expected to impart to others?
She must recall them. Yet she was chilled and oppressed; what was she to
do? Act. Her retreating volubility could only be summoned again to its
post through action, and it _must_ be done!
"What a sweet little bouquet," she exclaimed, arousing herself to her
work. "A delicate spray of jesamine, a few tiny rose-buds and geranium
leaves. Do you know that I never could have done that? There is
something so exquisite in their arrangement. Somehow as a whole they
send an impressive appeal to the inner senses, my 'Lily-Bell.' There
must be such a bubbling fountain of poesy in a soul like yours. Teach
me, dear cousin, to be like you." And the pensive speaker dropped upon
the floor at the feet of Lillian, where she most delighted to sit, and
drooping her head wearily upon her companion's knee.
Both were silent. One heart had that morning drawn back the rusty bolt
on the door of its inner chamber and rejoiced to find itself strong
enough to drive out at last, its long imprisoned secret of gloom that
had made it so wretched through the revolving changes of many years,
while the other was even then busy with the fastenings of the secret
closet where the unsightly skeleton of her lost love was to be hidden
from the world, from herself. Yet so doing might eat the bloom from her
cheek and the joy from her buoyant nature. Why did she wish to be like
Lillian? She had not asked even her aching heart this question, but all
unconsciously to herself a response came up from the hidden recesses of
her soul where a fresh grave had been dug by trembling hands and into it
a dead hope had been lowered and closely covered, while the damp earth
was trodden down hard about it, and the low whisper said, "If like her,
this poor heart to-day would not be draped with its sombre emblems of
bereavement." To be as she was, to possess the power to win. O the poor
throbbing hearts all over the world that must keep on through the years
with their wounds and pains, for in them are many graves hidden away
among the cypress shades, where the passer-by can never spy them out;
but the eye of the eternal one sees them all, and at every burial the
tear of sympathy mingles with the liquid drops of bereavement that must
fall on the stone at the mouth of the sepulcher which by and by will be
rolled away at His command.
Lillian aroused herself after a long silence.
"You give me more praise, darling, than I deserve," she said. "I am as
incapable as yourself in performing these little touches of the fine
arts which you see every day on my table. Black Tezzie can alone teach
you the mysteries of a skill she so fortunately possesses. Do not look
so incredulous, or I shall be obliged to prove it to you," she smiled.
"I am not unbelieving, sweet Lily-Bell," she answered, "but I confess
that you have surprised me. I should sooner have suspected either of the
other servants of such a gift as that ungainly biped," Grace laughed,
but Lillian remained silent.
"This only proves that it is sometimes impossible to read the soul from
the outside, my pretty cousin. I learned long ago that there was more
beauty and a brighter reflection of heavenly glory shut up in that ebony
casket, so unprepossessing in its general make-up, than in half the more
graceful and elegant ones. But perhaps you are among the number who
believe that these dark forms we see every day have no souls within
them?"
"Why, Lily-Bell! what a suspicion. Still, how am I supposed to have any
knowledge regarding the matter, seeing I have never dissected one of
them?"
A gesture of impatience followed this remark, but her companion did not
appear to notice it, for she continued:
"I believe that Old Auntie has as pure and white a soul as ever
inhabited an earthly tenement. I have laid my head on her bosom with a
deeper sense of rest than it was possible for me to obtain elsewhere.
Her prayers that have gone up so continually for 'de poor wee lamb' have
imparted more real comfort and hope to this tempest-tossed soul of mine
than any that could have ascended from consecrated temples. No soul?
What could I ever have done without her in this life? And my
anticipations regarding the brighter one to follow are stronger to-day
because of her."
Grace Stanley arose from her seat and walked to the window, while her
companion did not fail to perceive that a cloud had risen and was
spreading itself over her features. Not wishing to press the subject
further, she remarked calmly:
"Some of our company are leaving to-day, and George St. Clair wished me
to hand over to you his adieus, as he departed in great haste,
regretting the fact that he was not able to meet you again."
At the first sound of her voice Grace had returned to her seat upon the
carpet, and Lillian, taking the sweet face between her little hands,
gazed tenderly into it, as she continued:
"You will pardon me, darling cousin, I know, but did you not hear our
conversation in the rose arbor, at the foot of the lower terrace, two
hours ago?"
The dimples stole out of the cheeks the soft, white hands of the
interrogator was pressing so lovingly, and the light joyousness in her
bright, sparkling eyes became dimmed, while a veil of crimson spread
itself over it all. The head bowed low as it released itself from its
imprisonment, and tears that had long been struggling to be free came
now unrestrainedly.
"I do not chide you, darling; I knew you were not far away, for I had
espied a portion of your white dress fluttering through a crevice of
the vine outside of the trestle-work, and rejoiced that it was so."
"I would not have remained, Lillian, had not my dress become so
entangled that I could not loosen it without revealing my presence.
Believe me, cousin, I was not a willing listener. You will not doubt
this?"
"Certainly not; and, darling, let me assure you that my heart is lighter
for the circumstance, for we are confidants now. I have had such a
longing to tell you all; but this one secret had become habitual to me.
The very thought of revealing it filled me with a nervous horror. But it
is over now, and by and by I want to impart to your tender sympathies
half of the burden I have so long carried. You do not know how
unendurable its weight has become. O Grace, it is dreadful to be obliged
to endure for years the pains of a wounded heart. To feel its throbbings
day after day without the power to claim a panacea from another's love."
Grace started.
"It must be true," she thought, "and am I to thus endure?"
Ah! little did she know how the first deep wounds, that seemingly "will
never heal," can be soothed in some hearts, while in others no power can
assuage the pain. Grace Stanley could forget, for the sunshine of her
nature was salutary.
At this juncture Tezzie appeared in the doorway, and announced that
"Missus wanted do young ladies to dress fine for dinner, for Massa
Charles was coming back wid a strange gemman."
"Very well, we will be ready in good time," replied Lillian. "Now go and
call Agnes to arrange my hair."
The dark, dumpy figure disappeared from sight, and Lillian, bowing her
head, kissed again the pure white forehead of her companion.
"To-morrow, dear, I want your little heart to beat in sympathy with my
own. Good by," and Grace left the room.
[Illustration]