THE RECOGNITION.
Anna awoke the next morning with the half-dreamy consciousness of some
impending evil or gloomy foreboding or trial she was expected to meet or
avert. For a long time she lay on her bed balanced between a peaceful
unconsciousness and the stern realities of duty that were rising before
her, until at last the full burden of life rolled in upon her mind.
Springing from her bed she dropped upon her knees beside it. For the
first time in her life she discovered her utter helplessness; her
inability to go alone! Before her were heavy loads she was expected to
take up and carry along, but with this consciousness came also the
invitations whispered to her shrinking heart, "come unto me"--"cast thy
burden on the Lord and He will sustain thee." There in the solitude of
that early morn she came close to Him who had promised strength
sufficient in every time of trouble and perplexity. Firmer were her
purposes when she arose from her knees; more willing was she to
sacrifice all her dearest hopes at the feet of justice, if such stern
duty was in store for her. As tears are sometimes the gentle dew that
falls upon and refreshes the drooping flowers of life, so prayer is the
concentration of the golden rays of light that color and beautify the
re-animated petals, sending into the heart once filled with desolation
and despair the freshness of a new life, and driving out the dying fumes
that arise from the withered flowers where fond hopes lie buried. Softly
came this gentle influence into the soul of her who under the shadows
was kneeling and praying! Was it faith or love that was soothing her?
Perhaps neither. The burdened spirit may not yet have drunk from the
golden cup which the hand of mercy had proffered; but it had listened to
the music of pity's hovering wings as she brooded near while gathering
up the fragrance of the heart's petitions to bear away with the tears
from the overflowing soul. Anna felt these refreshing influences, yet
she knew not from whence they came. Her face bore the softening impress
as she entered the breakfast room and inquired regarding the wounded
colonel.
"He is a little more quiet this morning," replied Mrs. Howard; "but was
very restless all night. I was up with him the greater part of the
time." Anna seated herself at the table but could not eat.
"I think I will go over to the hospital for a few minutes," she said,
rising; "tell him I will soon return and then will come to him."
"Why not go now, Miss Pierson? It is sad to witness his misery! Your
absence, I am sure, is now his greatest affliction!"
"Indeed, I must go and get my own wounds dressed before I can attend to
others!" This last remark was made partly to herself as she left the
room, but enough fell on the ear of the listener to fill her with
astonishment.
"What could the girl mean?" she asked herself over and over again, but
received no satisfactory reply. In the meantime Anna was making her way
to the hospital, and upon arriving proceeded immediately to the ward
where she had, on the day before, talked with the one who had known and
loved her brother. But he was not there. Even the cot had been removed,
and on the floor where it had stood a large dark spot was seen. Sick at
heart and without one word of inquiry she hurried into the next room
where the kind old nurse could, she was sure, tell her all.
"Yes, dear, these things are dreadful for us to bear," was the reply to
her visitor's earnest questionings; "but could you have seen his face as
his life rapidly ebbed away you would have been satisfied that sometimes
'it is Christ to live, but to die is gain.' What you saw yesterday was
no comparison to it; so holy; so joyous! It was about four this morning
they called me, but so rapid was his going that I only caught a glimpse
of the glory that shone through as the gate to the 'city' opened for
him!"
"Yet it seems so hard to me just now that he must die," interposed Anna
as she looked dreamily out over the long rows of cots where wounded men
were lying. "Was it because my poor heart reached out after him in its
sorest need? Must all be taken?" She had said this musingly, but the
nurse heard it and her face shone with interest. "Forgive me," she added
quickly, perceiving the look that was fastened upon her, "I was
bewildered for a moment."
"There is a Comforter, and it was He that gave him his powers of
consolation! You know he said yesterday that he would be obliged to
bestow only second hand what he had received."
"Yes, I remember, but tell me more of him."
"It is the story of many others, yet it came all unexpectedly, as it has
often done. It was the giving way of the main artery that had been
severed so near the body that there was no chance for again securing it.
It was not five minutes after he discovered his position before he was
quietly sleeping! Such a death has no sadness in it my dear girl, for it
was only stepping out of pain and suffering into peace and rejoicing!"
"Thank you," said Anna as she turned away, for kind words were needed
elsewhere. Alone in her room again she gave full vent to her feelings.
"I am ready now," she thought as she bathed her face that her swollen
lids might not grieve him, and prepared to fulfill her promise. It was
with trembling steps, however, that she entered the room where George
St. Clair was lying. He was alone and apparently asleep as she
approached the bedside and looked down into his face so calm in its
repose; so gentle in its outline; almost feminine it appeared to her in
its tenderness. Yet she had seen it when it was not as it was now. How
different! She placed her hand on his forehead that he might awake
before the dark thoughts should come back to her. He opened his eyes and
looked full into hers! A deep flush overspread his face, yet not a
muscle moved or a word escaped his lips. "George, will you not speak to
me?" she asked at last.
"Yes, Anna; but why have you absented yourself so long? Have you desired
to revenge your brother's blood upon me? Upon my poor head, Anna? Are
you so cruel? Tell me that you lay not that sin at my door; or use the
dagger for my more immediate relief! Does this shock you? Am I the one
who is the most cruel after all?"
Anna sank down upon a chair near by and buried her face in the pillow.
Both were silent for a long time; at length Mrs. Howard entering aroused
her.
"You must not disturb my patient, you know," she said with an attempt at
pleasantry, for she was happy to see Anna at last where she thought she
ought to be. "You are to cheer him up, for he seems quite low spirited
to-day."
"We shall, no doubt, do very well," replied St. Clair, impatiently; and
the kind-hearted lady after administering the medicine, left the room.
"Anna, will you move your chair a little this way that I may see your
face? I want to talk candidly with you." She obeyed. He looked at her
for a moment, but there was more of sorrow than scrutiny in his gaze. At
last he said, "Mrs. Howard tells me you are going home."
"Yes, I must go; my mother will want all that is left of him whom she
has so dearly loved! The staff is broken upon which she expected to lean
in her declining years. It is a hard task, but I have no power to shrink
from it!"
"Have you made all of your calculations to do so?"
"Not wholly. I shall wait for your father whom I am expecting here
to-morrow in company with Ellen."
"Ellen? Is she coming? Then you will not return?"
"No!" This was spoken with a tremulous voice, and she knew his eyes were
fixed intently upon her. "You will not need me," she continued, after a
moment's pause; "your sister Ellen can do all it would have been in my
power to perform, and my mother will be very lonely and sad without me."
"You did not think Ellen was so efficient a few days ago, Anna. How
changed you are! Yes, I think I understand you; but can you not be
mistaken? Look at my hands, dear girl, are there any dark stains upon
them? Think of my prostrate form; is he the less guilty who spilled my
blood because this life did not escape through the wound? Blood for
blood, Anna, and justice is satisfied! Are you sterner than that
insatiate power?"
Tears flooded her eyes and she bowed her head to conceal them. Where now
was the strength she had expected would sustain her through this trying
ordeal? O how weak she seemed! How flitting the sunshine that had but a
short time before gilded her darkness!
"Anna," said her companion, "your heart is pleading for me! It is not
your better judgment that is sitting at my tribunal at this moment; I
know it all! I read it months ago as you stood before me so cold and
stern when you first beheld my uniform, and it has followed you ever
since. You loved me then and you cannot hate me now! Look up, Anna, and
tell me if my words are not true?" She obeyed.
"They are true! I did love you, and God knows how hard it would be to
tear that love from my heart! But you will wait; the storm has burst in
upon my soul. When the fury is past and the clouds are broken, in the
calm you shall read what now is so bleared and illegible! George, you
can never know the depths of sadness that is permeating my every hope
and aspiration! If you knew the agony of the last few hours, that has
torn me like an evil spirit, you would pity me!"
"I do pity you, Anna; and will trouble you no longer lest my words
should prove an infliction rather than a panacea, and I will, as you
have requested, bide patiently your time." The young lady arose and
stood before him.
"Good-bye, George, make haste to recover," she said without emotion;
"your mother pines for you and many hearts will rejoice when you are
well again." He was looking steadily at her while she spoke, and their
eyes met. Her lips quivered, but quickly bowing her head she pressed a
kiss upon his brow and darted from the room.
Early the next morning after a restless, sleepless night, Anna prepared
herself for another visit to the young lady who had so tenderly nursed
her brother during his days of suffering and death. She did so long to
look again into those deep, dark eyes, from which had beamed so much
sympathy, and to ask many questions which she had omitted at their
former interviews. It was a damp, chill morning, for the sun was hiding
behind dense leaden clouds and a thick fog had settled down upon the
city. However, she liked all this, for nature was in her most congenial
mood with such frowns upon her face, and so she hurried on. She received
a warm greeting from the beautiful nurse, whom she noticed was much
paler than when she saw her last, and was at the moment apparently
unusually agitated. Not far from her two ladies richly, but plainly
attired, were standing conversing in low, soothing tones with a sick
soldier.
"Do you know those ladies?" she asked eagerly as she clasped the hand of
her visitor.
"No, although I have caught a glimpse of their dresses several times in
the other wards during the last few days," replied Anna, stepping back a
little that she might look into their faces. But in vain. "I have heard
one of them spoken of as a very wealthy English lady who was at the
south, but was compelled to come north on account of her anti-war
principles; but have thought very little about them."
"I must see that face again!" said the nurse, musingly. "See how
persistently they keep their backs toward me! They have been here an
hour and seem in no hurry to go, yet it is impossible for me to catch
the eye again of that one wearing the gray silk. I have seen her before,
Miss Pierson; I am sure of it!" A call from one of the patients
interrupted the conversation. Anna moved slowly down the apartment to
intercept, and if possible to engage them in conversation, while her
friend could have the privilege she so ardently coveted. She was
avoided, however, and the visitors soon passed out into the open air.
"Do tell me what it was that came over you so suddenly with sufficient
power to shake your dry bones so effectually, and take all of the brass
out of your face?" inquired one of the worthies when once again clear of
searching eyes.
"Do not jest!" entreated her companion. "Matters are becoming rather
serious to me, as you will acknowledge when I tell you that the young
nurse in whom you seemed so much interested is my own daughter!"
"Your daughter! I do not wonder that you shook in your boots! Do you
suppose that she recognized you?"
"I feel sure of it, for her cheek paled as she caught the glance of my
eye, and I felt all the time we were there that she was watching me!"
"How do you suppose she came here? You told me she was with an aunt in
New Orleans!"
"So she was, the idiot!" was the answering exclamation. "I have no
patience with her! She has been my tormentor for years! It was not
enough for her to throw away all of my cherished plans, depriving me of
home and fortune, but now she must appear to add the crowning act to my
discomfiture!"
"Would you have me believe all this of one who is so mild and gentle,
with eyes as calm--"
"Do not mention those eyes! They were her father's, and she is like him!
Yet he was good! I do not think I should be where I am to-day if he had
lived! I have been tumbling for years--yes, years! And what a depth I
have fallen!" The speaker endeavored to smile, but the attempt died upon
her pallid lips. "Let us hasten back to the city," she continued, seeing
her companion showed no desire to speak: "I must have time to think!"
They walked on a short distance without another word, and then her
companion said, abruptly: "You have not told me why, in your opinion,
she is here? Was she always remarkable for tenderness and benevolence?
It seems to me that the mother-power was deficient in regard to the
little matter of early teaching in the science of patriotism!"
"Your tones are annoying, but I will satisfy your plausible curiosity in
a measure! It was not 'tenderness or benevolence' that has drawn her
thither, but, in my opinion, an old love affair gotten up while in
Philadelphia at school when yet a child. She was supposed to be an
heiress, of course, and was wheedled into accepting the proffers of
undying adoration from a scheming fortune-hunter! It did not take me
long to end the affair after I learned of it, I can tell you; but it
spoiled her! It was then that she laid the corner stone of the sepulcher
which she has been rearing over me, and now, I suppose, will
deliberately pull down about my ears!"
"The sea does look a little squally, I confess," replied her companion
sarcastically.
"I own it does!"
"Well, as I am aboard of your ship it may be well for me to be looking
out for breakers ahead. And yet I cannot understand how that 'love
affair' of which you have told me could affect her now!"
"Well, I do! Without doubt she hopes to find him; but it does not matter
what are her ambitions she is here much against my wishes and
happiness!"
Happiness! Ah, where can the transgressor find peace or rest? "Who is
wise shall understand these things; prudent and he shall know them, for
the ways of the Lord are right and the just shall walk in them, but the
transgressors shall fall therein."
Anna might have joined in the confusion and agitation of her friend had
she caught a look as she desired from the keen, black eyes which had so
troubled her in former days. But, strange as it may seem, those
penetrating orbs failed to recognize in her whom they tried to avoid the
sweet singer of "Cathesdra." The "nobody" whom her cousin persisted in
raising out of her sphere had dropped from her mind. Neither had Anna
ever met the daughter of Mrs. Belmont during her stay in the home of the
St. Clair's, and could not, therefore, suspect that the meek, gentle
nurse who had so won her heart was the one of whom she had so often
heard. She had been told by Ellen of her brother's attachment and of
their final separation, and he, only two mornings since, had
substantiated her statement with the assurance that his imaginary love
had been proved to himself to be only a fostered brotherly affection for
his pretty cousin. They looked into each other's faces and smiled at the
parting, little thinking how much of mystery was concealed from view.
"If one could only be seen in the light that falls upon them from the
eternal brightness what a transfiguration it would work! There are
estrangements and alienations," says some one, "that arise from
ignorance of one another that divide families into almost as distinct
and separate lives as rooms in the house they occupy."