UNFOLDINGS AND REVELATIONS.
Weeks passed away and Mrs. Belmont was able to sit for hours in her easy
chair, but the once active, energetic and massive intellect was weak and
inefficient as that of a child. The large eyes would follow the flitting
forms about her with a weird wistful look, yet she seldom spoke, and
when she did, the words revealed the sad truth that the powers that had
long sat enthroned in the realm of reason ruled no more.
"I must go," Lillian said to her aunt one day, as they drew the invalid
chair close to the window where a cool breeze from the Schuylkill could
fan her pale face, and, as the words fell on the ears of Mrs. Belmont a
quick flush overspread it. The daughter noticed the change with joy and
a strange wondering. "Mrs. Jackson can do all that is needed to be done
now," she continued, without removing her gaze from the placid features.
"I will not be absent more than a week at most, and Pearl, you know,
writes that if he can obtain leave for a few days will be here by my
return."
"Pearl?"
"Yes, Mother; would you like to see him?"
There was a struggling among the buried memories which were not dead but
sleeping, for the eyes gleamed with a new light, and the face resumed
its look of intelligence. It was only for a moment, however, and then
the former inertness returned, as she repeated, "Pearl!"
"He loves you, Mother; shall I read what he wrote last?" There was no
response, and taking the letter from her pocket, she read slowly and
distinctly. "She is our mother, Lillian, and, no matter what she has
done, it is the duty of her children to forgive, and never refer to the
past. I am anxious to meet her for her daughter's sake. My heart opens
wide to take in her love and bury the whole hateful past. Whisper my
name to her gently, familiarize her brain with associations concerning
me."
"He is coming to see you, Mother, to love you; are you glad?"
"Forgive? Did he say forgive?"
"He certainly did, and he is true to his word. Shall I tell him to
come?" The large eyes fixed intently on the beaming face before her, as
if endeavoring to pierce the shadows.
After a moment's silence the mother slowly answered "Tell him come," and
settled back in her chair wearied and exhausted.
Lillian was exuberant. "She is better," was her conclusion as she
adjusted the pillows and brushed back the thin hair from the white
temples. The heavy braids were gone, and the queenly bearing lost in
helpless weakness.
It was finally concluded that Mrs. Hamilton should leave her mother in
the care of the efficient nurse who had been in attendance during her
long sickness, and, without speaking to her upon the subject, proceed on
her journey to Boston, to return as soon as possible. Therefore on the
following morning she started on her exciting mission. What a threefold
cord was drawing her! The mother, to whose helplessness her filial love
was clinging; the idolized husband for whom her heart was pining; and
now the living tendrils of a buried affection had sprung up, and were
twining themselves with an unseen power around the vibrating cord that
bound her life to earthly loves and earthly hopes. The mother-love had
awakened with its pleadings and would not be hushed. A little more than
a year ago, and the brittle thread that held her was feeble, and the
fibres frail; now other strands had been added, and as the car rolled
over the space that separated her from the consummation of her
long-cherished hopes she thanked God for the tender hand that had led
her. The great joy, however, that would sweep over her soul, as she
recalled the reasons of her present mission, was not without its gloomy
apprehensions. What if, after all, Mrs. Gaylord's adopted daughter was
not her Lily? How was she to be sure? and then the mother's ravings, her
wild confessions; her cries of innocence; certainly these must have come
from the hidden consciousness of an appalling truth! She sat by the open
window and watched the receding fields, the trees and villages, as the
train sped through them, with a sensation of alarm, for she realized
that every puff of the tireless engine brought her nearer and nearer to
the acme of her hopes or to disappointment.
How her limbs trembled when, on reaching Boston, she entered a carriage
and gave orders to be driven to the Parker House! In Boston at last! In
this boiling cauldron of living souls should she find her child? What a
thought! What a hope! She must rest. Sleep alone could give her strength
of body for the trying ordeal. She partook of a hasty lunch and retired
to her room. What if Mrs. Gaylord had left the city. It had been so long
since the boy had told her she was here. Here was a new agony! She had
not thought of that; and ringing the bell asked for a directory.
Bowing, the servant turned to bring it.
"Stay, perhaps you can tell me how far it is to Mr. Bancroft's store."
"Peter Bancroft, ma'am?"
"I do not know."
"He is just one block away, ma'am: Shall we send your card?"
"Yes." She had not known before what were her wishes, and she wrote her
address opposite her name and requested an interview. In a half hour the
servant returned.
"Mr. Bancroft is in the parlor, ma'am, and will meet you there. Will you
be kind enough to come immediately as his business is pressing?"
Lillian arose quickly and followed the servant.
"I beg your pardon for troubling you, but I am anxious to find a Mrs.
Hudson Gaylord. Are you the Mr. Bancroft with whom she is acquainted?"
"O, yes, if you are her friend I rejoice to meet you"; and he extended
his hand.
"I am not acquainted with her, but would like to learn if she has a
young lady whom she claims as an adopted daughter?"
"Lily? Certainly! But they are not in the city." She started and he
hurried to say: "She is only an hour's ride away. You can get to her
before ten in the morning. There is a little hotel out in Kirkham where
she has a fancy to spend her summers rather than at a fashionable
watering place, and I believe it was in that vicinity where she found
her two protegees. If I can assist you in any way I shall be happy to do
so." He arose to depart. Lillian extended her hand; with many thanks and
exchanging good-nights they separated, the merchant to forget perhaps
the trifling incident in the press of business, the other to her lonely
room and rest.
"Yes--I am glad," she thought as she closed and bolted the door;
"she--my child--is not here and her mother has an hour's ride to get to
her!" Peacefully she rested on the threshold of a new experience. Her
heart throbbed wildly with hope and fear as it peered through at the
coming possibilities, with new loves clamoring to be fed and old ones
struggling for precedence, and yet she slept! The morning came and
looked in through the narrow aperture of the closed shutters, but she
did not wake. The gong sent its warning echoes up through the broad
halls but she slept on. Eight o'clock and a loud knocking upon the door
awoke her, and bounding from her bed she answered the summons.
"A gentleman in the parlor, ma'am, and wishes to see Mrs. Hamilton."
"In just one moment!" and she hurriedly made herself ready to meet her
visitor.
"The train would leave for Kirkham in a half hour, and Mr. Bancroft
would be happy to see her safely upon it." This was the word he sent
her.
"Mrs. Hamilton is grateful and will be ready after a hasty cup of
coffee."
So soon! The time had come but how strong she was! Not a tremor shook
her frame; not an emotion quickened her pulse! Mr. Bancroft assisting
her to a seat in the carriage, entered and took one beside her.
"We shall not be late? I slept so soundly. Really I forgot to wake this
morning, and must thank you for reminding me of it."
Mrs. Hamilton laughed and Mr. Bancroft looked into the beaming eyes and
thought "how like Lily Gaylord's they are!"
"You spoke last evening of two protegees?"
"Yes, a brother of the young lady--and a cripple."
"A brother, did you say?" and the heart of his listener gave a great
bound of pain. The carriage suddenly wheeled up at the station, and "all
aboard for the West" was shouted.
"This way Mrs. Hamilton," and her escort handed her into the car, and
wishing her success waved his adieus as the train moved on.
"Her brother! Then she is not my child! Have I been led thus far only to
find the fruit that allured me with its golden brightness nothing but
ashes? Can it be?" With fearful apprehensions the hour flew by; the
junction was reached at last.
It was a short ride to the hotel, and as she entered the spruce-looking
village inn sensation of suffocation caused her to throw back her veil
that she might breathe more freely.
"Is Mrs. Gaylord in?" she asked of a sweet-faced little woman who
appeared.
"They have gone for their morning ride, but will be back in a half hour
at most."
"I will take a room and wait their coming," was Lillian's response, and
the hostess was ready to conduct her thither. It was a pleasant chamber
overlooking the maple grove where the "lady from the south" had found so
many cool breaths, and which now presented its most winning aspect to
her who was gazing with anxious agitation into its shades. They had
gone! In half an hour! Could she wait? And yet how she dreaded its
passing! But the wings of time never cease their rapid motion, and
before she had bathed her face or removed her bonnet a rap upon the door
announced that her hour had come. Mrs. Gaylord was ready to receive her
visitor.
"Will you ask her to grant me the favor to come to my room?"
This request was made with trembling voice, and the hostess wonderingly
went with her message. Then a step was heard along the hall and the door
again opened, and the same gentle voice to which she had twice listened
announced "Mrs. Gaylord."
Lillian arose and the two ladies stood face to face with a world of
hidden mysteries between them. Mrs. Gaylord extended her hand, and
Lillian smiled as the door closed behind the retreating figure of the
curious landlady.
"You are surprised at this intrusion from a stranger, but you will
neither wonder or blame when you have listened to my story, and as it is
a long one let us sit by the window."
Mrs. Gaylord affably obeyed.
"Have you a young lady with you; an adopted daughter, I believe?"
"Yes." The lady moved uneasily in her chair.
"Will you tell me what you know about her history?"
"She can do this better than I. Shall I call her?"
"No, no! I want to talk with you; but first answer this one question:
Has she a brother?"
"A foster-brother as she calls the noble cripple, who is now with her in
our private parlor."
A gleam of joy darted into her beautiful eyes at this clearing away of
the shadows, and she proceeded.
"Another question; by what name was she called before you bestowed your
own upon her?"
Her listener laughed. "In her years of babyhood she gloried in the
appellation of 'Phebe Blunt,' and in six years or thereabouts this was
changed to 'Phebe Evans'; at fourteen it was again changed to 'Lily
Gaylord,' the one to which she will now answer."
"Why Lily?"
"Because of a little fanciful dream of her early childhood. She was born
near the sea, and lived in a fisherman's cabin, but somehow learned that
somebody had called her 'Lily Pearl,' and from this she drew the
conclusion that a beautiful lady had picked her up off the waves where
the pearls had thrown her."
The speaker looked up to behold the face of her listener as ashy pale as
though the hand of death had chilled it with its icy touch, while the
pallid lips were vainly endeavoring to speak; and, darting from her
chair, Mrs. Gaylord exclaimed with alarm. "What is the matter with you?
Are you dying?"
"No, no!" she answered feebly, as the reaction came and the blood rushed
back to face and brow. "Not dying, but entering a double life. Mrs.
Gaylord, your adopted daughter is my child! My Lily Pearl! Oh, how can I
explain! How prove to you or her my assertion! How my heart has hungered
and starved for the love my baby awoke in it! Seventeen years have I
endured this thirsting which cruel hands imposed upon me. O, for
strength to bear the change!" And she raised her clasped hands
supplicatingly, while her companion looked on wonderingly.
"Let me explain," she added, and went on to tell as well as she could,
without reflecting blame on the weak, helpless one far away, the story
of her wrongs and years of suspicion.
"Is Mrs. Belmont, of Rosedale, your mother?" was the abrupt question
that startled the narrator, and caused her folded hands to tremble under
the soft pressure those of her interrogator placed on them.
"Yes; she is my mother, and is now in Philadelphia, a wreck of what she
was when with you in Savannah."
"The mystery is explained, the problem solved! Lily, my Lily, is your
child! I might have known such a blessing could not be retained by me. I
am selfish, and, although I pity you, would rejoice at your continued
thirst if the sweetest luxury my heart has ever known could have been
spared to me. You have a husband to adore, a mother to forgive, a God
your soul worships, while I am starving, with none of these things to
satisfy my undying cravings. Is there no pity in your woman's heart for
such as I?"
"Certainly. You have a husband, wealth and position. More than this, God
waits for you. How then can you be so desolate?"
"Ask your daughter by and by why she never ceased to pine for the
'beautiful lady' that picked her up from off the sea where the pearls
had thrown her? Did the bright picture that cast its glittering rays
only on the surface of her unsatisfied heart feed or nourish the
cravings of her growing love? Can such cold star-beams warm the frozen
fountain? Do the fleshly ties of life unite the aspiring soul with its
higher destinies? Love is the strong cord that draws us heavenward. Can
woman with her immortality be happy when its drawings are all earthward?
But I am troubling you with my individual perplexities when I ought to
be lifting yours. I cannot, however, tell you how much anguish and
desolation your story has thrown into my prospective future. I was
lonely and sad, and she came to fill the void. I am childless, and her
presence has satisfied my heart's longings. But it is over now. Come
with me while with my own hand I tear the brightness out of my life.
Come!"
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