CHANGES AND REVOLUTIONS.
Pearl Hamilton, at nineteen, had been a clerk in a flourishing
mercantile house, nobly supporting a widowed mother on his limited
salary; but at thirty-six, by dint of industry and "good luck" as his
fellows called his success, he was the owner of an elegant home on Broad
street, which his conservative parent refused positively to occupy.
Besides this he had a good business and an income adequate to his every
desire. When the call was made for seventy-five thousand men to maintain
the dignity of a free people he hastened to enroll his name. "Why not?"
he inquired of his weeping mother, who protested against the separation;
"I leave only you to mourn me if I find a soldier's grave, and what can
this short existence do for me but to crown it with duties well done?
There are not many who would have fewer ties to break or a less number
of hearts to make wretched." He went, and in the first great battle was
taken from the ranks helpless as we have seen.
Mrs. Hamilton returned to her friends in Philadelphia buoyant and happy.
Still it was sad for her to look upon the wreck of a once proud
intellect, and when the mother's eyes turned upon her with their
greetings she was glad that it had been in her heart to smooth over the
parent's transgressions. But how would Pearl feel? How could she
reconcile him to all that had been? Would he forgive when the whole
truth was revealed? These thoughts troubled her, and when at last he
arrived in the city on an unlimited leave, and she looked into his fine
manly face, her heart rebuked her for the distrust she had experienced.
Mrs. Cheevers had been told the whole story of the finding and waiting,
and the uncle had many times vented his indignation at "the foolish idea
of leaving her so near the water, where she might at any time be
compelled through inclination or force of arms to take another ride not
quite so successful in its ending," but Lillian had said: "I could not
bring her here dear uncle just at this time, for fear the struggling
intellect would again totter. Then Pearl--how _could_ I present her to
him? It is better as it is, for I want my husband's advice regarding the
future."
"Woman's propensity! Delightful independence when the current is all the
right way! But I tell you, Lillian, I want to see that girl! The same
independent looking little queen that her mother used to be! And this
boy--he has a fine head, and without doubt is a smart young fellow"; and
he handed back the photographs at which he had been gazing.
"Mrs. Gaylord has such a pensive expression on her face that one might
imagine her the possessor of some secret sorrow," remarked the wife,
thoughtfully. "Her eyes and compressed lips."
"Not sad perhaps, Auntie, but disappointed! As nearly as I could
understand by the long conversations we had together she belongs to that
class of mature women who in early years dressed up their future in
spotless white, with very bright adornings, and because they found it
wearing a most common, practical garb, turned away from its proffers of
good to grieve and grow discontented. Mrs. Gaylord has a truly poetical
mind, whose creations are pure and ideal. She thought love was a holy
aspiration unmixed with earthly blemishes, but has awakened to the
realization of her mistake, therefore cannot be reconciled to the
practical side of life. Her last words at parting unsealed the book of
her history. 'Good-bye!' she said: 'If a heart that is feasting can pity
a hungry, starving one then think of me!'"
"Poor soul; I am sorry for her!" remarked Mrs. Cheevers sympathetically.
"Because of the bond of sympathy twisted out of a similar experience, I
suppose," laughed the husband as he arose to leave the room. "By the
way, I imagine that Colonel Hamilton will be here to-day, wife; shall I
send up something nice from the market?"
"Not before to-morrow morning, Uncle; he writes he will take the night
train from Washington to save time!"
"Horrors! He is as slow as molasses in winter"; and the front door gave
an expressive bang as it closed behind him.
Colonel Hamilton arrived in due time, however, and was received with
open arms. "Tell her I have come, Lillian," he said, before proceeding
to the invalid's room. "I am in a hurry to meet her. The shock may be
too great if I go unannounced."
Lillian obeyed and sprang with light step up the stairway and entered
her mother's room. She was sitting by the window while Mrs. Jackson was
putting the finishing touches to her toilet, for, weak as were her
faculties, pride had not become inactive. Her dress must be perfect and
her adornings ample as in other days.
"How nicely you are looking this beautiful morning," said the daughter,
adjusting the rich lace at the throat. "All ready for company I
see--whom shall I invite?"
The large eyes looked steadily into the beaming face for a moment, then
as they turned languidly away said, hesitatingly: "Charles."
"You want to see your boy, don't you Mother? Well you shall if he can be
found! He was at Uncle Stanley's the last I heard of him. We will look
him up by and by." A smile darted quickly over the pale face.
"Is there no one else you would like to see? What if Pearl should come;
shall I bring him to you?" Again the eyes darted a keen glance into the
inquiring face. "You will love him; he is so good and forgiving!"
"Forgive? No! no! Pearl,--Can he forgive?" And the tears came into her
eyes.
"He will forgive! It is all over now, and we are very happy. Let me
bring him to you, and from his own lips you shall hear it. May I?"
"No! no! I was wicked, cruel! He cannot, no, he cannot!" And the stately
head dropped wearily upon her hand, while the elbow rested on the arm of
her easy chair.
"How nice that dainty cap, with its bright ribbons, makes you look. He
will be proud of our mother, and it will make me so happy!"
"You happy?"
"Yes, Mother; your Lillian; may I go for him?"
There was a long pause, for the poor brain was struggling with itself,
as one battles with sleep when the morning dawns. The answer came at
last.
"Yes, go get--Pearl. I am ready!"
Lillian smoothed the soft dark hair, petted her sunken cheek with her
white hand, and, as she kissed the broad forehead, remarked playfully,
"You are as pretty as a young girl waiting for her lover."
She encountered her husband just outside the door. "Come in," she said,
"Mother is waiting to see you"; and, for the first time Pearl Hamilton
stood in the presence of Mrs. Belmont.
With a quick step he approached her chair, and kneeling at her feet,
said gently, "Mother, bless your son, it was I who disappointed you, I
who tempted you to do wrong; will you forgive me? There have been dark
clouds, but they are gone now; put your hand on my head and call me
Pearl, this will make us happy."
She did not move or raise her hand, but sat motionless as a marble
statue, with her gaze riveted on the upturned face.
Lillian took the thin hand and laid it tenderly on the bowed head as she
whispered, "forgive him, Mother."
"No, no!" she exclaimed, drawing it quickly back. "Forgive? I did not
know! See! there is no blood on my hand; look!" and she held it up
before the wondering suppliant, who turned his inquiring eyes towards
his trembling wife.
"I did not do it!" she continued; "'twas the sea--the wicked sea!
Forgive? O God! But He will not hear me! I did not do it!" and the head
sank back upon its resting place.
"I ought not to have come; how her mind wanders!" whispered Colonel
Hamilton, rising.
"Mother, listen to me," said Lillian, taking the hand which lay so
motionless on the rich dress, "I know there is no blood there, for the
sea was not wicked, and the little boat was taken care of by the
precious One, who will hear when you call. There is much for you to know
that will make you happy; but first let us brush the cobwebs out of the
present. Old Vina would say, 'Bress de Lord for what ye now hab,' and
you have not made me happy yet by receiving and loving my husband. Open
your arms, Mother, to your son, for he is waiting."
She raised her head, and with outstretched arms said, plaintively, "My
son, my son!"
The strong arms of love and forgiveness were thrown about her, and,
weary as a child, she laid her head upon his shoulder and remained
motionless as a sleeping infant. He would not disturb her and the
moments went slowly by.
"Put me on the bed," she said at last; "the sea!--O the sea!"
The arms that were folding her so gently, lifted her in their strong
grasp, laying her gently on the bed, where, turning her face to the
wall, she lay motionless.
"I think you may better leave her now," remarked Mrs. Jackson, coming in
at the heavy tread. "She needs rest and a little sleep will refresh
her."
"I did not expect to find her as she is," remarked Colonel Hamilton, as
they seated themselves in the parlor below. "What did she mean about the
'sea,' and the 'blood on her hands,' Lillian? I noticed you understood
it all."
"Yes, Pearl, I do understand! You are to know as well as I. But how can
I tell you! O, my husband, there is much yet to be forgiven! Is your
heart large enough for the demands to be made upon it?"
"You startle me, Lillian! Do not make me fear for the sanity of my
darling wife! What can there be that will draw harder upon my powers of
forgiveness than what I have already experienced? Do not fill those
beautiful eyes with such a strange look. I am Pearl Hamilton, who has
become familiar with injustice and wrongs; and if there are more to
confront, know then that they cannot daunt or alarm me! I wait, Lillian,
what is it?"
She looked at him a moment in surprise and admiration. "And this noblest
type of man is my husband!" she said, earnestly. "I will tell you about
my trip to Boston."
"Not now; I can wait for that. What about the sea?"
"We must go around a little to get there, so permit me to lead as I
choose."
With an air of martyrdom he folded his arms over the golden bands of his
military coat and prepared to suffer.
"You have never once inquired as to my business. A careful officer
should be more interested in the affairs of those under his command."
"Well, imagine my interest wide awake, and hurry on to the sea."
"I will not trifle with you, Pearl. I went in search of a young girl in
whose history I had become nervously interested. George and Ellen St.
Clair told me about her; and in Virginia a young soldier, who was
brought to the hospital, added some information that awakened an
uncontrollable desire in my heart to see her. I went to Boston for that
purpose."
"Woman's curiosity!" he laughed. "Did you find her?"
"I did."
"What was she like?"
"I have her picture. Shall I show it to you?"
"Yes, if it will hasten you to the sea."
Lillian arose, and taking from the table the three photographs, returned
to the sofa. "This is a Mrs. Gaylord, who has the girl in her care--a
southern lady of great wealth, I believe."
"Gaylord? Let me see. There was a rebel scout of that name brought
before me just as I left, and I ordered him kept in the guard-house
until my return."
"Hudson Gaylord?"
"That was it, as sure as you live. Hudson Gaylord! A fine-looking
fellow, but caught in a pretty bad trap, I am thinking."
"Pearl, he is this lady's husband. You must do all you can for him.
Promise me this."
"Why? I see no reason for interfering with justice because you have in
your possession a photograph of his wife. But go on."
"This, Pearl, is the picture of the young lady in whom I was so much
interested." She held it up before him.
He started back in surprise. "Who is she?" he gasped. "I should say it
was yours, dress and all, just as I saw you first in this very house.
Who is she?"
"Look at that brow and the _hauteur_ of the compressed lips. They are
not mine."
"But the eyes and the queenly bearing, the slender form and white
dress--. Taken as a whole, there could scarcely be a better
representation of yourself when fourteen."
"Believe me, my husband, for what I am going to tell you is true. That
picture is our child!"
"Lillian, are you mad?" And he started to his feet and stood gazing at
her. "Our child! You told me she was dead. And how can this be?"
"She is ours! Our Lily-Pearl! She did not die, but was taken from me and
given to the wife of a fisherman who was to care for her for a paltry
sum; but God interfered and has twice saved her from the sea and many
dangers, and she is now called the adopted daughter of this Mrs.
Gaylord, for whose husband I have been pleading."
"Lillian, are you awake? Or am I dreaming? Tell me again. Is this our
child?"
"Our Lily-Pearl! Worthy the name she bears, and as true and noble as
your child must be. Can you forgive? There is a long story for you to
listen to, but it was to hide her wrongs that the wicked sea now haunts
our mother's weakened brain. The blood upon her hands is the mark
conscience has placed there, but how thankful am I that no such crime
blackens her soul."
He was walking the floor with rapid steps, and apparently not listening,
for he held in his hand the picture that was entrancing him.
Lillian said no more, but waited. At last he stopped before her and
asked huskily, "Why did you not bring her to me? This is cruel! You have
feasted your eyes on her beauty, heard her sweet voice speak words of
love that have satisfied your heart, and now is this Mrs. Gaylord to
retain her and rob me? I believe I am angry with you, my precious wife."
"No, no, Pearl; she is coming to us just as soon as we are ready to
receive her. I could not well burden them farther here, and so I waited
to consult you. Mrs. Gaylord is very sad about giving her up, but she is
ours; and Lily is anxious to meet her father."
"Then I shall go for her. If there is no room in Philadelphia for the
daughter of Pearl Hamilton, then I will take her to Washington with me.
Get yourself ready, for to-morrow we start for Boston. I will see this
child, our daughter."
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