"THE SPIDER AND THE FLY."
Both Leonora and Estelle wrote to their distant brother of the danger of
his daughter. She was under the sole care of one who was fast becoming
bewitched with the superstitions of Catholicism.
Startled and bewildered, Philip St. Leger wrote at once for his
daughter's removal from the house of Juliet. During the few months
remaining of her school-life, she should divide her time at the houses
of her elder aunts. After that, she should take up her abode with her
uncle, Duncan Lisle, at Kennons. This latter arrangement, which had been
always understood, seemed now to all parties doubly desirable. She would
be removed even from the city where Juliet Temple lived. For, of course,
Juliet, like all converts, would not rest until she had made proselytes
of all who should come within her influence. She had been much attached
to her niece, and that niece was known to have had great affection and
respect for her late uncle, who had been to her a father. Truly, great
danger was to be avoided, and soon as possible. Althea was removed to
her Aunt Leonora's, and forbidden to enter Juliet's house without
permission, and accompanied.
Althea was now nearly sixteen; she had emerged from the somewhat
unpromising age, and had developed into remarkable beauty. Distinguished
as were all the St. Legers for fine personal appearance, none had ever
equalled this child of Della, given to God with that mother's expiring
breath.
With the beauty of her father, she possessed the winning gracefulness of
her mother, with the best mental and moral qualities of both. As a
scholar, she excelled in all her classes; she had a real genius for
music, poetry, and painting. With trifling effort she could execute most
difficult pieces upon piano and harp.
"You have the hand of a master," spake Signor Lanza proudly, to this his
favorite pupil.
"Il improvisatrice," was she styled by her admiring associates, whom she
amused by the hour with her extemporary effusions of rhyme.
From all, you would have taken her to be from that land
"Where the poet's lip and painter's hand
Are most divine. Where earth and sky
Are picture both and poetry;
Of Italy--"
A Madame de Stael would have immortalized her as another Corrinne.
_Heu, me miserum!_ Where shall we find goose-quill cruel and grey enough
to write her down wife of Jude Thornton Rush?
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of
in your philosophy."
Have you forgotten, dear reader, that September night after Ellice's
funeral? How Duncan Lisle sat alone with Hubert, his child, before the
bright fire, while the rain pattered against the pane, and the memory of
the widowed man broke up into such a shower of reminiscences as almost,
for the moment, to drown the fire of his grief? Do you remember that
Philip St. Leger, returned from the East, came abruptly upon the scene,
telling of Della's death, and the little child left at the North? Well,
was it not natural for us to think that Hubert and Althea, children of
Della and Ellice, the "Pythias and Damon" friends, should grow up and
love each other, and marry at last, as they do in novels?
Yes, that was our pet scheme, indulged in to the last. But we are
compelled to admit with the poet, that "best laid plans go oft astray."
We are also compelled to think half wickedly with Amy--what pity it was
Jude Rush fell down a precipice breaking his neck, thus giving his wife
liberty to capture her own good master--and what pity it was too that
Jude Thornton Rush did _not_ fall down some precipice and did _not_
break his neck before, spider-like, he had woven his fine web, and said
softly to Della's daughter:
"Will you walk into my parlor?"
For, something like a spider was Thornton Rush. He was quite tall and
too slender. His body was out of proportion to his long limbs, and his
hands and feet had the remarkable faculty of protruding too far from
every garment, even those the tailor declared should be long enough
_this_ time. The "ninth part of a man" would seize the sleeve at the
wrist with both hands, give a good jerk and an emphatic _there_! But
when Thornton Rush was ordered to lift his arm naturally, the wrist
protruded like a turtle's neck.
"He must be made of gutta percha," soliloquized the discomfited tailor,
giving him up as an incorrigible _non-fit_.
The rather stooping shoulders and long neck supported a splendid head
for Thornton Rush. This was indeed his crowning attraction. Short silken
curls of raven black clustered around it, shading a wide white forehead
and delicately fashioned ear. He had a beautifully arched brow, heavily
pencilled, within which a glittering black eye, too deep set, gleamed
forth with unaccountable attraction. His nose was straight, small, but
full of nerve. You would never guess from that handsome, firm-set mouth
of his, where decision and resolution played about the cherry lips and
dimpled chin, that he would have proved the coward and run from duty and
from danger. No; but then Thornton Rush was made up of contradictions.
His mental and moral, like his physical organization, was full of
angularities, discrepancies, and unharmonious combinations.
He could be gentle as the dove, but fierce as the tiger; kind and
confiding as any child, but cruel and deceitful as Lucifer transformed.
So opposite qualities are seldom found combined.
The most brave men are often the most gentle; the most trustful are
frank and open-hearted. To parody Byron's eulogy on "The wondrous
three,"
Nature has formed but one such--hush!
She broke the die in moulding Thornton Rush.
What do you say? Althea and Thornton married and not one word about the
courtship, that most interesting of all portions of a love-history!
It was the tragedy of "the spider and the fly" enacted over again. We
would but shudder to watch that wicked, sly, patient tarantula, coaxing,
flattering, urging the poor little fly, whose bright wings are singed
with his hot breath, and whose wonderful eyes are held fast by the
fascination of his scintillant, unrelenting gaze.
It is to be hoped, dear reader, that you are not of that kind who love
to gloat over horrors. If you are, you must turn to some modern journal
of civilization which is able to satisfy you completely. But Althea and
Thornton are not married yet, they are only going to be.
After the lapse of a quarter of a century Duncan Lisle, for the second
time, attended commencement exercises at Troy Female Seminary.
Twenty-five years is but a dot upon Time's voluminous scroll, yet in
that brief space has been crowded infinite change. Madame X---- having
retired from the school of education and from the stage of life, has
been succeeded first by Madame Y----, and again by Mademoiselle de
V----. More than half the young ladies who had graduated with Della and
Ellice, who had looked like angels in simple white and blue, had lain
down the burthens of life, and were sleeping peacefully here and there.
Duncan Lisle had not, for four years, seen his niece, and was not
prepared for such startling developments of mind and person. He was
proud to behold her queen of the school; queen, both in beauty and
mental accomplishments. He too might be forgiven for one daring thought
that soared down to matchmaking. It was not very strange that,
remembering his earliest wife and only sister, and thinking of his one
beloved child, the thought should cross him of the beauty and fitness of
a union between Hubert and Althea. "I will send Althea's picture across
the ocean to Hubert; I will write him to return home immediately," was
the conclusion of this good father. All parents have such pet schemes,
to greater or less extent.
The health of the master of Kennons had been for some time delicate. His
journey North, undertaken partially for his own benefit as well as to
accompany his niece to his home, proved rather injurious than otherwise.
The excessively hot weather prevailing rendered the trip anything but
agreeable, and he returned to Kennons much exhausted and debilitated.
He lost no time in carrying out his resolution with regard to his son.
He wrote him a letter full of the praises of Althea, assuring him that
the picture enclosed failed in justice to the original. He also spoke of
his own failing health and his great and increasing desire to behold him
again. Hubert Lisle never received this letter; it never left the office
at Flat Rock; indeed it was destroyed at Kennons.
Thornton Rush had returned from Europe at the close of the war. Instead,
however, of returning to Virginia, he had put up his shingle as a lawyer
in one of the new States of the growing West. He had not forgiven his
mother that she had allowed his several letters to go unanswered.
Two years had he now been at Windsor, among the wilds and roughnesses of
a new country; still had his mother for him no word of congratulation,
encouragement, or even recognition.
When Rusha Lisle read her husband's intercepted letter, thereby
discovering his designs as to the hand of Althea, a new thought struck
her.
It will be remembered that she took special delight in rendering others
uncomfortable, and in setting up an opposition to everybody's plans.
Against Hubert she had entertained a perpetual ill-feeling. Was he not
the child of her rival? Should he win for bride this sweet child of
sixteen, whose transcendent loveliness made an impression even upon her
own unsusceptible heart?
Had she not surreptitiously gained access to her husband's last will and
testament, wherein he had made his sister's child co-heiress with Hubert
to all his estate?
What could be expected of Rusha Lisle but instant action to the
following effect: First, to break her long silence to her son by
enclosing him the picture designed for Hubert, and cordially inviting
him to make her a visit at Kennons, where he would find the beautiful
original.
Mrs. Lisle kept her own counsel, never intimating a wish or expectation
of her son's return. Her surprise upon his arrival was well
counterfeited; nor was it ever known beyond mother and son that the
latter had not been first to make the overture. But this son, in some
respects so like his mother, might have evinced less disposition to do
at once her bidding had not the inducements held forth been
all-sufficient.
Thornton Rush was not a lady's man. Byron was made miserable on account
of the deformity of his foot. So our less distinguished but equally
sensitive hero had always the impression that his long wrists and ankles
were subjects of ridicule. He believed the ladies did not fancy him; he
therefore made no efforts to propitiate their favor. If they happened to
laugh in his presence--and the foolish things are always happening to
laugh--he made sure it was at himself; and he shot at them most vengeful
flashes from his cavernous orbs, which annihilated them not at all, but
rendered them more risible.
"But there is a tide in the affairs of men."
"There is a hand that shapes our ends, rough-hew them as we will."
The inanimate picture at which Thornton Rush gazed did not laugh at him.
On the contrary, it looked up to him with such a sweet confiding
trust--O, there was something in that face he had seen in none other. It
wonderfully attracted him. Even had it not, he would have made every
effort to win Althea's heart just the same; and for the very reasons
that had instigated his mother. He hated Hubert Lisle. To thwart him he
would have circumvented heaven and earth. With Thornton Rush this
consideration weighed even more than Althea's promised dowry.
Spite, revenge, avarice, every worst passion should be gratified in the
accomplishment of a union with Althea.
Unfortunately, the situation of things at Kennons favored this wretched
wooing. Duncan Lisle was failing rapidly, and had become confined to his
room. Above all others, he loved Althea to be with him; but he knew, and
upon this his wife enlarged, that she should be allowed considerable
recreation.
When, therefore, Rusha Lisle came in to take the niece's place,
insisting upon the latter taking a ride or drive, her uncle would join
in the request, and Althea was compelled to go. Nor was it such a
hardship. Thornton was ever ready to accompany her. And now, in presence
of this guileless girl, he did, indeed, seem transformed. He was
attentive, kind and gentle, he hastened to comply with her every wish,
to anticipate all.
For the first time in his life, he put a curb upon his violent temper.
He became kind, even to his horse and his dog--when in _her_ presence.
Discovering her taste for poetry, he sat up nights to commit to memory
whole pages of her favorite Scott and Moore, Bryant and Longfellow,
which he would repeat to her with exceeding force and appropriateness.
Thornton's voice was as contradictory as the rest. It could be soft or
harsh, musical or discordant. To Althea it was only pleasant and gentle;
and, by degrees, came to possess for her a wonderful charm.
Mrs. Lisle, so disagreeable to all others, had practiced remarkable
effort and self-control in making herself agreeable to this young girl,
whom she would fain help to draw within her son's meshes.
Mr. Lisle's first letter to his son, to which we have referred, was not
his last. But every missive, more earnest than the former, met with the
fate of the first. Every day he waited anxiously for the coming of the
mail. It seemed all that interested him. It was pitiful to see his daily
disappointments, the dying out of every renewed hope.
This constant alternation of hope and despair, with constant suspense,
shortened his days.
He died suddenly at the last, his expiring gaze upon the portrait of
Ellice that, as of old, still hung over the mantle.
Did Mrs. Lisle, in presence of death itself, experience no scruple in
having kept the son from his dying father? Would she ever feel remorse
of conscience in this world, or in the next? At all events, she
expedited in every possible manner the wooing and winning of Althea. Was
there in Heaven no guardian angel for this motherless child? Was not her
very name suggestive of protection from above? Had Della's last prayer
on earth failed to reach the throne of Grace and Mercy?
No obstacle appeared in the way, after the only one was removed by
death. Thornton began to talk about a return to his northwestern home.
His business would still further suffer by a more protracted stay.
Already he had been informed of the _debut_ of a rival, one Capt.
Sharp, upon his own field of law and politics. A Captain for four years
in the Union army--what a claim irresistible would that be upon the good
will and votes of the people! What a tempting bait for the Republican
leaders to throw out to the multitude of small fish!
But how could he go back alone, after having lived two months in the
light of Althea's presence? So he pleaded his suit to the gentle girl,
veiling still more his fierce claws with the velvet glove, realizing
Shakspeare's
One may smile and smile, and be a villain.
Thornton Rush won his bride, and carried back to his northern home the
young girl whose grace and beauty dazzled every eye.