A MESSENGER.
The boy alighted at the gate,
But scarce upheld his fainting weight;
His swarthy visage spake distress,
But this might be from weariness.—BYRON.
In the sunshine of affection and happiness Drusilla grew beautiful and
blooming. She loved her truant Alexander as faithfully as ever, but she
loved him in hope and trust, and not in fear and sorrow. She felt that
he was old enough, big enough and strong enough to take care of himself,
even when out of her sight, while here upon her lap lay a lovely babe, a
gift of the Heavenly Father to her, a soft little creature whose
helplessness solicited her tenderness, whose innocence deserved it, and
whose love will certainly return it.
Her baby gave her love for love, and the very faintness and feebleness
of its little signs of love, made these sweet infant efforts all the
more touching and pathetic. How could she trouble herself about
Alexander and his doings while her little boy lay smiling in her eyes?
“Baby lips will laugh him down.”
“Yes, my darling boy,” she murmured, gazing fondly on his face, “you
will always love me, and when you grow up to be a man you will love me
all the more, because I shall be old and feeble.” And her thoughts
involuntarily reverted to the bearded man who had rejoiced in her health
and beauty, but turned coldly away from her when she was sick and pale,
and most needed his love and care.
Anna, who was sitting with her, laughed merrily.
Drusilla looked up, with just a shadow of annoyance on her fair face.
And Anna answered the look:
“My dear, I laughed at what you said.”
“Well, but I spoke truth. I know my darling _will_ always love me, and
when he grows up a tall, strong man, and I shall be an old and infirm
woman, he will love me more tenderly than before, because I _am_ old and
infirm,” persisted the fond mother, stooping her lips to her boy’s brow.
Anna laughed louder than ever.
“Why, Drusilla,” she said, “you are but sixteen years old. When your son
is grown up, say at twenty, you will be but thirty-six, in the very
maturity of a healthy woman’s strength and beauty. Your son will be your
dearest friend and companion; if you have lost somewhat of the wife’s
happiness, you will have an unusual share of the mother’s joy. You are
still so young, such a mere child yourself, that you may take your
little son by the hand with the prospect of going nearly the whole
journey of life together. You will be his playfellow in his childish
sports; his fellow student in his boyish studies, and his comrade in his
youthful travels. You will go on in life and grow old together—or almost
together.”
“Oh, so we will. I did not think of it before. I was thinking that the
mother of a grown son must be quite an aged lady. Alick’s mother was
quite aged and infirm.”
“Yes, because she was forty-four years old when Alick was born, which
makes some difference, you know,’ laughed Anna.”
There was silence a little while and then Anna said,
“You will have much joy in your son, if the Lord should spare him to
you, Drusilla.”
“The Lord _will_ spare him to me. I feel convinced of it,” answered the
young mother reverently.
“And every year—nay, every month—your joy will increase; for as his
affections and intelligence develop, he will grow more and more
interesting and attractive to you.”
“It seems to me that he could scarcely ever be more interesting and
attractive than he is now. Look at him, Anna. See how beautiful are his
mute, faint efforts to express the love he feels, but does not
understand. ‘Touch is the love sense.’ He knows that, at least; and see
how his little hands tremble up towards mine and then drop; and see the
smile dawning in his eyes, and fluttering around his lips, as if
uncertain of itself? Will you tell me, at what time of a child’s
existence it is sweeter and lovelier than now in its first budding into
life?”
Before Anna could answer the question, the door was opened by mammy, who
chirpingly announced:
“Here is Leo, from Cedarwood, ma’am, bringing letters for you.”
And she closed the door, leaving Leo standing before his astonished
mistress.
“It is my footman from my old home, dear Anna,” explained Drusilla.
Then, turning to the messenger, she held out her hand and said:
“How do you do, Leo? You have letters for me?”
Leo slowly took a packet from his pocket, handed them over to his
mistress, and then, lifting both his hands to his eyes, burst out crying
and ROARED as only a negro boy with his feelings hurt can do.
“Why, what is the matter?” anxiously inquired Drusilla, pausing in the
examination of her letters, in her pity for the distress of the
boy—“What is the matter, my poor Leo?”
“Oh, mum, it is to see-hee,” sobbed Leo “to see-hee you so well-hell,
and hap-pappy, and to know as I am bring—hing bad news again! Seems like
I was born—horn to be the death of you, ma’am,” said the boy, scarcely
able to articulate through his sobs.
“I hope not, Leo. Sit down and compose yourself. I trust your master is
well.”
“Oh yes, mum, he is well enough (_wish to Goodness Gracious he wasn’t!_)
but he’s done, tored up everything and—Boo! hoo! ooo!” cried Leo,
gushing out into such a cataract of tears and sobs that he was forced to
bury his face in his big bandana and sink into a seat.
“Compose yourself, Leo, and I will read my letters. They will explain, I
suppose,” said Drusilla, opening the packet.
There were three letters from her lawyers, which she laid aside; and
there was one from her husband, which she opened and read. It ran thus:
“CEDARWOOD, Dec. 22, 18—.
“MADAM:—Had you chosen to remain quietly in the home I provided for
you it should have been yours for life, with a sufficient income to
keep it up. But as you voluntarily left it, you have forfeited your
right to return to it, as well as your claims upon me for support. The
place is now dismantled and sold. The messenger who takes this letter
has charge of all your personal effects, and will deliver them over to
you.
“ALEXANDER LYON.”
We know the time, not so long since, when the young wife would have
screamed, cried or swooned at the reception of such a letter from her
husband.
Now, she simply bent forward and laid it on the fire, and when it blazed
up and sank to ashes, she said:
“It is gone; and now it shall be forgotten.”
And then she stooped and kissed her babe.
Leo, stealing an anxious glance at her, misunderstood the movement and
started forward, exclaiming:
“Oh, mum! don’t go for to faint; please don’t.”
Drusilla looked at him and smiled kindly, saying
“I am not likely to do so, my boy. I am strong and healthy now, thank
Heaven! and besides, there is nothing to faint about. I am only a little
sorry that the cottage is sold.”
“Oh, mum! don’t! I shall cry again if you do! Oh, mum, you used to say
as how you would make that wilderness to bloom and blossom as the rose;
and so you did, mum, lovely! But oh, mum! he have turned the beautiful
place into a howling wilderness again!” bawled the boy.
“Never mind, Leo, I will get it back again some day and restore all its
beauty,” said Drusilla, smiling. “And now, my boy, where is your
sister?”
“She have gone back to Alexandria, mum; but sends her love and service
to you, mum.”
“And the poor pets—the little birds, and the cat and kittens, Leo?”
“Pina has got them all to take care on for you, ma’am, till you sends
for ’em and for her, cause she considers of herself into your service,
ma’am, which likewise so do I.”
“And the cow and calf, and the horses, Leo?”
“They was sold to the people as bought the place, ma’am.”
“I hope they will be kindly treated.”
“I hope they will, ma’am; for they did miss you as well as me and Pina
did; and they showed it in every way as dumb creeturs could.”
“And where did you leave my effects, Leo?”
“I brought as many trunks as I could on the stage with me, ma’am; and
the rest of the boxes is coming down by wagons. Pina was very careful in
packing everything, ma’am; and here is the money you gave me to keep,”
said Leo, taking a sealed packet from his breast pocket, and handing it
to his mistress.
“Thanks, my boy; you and your sister have been very faithful, and I
shall certainly retain you both in my service, and at an increase of
wages.”
“Oh, ma’am, neither me, nor yet Pina is mussenary. We’ll be glad to come
back to you on any terms.”
“And now, Leo, look here! Here is my baby boy; when the spring comes he
will be big enough for you to take him on your shoulder and ride him
about! Won’t you and he have a good time?”
“Oh, ma’am, what a purty little creetur! But he’s _very_ little, ain’t
he, ma’am?” said Leo, looking shyly at the baby, which indeed he had
been furtively contemplating ever since he had been in the room.
“Why, no, Leo; for his age, he is very large, _very_! Who is he like,
Leo! Look and tell me!”
Leo dutifully looked, and saw well enough who the boy really was like:
but he answered stoutly:
“He is like you, ma’am, and nobody else.”
“Oh, look again, Leo! His eyes are open now. _Now_ who is he like?”
“He is the image of _you_, ma’am, and not another mortial in the wide
world,” repeated Leo, defiantly.
“How _can_ you say that, you stupid boy? Is he not like his father?”
“No, mum! not the leastest little bit in life! He is like nobody but
you,” persisted the lad, doggedly.
“Leo, you are a mole! You have no eyes! Now go down to your mother, and
tell her to make you comfortable.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I am so glad to see you so well, ma’am, with such a
fine-looking baby. I am so thankful as you don’t take on about thinks
like you used to do,” replied the lad.
“I am so much better and stronger now, Leo. But go and give my message
to your mother.”
Leo bowed and left the room.
“So Alick has sold Cedarwood,” said Anna.
“Yes.”
“What a wretch!”
“_Please_, Anna—-”
“I can’t comprehend your tenderness for that man, Drusilla! but, there!
I will not wound it if I can help it. I am glad he has sold Cedarwood,
however. It settles the question of your future residence. You must stay
with us now.”
As Anna spoke, General Lyon entered the room, and came with his pleasant
smile and sat down beside his protégée.
She turned to him, and, laying her hand in his, said:
“My fate is decided for me, dear sir. I have no home but this, and no
protector but you.”
“My darling, I am very glad.”
Yet, in saying this, the General looked from his adopted niece to his
granddaughter, as if for an explanation.
Seeing Drusilla hesitate, Anna answered for her.
“Yes, sir, that vill—I mean Mr. Alexander Lyon—has sold Cedarwood.”
The General now looked from his granddaughter back to his niece as if
demanding confirmation of the news.
“Yes,” admitted Drusilla, casting down her eyes—in regret for him, not
in sorrow for herself; “he has sold Cedarwood, but then, you know, dear
sir, that I had left the house.”
A flush of shame crimsoned the cheek, a frown of anger darkened the brow
of the veteran soldier.
“And that man calls himself a Lyon and my nephew! I am glad now that
they never called him Leonard! There never was a rascally Leonard Lyon
yet! And I am very glad, my dear, that you did not name our noble boy
here Alexander! The infern——”
Drusilla raised her hand with an imploring and deprecating gesture.
“Well, well, my dear, I will try not to offend again. It is true that an
old soldier has a right to swear at his degenerate nephew; but not in
the presence of ladies, I confess. So let the scound—I mean Alick—go.
Yes, let him go, and joy go with him, especially as, setting the
baseness of the act aside, I am really very glad he _has_ sold Cedarwood
for it settles the question of your residence with us, my dear.”
“And I am glad to stay here,” answered Drusilla, with a smile. “It is
true that I thought it my duty to go back to Cedarwood, and await there
the pleasure of my husband; and I should have risked everything and gone
there, if he had not sold the place. And I know I should have had to
wait long months or years for his return; and I should have been very
lonely and dreary, and should have missed you and dear Anna and Dick
very much. No, upon the whole, I cannot say that I am sorry to be
relieved of the duty of going back to Cedarwood to live alone,” said
Drusilla, frankly.
“That’s my girl! Sorry? no, I should think you would not be. What should
you want with Cedarwood, trumpery toy cottage, with its little belt of
copsewood, when you have Old Lyon Hall and its magnificent surroundings
of forests and mountains?—to say nothing of having ME and Anna and
Dick!” exclaimed the old man, holding out his hand to his favorite.
She took it and pressed it to her lips, and then answered:
“Yet I love the pretty little wildwood home; and some day I will buy it
back again, even if I have to pay twice or thrice its value.”
General Lyon looked up, surprised to hear the discarded wife and
dependent woman talk so bravely of buying estates at fancy prices, even
as Anna had looked at having heard her speak so freely of retaining her
old servants at double wages. Yet both were pleased, for they said to
themselves—“This proves that she has the fullest confidence in us, and
knows that we will never let her feel a want, even a fantastic or
extravagant want, unsupplied.” And the General answered:
“That is right, my dear girl. So you shall buy it back—to-morrow, if you
like! or as soon after as we can bring the present proprietor to terms.
Mr. Alexander shall learn that some things can be done as well as
others. But Drusilla, my darling, although we may purchase the place and
restore it, I do not mean to consent that you shall ever return there to
live alone; remember that.”
“I do not mean to do so, sir. I will never leave you until my husband
calls me back to him,” said Drusilla, giving him her hand.
“That is right! that is sensible! Now, since you are fond of that little
bird-cage, I will set about buying it for you directly. You shall have
it for a New Year’s gift; and then if you _must_ see the place
sometimes, why we can all go and live there instead of at a hotel, when
we go to Washington for the season.”
“Oh, how kind, how good you are to me,” breathed Drusilla, in a soft and
low tone, with deep emotion; “but dear sir, do not think that I thank,
or love, or bless you any the less, when I say that I do not wish this
as a gift from your munificent hands. Dear uncle, I am well able to
afford myself the pleasure of possessing my ‘toy cottage.’”
“Ah! he _has_ provided handsomely for you, after all! Come! his villainy
is a shade less black—I beg your pardon, my child! I won’t again! indeed
I won’t—I mean his—transaction is a shade lighter than I supposed it.
Well, I am glad, for his sake, that he has provided for you. But,
Drusilla, my child, I would not take his money! having denied you his
love and protection I would take nothing else from him.”
“Dear uncle, although I do not need anything from my Alick except his
love, yet, should he offer anything, I would gratefully accept it,
hoping that his love would follow. But you are mistaken—he has made no
provision for me.”
“What did you mean then, my dear, by refusing Cedarwood as my gift and
saying that you were able to purchase it yourself?”
“I have a large fortune in my own right, dear sir.”
“A fortune in your own right!” echoed Anna, in astonishment.
“You never mentioned this circumstance before, my dear,” said the
General, in surprise and incredulity.
“Indeed, I had utterly forgotten it until my servant arrived with these
letters from my solicitors. It was very stupid of me to forget it; but,
dear sir, only think how many more important matters there were to drive
it out of my head,” replied Drusilla, deprecatingly.
“For my part, I do not think that anything can be more important to you,
in present circumstances than the inheritance of a large fortune. It
_is_ an inheritance, I suppose?”
“Oh yes, sir,—from my grand-uncle, a merchant of San Francisco.”
“And how large is the fortune?”
“I do not know, sir—some millions, I think. Here are the lawyer’s
letters. I have not looked at them yet,” said Drusilla, putting the
“documents” in the hands of her old friend.
“Astounding indifference!” he murmured to himself as he put on his
spectacles and opened the letters.
Drusilla and Anna watched him attentively.
“Why, my dear child, you are a billionaire! You are probably the
wealthiest woman in America!” exclaimed the General, in astonishment.
“That is, if there is no mistake!” he added. “Are you sure you are the
right heiress?” taking off his spectacles and gazing at Drusilla.
“I am quite sure, sir. There are too few of us to afford room for
confusion. In my grand-uncle’s generation, there were but two of the
family left—himself and his only brother, my grandfather. My
grand-uncle, being a woman hater, lived and died a bachelor. My
grandfather married, and had one only child—my father: who, in his turn,
also married, and had one only child—myself. You see how plain and
simple is the line of descent?”
“I see,” said the General, reflectively; “but, my dear, it is not
sufficient for a set of facts to be true in themselves, they must be
capable of being proved to the satisfaction of a court of law. Can all
these births, marriages, and deaths be proved, Drusilla?”
“Oh, yes sir; there are so few of them—they have occurred within so
short a time, comparatively speaking.”
“In what manner, my dear? Remember, Drusilla, that what might convince
you or me of a fact might not have the same effect upon a court.”
“All that I have said, dear sir, can be established to the satisfaction
of the most scrupulous court that ever existed by church registers and
court records, family Bibles, tombstones, papers, letters, and personal
friends.”
“I am glad to hear it. And you know where all these proofs can be
found?”
“Yes, sir. Many of them, Bibles, letters, documents, and so forth, are
in my possession. All the others are to be found in Baltimore.”
“Where a large portion of your inheritance lies, and where your lawyers
live?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes; well, my dear, if all this is as you suppose it to be—and I have
no doubt that it is so—your way to fortune is clear enough! Let me
congratulate you, my dear, on being, perhaps, the richest woman in
America!” said the General, shaking her hands warmly.
Anna also heartily added her own congratulations.
“And now, my child,” said the General, kindly, “let us attend to this
business at once. Your lawyers are naturally displeased and suspicious
at your long delay. As you are not very much of a business woman, you
will let me take these letters to my study and answer them for you.”
“Oh, if you would be so kind, dear sir, I should be so happy.”