FIRST ABSENCE.
I heard thy light, careless farewell, love,
And patiently saw thee depart—
Ay, patiently. But could words tell, love,
The sorrow that swelled in my heart?
Yet tearless and still though I stood, love,
Thy last words are thrilling me yet,
And my lips would now breathe if they could, love,
The deep prayer—“Oh do not forget.”—ANON.
Drusilla went to her own room, wept a little, and blamed herself for
that weakness, and then she called her maid to help her, and she spent
the whole day in preparing her husband’s wardrobe for his journey.
It happened for once that Mr. Lyon could keep his word to his wife
without much personal inconvenience, and so he kept it.
When he reached the city that day he made a morning call upon his uncle
and his cousin. He found the General was engaged to dine that evening
with a veteran brother officer, and Miss Lyon would be occupied with the
preparations for her journey, so that neither the old gentleman nor the
young lady would be at liberty to entertain him longer than the morning.
After lunching with his relatives, and arranging to join them at nine
the next morning, he bade them good day.
He went to his own hotel where he called for his bill, settled it in
full, gave up the keys of his rooms, and so closed his connection with
the house.
From the hotel he went to the livery stable, mounted his horse and rode
homeward.
He reached Cedarwood at seven o’clock. He found his trunk ready packed,
corded and labelled for his journey, and standing in the hall. He found
the drawing-room as cozy and inviting as his wife always made it for his
reception; the fire burning brightly, and the tea-table standing before
it spread with all the dainties he most liked; and, above all, he found
_her_, pretty, well-dressed, and cheerful as she could command herself
to be.
This was the first time for many weeks that he had taken tea with his
wife, and she made it a festive occasion. He began again to realize that
he loved her; he felt like pressing her to his heart as in the first
days of their marriage, before the witchery of the world came between
them, or he had discovered what he supposed to be the illegality of
their marriage. Yes, he would have liked to have shown her these proofs
of reviving affection; but he did not. He had decided, in the secrecy of
his own insane mind, that she was henceforth to be only as a sister to
him until he should be able to part with her entirely; and so he treated
her now very gently but very coldly.
After tea, which he took care should be prolonged as far into the
evening as possible, he asked her to sing and play for him.
And she very gladly sat down to the piano, and executed some of his
favorite pieces in her very best style.
He purposely kept her there, playing piece after piece, until she was
really wearied.
And then when she rose from the instrument he took the lead in the
conversation, and would talk of nothing but music, musicians, and
composers until the clock struck eleven. Then he suddenly said:
“My little girl it is late, and you are tired; go to bed at once. I have
letters to write that will detain me an hour or so. When I have finished
them I will come up.”
“Alick, dear, letters to write so late to-night when you have to start
so early to-morrow?”
“Yes, little Drusa.”
“Why didn’t you write them earlier in the evening, then?”
“Because I wanted to enjoy every moment of your company while you sat
up, Drusa, and I knew I could write them after you had retired,” he
artfully replied.
“But I had rather not leave you at all this last evening, Alick. I will
sit very quietly near you and not interrupt you the least while you
write your letters.”
“But I will not permit you to do so, Drusa. You are pale with want of
rest even now; and you will make a point of getting up to-morrow morning
even sooner than I shall—I know you will.”
“I must, Alick dear, to see that you have a good breakfast ready in time
to eat it leisurely before you go.”
“Just so; therefore you must go to rest now. There, be a good girl, and
clear out, will you?”
“Yes, Alick,” she answered, in a depressed tone. “Good night;” and she
put up her lips to kiss him.
“Bosh! no good night in the case. Do you think I am going to sit up till
day writing letters?” he said, laughing and evading her caress.
Feeling that something was very wrong, yet trying not to think so, she
left the room and went up stairs to bed.
And after a little while, being almost worn out by so many nights’
watching, she fell asleep and slept until morning.
Meanwhile, Alexander wrote a couple of trifling letters, and then, not
to disturb her, he stole on tip-toes up to his newly chosen room and
went to rest.
Drusilla was the first up in the morning, before even her servants were
astir. She roused Pina and set her to work, and helped with her own
hands, and to such good purpose that a very nice breakfast was soon
ready and waiting for Alexander.
He came down, and greeted Drusilla kindly, but without his usual morning
kiss. And she felt the slight; but neither spoke nor looked her chagrin.
“You were so still that I thought you were asleep when I went up stairs
last night, so I took care not to wake you by entering your room; for
you needed rest very much, little Drusa,” he said, in explanation of his
second desertion.
“Yes, Alick,” she answered, quietly; and she went on to make his coffee.
When breakfast was over there came a hurried leave-taking.
Alexander pulled on his riding-coat in great haste; drew on his gloves
and then looked at Drusilla.
“Well,” he muttered to himself, “she is henceforth only like my sister;
but I should embrace my sister before leaving her to go on a journey.”
“What are you saying, Alick dear?” inquired Drusilla, who caught the
sound, but not the import of his words.
“Nothing. Good-bye, my little Drusa, my darling little Drusa,” he said,
folding her to his bosom and kissing her as no man ever kissed his
sister yet, and as he had not kissed _her_ for many weeks.
“You do love me then, after all, don’t you, Alick?” she said, in
delight.
“Love you! I think I do, little darling! But now I must tear myself from
you, Drusa. You will find in my glass drawer a roll of bank-notes
amounting to between five and six hundred dollars, for your use while I
am gone.”
“Oh, Alick, I shall never want the tenth part in so short a time as a
fortnight; and you are to be home in a fortnight, are you not, Alick?”
“Yes, yes, surely. Now then, good-bye!” he hastily exclaimed, giving her
another tight hug and long kiss.
“You will write soon, Alick?” she said, following him to the front door.
“Very soon.”
“But I shall want to write to you every day, beginning this evening.
Where shall I direct the first letter, Alick?”
“To the post-office at Richmond.”
“Then you will find one from me in Richmond the day after you get
there.”
“Yes, yes, my darling! Thank you, pet! Good-bye! Good-bye! I have not an
instant to lose,” he hurriedly exclaimed, wringing her hand and jumping
into the carriage, upon which his luggage was already placed.
Leo, who was in the driver’s seat, cracked his whip and started his
horses.
Drusilla watched the carriage out of sight, and then turned sadly and
went into the house.
Alexander drove rapidly to the town, and first to a hack stand, where he
had his luggage taken and put upon a hack. Then he sent Leo back to
Cedarwood with his carriage, and he himself got into the hack and drove
to his uncle’s hotel, where he found the old gentleman impatiently
waiting for him.
And in an hour the whole family party had started on their voyage, and
were steaming down the Potomac on their way to Richmond, where early the
next morning they arrived safely.