BRIGHT HOPES.
One precious pearl in sorrow’s cup
Unmelted at the bottom lay,
To shine again, when all drunk up
The bitterness should pass away.
And that was hope, a fair sweet hope;
And oh, it woke such happy dreams,
And gave her soul such tempting scope
For all its dearest, fondest schemes.—MOORE.
The loving little wife, the zealous little housekeeper, did not sit down
in idleness and repining while her husband was absent. Occupation was
always her great resource against melancholy.
She was, besides, too much in sympathy with all nature not to feel the
influence of the vitalizing spring season, with the reviving world
around her.
The sun was shining with a more genial splendor; the air was soft and
warm; the ground was quickening with the springing grass and the trees
with the rising sap and budding leaves. Birds were building their nests.
All things inspired thoughts of renovation.
Little Drusilla resolved to refresh her pretty wildwood home with a
spring cleaning, so that it might possess new attractions for its truant
master, when he should please to return.
Not that her house required this—for it was already as clean and sweet
as it was possible for any dwelling to be; and the process to which she
subjected it was but the washing of what was already pure, and the
polishing of what was already bright. But it was her maxim, as it had
been her mother’s before her, that things should not be permitted to
become soiled before they were cleaned; but that they should be kept
clean.
In the course of this work Drusilla opened the drawer of the
looking-glass in Alexander’s dressing-room, and while putting its
contents in order she found that little piece of paper which had
produced so strange an effect upon his feelings and actions. Thinking it
to be only some little receipt, or memorandum, she opened it and read
it.
Its effect upon her was very different from what it had been upon her
husband. As she gathered its meaning her face softened with a sweet and
tender smile, and she sat down in a chair to contemplate it at more
leisure.
“I never saw this before; or any other of the sort. How it brings back
that day! that happy wedding-day! the happiest of my life! Dear Alick!
dear, dear Alick, how blest you made me that day, in making me your own
forever! forever and ever, my love! My joy seemed too much for earth,
too much to be real. Even now, even now, I can scarcely realize how
happy I am and ought to be! Oh, my love! my love! I hope I may never
give you an uneasy moment as long as I live in this world! that I may
never cease to please and serve you all my days! Dear little token!” she
said, fondly gazing on that fatal piece of paper—“I will keep you for
his sake. When I am sad and lonely I will look at you. I will cherish
you like my wedding-ring.”
And she went directly and made a little silk bag, put the paper in it,
attached it to a ribbon, hung it around her neck and hid it in her
bosom.
Then smilingly she resumed her work.
When she considered the house thoroughly cleansed and worthy of its
summer hangings, she told Pina that crimson satin curtains should not be
put up again until autumn.
And she ordered Leo to put the horses into the carriage to take her to
town.
This was the first occasion upon which she had left home for many weeks.
And she went now upon a shopping expedition, to purchase white lace
curtains for her windows, and white linen to make summer covers for her
crimson satin chair and sofa cushions.
She spent the whole forenoon in making her selections; and then, feeling
tired and hungry, she drove to a “Ladies’ Tea Room,” where she had once
been with Alexander.
She entered and sat down at one of the little tables and asked for a cup
of chocolate and some seed cakes, which were soon brought.
While she ate and drank she looked about her with the curiosity natural
to one who had lately led so secluded a life. The room was half full of
customers. At some of the tables small family parties of parents and
children were gathered. At others ladies and gentlemen were seated. And
at the table exactly opposite to her own there were two officers and two
young women who were dining and drinking wine, laughing and talking, and
conducting themselves generally in a manner not agreeable to quiet and
well-disposed people.
Drusilla glanced at this noisy party but once, and recognized the
officers as the same who had intruded into her box on the night she went
to hear the German opera troupe. Chiefly because the party were so
ill-behaved, she was afraid to look towards them again. So she drew her
veil around between the side of her face and her obnoxious neighbors,
and she looked down into her plate.
Natural as this action was, it caught the attention of the officers;
and, innocent as it was, it gave umbrage to their female companions.
“She sees that we recognize her,” said one of the men.
And a low, derisive laugh came from one of the women.
Very much abashed, and also a little alarmed, Drusilla left her luncheon
half consumed and went to the counter to pay her bill.
But one of the officers got up and followed her, and, as she turned to
leave the room, he placed himself before her, and, lifting his hat,
said:
“How do you do, Miss?”
Drusilla bowed in silence, and attempted to pass on.
“Excuse me, but when did you reach town?”
“I beg your pardon, sir; I have not the honor of your acquaintance,”
said Drusilla, coldly, passing him by and quickly leaving the house.
But he followed her out on the sidewalk, and joining her, said:
“You ‘have not the honor of my acquaintance,’ eh? Well, the ‘honor’ is
questionable, but the acquaintance is beyond a doubt, my dear! What!
don’t you remember the night I came into the box, to chaff my friend
Lyon on his pretty little acquisition, eh? By the way, how is Lyon?”
By this time Drusilla had beckoned her servant, who drove up with the
carriage, dismounted, opened the door, and let down the steps for his
mistress.
“But you didn’t tell me how my friend Lyon is. I hope he is well. I know
he has left his rooms at the hotel. But if you will favor me with your
address, Miss—”
“Leo,” said Drusilla to her coachman, as she entered her carriage, “this
person annoys me. If you see a policeman give him in charge, and—drive
on.”
“Yes, madam,” answered the man, heartily, cracking his whip and starting
his horses.
But the animals were not fresh, and they had not been fed or watered
since morning. So they did not move with their usual spirit. And
Drusilla had not gone far up Seventh street road, on her way home,
before she perceived that she was followed by a hack that was gaining
upon her every moment.
At first she supposed this following to be accidental; but when the hack
driving rapidly, caught up to her and might have passed her, yet did
not; but, on the contrary, slackened its pace and kept just behind her;
she suspected that there was something more than accident in the matter.
And her suspicions were confirmed when she heard loud laughing and
talking in the hack, and recognized the voices of the disreputable party
who had insulted her in the tea room.
She quickly let down the little window in front of her own carriage, and
spoke to her coachman:
“Leo—drive fast.”
“Yes, ma’am, which it is necessary so to do.”
“Who are those people behind, Leo?” she breathlessly inquired.
“A intoxified set, ma’am, which is unbeknown to me; being always too
well conducted to be acquainted with sich; which I think one of um is
the person you complained of, ma’am.”
“Yes! go on quickly, for Heaven’s sake, Leo; let us leave them behind as
soon as possible,” hastily urged Drusilla.
And the young coachman put his jaded horses to their utmost speed.
But the horses in the hack were the fresher of the two sets, and they
kept well up behind her carriage until they reached the gate of the
private road leading through Cedarwood.
Here Leo drew up his carriage, left his seat, opened the gate, propped
it back, and took the reins to lead his horses through.
They had but just cleared the gate, when Drusilla put her head from the
window and said, hastily:
“Leo, stop just where you are! stop the way! Those persons are preparing
to follow us in. Tell them that they can not be permitted to do so; that
this is a very private road leading to my own house, and no farther.”
At the first word Leo had stopped the carriage, thus barring the way,
and now he turned and spoke to the man who was the ringleader of the
party, and who had now left his seat and was mounted beside the driver
on the box.
“If you please, sir, this road leads to my mist’ess’s house and no
farther on,” he said.
“Oh, we know where it leads! We are going to make a call there!” laughed
the man.
“Leo, Leo, do not let them pass, whatever you do,” breathlessly
whispered Drusilla.
“But, sir, if you please, my mist’ess don’t receive no strangers,”
expostulated the servant.
“Oh, we are not strangers! We know her very well! And we know Lyon, too!
Come, clear the way, my man, and let us pass.”
“But, sir, my mist’ess don’t see no visitors of no sort, neither
strangers nor likewise acquaintances,” urged Leo.
“But she’ll see us!” laughed the man on the box. And his laugh was
loudly echoed by his companions inside the hack.
During this controversy Drusilla had sat back in her seat, keeping as
much out of sight as possible, and only leaning forward when obliged to
speak to her servant.
And Leo had been artfully manœuvering his horses, with a purpose that
the party behind were too much confused by intoxication to detect.
“Come, my man, get out of the way, will you?”
“Yes sir, immediate!” answered Leo.
And he suddenly wheeled round the carriage, clanged to the gate, and
secured it in the face of the baffled pursuers.
Then with a loud derisive laugh, the boy sprang up into his seat and
drove off through the woods towards home.
The discomfited party in the hack sent after him a volley of oaths, that
he continued to hear until distance made them inaudible.
When they reached Cedarwood, Drusilla got out of her carriage more dead
than alive.
Pina met her and supported her into the house, while Leo gave a hasty
account of their adventure.
“Try to compose yourself, ma’am. Lor! I wouldn’t let myself be upset by
them rubbish!” said Pina as she held a glass of water to her mistress’s
lips.
“Who were they, Leo, and why did they pursue me?” inquired Drusilla,
when she was somewhat restored.
“Please, ma’am, I don’t know who they were, not being beknown to sich.
But they were all intoxified, the whole lot of ’em.”
“But why did they pursue me?”
“Well, ma’am, they was on a lark, and seen you was afeard of ’em.”
“There was more in it than that, Leo! Do you think they can get through
the gate?”
“No, ma’am; I locked it.”
“But they can get out of the carriage and climb over it.”
“No, ma’am, they’re too tipsy. They can hardly sit in their seats. The
driver is the onliest sober one in the lot, and he’ll take them away,
you may be sure, ma’am.”
“Oh, what a horrible, what a revolting set! Oh, that such creatures
should live in this world!” exclaimed Drusilla, with a shudder. And she
seemed to have forgotten all her pretty, new purchases in which she had
been so much interested.
But neither of her young servants had done so. And Pina, in haste to
bring the treasures in that she might have a sight at them, and Leo in a
hurry to get rid of them, that he might take his horses round to the
stable, went out together.
Pina returned with her arms full of parcels.
And soon Drusilla, who had laid off her bonnet, lost sight of her late
disagreeable adventure, in the pleasing occupation of displaying her
beautiful lace curtains to the admiring eyes of her handmaid.
For the next few days, mistress and maid were agreeably employed in
making up the curtains, and in cutting and fitting the white linen chair
covers.
And by Saturday evening the curtains were put up, and the chair covers
put on, and the summer decoration of the pretty wild wood home was
complete.
This brought the end of the first week of Alexander’s absence. Drusilla
was counting the days, and she knew that if he should keep his word, he
would be home by the end of another week.
She had written to him every evening, and sent the letter to the city
post-office every morning by Leo, who was also instructed to inquire for
letters for her. But as yet she had had but one from Alick, and that one
only announced his safe arrival at Richmond, and acknowledged the
receipt of her first note. Since that she had not heard from him. But
she said to herself that he was very much engaged, and could not be
expected to write to her more than once or twice a week. And so she
comforted her longing heart.
In the two weeks of Alexander’s absence, Drusilla’s health improved very
much. The reasons were obvious.
In the first place, the very tender leave he had taken of her had
revived her fainting faith in his love, while the positive promise he
had made her to return within the fortnight had given her something
certain to anticipate.
In the second she no longer sat up night after night, watching, waiting
and weeping, in fatigue, suspense, and even terror, that wore her nerves
and wasted her strength and tried her temper. She went to bed early,
slept soundly, and rose refreshed.
And in the third, she had made a discovery that filled her soul with
joy. She knew now, for it was evident, even to her ignorance and
inexperience, that she was to be blessed with the crowning blessing of
woman’s life, maternity.
Once again, on the Monday of the second week of her husband’s absence,
she made a shopping expedition into the city. And on this occasion she
shut up the house and took both her servants along—Leo to drive the
carriage and Pina to sit inside with her. She took a luncheon basket
too, that she might not be obliged to go into a refreshment room at the
risk of meeting her disagreeable acquaintances—although reason assured
her that there was not one chance in a thousand of her seeing them under
the same circumstances again.
This time Drusilla bought a quantity of fine flannel, linen, cambric,
muslin and lace, and also flaxen and silken floss and Berlin wool for
embroideries.
And Pina, who had guessed the sweet domestic mystery long before her
child-like mistress had suspected it, was as much interested in the
purchase as their owner could be. Drusilla returned home without any
unpleasant adventure. And the next day she commenced her delightful
task. And seated in her pleasant chamber, surrounded by her pretty
working materials, devising dainty little garments, and anticipating the
joys in store for her, she felt happy.