A SURPRISE.
One struggle more and I am free
From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
One long last sigh to love and thee,
Then back to busy life again.—BYRON.
Drusilla received no second letter from Alexander. On the day after his
arrival in Richmond, he received and answered her first one. Then he
went with his uncle and cousin down to Old Lyon Hall, where he lived
very quietly with them for about ten days, all the party resting from
their fashionable Washington campaign.
At the end of that time, in order to keep the letter of his promise to
Drusilla, he pleaded urgent business, and went up to Richmond, “for a
day or two,” as he said.
On reaching that city, he hurried to the post-office, where he found
nearly a dozen letters from Cedarwood awaiting him. He did not stop to
answer them; but took the first train to Washington, and arrived in the
capital the same afternoon.
There was plenty of time for him to have gone out to Cedarwood that
evening. But, true to his plan of never sleeping under the same roof
with Drusilla again, if he could help it, he stayed at one of the city
hotels all night.
In the morning, however, he hired a horse from a livery stable and set
out to visit his home.
That day Drusilla had also risen very early, saying to herself:
“This is the last day of the fortnight, and Alick will be home to-night.
That is to say, if nothing happens to prevent him—and surely there is
nothing likely to happen—he will keep his pledged word with me and
return to-night.”
And so she busied herself with affectionate preparations for his
arrival.
There was nothing at all else that she could do to add to the
attractions of the lovely home she had renovated and decorated for his
comfort and pleasure. But there were certain dainty dishes that always
delighted his epicurean taste; and these she had carefully prepared for
him.
When they were ready, she went up to her chamber and sat down to the
liliputian dress-making that was now the sweetest task in the world to
her.
It was still early in the forenoon, being only ten o’clock, and she was
intently engaged upon a miniature embroidered robe, when she heard the
sound of horses’ feet approaching the house.
Not expecting that Alexander would return at this unusual hour of the
day, or in this manner, and supposing that the noise arose from Leo
exercising one of the horses from the stable, she paid no attention to
the matter.
But the next moment she heard the sound of a man’s footsteps on the
stairs, and the instant after the door was thrown open and Alexander
entered the room.
With a cry of joy, she sprang up to meet him and fell upon his bosom.
“Why are you so glad to see me as all this comes to, my little Drusa?”
he asked, remorsefully.
She could not answer him. In her excess of feeling, she could not speak.
But if he had come back from an absence of two years instead of two
weeks, her delight and excitement could not have been greater.
He kissed and embraced her very fondly—“as I should if she were my
sister,” perhaps he said to himself. And then with gentle force he put
her back in her chair, and seated himself in another one near her, and
put his arm around her.
“Oh, Alick dear, I’m so glad—so glad to see you!” she cried, as soon as
she recovered her voice.
“So am I to see you, little darling, especially when I see you looking
so well. How pretty you are; how much you have improved!” he said,
running his fingers through her glossy tresses, and gazing admiringly
upon her bright face, with its flushed cheeks, parted lips, and eyes
sparkling through tears of joy.
“Oh, Alick, I am so happy to have you back again!” she eagerly repeated.
“And yet it is very plain that you haven’t moped during my absence; have
you now, little one?”
“Oh, no indeed, Alick; I have been so cheerfully busy fixing up the
place against you should come. The house looks so fresh and pretty in
its spring dress, Alick dear, I am sure you will enjoy it.”
“Not fresher or prettier than the house’s mistress, and I’m sure I shall
like both,” he said.
“Shall you, Alick? Are you sure that I shall be able to please you?”
“It will be my fault if you are not.”
“Now that the winter is over and the summer at hand, it will be
pleasanter here in the country, Alick. And the grounds around this
little place can be made very beautiful. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, little Drusa. And I intend to spare neither trouble nor expense in
making this little estate a paradise for my peri. An ideal spot it shall
be; everything shall be arranged according to your taste. The woods,
since you love them, shall environ the ornamented grounds.”
“Oh, Alick, dear! how good you are to me! But don’t sacrifice utility to
beauty for my sake, Alick.”
“Ah, Drusa! I would sacrifice a much greater thing for your sake,” he
said, with a very deep sigh.
She looked up at him suddenly.
“You are well, Alick? quite well, I hope?” were the next words she
addressed to him, as she gazed anxiously in his care-worn face.
“Not very well, little Drusa,” he answered.
And ah! who could be well with an evil conscience!
“It is—nothing serious, dear Alick?” she inquired, growing pale with
fear for his health.
“No, little goose! only spring languor and the fatigue of my journey,”
he answered, with a laugh that reassured her.
“Oh; and perhaps you have not had breakfast,” she exclaimed, hastily
rising.
“Yes, yes, I have,” he said, gayly, pushing her back in her seat. “I had
breakfast two hours ago. I don’t want that, nor do I want lunch yet, so
you need give yourself no trouble about me for awhile.”
“But would you like to go to your dressing-room? All is ready for you
there.”
“I’ll warrant; but I made my toilet where I got my breakfast, so I need
not leave you even for that purpose.”
“Your luggage, Alick, have they brought it up?”
“I have no luggage; I came out on horseback.”
“Oh, was that your horse I heard?” she inquired in surprise.
“Yes; didn’t you know it?”
“No; I thought you came in a cab.”
“I preferred the saddle.”
“But—how about your luggage, Alick dear? Shall I call Leo and order him
to take the carriage and go after it? Where did you leave it? At the
hotel where you breakfasted?”
“Oh, you inquisitive little imp! Sit down and be quiet while I tell you.
I brought very little luggage to Washington, and that I left, as you
surmise, at the hotel where I breakfasted.”
“Then let me send Leo for it. He can go and return in two hours,” she
said, again starting up.
“What a little fidget you are, to be sure! There is not the least need
to send for my things from the hotel. And if you did but know what a
little time I have to spend with you, you would not be so eager to run
away from me.”
These words had the desired effect. They prepared her to hear his cruel
announcement. She dropped into her chair, and looking at him uneasily
said:
“Oh, Alick, dear, you are not going away again, are you?”
“Yes, my child; I shall be compelled to leave you again, and very soon.
Now listen to me and be reasonable, my good little girl. I have kept my
word and come back at the time I said I would. Have I not?”
“Yes, Alick,” she answered, in a low, meek voice.
“Well, in order to keep my word with you, Drusa, I had to leave my
business and come off in a great hurry. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Alick.”
“And the state in which I left my affairs makes it absolutely necessary
for me to go back to Richmond immediately.”
“Yes, Alick dear; but you will stay with me a day or two, at least?”
“No; I came only to keep my word with you. I must go back this evening.”
“Oh, Alick!” she exclaimed in a tone full of grief, as she let her work
fall from her hands and gazed at him with a look of despair that she
could not control.
“Come, come, little Drusa, do be rational, little girl! See what an
effort I have made to keep my word with you—dropping my most important
business at a critical juncture, just to come home and see you. Now,
really, I do everything in the world I can to please you,” he said, so
earnestly that he almost persuaded even himself that he did.
“Oh, yes, Alick, you do indeed; and you always have done so. What should
I be, but for your loving kindness? A poor, desolate orphan, with no one
to care for me! You are very good to me, Alick, and you always have been
so; and I ought to be cheerful, as well as grateful, only I—cannot
always—and——”
She could say no more; her voice broke into sobs, and she dropped her
face upon her hands and wept.
“Humph, this is the thanks I get for travelling several hundred miles
express to see you. I have but a few hours to spend with you, and you
entertain me with tears! Very encouraging to me to come again, I must
say!” he angrily exclaimed.
She could not reply; her whole form was shaking with her convulsive
sobs.
He got up and walked about the room with his hands in his pockets, and
whistled an opera tune.
She tried hard to suppress her sobs and to command her voice, and when
at length she succeeded in doing so, she held out her hands imploringly
towards him, and pleaded:
“Forgive me, Alick. I could not help it, dear; indeed I could not. It
was because I loved you so. I love you so, Alick!”
“Then I wish to the Lord you didn’t love me ‘so!’ that’s all,” he
brutally exclaimed.
“Oh, Alick!” she said, still holding out her hands.
“It is a cursed bore to be loved ‘so!’” he repeated.
“Oh, Alick, you did not use to say so!”
“Perhaps I thought so, though! It’s an infernal nuisance to be loved so,
I tell you, and I’m tired of it!”
“Alick, Alick, you used to make me tell you over and over again how much
I loved you. You used to say I couldn’t love you too much, I couldn’t
even love you enough,” she murmured, dropping her pleading hands upon
her lap.
“Bosh! I must have been a great spoon in those days!”
She did not reply to this, but again covered her face and wept softly.
“Besides,” continued this moral philosopher, “such love as yours is—what
do they call it in the prayer-books?—‘inordinate affection.’ And
inordinate affection is very sinful, let me tell you, and will bring its
own punishment. Sooner or later you will suffer for it.”
“Oh, I have, I have suffered for it, have I not?”
This wail came from her unawares, and the next moment she was sorry for
having let it escape her, sorry for the feeling that prompted it; for
she could not bear even in her thoughts to blame one whom she worshipped
so madly.
“Well, if you have suffered, it is your own fault.”
“I know it, Alick—I know it; and I never meant to say that it was
yours.”
“Then what in this world is the matter with you? What do you need more
than you have? Of what do you complain?”
“Of nothing, Alick—I complain of nothing. I am out of my senses, I
think.”
“I think so too. Here you are in a position that would be envied by
hundreds—yes, by thousands, by millions of your sex, as the height of
woman’s happiness. You have a comfortable and even an elegant home; and
I mean to settle it on you also. You have a luxurious table, a splendid
wardrobe, attentive servants, horses, carriages—what in the world _can_
you want in addition to these?”
“Only a little more of my husband’s company, Alick,” she pathetically
answered.
“Bosh! You are a Christian, or you profess to be one. You read your
Bible. Why don’t you go by it? St. Paul says, ‘Having food and raiment,
be therewith content,’ or words to that effect. You have not only food
and raiment, but every comfort and luxury that money can buy. Why cannot
you be content?”
“Oh, Alick, dear, ye! I have all _money_ can buy. But there are
blessings that money cannot purchase. Oh, Alick, I could be content with
very much less of this world’s goods than your wealth has given me; I
could be happy with very little food and raiment, if only I had more of
your society.”
She was weeping softly, with her head bowed upon her hands.
He was still walking up and down the floor.
Presently she got up and met him with her hands held out.
“Do not leave me, Alick, dear—oh, do not leave again so soon. You have
made me your wife, and I have no life but in you—none, Alick, none! If
you tear me from your heart, I shall wither and die like a plant pulled
up by the roots. Oh, take me to your bosom again, for I have no life out
of you Alick—Alick—”
It was not in human nature, at least not in a young man’s nature, to
resist her beauty, her pleading; and he folded her to his heart, covered
her face with kisses, and then said:
“Little Drusa! little Drusa! oh, my dear, dear child! what a misery for
you that you should love me, wretch that I am!”
“But why, Alick? Why? It is my life—my very life! and I have no other!”
“Oh, Drusa! Drusa! Good Heaven! How is this to end! I wish from my soul
you had never had the misfortune of meeting me!”
“Oh, Alick, why do you say that?”
“I don’t know!” he groaned. Then he answered evasively—“I am utterly
unworthy of you. I cause you so much suffering.”
“But that comes of my weakness, not of your fault, dear Alick. Besides I
am happy now, very happy now that I see you love me.”
“Little Drusa, did you ever doubt that?”
“I never doubted your faith, Alick. When you have kept away from me, I
have doubted my own worthiness of your love.”
“My darling, if you were sure, entirely sure of my affection, could you
then bear that I should be absent from you a great deal?”
“No,” she answered, honestly; “I couldn’t even live, Alick. I couldn’t
live away from you, any more than a flower broken off.”
“Oh, my soul! what will become of you, child? Better with your strong
affections, better you had died in your infancy!” he muttered to
himself.
“What is the matter, Alick? What are you saying?”
“I am thinking of you. Poor child! With your nature you can never be
happy in this world.”
“Oh yes, I can, dear Alick! It takes so little to make me happy. Only
let me live with you and I ask no more of earth, or Heaven.”
“My darling, I do believe, I do believe, if all other things were
conforming, you could also make me very happy,” he said gravely and
tenderly.
“I should try so zealously to do it, Alick. I would never vex you with
weeping or moping. Because you know I never did weep for anything but
your absence; and if I might be with you I should never have cause to
weep again. If you must go back to Richmond, Alick, can’t you take me
with you? I could get ready in half an hour, or in less time. And I
wouldn’t be troublesome to you on the journey, indeed I wouldn’t, dear.
Say, will you take me?”
“My little Drusa, it is impossible. I should not be able to stop in
Richmond over twenty-four hours. I should have to go into the country
and travel from place to place, on this vexatious business. But don’t
look so despairing, darling! I will not stay a day longer than I can
help,” he said, putting her gently from his arms, and throwing himself
down into a chair beside her work-table.
She also resumed her seat. And she took up her needle-work.
“What are you amusing yourself with, little Drusa? Dressing dolls?” he
inquired, taking up and inspecting the little, embroidered robe that lay
upon her lap. “Is this for a great doll!”
“No, Alick,” she answered, while a rosy blush and tender smile of joy
and embarrassment brightened her face. “It is not for a great doll, it
is for a little angel who is coming to us soon.”
“The d—l!” exclaimed Alexander, invoking his master and guide.
She heard him and looked up hastily in surprise and pain.
“I thought you would be glad, Alick,” she said.
“Well, hem, so I——If I’m not glad, it is for your sake, Drusa,” he said,
confusedly. Then, gathering more self-control, he added: “You are very
young, little Drusa, to have the cares of maternity thrust upon you.”
“Such sweet cares, Alick—not to be known from joys.”
“But you are scarcely sixteen years old!—too young, too young, Drusa.”
“But if I was old enough to be a wife, dear, I am old enough to be a
mother.”
“You are too young to be either, little Drusa.”
“You didn’t use to think so. Oh, Alick, I thought you would be glad. I
am sorry you are not.”
And she folded her little robe up, and put it out of sight.
“It seems I cannot open my lips without wounding you, Drusa,” he
muttered, moodily.
“Don’t say that, Alick. Come, let us go down. I want to show you how
pretty the drawing-room looks. And I want to show you the young birds—I
mean the new broods of canaries, hatched since you left,” she said,
cheerfully, rising.