A knock at the door--it was Chloe, with her gay bandanna, and shining
teeth, and eyeballs. She had come to take Charley out, ostensibly "for
an airing," but in fact to make a public exhibition of him, for, in her
eyes, he was the very perfection of childish beauty.
"He's tired, missis, stayin' in de house," said Chloe, as Charley crept
toward the door, "let me take him out a bit;" and Chloe raised him from
the floor, and tied his cap down over his bright curls, stoutly
resisting all Rose's attempts to cover his massive white shoulders,
promising to protect them from the sun's rays, with her old-fashioned
parasol.
Rose smiled, as Chloe sauntered off down the street with her pretty
charge; Charley's dimpled hand making ineffectual attempts to gain
possession of the floating ends of her gay-colored head-dress.
And well might Chloe be proud of him; she had been nurse to many a fair
southern child in her day, but never a cherub like Charley. One and
another stopped to look at him. Mothers who had lost their little ones,
fathers in whose far-absent homes crowed some cherished baby-pet, and
blessed little children, with more love than their little hearts could
carry, stopped, and asked "to kiss the baby."
Chloe was in a halo of glory. It was such a pity that missis was not
rich, that she might be Charley's nurse. She was sure she was not,
because her clothes and Charley's, though nice, had been so carefully
repaired, and then Chloe fell to romancing about it.
"Chloe?"
"Oh, missis, is that you? Berry glad to see you," said the negress, with
a not ungraceful courtesy, as she tried to keep out of the way of the
lady's prancing horses.
"Whose lovely baby is that?" asked the old lady, putting on her glasses,
"hand him to me, Chloe."
The old lady seemed to be strangely moved as Chloe sat him on her knee,
and tears chased each other down her face.
"He is so like, Chloe, so like my poor dear boy at his age; just such
eyes, just such a forehead, just such beautiful shoulders--poor Vincent!
Whose child is it, Chloe?" asked the old lady, as she untied the baby's
cap, and pushed back the curls from his forehead.
"He belongs to a northern lady I have been nursing, missis. _She_ is
berry handsome, too."
"I can't spare him, yet," said the old lady, as Chloe held out her arms
for him. "I can not let him go; see, he likes me," said she,
delightedly, as Charley, with one of his caressing little ways, laid
his head down on her shoulder. "He is my dear Vincent back again. Get
in, Chloe, I'll drive you where you want to go. I can not give up the
child yet."
The gay, prancing horses, with their flowing tails and manes, the
silver-mounted harness, and the bright buttons of the liveried coachman,
sent a brighter sparkle to the baby's eyes, and a richer glow to his
cheeks. He crowed, and laughed, and clapped his little hands, till
wearied with pleasure, and lulled by the rapid motion of the carriage,
his little limbs relaxed, and he fell asleep.
What is so lovely as a sleeping babe?
The evening star gemming the edge of a sunset cloud? the bent lily too
heavy with dew to chime its silver bells to the night wind? the closed
rose-bud whose fragrant heart waits for the warm sun-ray to kiss open
its loveliness?
Unable to account for the powerful magnetism by which she was drawn to
the beautiful child, the old lady sat, without speaking, passing her
fingers over his ivory arm, and gazing upon the rich glow of his cheek,
the perfect outline of his limbs, and the shining curls of his
clustering hair.
"Is this baby's mother a widow, Chloe?" she asked, at length.
"I think so, missis--I don't know--I ax no questions."
"Is she wealthy?"
"Lor', bless you, no, missis; her clothes all mended berry carful."
"I wish I had this baby," said the old lady, half musingly, as she again
looked at Charley.
"Oh, Lor', missis, she lub him like her life--'t ain't no use, I tink."
The old lady seemed scarcely to hear Chloe's answer, but sat looking at
Charley.
"It would be a great comfort to me," she continued. "Where does his
mother live, Chloe?"
"In ---- street," answered the negress.
"That is close by, I will drive you to the door, and you must ask leave
to bring him to see me, Chloe;" and impressing a kiss on the face of the
sleeping child, she resigned him to his nurse.
Rose sat rocking to and fro in her small parlor, in a loose muslin
wrapper, and little lace cap, languid from the excitement of the
previous day, thinking of Gertrude, and wishing she had but a tithe of
that indomitable energy to which obstacles only served as stimulants;
and then Gertrude was talented, what had _she_ but her pretty face? and
that, alas! had brought her only misery!
"Come in," said Rose, in answer to a slight tap on the door.
"Ah, sit down, Gertrude. Chloe has just carried Charley away, and I am
quite alone."
"I must make a sketch of that ebony Venus, some day," said Gertrude.
"I confess," said she, as she seated herself in Rose's little
rocking-chair, "to a strong penchant for the African. His welling
sympathies, his rollicksome nature, and his punctilious observance of
etiquette in his intercourse with his fellows, both amuse and interest
me.
"Your genuine African has dancing in his heels, cooking at his fingers'
ends, music on his lips, and a trust in Providence for the supply of his
future wants equaled only by the birds of the air.
"He dances and prays with a will, nor thinks the two inconsistent, as
they are not. You should have gone with me, Rose, to an African church
not long since. I had grown weary of fine churches, and superfine
ministers, and congregations so polished that they had the coldness as
well as the smoothness of marble. I wearied of tasseled prayer-books,
with gilt clasps, and all the mummeries which modern religionists seem
to have substituted for true worship.
"So I wandered out into the by-streets and poor places to find _nature_,
rough and uncultivated though it might be. A tumble-down looking church,
set among some old tenement-houses, caught my eye. Bareheaded children
were hanging round the door, scarcely kept in abeyance by a
venerable-looking negro sexton in the porch, with grizzled locks and
white neckerchief, whose admonitory shakes of the head habit had
evidently made second nature, as he bestowed them promiscuously, right
and left, till service was closed.
"I entered and took my seat among the audience. No surly pew occupant
placed a forbidding hand on the pew door. Seats, hymn-books, crickets,
and fans were at my disposal. The hymn was found for me. I found myself
(minus 'a voice') joining in the hearty chorus. Who could help it? 'God
save the King' and the Marseillaise were tame in comparison. Every body
sang. It was infectious. The bent old negress, with her cracked voice,
her broad shouldered, muscular son, her sweet-voiced mulatto daughter,
and her chubby little grandchild, with swelling chest, to whom Sunday
was neither a bugbear nor a bore. And such _hearty_ singing!--sometimes
too fast, sometimes too slow, but to my ear music, because it was soul,
not cold science.
"It was communion-Sabbath, and so I went up to the chancel and knelt
side by side with my dusky friends. The clergyman was a white man, and
it was millennial to see his loving hand of blessing laid on those dusky
brows. This is as it should be, said I--this is worship; and as we
retired to make room for other communicants, the clergyman himself
stepped forward to assist to the chancel a gray old negress, of
fourscore years, whose tottering steps were even then at the grave's
brink. I went home happy, for I had not fed on husks.
"Ah! visitors? Then I must run," said Gertrude, springing up at a rap
on the door.
"It is Chloe, I fancy," said Rose.
"Well, good-by," said she, stooping to kiss Charley, whom she passed on
the threshhold, "I must back to my easel. Ah! it is the locket you want,
not me, you rogue," said she to Charley, as she disengaged a chain from
her neck, and threw it over the child's, "mercenary, like the rest of
your sex."
Chloe marched in with Charley, who, now wide awake, sat perched upon her
shoulder, looking as imperial as young Napoleon.
"This yere boy has got to go, missis," said Chloe, still marching round
the room, as if treading all objections under foot. "Whar's his frocks
and pinafores? My ole missis. Vincent, see him, and take him to ride in
her fine carriage, and cry over him, cause she say he so berry like her
poor murdered boy."
"De Lor'! missis," exclaimed Chloe, "how white you look! Whar's your
salts?"
"Open the window," said Rose, faintly, "the room is too close, Chloe."
"Thar--will you hab some water, missis? you ain't nowise strong yet,"
said Chloe. "Hadn't you better lie down, missis?"
"No, thank you. What were you saying, Chloe, about Charley?"
"Well, you see, my ole missis. Vincent, she gib me my freedom, you
know; good missis, but hab berry bad son; berry handsome, but berry bad;
bad for wine, and bad for women; gambled, and ebery ting; broke his ole
fadder's heart clean in two, and den got killed hisself by some bad
woman.
"Ole missis berry rich now, but her money ain't no comfort, cause she
hab to lib all alone. To-day she met me wid Massa Charley here. De Lor',
how she did take on! She say he look jess like young Massa Vincent, when
he was little piccaninny, and she kiss him, and hold him, and hab such a
time ober him, and noting would do but he must go ride in de carriage,
and she bring us way home to de door.
"She wants you, missis, to let her hab Charley. I told her you wouldn't,
certain," said Chloe, with a scrutinizing glance at Rose, for in truth,
Chloe secretly wished, in that African heart of hers, that the matter
might be brought about, and that she might be installed nurse for the
handsome boy.
"No, of course, you wouldn't, missis; but wouldn't it be a fine thing
for _you_, Massa Charley?" said she, perching him on the edge of her
knee, "to ride all de blessed time in dat fine carriage, and one day hab
it all yourself, and de house, and de silver, and de money, for missis
hab no relations now, no chick, nor child, and you're just handsome
enough to do it," said Chloe, with another sly glance at Rose's face.
"You're jess born for dat same--dat's a fac--so ole Chloe tinks, yah,
yah--jess as well to laff about it, missis," said the cunning Chloe, "no
harm in dat, you know; but he took to the ole lady jess as nat'ral, and
set up in her lap, just as if he belonged dere in dat carriage; it made
ole Chloe laff--yah, yah. Massa Charley, he make his way in de world wid
dat handsome face of his'n. Ole Chloe is always stumbling on good luck,"
said the old negress, laughing, "all for dis," said she, exhibiting an
old metal "charm" attached to a string inside her dress. "Good-by--we
shall see. I come for you agin, Massa Charley, for my ole missis berry
childish, when she wants a ting she _will_ hab it, and de debbel hisself
can't help it--yah, yah."
As the door closed on old Chloe's weird figure, Rose almost felt as if
her words were prophecies. What if the law of nature should set aside
all other law and bring in a verdict for Charley? Should she, regardless
of her strong maternal feelings, yield him up? Away from _her_ he would
escape the taunt of his birth, and yet how could she school her heart to
such a parting. What was wealth and position compared to high moral
principle and a pure life? If Vincent's mother knew not how to instill
these into her own son, might she not wreck Charley on the same fatal
rock? But what wild dream was her brain weaving? She could not, would
not deceive Madam Vincent, and then would there not be a revulsion of
feeling when the proud old lady knew the truth? for how could Rose
mention the great wrong she had suffered, and not wound the doting
mother's heart? or how could she yield up Charley to one who would
ignore his mother? No, no. She would think no more of it; and yet that
Vincent's mother should have petted and fondled, even unconsciously,
Vincent's boy--there _was_ comfort in that thought.
"Are you well enough to receive a visitor this morning," asked Doctor
Perry, as he entered the room.
"Physicians do not consider it necessary to ask that question," said
Rose, with some little embarrassment in her manner. "I have much to
thank you for, doctor, and am none the less grateful for your kind
attentions, that I was unconscious of them. But how happened it?" asked
she, with surprise. "I thought you had left town with Captain Lucas. How
did you find us?"
"No," said the doctor, "I was unexpectedly detained by business. The
morning of the day you were taken ill, happening to pass, I saw you
accidentally at the window, and resolved to call that very evening. It
happened quite opportunely, you see."
"Yes--thank you; I think I had become overpowered with the heat and
fatigue."
"I was apprehensive of brain fever," said the doctor; "you talked so
incoherently."
Rose's face instantly became suffused, and the doctor added kindly:
"Whatever I may have heard, is of course, safe with me, Rose."
"No one else heard?" she asked.
"No one. Your landlady is too deaf, and Chloe seemed absorbed in taking
care of Charley, and preparing your medicines."
"Rose," said the doctor, "if my possession of your secret distresses
you, suppose I give you one in exchange: I had, and have, no business in
New Orleans, save to watch over you and yours. Every weary footstep of
yours, my eye has tracked; nay, do not be angry with me, for how could
love like mine abandon your helplessness in this great strange city? I
am not about to weary you by a repetition of what you have already
heard, or distress you by alluding to what you unconsciously revealed. I
know that your heart is cold and benumbed; but Rose, it is not dead. You
say you are grateful to me for what, after all, was mere selfishness on
my part, for my greatest happiness was, though unseen, to be near you. I
will be satisfied with that gratitude. Will you not accept _for life_,
my services on those terms?" and the doctor drew his chair nearer to
Rose, and took her hand in his own.
"You know not what you ask," mournfully replied Rose. "You are deceiving
yourself. You think that in time, gratitude will ripen into a warmer
feeling. I feel that this can never be. My heart has lost its spring; it
is capable only of a calm, sisterly feeling, and the intensity of your
love for me would lead you after awhile to weary of, and reject this;
you would be a prey to chagrin and disappointment. How can I bring such
a misery on the heart to whose kindness I owe so much?"
"Rose, you do not know me," said the doctor, passionately. "Do not judge
me by other men. As far as my own happiness is concerned, I fearlessly
encounter the risk."
"Then," said Rose, thoughtfully, "there would be dark days when even
_your_ society would be irksome to me, when solitude alone could restore
the tension of my mind."
"I should respect those days," replied her lover; "I would never intrude
upon their sacredness; I would never love you the less for their
recurrence."
"Then," said the ingenuous Rose, blushing as she spoke, "the sin which
the world wrongly imputes to me will never be forgiven of earth. As your
_wife_ I must appear in society; how would you bear the whisper of
malice? the sneer of envy?--no, no!" said Rose, while tears stole down
her face; "I must meet this alone."
"Rose, you shall not choose!" said the doctor, passionately. "I must
stand between you and all this; I declare to you that I will never leave
you. If you refuse me the right to protect you legally, I will still
watch over you at a distance;--but oh Rose, dear Rose, do _not_ deny me.
I have no relations whose averted faces you need fear; my parents are
dead. I had a sister once; but whether living or dead I know not. There
are none to interfere between us; let us be all the world to each other.
"Charley! plead for me," said the doctor, as he raised the beautiful
child in his arms; "who shall pilot your little bark safely? _This_
little hand is all too fragile," and he took that of Rose tenderly in
his own--"Nay, do not answer me now; I am selfish so to distress you,"
said he, as Rose made an ineffectual attempt to speak;--"think of it,
dear Rose, and let your answer be kindly; oh, trust me, Rose."
As he stooped to place Charley on the floor, the locket which the child
had around his neck became separated from the chain to which it was
attached, and, striking upon the floor, touched a spring which opened
the lid; under it was a miniature. The doctor gazed at it as if
spell-bound.
"Where did you get this, Rose? Surely it can not be yours," and a deadly
paleness overspread his face.
"It belongs to a lady who boards here," said Rose, "and who transferred
it from her neck to Charley's this morning. Has it any interest for
you?"
"What is her name? let me see her!" said the doctor, still looking at
the picture.
"Her name? Gertrude Dean," said Rose.
"Dean?" repeated the doctor, looking disappointed, "Dean? Rose, that is
a picture of my own father."
While they were speaking, Gertrude tapped on the door. "My locket, dear
Rose; I hope 'tis not lost."
Turning suddenly, her eye fell upon the doctor. With a wild cry of joy
she flew into his arms, exclaiming, "My brother! my own long-lost
Walter!"