The sweet-tongued convent bell had rung the Angelas, and all within
the cloistered courts was hushed, save the low monologue of the
fountain whose minor murmuring made solemn accord with the sacred
harmonious repose of its surroundings. The sun shone hot and blinding
upon the towering mass of brick and slate, which, originally designed
in the form of a parallelogram, had from numerous modern additions
projected here, and curved into a new chapel yonder, until the
acquisitive building had become eminently composite in its present
style of architecture. The belfry, once in the centre, had been left
behind in the onward march of the walls, but it lifted unconquerably
in mid-air its tall gilt cross, untarnished by time, though ambitious
ivy had steadily mounted the buttresses, and partially draped the
Gothic arches, where blue sky once shone freely through.
The court upon which the ancient monastery opened was laid out in the
stiff geometric style, which universally prevailed when its trim
hedges of box were first planted, and giant rosebushes, stately
lilacs, and snowballs attested the careful training and attention
which many years had bestowed. In the centre of this court, and
surrounded by a wide border of luxuriant lilies, was a triangular
pedestal of granite, now green with moss, and spotted with silver
grey lichen groups, upon which stood a statue of St. Francis, bearing
the stigmata, and wearing the hood drawn over his head, while the
tunic was opened to display the wound in his side, and the skull and
the crucifix lay at his feet. Close to the base of the pedestal
crouched a marble lamb, around whose neck crept a slender chain of
bind-weed, and above whom the rank green lances of leaves shot up to
guard the numerous silver-dusted lilies that swung like snowy bells
in the soft breeze, dispensing perfume instead of chimes.
Quite distinct from the spacious new chapel--with its gilded shrine,
picture-tapestried walls, and gorgeous stained windows, where the
outside-world believers were allowed to worship--stood a low
cruciform oratory, situated within the stricter confines of the
monastery, and sacred to the exclusive use of the nuns. This chapel
was immediately opposite the St. Francis, and to-day, as the
old-fashioned doors of elaborately carved oak were thrown wide, the
lovely mass of nodding lillies seemed bowing in adoration before the
image of the Virgin and Child, who crowned the altar within, while
the dazzling sheen of noon flashing athwart the tessellated floor
kindles an almost unearthly halo around
"Virgin and Babe, and Saint, who
With the same cold, calm, beautiful regard,"
had watched for many weary years the kneeling devotees beneath their
marble feet.
On the steps of the altar were a number of china pots containing rose
and apple geraniums in full bloom, and one luxuriant Grand Duke
jasmine, all starred with creamy flowers, so flooded the place with
fragrance that it seemed as if the vast laboratory of floral aromas
had been suddenly unsealed.
Upon the stone pavement, immediately in front of the altar, sat a
little figure so motionless, that a casual glance would probably have
included it among the consecrated and permanent images of the silent
sanctuary;--the figure of a child, whose age could not have been
accurately computed from the inspection of the countenance, which
indexed a degree of grave mature wisdom wholly incompatible with the
height of the body and the size of the limbs.
If devotional promptings had brought her to the Nuns' Chapel, her
orisons had been concluded, for she had turned her back upon the
altar, and sat gazing sorrowfully down at her lap, where lay in
pathetic _pose_ a white rabbit and a snowy pigeon,--both dead, quite
stark and cold,--laid out in state upon the spotless linen apron,
around which a fluted ruffle ran crisp and smooth. One tiny waxen
hand held a broken lily, and the other was vainly pressed upon the
lids of the rabbit's eyes, trying to close lovingly the pink orbs
that now stared so distressingly through glazing film. The first
passionate burst of grief had spent its force in the tears that left
the velvety cheeks and chin as dewy as rain-washed rose leaves, while
not a trace of moisture dimmed the large eyes that wore a proud,
defiant, and much injured look, as though resentment were strangling
sorrow.
Unto whom or what shall I liken this fair, tender, childish face,
which had in the narrow space of ten years gathered such perfection
of outline, such unearthly purity of colour, such winsome grace, such
complex expressions? Probably amid the fig and olive groves of
Tuscany, Fra Bartolomeo found just such an incarnation of the angelic
ideal, which he afterward placed for the admiration of succeeding
generations in the winged heads that glorify the _Madonna della
Misericordia_. The stipple of time dots so lightly, so slowly, that
at the age of ten a human countenance should present a mere fleshy
_tabula rasa_, but now and then we are startled by meeting a child as
unlike the round, rosy, pulpy, dimpling, unwritten faces of ordinary
life, as the churubs of Raphael to the rigid forms of Byzantine
mosaics, or the stone portraiture of Copan.
As she sat there, in the golden radiance of the summer noon, she
presented an almost faultless specimen of a type of beauty that is
rarely found nowaday, that has always been peculiar, and bids fair to
become extinct. A complexion of dazzling whiteness and transparency,
rendered more intensely pure by contrast with luxuriant silky hair of
the deepest black,--and large superbly shaped eyes of clear, dark
steel blue, almost violet in hue,--with delicately arched brows and
very long lashes of that purplish black tint which only the trite and
oft-borrowed plumes of ravens adequately illustrate. The forehead was
not remarkable for height, but was peculiarly broad and full with
unusual width between the eyes, and if Strato were correct in his
speculations with reference to Psyche's throne, then verily my little
girl did not cramp her soul in its fleshy palace. Daintily moulded in
figure and face, every feature instinct with a certain delicate
patricianism, that testified to genuine "blue blood," there was
withal a melting tenderness about the parted lips that softened the
regal contour of one who, amid the universal catalogue of feminine
names, could never have been appropriately called other than Regina.
Over in the new chapel across the court, where the sacristan had
opened two of the crimson and green windows that now lighted the gilt
altar as with sacrificial fire, and now drenched it with cool beryl
tints that extinguished the flames, a low murmur became audible,
swelling and rising upon the air, until the thunder-throated organ
filled all the cloistered recesses with responsive echoes of Rossini.
Some masterly hand played the "Recitative" of _Eia Mater_, bringing
out the bass with powerful emphasis, and concluding with the full
strains of the chorus; then the organ-tones sank into solemn minor
chords indescribably plaintive, and after a while a quartette of
choir voices sang the
"Sancta Mater! istud agas,
Crucifixi fige plagas,"
ending with the most impassioned strain of the _Stabat Mater_,--
"Virgo virginum prædara,
Mihi jam non sis amara,
Fac me tecum plangere."
Two nuns came out of an arched doorway leading to the
reception-room of the modern building, and looked up and down the
garden walks, talking the while in eager undertones; then paused near
the lily bank, and one called:
"Regina! Regina!"
"She must be somewhere in the Academy playground, I will hunt for her
there; or perhaps you might find her over in the church, listening to
the choir practising, you know she is strangely fond of that organ."
The speaker turned away and disappeared in the cool dim arch, and the
remaining nun moved across the paved walk with the quick, noiseless,
religious tread peculiar to those sacred conventual retreats where
the clatter of heels is an abomination unknown.
Pausing in front of the chapel door to bend low before the marble
Mother on the shrine, she beheld the object of her search and glided
down the aisle as stealthily as a moonbeam.
"Regina, didn't you hear Sister Gonzaga calling you just now?"
"Yes, Sister."
"Did you answer her?"
"No, Sister."
"Are you naughty to-day, and in penance?"
"I suppose I am always naughty, Sister Perpetua says so; but I am not
in penance."
"Who gave you permission to come into our chapel? You know it is
contrary to the rules. Did you ask Mother?"
"I knew she would say no, so I did not ask, because I was determined
to come."
"Why? what is the matter? you have been crying."
"Oh, Sister Angela! don't you see?"
She lifted the corners of her apron where the dead pets lay, and her
chin trembled.
"Another rabbit gone! How many have you left?"
"None. And this is my last white dove; the other two have coloured
rings around their necks."
"I am very sorry for you, dear, you seem so fond of them. But, my
child, why did you come here?"
"My Bunnie was not dead when I started, and I thought if I could only
get to St. Francis and show it to him he would cure it, and send life
back to my pigeon too. You know, Sister, that Father told us last
week at instruction we must find out all about St. Francis, and next
day Armantine was Refectory Reader, and she read us about St. Francis
preaching to the birds at Bevagno, and how they opened their beaks
and listened, and even let him touch them, and never stirred till he
blessed them and made the sign of the Cross, and then they all flew
away. She read all about the doves at the convent of Ravacciano, and
the nest of larks, and the bad, greedy little lark that St. Francis
ordered to die, and said nothing should eat it, and sure enough, even
the hungry cats ran away from it. Don't you remember that when St.
Francis went walking about the fields, the rabbits jumped into his
bosom, because he loved them so very much? You see, I thought it was
really all true, and that St. Francis could save mine too, and I
carried 'Bunnie' and 'Snowball' to him--out yonder, and laid them on
his feet, and prayed and prayed ever so long, and while I was praying
my 'Bunnie' died right there. Then I knew he could do no good, and I
thought I would try our Blessed Lady over here, because the Nuns'
Chapel seems holier than ours,--but it is no use. I will never pray
to her again, nor to St. Francis either."
"Hush! you wicked child!"
Regina rose slowly from the pavement, gathered up her apron very
tenderly, and, looking steadily into the sweet serene face of the
nun, said with much emphasis:
"What have I done? Sister Angela, I am not wicked."
"Yes, dear, you are. We are all born full of sin, and desperately
wicked; but if you will only pray and try to be good, I have no doubt
St. Francis will send you some rabbits and doves so lovely, that they
will comfort you for those you have lost."
"I know just as well as you do that he has no idea of doing anything
of the kind, and you need not tell me pretty tales that you don't
believe yourself. Sister, it is all humbug; 'Bunnie' is dead, and I
sha'n't waste another prayer on St. Francis! If ever I get another
rabbit, it will be when I buy one, as I mean to do just as soon as I
move to some nice place where owls and hawks never come."
Here the clang of a bell startled Sister Angela, who seized the
child's hand.
"Five strokes!--that is my bell. Come, Regina, we have been hunting
you for some time, and Mother will be out of patience."
"Won't you please let me bury Bunnie and Snowball before I go
upstairs to penance? I can dig a grave in the corner of my little
garden and plant verbena and cypress vine over it."
She shivered as if the thought had chilled her heart, and her voice
trembled, while she pressed the stiffened forms to her, breast.
"Come along as fast as you can, dear, you are wanted in the parlour.
I believe you are going away."
"Oh! has my mother come?"
"I don't know, but I am afraid you will leave us."
"Will you be sorry, Sister Angela?"
"Very sorry, dear child, for we love our little girl too well to give
her up willingly."
Regina paused and pressed her lips to the cold white fingers that
clasped hers, but Sister Angela hurried her on till she reached a
door opening into the Mother's reception-room. Catching the child to
her heart, she kissed her twice, lifted the dead darlings from her
apron, and, pushing her gently into the small parlour, closed the
door.
It was a cool, lofty, dimly lighted room, where the glare of sunshine
never entered, and several seconds elapsed before Regina could
distinguish any object. At one end a wooden lattice work enclosed a
space about ten feet square, and here Mother Aloysius held audience
with visitors whom friendship or business brought to the convent.
Regina's eager survey showed her only a gentleman, sitting close to
the grating, and an expression of keen disappointment swept over her
countenance, which had been a moment before eloquent with expectation
of meeting her mother.
"Come here, Regina, and speak to Mr. Palma," said the soft, velvet
voice behind the lattice.
The visitor turned around, rose, and watched the slowly advancing
figure.
She was dressed in blue muslin, the front of which was concealed by
her white bib-apron, and her abundant glossy hair was brushed
straight back from her brow, confined at the top of her head by a
blue ribbon, and thence fell in shining waves below her waist. One
hand hung listlessly at her side, the other clasped the drooping lily
and held it against her heart.
The slightly curious expression of the stranger gave place to
astonishment and involuntary admiration as he critically inspected
the face and form; and, fixing her clear, earnest eyes on him, Regina
saw a tall, commanding man of certainly not less than thirty years,
with a noble massive head, calm pale features almost stern when in
repose, and remarkably brilliant piercing black eyes, that were
doubtless somewhat magnified by the delicate steel-rimmed spectacles
he habitually wore. His closely cut hair clustered in short thick
waves about his prominent forehead, which in pallid smoothness
resembled a slab of marble, and where a slight depression usually
marks the temples his swelled boldly out, rounding the entire outline
of the splendidly developed brow. He wore neither moustache nor
beard, and every line of his handsome mouth and finely modelled chin
indicated the unbending tenacity of purpose and imperial pride which
had made him a ruler even in his cradle, and almost a dictator in
later years.
In a certain diminished degree children share the instinct whereby
brutes discern almost infallibly the nature of those who in full
fruition of expanded reason tower above and control them; and, awed
by something which she read in this dominative new face, Regina stood
irresolute in front of him, unwilling to accept the shapely white
hand held out to her.
He advanced a step, and took her fingers into his soft warm palm.
"I hope, Miss Regina, that you are glad to see me."
Her eyes fell from his countenance to the broad seal ring on his
little finger, then, gazing steadily up into his, she said:
"I think I never saw you before, and why should I be glad? Why did
you come and ask for me?"
"Because your mother sent me to look after you."
"Then I suppose, sir, you are very good; but I would rather see my
mother. Is she well?"
"Almost well now, though she has been quite ill. If you promise to be
very good and obedient, I may find a letter for you, somewhere in my
pockets. I have just been telling Mother Aloysius, to whom I brought
a letter, that I have come to remove you from her kind sheltering
care, as your mother wishes you for a while at least to be placed in
a different position, and I have promised to carry out her
instructions. Here is her letter. Shall I read it to you, or are you
sufficiently advanced to be able to spell it out without my
assistance?"
He held up the letter, and she looked at him proudly, with a faint
curl in her dainty lip, and a sudden lifting of her lovely arched
eyebrows, which, without the aid of verbal protest, he fully
comprehended. A smile hovered about his mouth, and disclosed a set of
glittering perfect teeth, but he silently resumed his seat. As Regina
broke the seal, Mother said:
"Wait, dear, and read it later. Mr. Palmer has already been detained
some time, and says he is anxious to catch the train. Run up to the
wardrobe, and Sister Helena will change your dress. She is packing
your clothes."
When the door closed behind her a heavy sigh floated through the
grating, and the sweet seraphic face of the nun clouded.
"I wish we could keep her always; it is a sadly solemn thing to cast
such a child as she is into the world's whirlpool of sin and sorrow.
To-day she is as spotless in soul as one of our consecrated
annunciation lilies; but the dust of vanity and selfishness will
tarnish, and the shock of adversity will bruise, and the heat of the
battle of life that rages so fiercely in the glare of the outside
world will wither and deface the sweet blossom we have nurtured so
carefully."
"In view of the peculiar circumstances that surround her, her removal
impresses me as singularly injudicious, and I have advised against
it, but her mother is inflexible."
"We have never been able to unravel the mystery that seems to hang
about the child, although the Bishop assured us we were quite right
in consenting to assume the charge of her."
From beneath her heavy black hood, Mother's meek shy eyes searched
the non-committal countenance before her, and found it about as
satisfactorily responsive as some stone sphinx half-sepulchred in
Egyptic sand.
"May I ask, sir, if you are at all related to Regina?"
"Not even remotely; am merely her mother's legal counsellor, and the
agent appointed by her to transfer the child to different
guardianship. I repeat, I deem the change inexpedient, but
discretionary powers have not been conferred on me. She seems rather
a mature bit of royalty for ten years of age. Is the intellectual
machinery at all in consonance with the refined perfection of the
external physique?"
"She has a fine active brain, clear and quick, and is very well
advanced in her studies, for she is fond of her books. Better than
all, her heart is noble, and generous, and she is a conscientious
little thing, never told a story in her life; but at times we have
had great difficulty in controlling her will, which certainly is the
most obstinate I have ever encountered."
"She evidently does not suggest wax, save in the texture of her fine
skin, and one rarely finds in a child's face so much of steel as is
ambushed in the creases of the rose leaves that serve her as lips. If
her will matches her mother's, this little one certainly was not
afflicted with a misnomer at her baptism." He rose, looked at his
watch, and walked across the room as if to inspect a _Pieta_ that
hung upon the wall. Unwilling to conclude an interview which had
yielded her no information, Mother Aloysius patiently awaited the
result of the examination, but he finally went to the window, and a
certain unmistakable expression of countenance which can be compared
only to a locking of mouth and eyes, warned her that he was alert and
inflexible. With a smothered sigh she left her seat.
"As you seem impatient, Mr. Palma, I will endeavour to hasten the
preparations for your departure."
"If you please, Mother; I shall feel indebted to your kind
consideration."
Nearly an hour elapsed ere she returned leading Regina, and as the
latter stood between Mother and Sister Angela, with a cluster of
fresh fragrant lilies in her hand, and her tender face blanched and
tearful, it seemed to the lawyer as if indeed the pet ewe lamb were
being led away from peaceful flowery pastures, from the sweet
sanctity of the cloistral fold, out through thorny devious paths
where Temptations prowl wolf-fanged, or into fierce conflicts that
end in the social shambles, those bloodless abattoirs where malice
mangles humanity. How many verdure-veiled, rose-garlanded pitfalls
yawned in that treacherous future now stretching before her like
summer air, here all gold and blue, yonder with purple glory crowning
the dim far away? Intuitively she recognized the fact that she was
confronting the first cross roads in her hitherto monotonous life,
and a vague dread flitted like ill-omened birds before her, darkening
her vision.
In the gladiatorial arena of the court-room, Mr. Palma was regarded
as a large-brained, nimble-witted, marble-hearted man, of vast
ambition and tireless energy in the acquisition of his aims; but his
colleagues and clients would as soon have sought chivalric tenderness
in a bronze statue, or a polished obelisk of porphyry. To-day as he
curiously watched the quivering yet proud little girlish face, her
brave struggles to meet the emergency touched some chord far down in
his reticent stern nature, and he suddenly stooped, and took her
hand, folding it up securely in his.
"Are you not quite willing to trust yourself with me?"
She hesitated a moment, then said with a slight wavering in her low
tone:
"I have been very happy here, and I love the Sisters dearly; but you
are my mother's friend, and whatever she wishes me to do of course
must be right."
Oh beautiful instinctive faith in maternal love and maternal wisdom!
Wot ye the moulding power ye wield, ye mothers of America?
Pressing her fingers gently as if to reassure her, he said:
"I dislike to hurry you away from these kind Sisters, but if your
baggage is ready we have no time to spare."
The nuns wept silently as she embraced them for the last time, kissed
them on both cheeks, then turned and suffered Mr. Palma to lead her
to the carriage, whither her trunk had already been sent.
Leaning out, she watched the receding outlines of the convent until a
bend of the road concealed even the belfry, and then she stooped and
kissed the drooping lilies in her lap.
Her companion expected a burst of tears, but she sat erect and quiet,
and not a word was uttered until they reached the railway station and
entered the cars. Securing a double seat he placed her at the window,
and sat down opposite. It was her introduction to railway travel, and
when the train moved off, and the locomotive sounded its prolonged
shriek of departure, Regina started up, but, as if ashamed of her
timidity, coloured and bit her lip. Observing that she appeared
interested in watching the country through which they sped, Mr. Palma
drew a book from his valise, and soon became so absorbed in the
contents that he forgot tie silent figure on the seat before him.
The afternoon wore away, the sun went down, and when the lamps were
lighted the lawyer suddenly remembered his charge.
"Well, Regina, how do you like travelling on the cars?"
"Not at all; it makes my head ache."
"Take off your hat, and I will try to make you more comfortable."
He untied a shawl secured to the outside of his valise, placed it on
the arm of the seat, and made her lay her head upon it.
Keeping his finger as a mark amid the leaves of his book, he said:
"We shall not reach our journey's end until to-morrow morning, and I
advise you to sleep as much as possible. Whenever you feel hungry you
will find some sandwiches, cake, and fruit in the basket at your
feet."
She looked at him intently, and interpreting the expression he added:
"You wish to ask me something? Am I so very frightful that you dare
not question me?"
"Will you tell me the truth, if I ask you?"
"Most assuredly."
"Mr. Palma, when shall I see my mother?"
His eyes went down helplessly before the girl's steady gaze, and he
hesitated a moment.
"Really, I cannot tell exactly,--but I hope----"
She put up her small hand quickly, with a gesture that silenced him.
"Don't say any more, please. I never want to know half of anything,
and you can't tell me all. Good-night, Mr. Palma."
She shut her eyes.
This man of bronze who could terrify witnesses, torture and overwhelm
the opposition, and thunder so successfully from the legal rostrum,
sat there abashed by the child's tone and manner, and as he watched
her he could not avoid smiling at her imperious mandate. Although
silent, it was one o'clock before she fell into a deep, sound
slumber, and then the lawyer leaned forward and studied the dreamer.
The light from the lamp shone upon her, and the long silky black
lashes lay heavily on her white cheeks. Now and then a sigh passed
her lips, and once a dry sob shook her frame, as if she were again
passing through the painful ordeal of parting; but gradually the
traces of emotion disappeared, and that marvellous peace which we
find only in children's countenances, or on the faces of the
dead,--and which is nowhere more perfect than in old Greek
statuary,--settled like a benediction over her features. Her frail
hands clasped over her breast still held the faded lilies, and to
Erle Palma she seemed too tender and fair for rude contact with the
selfish world, in which he was so indefatigably carving out fame and
fortune. He wondered how long a time would be requisite to transform
this pure, spotless, ingenuous young thing into one of the fine
fashionable miniature women with frizzed hair and huge _paniers_,
whom he often met in the city, with school-books in their hands, and
bold, full-blown coquetry in their eyes?
Certainly he was as devoid of all romantic weakness as the
propositions of Euclid, or the pages of Blackstone, but something in
the beauty and helpless innocence of the sleeper appealed with
unwonted power to his dormant sympathy, and, suspecting that lurking
spectres crouched in her future, he mutely entered into a compact
with his own soul, not to lose sight of, but to befriend her
faithfully, whenever circumstances demanded succour.
"Upon my word, she looks like a piece of Greek sculpture, and be her
father whom he may, there is no better blood than beats there at her
little dimpled wrists. The pencilling of the eyebrows is simply
perfect."
He spoke inaudibly, and just then she stirred and turned. As she
moved, something white fluttered from one of the ruffled pockets of
her apron, and fell to the floor. He picked it up and saw it was the
letter he had given her some hours before. The sheet was folded
loosely, and glancing at it, as it opened in his hand, he saw in
delicate characters: "Oh, my baby,--my darling! Be patient and trust
your mother." An irresistible impulse made him look up, and the
beautiful solemn eyes of the girl were fixed upon him, but instantly
her black lashes covered them.
For the first time in years he felt the flush of shame mount into his
cold haughty face, yet even then he noted the refined delicacy which
made her feign sleep.
"Regina."
She made no movement.
"Child, I know you are awake. Do you suppose I would stoop to read
your letter clandestinely? It dropped from your pocket, and I have
seen only one line."
She put out her slender hand, took the letter, and answered:
"My mother writes me that you are her best friend, and I intend to
believe that all you say is true."
"Do you think I read your letter?"
"I shall think no more about it."
"I will paint her as I see her,
Ten times have the lilies blown
Since she looked upon the sun,
Face and figure of a child,--
Though top calm, you think, and tender,
For the childhood you would lend her."