Through the creamy lace curtains that draped the open windows, the
afternoon sun shone into the library, making warm lanes of yellow
light across the rich mosaic of many coloured woods that formed the
polished floor. Upon one of the round tables was a silver salver,
whereon stood a wine-cooler of the same material, representing
Bacchus crushing ripe clusters into the receptacles, that now
contained a bottle of Rüdesheim, and a crystal claret jug. In
tempting proximity rose a Sevres _epergne_ of green and gold, whose
weight was upborne by a lovely figure, evidently modelled in
imitation of Titian's Lavinia; and the crowning basket was heaped
with purple and amber grapes, crimson-cheeked luscious peaches, and
golden pears sun-flushed into carmine flecks.
Two tall glittering Venice glasses stood upon the salver, casting
prismatic radiance over the silver, as the sunbeams smote their
slender fluted sides, and a pair of ruby tinted finger-bowls
completed the colour chord.
On one side of the table sat Mr. Palma, who had returned an hour
before from Washington, and was resting comfortably in his favourite
chair, with his head thrown back, and a cigar between his lips. His
eyes were turned to the mantlepiece, where since the day the portrait
was first suspended, ten months ago, Regina had never failed to keep
a fresh dainty bouquet of fragrant flowers. This afternoon, the
little vase held only apple-geranium leaves, and a pyramidal cluster
of tuberoses; and her guardian had observed that when white blossoms
could be bought, coloured ones were never offered in tribute.
Opposite the lawyer was his cousin _protégé_, and occupied in
peeling a juicy peach, with one of the massive silver fruit-knives.
"I have never doubted the success of the case; it was a foregone
conclusion when you assumed charge of it. Certainly considering the
strength of the defence, it is a brilliant triumph for you, and
compensates for the toil you have spent upon it. I have never seen
you labour more indefatigably."
"Yes, for forty-eight hours I did not close my eyes, and of course
the result gratifies me, for the counsel for the defence was the most
stubbornly contestant I have dealt with for a long time. The
Government influence was immense. Where have Mrs. Palma and Olga
gone?"
"To Manhattanville, I believe."
"How long since Regina left the house?"
"Only a few moments before you arrived. It seems to me singularly
imprudent to allow her to wander about the city as she does."
"Explain yourself."
"I offered to accompany her as escort, but she rather curtly declined
my attendance."
"And in your estimation, that constitutes 'imprudence'?"
"I certainly consider it imprudent for any young girl to stroll
around alone in New York on Sunday afternoon; especially one so very
attractive, so conspicuously beautiful as Regina."
"During my absence has any one been kidnapped or garrotted in broad
daylight?"
"I do not study the police records."
"Do you imagine that she perambulates about the sacred precincts of
'Five Points,' or the purlieus of Chatham Street?"
"I imagine nothing, sir; but I know that she frequents a distant
portion of this city, where I should think young ladies of her social
status would find no attraction."
"You have followed her then?" Mr. Palma raised himself and struck the
ashes from his cigar.
"I have not; but others certainly have, and commented upon the fact."
"Will you oblige me with the remarks, and the name of the author?"
"No, Cousin Erle, certainly not the last. But I will tell you that a
couple of young gentlemen met her on Eighth Avenue, and were so
impressed by her face that they turned round and followed her; saw
her finally enter one of a row of poor tenement buildings in ----
Street. Soon after she came out and retraced her steps. They watched
her till she entered your house, and next day one of them asked me if
she were a sewing girl. No ward of mine should have such latitude."
"Not Elliott Roscoe; but I happen to be her guardian. She visits by
my permission the house you so vaguely designate, and the first time
she entered it I accompanied her and pointed out the location, and
the line of street cars that would carry her almost to the square. At
present the house is occupied by Mrs. Mason, the widow of a minister
who was related to Mr. Hargrove, Regina's former guardian; and the
references furnished me by the lady give satisfactory assurance that
the acquaintance is unobjectionable, although the widow is evidently
in very reduced circumstances. I consented some weeks ago that my
ward should occasionally spend Sunday afternoon with her."
"I presume you are the best judge of the grave responsibility of your
position," replied the young gentleman, stiffly.
"Certainly I think so, sir; and as you may possibly have observed, I
am not particularly grateful for volunteer suggestions relative to my
duty. Has it ever occurred to you that the green goggles you wear at
present may accidentally lend an unhealthy tinge to your vision?"
A wave of vivid scarlet flowed to the edge of Mr. Roscoe's fair
harvest-hued hair, as he answered angrily:
"You are the only person who could with impunity make such an
insinuation."
"In insinuations I never indulge, and impunity I neither arrogate,
nor permit in others. Keep cool, Elliott, or else change your
profession. A man who cannot hold his temper in leash, and who flies
emotional signals from every feature in his face, has slender chance
of success in an avocation which demands that body and soul, heart
and mind, abjure even secret signal service, and deal only in cipher.
The youthful _naïveté_ with which you permit your countenance to
reflect your sentiments, renders it quite easy for me to comprehend
the nature of your feeling for my ward. For some weeks your interest
has been very apparent, and while I am laying no embargo on your
affections, I insist that jealousy must not jaundice your estimate of
my duties, or of Regina's conduct. Moreover, Elliott, I suggest that
you thoroughly reconnoitre the ground before beginning this campaign,
for, my dear fellow, I tell you frankly, I believe Cupid has already
declared himself sworn ally of a certain young minister, who entered,
and enjoys pre-emption right over what amount of heart may have thus
far been developed in the girl. In addition she is too young, not yet
sixteen, and I rigidly interdict all love passages; besides her
parentage is to some extent a secret; she has no fortune but her
face; and you are poor in all save hope and social standing.
_Verbum_, etc., etc."
Walking to the window, where he stood with his countenance averted,
Mr. Roscoe said hesitatingly:
"I would rather my weakness had been discovered by the whole world
than that you should know it; you, who never having indulged such
emotions, regard them as the height of folly. I am aware that at this
moment you think me an idiot."
"Not necessarily. A known weakness thoroughly conquered sometimes
becomes an element of additional strength in human character. As the
exercise of muscle builds up physical vigour, so the persistent
exertion of will develops mental and moral power. Men who have a
paramount aim in life should never hesitate in strangling all
irrelevant and inferior appellants for sympathy. A comparatively
briefless attorney should trample out as he would an invading worm
the temptation to dream rose-coloured visions, wherein bows, arrows,
and bleeding hearts are thick and plentiful as gooseberries. Love in
a cottage with honeysuckle on the porch, and no provisions in the
larder, belongs to the age of fables, is as dead as feudal tenure."
"That you are quite incapable of such impolitic weakness, I am well
aware; for under the heel of your iron will your heart would not even
struggle. But unfortunately I am an impulsive, foolish, human Roscoe,
not a systematically organized, well-regulated, and unerring Palma."
His cousin bowed complacently.
"Be kind enough to hand me the cigars. This is defective; will not
smoke."
He leisurely lighted one, and resumed: "While on the cars to-day I
read an article which contained a passage to this effect, and I offer
it for your future reflection: 'That man, I think, has had a liberal
education, who has been so trained in his youth, that his body is the
ready servant of his will, and does with ease and pleasure all the
work that as a mechanism it is capable of; whose intellect is a
clear, cold, logic engine, with all its parts of equal strength and
in smooth working order; ready like a steam-engine to be turned to
their kind of work.' Elliott, young gentlemen should put their hearts
in their pockets, until they fully decide before what shrine it would
be most remunerative to offer them. The last time we dined at Judge
Van Zandt's, certainly not more than three months ago, you were all
devotion to his second daughter, Clara of the ruby lips and _cèdre_
hair."
"Clara Van Zandt, no thank you! I would not give Regina's pure face
and sweet violet eyes for all the other feminine flesh in New York!"
Had his attention been fixed just then upon Mr. Palma, he might have
detected the sudden flash in his black eyes, and the nervous
clenching of his right hand that rested on the arm of the chair; but
the younger man was absorbed by his own emotions, and very soon his
cousin rose.
"In future we will not discuss this folly. At present, please
recollect that my ward's face has not yet been offered in the
matrimonial market; consequently your bid is premature. Those papers
I spoke of must be prepared as early as possible in the morning, and
submitted to me for revision. Be careful in copying the record. Have
a cigar? I shall not be back before dark."
The happiest hours Regina had known during her residence in New York
had been spent in the room where she now sat; a basement room with
low ceiling, and faded olive-tinted walls. The furniture was limited
to an old-fashioned square table of mahogany, rich with that colour
which comes only from the mellowing touch of age, and polished until
it reflected the goblet of white and crimson phlox, which Regina had
placed in the centre; a few chairs, some swinging shelves filled with
books, and a couch or lounge covered with pink and white chintz,
whereon lay a pillow with a freshly ironed linen case, whose ruffled
edges were crisply fluted.
Upon the whitewashed hearth were several earthen pots, filled with
odorous geraniums; and over the two windows that opened on a narrow
border of ground between the house wall and the street were carefully
trained a solanum jasminoides white with waxen stars, and an
abutilor, whose orange bells striped and veined with scarlet, swung
in every breath of air that fluttered the spotless white cotton
curtains, so daintily trimmed with a calico border of rose-coloured
convolvulus. In the morning when the sun shone hot upon the front of
the building, this room was very bright and cheerful, but its
afternoon aspect was dim, cool, shadowy. A gentle breeze now floated
across a bunch of claret-hued carnations growing in a wooden box on
the window-sill, which was on a level with the ground outside, and
brought on its waves that subtle spiciness that dwells only in the
deep heart of pinks.
In an old-fashioned maplewood rocking chair sat Mrs. Mason, with her
wasted and almost transparent hands resting on her open Bible. The
faded face which in early years had boasted of unusual comeliness,
bore traces of severe sorrows meekly borne; and the patient sweetness
that sat on the lip, and smiled serenely in the mild grey eyes,
invested it with that irresistible charm that occasionally renders
ripe old age more attractive than flushing dimpled youth. Her hair,
originally pale brown, was as snow-white as the tarlatan cap that now
framed it in a crimped border; and her lustreless black dress was
relieved at the neck and wrists by ruffles of the same material.
On the Bible lay her spectacles, and upon the third finger of the
left hand was a gold ring, worn so thin that it was a mere glittering
thread.
Near her sat Regina, playing with a large white and yellow cat that
now and then sprang to catch a spray of lemon-scented geranium, which
was swung teasingly just beyond the reach of her velvet paws.
"I am glad, my dear, to hear you speak so kindly of the members of
your guardian's family. I have never yet seen that person who had not
some redeeming trait. Many years ago, I knew Louise Neville very
well. She was then the handsome happy bride of a young naval officer,
who was soon after drowned in the Bay of Biscay; before the birth of
their only child, Olga. At first Louise seemed heart-broken by the
loss of her husband, but not more than two years afterward she
married Mr. Godwin Palma, who was reputed very wealthy. I have not
seen her since Olga was a child, but have heard that her second
husband was an exceedingly stem, exacting man; treating her with far
less tenderness than she received from poor Leo Neville, who was
certainly very fond of her. Mr. Godwin Palma died suddenly one day,
while riding down in his carriage to his office on Wall Street, but
he had made a will only a few weeks previous, in which he bequeathed
all his fortune--except a small annuity to Louise--to his son Erle,
whose own mother had possessed a handsome estate. Louise contested
the will, but the court sustained it; and I have heard that Mr. Erle
Palma has always treated her with marked kindness and respect, and
that he provides liberally for her and Olga. Louise is a proud,
ambitious woman, fond of pomp and splendour; but in those tastes she
was educated, and I always liked her, valued her kindness of heart,
and strict integrity of purpose."
"You do not know my guardian?"
"I never met him till the day he brought you first to see me, and I
was surprised to find him so comparatively young a man, for he is
rapidly building up a very enviable reputation in his profession. He
has been quite generous in his treatment of some relatives, who were
at one time much reduced. His father's sister, Julia Palma, married a
dissipated young physician named Roscoe, and your guardian has almost
entirely educated one of the boys; sent him to college, and then took
him into his law-office, besides assisting in the maintenance of Mrs.
Roscoe, who died about three years ago. Regina, I had a letter from
Elise Lindsay since you were here. She sends kindest messages of love
to you, and says you must not allow new friends to supplant old ones.
She mentioned also that the climate of India did not seem very
desirable for Douglass, who has been quite sick more than once since
his settlement in Rohilcund. I am glad that Elise has gone to
Douglass, for his father died of consumption, and I always feared he
might have inherited the tendency, though his constitution seems
tolerably good. After Peyton's death, she had nothing to keep her
from her noble boy. God grant that India may never prove as fatal to
all her earthly hopes as it has been to mine."
A spasm of pain made her gentle patient face quiver, and Regina
remembered that Mrs. Mason's only daughter had married a gentleman
connected with the English Board of Missions, and with her husband
and babe perished in the Sepoy butchery.
Dropping the fragrant geranium sprig that so tormented the cat, the
girl's fingers interlaced tightly, and she asked almost under her
breath:
"Is Mr. Lindsay's health seriously impaired?"
"I hope not Elise merely said he had had two severe attacks of
pneumonia, and it rendered her anxious. No man of his age ranks
higher in the ministry than Douglass Lindsay, and as an Oriental
scholar I am told he has few equals in this country. His death would
be a great loss to his church, and----"
"Oh, do not speak of it! How can you? It would kill his mother,"
cried Regina, passionately, clasping her hands across her eyes, as if
to shut out some horrible vision.
"Let us pray God to mercifully avert such a heavy blow. But, my dear,
keep this in mind: with terrible bereavement comes the strength to
bear it. The strength of endurance,--a strength born only in the
darkest hours of a soul's anguish; and at last when affliction has
done its worst, and all earthly hope is dead, patience with tender
grace and gentle healing mutely sits down in hope's vacant place.
To-day I found a passage in a new book that impressed me as
beautiful, strong, and true. Would you like to hear it?"
"If it will teach me patience, please let me hear it."
"Give me the book lying on the lounge."
She opened it, put on her spectacles, and read:
"There is the peace of surrendered, as well as of fulfilled,
hopes,--the peace, not of satisfied, but of extinguished
longings,--the peace, not of the happy love and the secure fireside,
but of unmurmuring and accepted loneliness,--the peace, not of the
heart which lives in joyful serenity afar from trouble and from
strife, but of the heart whose conflicts are over, and whose hopes
are buried,--the peace of the passionless as well as the peace of the
happy;--not the peace which brooded over Eden, but that which crowned
Gethsemane.'"
"My dear Regina, only religion brings this blessed calm; this is
indeed that promised 'Peace that passeth all understanding,' and
therefore we would all do well to heed the words of Isaiah: 'Their
strength is to sit still.'"
Looking reverently up at her pale, worn placid face, the girl thought
it might have been considered a psalm of renunciation. Almost
sorrowfully she answered:
"I begin to see that there is far more shadow than sunshine in this
world; the night is longer than the day."
"You are too young to realize such solemn things, and should
endeavour to catch all the dew of life that glistens within your
reach; for the withering heat of the noon will come soon enough to
even the most favoured. An erroneous impression has too long
prevailed, that religious fervour, and a cheerful, hopeful, happy
spirit are incompatible; that devoutness manifests itself in a
lugubrious or at least solemn visage, and that a joyous mirthful
temperament is closely allied to 'the world, the flesh, and the
devil.' A more mischievous fallacy never found favour. Innocent
happiness in our hearts is acceptable worship to our God, who has
given us the language of joy, as He gave to birds the power of song.
In the universal canticle which nature sends up to its Creator, shall
humanity, the noblest of the marvellous mechanism, alone be silent?
The innocent joyousness of a pure heart is better than incense swung
in the temples of the Lord."
"Mrs. Mason, I wish to consult you on a subject that has given me
some anxiety. Would you approve of my attending the theatre and
opera? I have never yet gone, because I think neither Mr. Hargrove
nor Mr. Lindsay would have advised me to do so; and I am perplexed
about the matter, for Mr. Palma says that next winter he shall insist
on my seeing the best plays and operas. What ought I to do?"
"If you were a member of any church, which expressly prohibited such
amusements, I should say, do not infringe the rules which you
voluntarily promised to respect and obey; but as yet you have taken
no ecclesiastical vows. Habitual attendance upon such scenes as you
refer to is very apt, I think, to vitiate the healthful tone of one's
thoughts and feelings, but an occasional visit would probably injure
none but very weak minds. Your guardian is, I daresay, a prudent
judicious man, and would be careful in selecting plays that could
offend neither morality nor delicacy. There are many things upon the
stage which are sinful, vicious, and vulgar, but there are hundreds
of books quite as bad and dangerous. As we choose only the best
volumes to read, so be sure to select only pure plays and operas.
'Lear' would teach you the awful results of filial disobedience;
'Merchant of Venice,' the sin of avarice; 'Julius Cæsar' that of
unsanctified ambition. There are threads of wisdom, patience,
charity, and heroism which might be gathered from the dramatic
spindle, and woven advantageously into the garment of our daily lives
and thoughts. There is a marvellous pathos, fervour, sanctity, in the
'Casta Diva' of 'Norma' that appeals to my soul, as scarcely any
other piece of music ever has done; and I really should be glad to
hear it played on the organ every Sunday morning. Why? Because I
recognize in it the spirit of prayer from a tortured erring human
soul invoking celestial aid, and to me it is no longer a pagan Druid
song, trilled by the popular Prima-Donna at the Academy of Music, but
a hymn to the Heavenly powers, as consecrated as an _Ave Maria_, or
as Rossini's 'Inflammatus.' Are we lower than the bees, who wisely
discriminate between pure honey and poisonous sweets? Touching these
things, Lowell has nobly set us an example of
'Pleading for whatsoever touches life
With upward impulse: be He nowhere else,
God is in all that liberates and lifts,
In all that humbles, sweetens, and consoles,'
I think that in the matters you mention, you may safely defer to your
guardian's wishes, bearing always in mind this fact, that he
professes no religious faith; and praying God's Holy Spirit to guide
you, and keep your heart faithful and pure."
Regina longed to ask something more explicit concerning the stage,
but the thought of her mother peremptorily forbade a discussion that
seemed to imply censure of her profession.
"There is the bell for service. Are you not going to church this
afternoon?"
"No, dear, I am not very well; and besides, I promised to stay at
home, and see a poor old friend, who has no time to visit during the
week, and is just now in great affliction. You are not afraid to go
alone?"
"Not afraid, Mrs. Mason, still I wish you could go with me. When you
answer dear Mrs. Lindsay's letter ask her not to forget me, and tell
her I am trying to do right in all things, as far as I can see my
way. Good-bye, Mrs. Mason."
She bent her head, so that the faded placid lips could kiss her
cheek, and went out into the quiet street.
Instead of turning homeward, she hastened in an opposite direction,
toward a small brick church whose bell was ringing, and whose
afternoon service she had several times attended with Mrs. Mason.
Walking more slowly as she approached the building, she had not yet
reached it, when steps which she had heard behind her for several
minutes, paused at her side.
"Regina, is this the way home?"
"Good-evening, Mr. Palma. I am going to church."
Although he had been absent a week he did not even offer his hand,
and it never occurred to her to remind him of the omission.
"Are you in the habit of coming here alone? If so, your visits to
this neighbourhood cease."
"Mrs. Mason has always accompanied me until this after noon, and as
she could not leave home I came alone."
"I prefer you should not attend strange churches without a companion,
and now I will see you safely home."
She looked up, saw a few persons ascending the broad steps, and her
soul rose in rebellion;
"What possible harm can overtake me in God's house? Don't try to
stand between me and my duty."
"Do you not consider obedience to my wishes part of your duty?"
"Sometimes, sir; but not when it conflicts with my conscience."
"What is conscience?"
"The feeling God put into my soul when He gave it to me, to teach me
right from wrong."
"Is it? And if you were a Calmuck or a Mongol, it would teach you to
reverence Shigemooni as the highest god; and bid you fall down and
worship Dalai-lama, praying him to give you a pill of consecrated
dough."
"You mean that conscience is merely education? Even if it should be
so--which is not true, I think--the Bible says 'the heathen are a law
unto themselves,' and God knows they worship the best they can find
until revelation shows them their error. But I do not live in Lassa,
and my going to church here, is not akin to Lamaism. Nothing will
happen to me, and I assure you, sir, I will come home as soon as the
service is over."
"Is your eternal salvation dependent on church going?"
"I don't know, I rather think not; because if it were impossible for
me to attend service the Lord would know it, and He only requires
what He makes possible. But at least you must admit it cannot harm
me; and I enjoy coming to this church more than any I have seen since
I left our own dear old one at V----."
"It is a small, very plain affair, in no respect comparable to St.
Thomas's Church, where Mrs. Palma takes you every Sunday morning.
Where you not there to-day?"
"Yes, sir; but----"
"But--what? Speak out."
"Perhaps I ought not to say so,--and it may be partly my fault, but
indeed there seems to me more real religion in this plain little
chapel, at least it does me more good to come here."
"For instance, it incites and helps you defy your guardian on the
street!"
Until now she had resolutely kept her face set churchward, but as he
uttered the last words in a severer tone than he often used in
conversation with her, she turned quite around and retraced her
steps.
Walking beside her, he could only see the long soft lashes of her
downcast eyes, and the firm compression of her mouth.
"Little girl, are you very angry?"
She looked up quickly into his brilliant smiling eyes, and her cheek
dimpled.
"Mr. Palma, I wanted so very much to go, and I do feel disappointed;
but not angry."
"Then why do you not ask me to go with you?"
"You go there? Is it possible that you would ever do such a thing?
Really would you go, sir?"
"Try me."
"Please Mr. Palma, go with me."
He raised his hat, bowed, and said:
"I will."
"Oh, thank you!"
They turned and walked back in silence until they reached the door,
and he asked:
"Are the pews free?"
"Yes, sir; but Mrs. Mason and I generally sit yonder by that column."
"Very well, you must pilot me."
She turned into the side aisle next the windows, and they seated
themselves in a pew just beyond the projection of the choir gallery.
The edifice was small, but the altar and pulpit were handsome, and
though the windows were unstained, the light was mellowed by buff
inside blinds. The seats were by no means filled, and the
congregation was composed of people whose appearance denoted that
many belonged to the labouring class, and none to the Brahmin caste
of millionnaires, though all were neatly and genteely apparelled.
As the silver-haired pastor entered the pulpit the organ began to
throb in a low prelude, and four gentlemen bore shallow waiters
through the assemblage, to receive the contribution for the
"Destitute." Mr. Palma saw his companion take something from her
glove, and when the waiter reached them and she put in her small
alms, which he judged amounted to twenty-five cents, he slipped his
fingers in his vest pocket and dropped a bill on the plate.
"Is all that huge sum going to India to the missionaries?" he
gravely whispered.
"It is to feed the poor of this church."
As the organ swelled fuller and louder, Mr. Palma saw Regina start,
and listen intently; then the choir begin to sing, and she turned
very pale and shut her eyes. He could discover nothing remarkable in
the music,--"Oh that I had wings!" but as it progressed the girl's
emotion increased, became almost uncontrollable, and through the
closed lids the tears forced themselves rapidly, while she trembled
visibly, and seemed trying to swallow her sobs.
He moved closer to her, and the blue eyes opened and looked at him
with such pleading deprecating misery in their beautiful depths, that
he was touched, and involuntarily laid his ungloved hand on her
little bare fingers. Instantly they closed around it, twining like
soft tendrils about his, and unconsciously his clasp tightened.
All through the singing her tears fell unchecked, sliding over her
cheeks and upon her white dress, and when the congregation knelt in
prayer, Mr. Palma only leaned his head on the back of the pew in
front, and watched the figure bowed on her knees, close beside him,
crying silently, with her face in her hands.
When the prayer ended and the minister announced the hymn, she seemed
to have recovered her composure, and finding the page, offered her
pretty gilt hymn-book to her guardian. He accepted it mechanically,
and during the reading of the Scriptures that soon followed he slowly
turned over the leaves until he reached the title-page. On the
fly-leaf that fluttered over was written: "Regina Orme. With the love
and prayers of Douglass Lindsay."
Closing the book, he laid it in his lap, leaned back and folded his
arms over his chest.
The preacher read the sixty-third Psalm, and from it selected his
text: "My soul followeth hard after Thee."
Although certainly not a modern Chrysostom, he was an earnest,
faithful, and enlightened man, full of persuasive fervour; and to the
brief but interesting discourse he delivered--a discourse
occasionally sprinkled with felicitous metaphors and rounded with
several eloquent passages--Mr. Palma appeared to listen quite
attentively. Once a half smile moved his mouth, as he wondered what
his associates at the "Century" would think, if they could look in
upon him there; otherwise his deportment was most gravely decorous.
As he heard the monotonous rise and fall of the minister's tone, the
words soon ceased to bear any meaning to ears that gradually caught
other cadences long hushed; the voice of memory calling him from afar
off, back to the dewy days of his early boyhood, when walking by his
mother's side he had gone to church, and held her book as he now held
Regina's. Since then, how many changes time had wrought! How holy
seemed that distant, dim, church-going season!
At long intervals, and upon especially august occasions he had now
and then attended service in the elegant church where his pew-rent
was regularly paid; but not until to-day had he been attacked by the
swarming reminiscences of his childhood, all eagerly babbling of the
long-forgotten things once learned--
"At that best academe, a mother's knee."
From the benignant countenance of the earnest preacher his keen cold
eyes began to wander, and after awhile rested upon the pale tender
face at his side.
Except that the lashes were heavy with moisture that no longer
overflowed in drops, there was no trace of the shower that had
fallen; for hers was one of those rare countenances, no more
disfigured by weeping, than the pictured _Mater Dolorosa_ by the tear
on her cheek.
To-day in the subdued sadness that filled her heart, while she
pondered the depressing news from India, her face seemed
etherealized, singularly sublimated; and as he watched the expression
of child-like innocence, the delicate tracery of nose and brows, the
transparent purity of the complexion, and the unfathomable purplish
blue of the eyes uplifted to the pulpit, a strange thrill never
experienced before stirred his cold stony heart, and quickened the
beat of his quiet, slow steady pulse.
He had smiled and bowed before lovely women of various and bewitching
types of beauty, had his abstract speculative ideal of feminine
perfection, and had been feted, flattered, coaxed, baited, and
welcomed to many shrines, whereon grace, wit, and wealth had lavished
their choicest charms; but the carefully watched and well-regulated
valvular machine he was pleased to designate his heart, had never as
yet experienced a warmer sensation than that of mere critical
admiration for classic contours, symmetrical figures, or voluptuous
Paul Veronese colouring.
Once only, early in his professional career, he had coolly,
dispassionately, sordidly, and with a hand as firm as Astræa's own,
held the matrimonial scales, and weighed the influence and preferment
that he could command by a politic and brilliant marriage, against
the advantages of freedom, and the glory of unassisted success and
advancement. For the lady herself--a bright, mirthful, pretty
brunette, who in contrast with his frigid nature seemed a gaudy
tropical bird fluttering around a stolid arctic auk--he had not even
a shadow of affection; and looked quite beyond the graceful lay
figure draped with his name to the lofty judicial eminence where her
distinguished father held sway, and could rapidly elevate him.
No softer emotion than ambition had suggested the thought, and after
a patient balancing of the opposing weights of selfishness, he had
utterly thrown aside the thought of entangling himself in any
Hymeneal snares.
Probably few men have attained his age without having breathed vows
of love into some rosy ear; but his colossal professional pride and
vanity had absolutely absorbed him--left him neither room nor time
for other and softer sentiments.
The numerous attempts to entrap his dim chilly affections had
somewhat lowered his estimate of female delicacy; and possessing the
flattering assurance that no fair hand was held too high for his
grasp, should he choose to claim it, he had grown rather arrogant. Of
coquetry he was entirely innocent; it seemed too contemptible even
for mere sport, and he scorned the thought of feeding his vanity by
feminine sacrifices.
Too sternly proud to owe success to any but his own will and
resolution, he had never proposed or even desired to marry any woman;
and was generally regarded as a hopelessly icy bachelor, whom all
welcomed with smiles, but despaired of captivating.
After forty years' sole undisputed mastery of his heart, something
suddenly and unexpectedly wakened there, groped about, would not
"down" at his bidding; and a new sensation made itself felt.
A brief sentence of Elliott Roscoe had like Moses' rod smitten the
rock of his affections, and forthwith gushed a flood of riotous
feelings never known before. At the thought of any man claiming
Regina's perfect dainty lips and peerless imperial eyes a hot wave of
indignant protest rolled over his whole being. That she should belong
to another now seemed monstrous, sacrilegious, and all the strength
of his own nature rose in mutiny.
Never until to-day had he analyzed his sentiments toward his ward,
never had he deemed it possible for his wisely disciplined heart to
bow before anything of flesh; but now, as he sat looking at the sweet
face, he saw that rebellion desperate and uncompromising had broken
out in his rigidly governed, long downtrodden nature, and with the
prompt vigilance habitual to him he calmly counted the cost of
crushing the insurrection.
Shading his countenance with his fingers he deliberately studied her
features, even the modelling of the waxen hands folded together on
her knee; and then and there, weighing all his achievements, all his
pictured future, so dazzling with coveted ermine, he honestly
confessed to his own soul that the universe held for him nothing so
precious as that fair pure young girl.
How superlatively presumptuous appeared Elliott Roscoe's avowed
admiration and preference! How dared that humble impecunious divinity
student now sojourning in the "Land of the Veda," lift his eyes
toward this priceless treasure, which Erle Palma wanted to call his
own!
Just then Regina took her hymn-book to search for the closing verses
designated by the minister, and as she opened the volume the
inscription on the fly-leaf showed conspicuously. The lawyer set his
teeth, and the fingers of his right hand opened, then closed hard and
tight, a gesture in which he often unconsciously indulged when
resolving on some future step.
The benediction was pronounced, and the congregation dispersed.
Walking silently beside her guardian, until they had proceeded some
distance from the church, Regina wondered how she should interpret
the grave preoccupied expression of his countenance. Had he been
sadly bored, and did he repent the sacrifice made to gratify her
caprice?
"Mr. Palma, I am very much obliged to you for kindly consenting to
accompany me. Of course I know this church and service must seem
dull and plain in comparison with that to which you are accustomed,
but I hope you liked Mr. Kelsey's sermon?"
"In some respects this afternoon has been a revelation, and I am sure
I shall never forget the occasion."
"Oh! I am so glad you enjoyed going," she said, with evident relief.
"I did not intend to convey that impression; you infer more than my
words warrant. I was thinking of other and quite irrelevant matters,
and to be frank, really did not listen to the sermon. Do you attend
church from a conviction that penance conduces to a sanitary
improvement of the soul?"
"Penance? I do not exactly understand you, sir."
"I certainly have never seen you weep so bitterly; not even when I
ruthlessly tore you from the kind sheltering arms of Mother Aloysius
and Sister Angela. You appeared quite heartbroken. Was it contrition
for your manifold transgressions?"
"Oh no, sir!"
"You are resolved not to appoint me your confessor?"
"Mr. Palma----" her voice faltered.
"Well, go on."
"I was very much distressed; it made my heart ache."
"So I perceived. But was it the bare church, or the minister, or my
ward's sensitive conscience?"
After a moment she lifted her misty eyes to meet his, and answered
tremulously:
"It was the singing of 'Oh that I had wings!' I have not heard it
since that dreadful time I sang it last, and you can't possibly
understand my feelings."
"Certainly not, unless you deign to explain the circumstances."
"Dear Mr. Hargrove asked me to go in and play on the organ in the
library, and sing that sacred song for him. I sang it, and played for
awhile on the organ, and then went back to him on the verandah, and
he had died--alone, in his chair, while I was singing 'Oh that I had
wings!' To-day, when the choir began it, everything came back so
vividly to me. The dear happy home at the parsonage, the supper I had
set for my dear Mr. Hargrove, the flowers in the garden, the smell of
the carnations, the sound of the ring-doves in the vines, the
moonlight shining so softly on his kind face and white hair--and
Oh!----"
They walked the length of two squares before either spoke again.
"I was not aware that you performed on the organ."
"Mrs. Lindsay gave me lessons, and I used the cabinet organ."
"Do you prefer it to the piano?"
"For sacred songs, I do."
"If we had one in the library, do you suppose you would ever sing for
me?"
"If you really desired it, perhaps I would try; but of course I know
very well that you care nothing for my music; and our dear old hymns
and chants would only tire and annoy you."
"To whom does 'our' refer?"
"My dear Mr. Hargrove and Mrs. Lindsay and her son. We so often sang
quartettes at home in the long, delicious, peaceful summer evenings,
before the awful affliction came and separated us."
The lamps were lighted, and night closed in, with silvery
constellations overhead, before Mr. Palma and his companion were near
their destination. As they crossed a street, he said, abruptly
breaking a long silence:
"Take my arm."
Never before had such a courtesy been tendered, and she looked up in
unfeigned surprise.
He was so tall, so stately, that the proposition seemed to her
preposterous.
"Can't you reach it?"
He took her hand, drew it beneath, and placed the fingers on his arm.
"Of late you have grown so rapidly, your head is almost on a level
with my shoulder; and you are quite tall enough now to accept my
escort."
When they were within a square of home, Mr. Palma said very gravely:
"This afternoon I indulged one of your whims: now will you
recipricate, and gratify a caprice of your guardian?"
"Have you caprices? I think not but I will oblige you if I can do
so."
"Thank you. In future you must never walk to see Mrs. Mason, always
go in the carriage; and I am unwilling that you should be out as late
as this, unless Mrs. Palma accompanies you, or I am with you. You
need not ask my reasons; it is sufficient that I wish it, and it is
my caprice to be obeyed without questions. One thing more: I do not
at all like your name--never did. Latinity is not one of my
predilections, and _Regina, Reginae, Reginam_, wearily remind me of
the classic-slough of declensions and conjugations of my Livy,
Sallust, Tacitus. In my mind you have always been associated with the
white lilies that you held at the convent the first time I saw you,
that you held to your heart while asleep on the cars; and hereafter
when only you and I are present, I intend to indulge the caprice of
calling my ward--Lily."