Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale

CHAPTER XXX.

THE SHADOWS AS THEY FLY

Mrs. Gaylord arrived safely in Boston, after a very wearisome journey and was met by Mr. Bancroft with many demonstrations of delight.

"It will please Willie so much," he said, after it was well over, by way of apology. "That gentle little cripple of yours, Mrs. Gaylord," he continued, "has taken a long hitch into my affections, and it does me good to gratify his whims."

"They are together, then?"

"Yes, out on the farm. I was there last week and told them you were coming, although I was not positive in the matter as I would like to have been; but I guessed it! You know that is our Yankee privilege."

No amount of persuasion could induce the lady to remain in the city for a rest; she must go at once! "What a sad time poor Lily must have had of it. I am so anxious to hear all about it!"

"Your curiosity will not gain any great corpulency by what she can tell you, I imagine," he laughed. "She seems very reticent when touching the supposed reasons for her ride, and it is my opinion that there was more in the tender solicitude of that precious friend she found down south than was discernable to the naked eye!"

"Was there ever an open transgression, or an imaginary evil perpetrated that a woman was not at the bottom of it?" Mrs. Bancroft made this little speech in the form of an inquiry with a very smiling face, and a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes. "There is my good husband, for instance, who declared this very morning that if you did not come, it would be because I did not more positively insist! Just as though you did not know how much I loved you years ago, and, although a woman, love you still!"

"But she has come, wife," interposed the laughing husband, "and, no doubt, is tired and hungry. You will wait until morning before proceeding farther?" he queried, turning to the visitor.

"I shall be obliged to, I suppose, for, if I remember correctly, there is but one more train in that direction to-night, and that is at five, while it is nearly four now."

The following morning, on the first train going west was Mrs. Gaylord, with her dusky-browed companion, who seldom was apart from her mistress. Now they were going to the little village for the third time, where both had spent so many pleasant days. "We will take dinner there," the lady had said, "and then I will go for a drive and find Lily."

Tiny had said nothing, but her eyes were open as well as those of her mistress; and now a smile came and lingered around the well-formed mouth.

Mrs. Gaylord saw it.

"How do you imagine Miss Lily came out on the ocean that dark night, Tiny? There is that at times in your face which leads me to think you know something about it."

"O no, Missus; Tiny don't know nothin'; she 'spect tho', dat de good Lord didn't take her dar."

"But He took her off, Tiny?"

"Yes, Missus, He duz that, but He neber got nobody to carry her dar."

"Did any one do that?"

"Don't know, but I'se see Missus Belmont talkin' to a white trash more'n once, and I 'spects somthin'."

"Who were they, Tiny?"

"Couldn't tell; 'twas drefful dark down on secon' street, but I know'd her. I went wid Cassa down to see Pliny, what was sick, and she was dar by de carriage shop talkin'."

Perplexities thickened. If she had done this, why was it done? There must have been a reason for such a terrible act!

The whistle blew, and the train stopped at the junction. Carriages were waiting, and into one stepped Mrs. Gaylord, followed by her servant.

"Ah! Glad to see you at Kirkham again."

The lady turned quickly. "O, it is you, Frank. How warm you are here. Drive on, there is a cool breath waiting for me under the maples."

With the sensation of unburdening, Mrs. Gaylord went out before dinner into the pleasant grove in the rear of the hotel, where she found the cool breath waiting. Here, at least, the war could not reach her! The sound of strife, of anger or oppression could not search her out! The first great battle had been fought, and there was mourning as well as exultation in the land, while the blood of patriots was at boiling heat. Was it this that oppressed her? Had she grieved at the result, or had her Southern tendencies made it joy? She asked herself this question more than once; and as she sat under the shadows of the whispering trees, concluded that, let the results be what they would, she loved the cool, unimpassioned Northerners, with their independence and self-sustaining powers. She would wait. She had found peace in days gone by as she looked calmly out over the waste of waters whither she was floating, and felt no hard throbbings of the heart where love was dying! Would this peace come again? Not until she had seen Lily, and the mysterious problem solved should she look for it. She did not like this tangling up of broken threads; indeed, she did not want them to break at all; but, since they must, why could they not dangle free from each other?

Soon after dinner, and while the sun was still high, the carriage came around for her.

"Going to see the cripple, Willie Evans?" interrogated the driver from the box, with all the northern familiarity. "His sister is back again, and a hard time she's had of it; so they say;" he continued, for the lady had not answered. She spoke now.

"She was with me, you remember, at the hotel."

"Ah! yes, ma'am, I remember! There is something strange about her adventure, but I dare say it will in time be all explained."

She had not liked the way the simple-minded man gave his information. What if, after all, gossip, should burden her shoulders with the strange rumors. She had not thought of this! How would she be received at the cottage? Would Willie blame her? But Lily had told all! She certainly would relieve her from censure.

The carriage stopped at the gate and Mrs. Hopkins appeared in the doorway.

"Are the young people at home?" inquired the lady without moving from her seat.

"They have gone for a short walk to the lake, but will be back soon," was the reply. "Mrs. Gaylord, I believe? They will be glad to see you! You had better come in and I will send for them."

"I will go," said the driver; and Mrs. Gaylord stepped from her carriage and entered the little parlor.

"You will find that the girl is much changed," remarked Mrs. Hopkins, handing the lady a chair. "She is very thin and pale. She has been seriously ill, and I do not wonder! It was dreadful! Her being out all night in that terrible storm; and in an open boat all alone! I tell her that she had better stay where her friends are now, if it is in the lower walks of life! She has some very foolish notions that, in my opinion, she would be much better without." Mrs. Hopkins had taken a seat close by the window, and seemingly was communing with herself rather than entertaining her visitor. Mrs. Gaylord allowed her to proceed without interruption. "She is poor, homeless and friendless, and the sooner she makes up her mind to settle down to these facts and go to work, the happier she will be."

"I think you are a little mistaken about her poverty, friendships or home, for to my certain knowledge she has all. At any rate she can have them by the acceptance."

"It seems that she did accept, and you see how it has turned out. She comes back without clothes or health and ready to seek shelter in the home she once so foolishly left. Still," she continued, as she espied a flush of indignation sweeping over the face of her listener, "I have much to thank you for in regard to my poor brother. He is very happy in being able to earn his board and provide for his own necessities. It was kind in you to bestow such happiness on a poor cripple. We had never thought it possible that he could ever be anything but a burden." The lady moved nervously. "Of course we were willing to take care of him, but it's so much pleasanter for one to take care of himself. Mr. Bancroft has seemingly taken a great liking to him. He was out here last week and wanted he should hurry through with his vacation as he was lonely, so he said. I thought the change would be bad for him, but he has grown quite fleshy and is looking well." The voice ceased, for suddenly she had awakened to the consciousness that she was talking all alone.

Mrs. Gaylord was busy with her thoughts. This then was the Fanny of whom Lily had told her. What wonder that her sensitive nature had shrank from her! Such exhibitions of a selfish spirit! It was not strange the atmosphere of such a home had chilled and frozen her warm, tender affections. But it was over. She should not remain a day longer where such storms of frost and snow must continually pelt her! She was indignant. "Glad to get back to the home she had left" without friends or clothing! She looked up and saw a pair of stern eyes fixed upon her.

"I beg your pardon, I was wandering with my thoughts just then." "And I was waiting for them to come back," was the response. "Of course you will let the girl remain now where she rightfully belongs? She can help me and pay her way if she feels so disposed, and it's time that she should. If she is let alone I have no doubt she will make quite a woman. She wanted to see you and I had no objections; but you had better not trouble yourself farther about her. Don't you think so?"

"I can answer your question better at nightfall," Mrs. Gaylord replied, ironically. "I shall take them both with me to the hotel if they will go, and after talking the matter over can conclude with greater wisdom."

"Of course they will! Some people are very willing to seek for aid when helpless and in trouble, but have no idea of returning the favors received when an opportunity is offered for them to do so!"

The little party were coming up the garden walk and Mrs. Gaylord arose to meet them. With a bound and a cry of pleasure Lily sprang into the open arms ready to receive her.

"O Lily, Lily, my darling!" exclaimed the sweet voice, while the lips that spoke these words were kissing brow and cheek passionately. Willie was hitching himself over the green grass towards them. "You are changed! How very sick you must have been!" and she held the weeping girl off at arm's length that she might look at her. "Get yourself ready, as the carriage must be back to the hotel in three hours and it is nearly two already." She stepped forward and clasped the cripple's extended hand. "It makes me more happy than I can tell to meet you both again. You will go with us? I so pine for one of our old talks duplicated. Frank, help Willie to the carriage." And she turned to find that Lily had disappeared, and in her place stood the veritable Mrs. Hopkins.

"I do not want you to think," she said, meekly, "that I am not willing that you should be her friend, but I do think that if you are, you will advise her to remain in her present home, where she seems to have been placed, and not attempt to be what she is not or ever can be!"

Lily's appearance put an end to further conversation, and without a moment's delay the horses were turned towards the village.

"You see I have changed my plumage," Lily said with a smile. "I returned to Boston with a very small wardrobe, only what had been provided for me at the hospital by some kind visitors, and Willie out of his little accumulations insisted upon this French lawn, which I keep for my 'dress-up.' It is very pretty, is it not?"

"Yes, but it seems to me that you have not 'picked up' as much as you ought in three months. You are looking much thinner than I had thought of finding you!"

"It is such a mystery! I cannot sleep! That voice in the darkness under the trees that called me so feebly and with such perfect indifference! This haunts me whenever I close my eyes. The whole scene; the masked face, the rolling billows, the sound of the huge waves as they dashed against the rocks; all, all terrify and distract me! How can the flesh ever creep back upon my bones or the color to my cheek or lips? O that terrible night! Its horrors even as I recall them well nigh curdle my blood!"

"Poor child!" But Willie interrupted them.

"It is only two years, or a little more, since we rode together over this road. Dear old Rover; he must have one drive to the village before he returns to his city life. I do not think he likes it as well as his master, Mrs. Gaylord," he continued, with an air of pleasantry.

"We understand you, Willie," Lily laughed, wholly recalled from her dark remembrances. "Two years, and very eventful ones too; but Rover must have his pleasure now as well as we."

The horses trotted briskly forward, and very little more was said until the trio were cosily seated in the little upper parlor of the inn.

"My child, I conclude, from one little remark you have made, that Mrs. Belmont, in your opinion, knew something of the sad affair before the hour in which you were carried away."

"Yes, I do believe it!"

"Why?"

"You would not have asked had you noticed her while we were sitting on the sofa, the first time of our meeting at the Washburn's, when she quizzed me about my early life, – my parentage, and my fanciful name of 'Lily Pearl,' which I took occasion to tell her after my suspicions were aroused! Mrs. Gaylord, she knows something of my history. I feel it; I cannot be mistaken!"

"Why did you not ask her about it?"

"I did. When she came to my room the next day while I was dressing for dinner, and in her caressing way patted my neck and spoke of its whiteness and beauty, at the same time inadvertently, as she would evidently have me think, bared my shoulders, and, as she did so, gave a little shriek. As I looked up into her face I saw it was deadly pale! 'What is it?' I asked, as calmly as possible. 'Do those purple spots remind you of anything?' 'Remind me? What do you mean, child?' 'Just what I said. Do they remind you of anything in the past? Mrs. Belmont, you know something about me or you would not appear so strangely. Tell me, will you? Who am I? and where are my parents?' I was looking her directly in the eye and she trembled under my gaze. 'You are mistaken, my dear,' she replied blandly, 'I have no knowledge of you whatever! How could I? I never heard of you till last night, and certainly never looked into your face; a very pretty one, however, and I hope you will not spoil it by allowing anger or unjust suspicion to creep into your heart, for they always leave an impress upon the countenance.' She was turning to leave the room when I stopped her. 'This is all very well, still I am not convinced that you are ignorant of my early life! Why did these unusual spots upon my shoulder startle you, as the mentioning of my name, Lily Pearl, did last night? Why do you gaze at me so fixedly while at the table, and shrink with such pallor when I return the look? Tell me, Mrs. Belmont, who am I?' 'Satan's own, I believe,' she said furiously, as she rushed from the room.

"Her manner changed after. She was kind and conciliating; her attentions nattering to one like myself. I feared her, yet she fascinated me! I strove to break away from her enchantments, but her power over my silly heart was wholly unaccounted for. I had read somewhere of the serpent who could charm its victim to destroy it; and I felt that I was that victim! I could not tell, for I did not understand it myself. It would have been impossible to explain. And then, her manner on that night! I feared to take that ride, but had no power to refuse. Willie says that the Father was permitting all this and holding my opposition in check for some great purpose yet unforeseen, and, as I look back upon it, wonder if it is so."

"Did you not get some idea from the men who had you in charge?"

"No, they said but little. They had bound my hands and threw me into the boat, supposing I had fainted. They spoke about the impossibility of getting to the ship in such a sea; and expressed a little sympathy for my situation as nearly as I could understand; but said nothing about their reasons for doing what they had. I had succeeded in getting my hands loose, and, without any premeditation, pushed away from their power as they stepped on the rocks to fasten the boat. Here I think was where the Father took the matter into His own hands. I was severed from all earthly connections; had broken all human ties, and was alone with God upon the waters! As the first wave lifted my boat high upon its foaming crest I cried out at the top of my voice, 'Lord, save or I perish!' Then the billow rolled from under me and a sweet peace came into my soul. Then I remembered the little upper chamber at the cottage, when one night I found that the angry billows of life's ocean were dashing themselves around me, and heard Willie's prayer. 'Keep her safe, O my Father, when the troubles of this world fall upon her! Help her to bear them, and give her strength to battle every storm!' Then I knew I should not be drowned – I should be kept safely.

"All night the winds howled, and the sea roared, and I was safe on the deep. But it was cold and I was thinly dressed. I do not know at what time the mantle of unconsciousness was thrown over me, but it was in the early morn that the 'Constitution' picked me up. I was very ill, and unconscious on ship-board and in the hospital, and when sufficiently restored, they asked me 'who was Willie and where could they find him.' I told them. His name broke the fetters that had bound me so long. I was better, and almost two months ago they sent me to him. Now tell me; what does it all mean?"

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHANGING CLOUDS

Reader, did you ever stand and watch the waving crimson curtains hanging in the western sky on some calm summer eve while they were trying to shut out the glorious sunset from view? As you wondered at their changing beauties, did you remember that the objects of so much gorgeous display were only cold, damp, gray clouds, unsightly in themselves, without attraction, and that it was only the reflection of a hidden power upon which you were gazing with so much rapture? So it is in our lives, and a chill, sombre day we would have of it did not some power behind the throne cast a few golden rays upon the clouds of gray.

"The problem cannot be solved!" thought Mrs. Gaylord, as she settled down in her old life, with Lily as her companion, after the fashion of former days. Lily was no longer without friends, home or clothing, as the extra large trunk in the store-room with those of Mrs. Gaylord's amply proved.

Mrs. Hopkins did not fail to express her indignation in very characteristic style when the conclusion was fully reached that the "girl" would return to her former life and associations. "The foolish thing!" she exclaimed. "One more ride, I imagine, will finish the whole matter. I don't see why she cannot be satisfied with well enough. She'll find out her mistake when it's too late. One thing I am decided upon. She mustn't come here again when thrown off by those who pretend to be her friends. I won't have anything more to do with her."

All this was said to Willie that evening after his return from the village. "She might have stayed here and worked to pay her way as she ought to do. She's no better than I am, and should be made to keep where she belongs. But that silly woman likes her pretty face and enjoys her reading, and so will dress her up and spoil her for the sake of gratifying her own wishes for a little time, and by and by will send her back, I suppose, for me to wait upon. But she'll find herself mistaken. I won't do it!"

"It seems to me, Sister, that you are making yourself unnecessarily unhappy," replied Willie very mildly, when Fanny had stopped for a moment to get her breath. "I do not think that 'Phebe' will ever trouble you again. She shall never know of this conversation, however, for I believe when you think it calmly over you will be sorry. It does not seem to have been any fault of Mrs. Gaylord's that she had her unpleasant ride, and I cannot think her foolish in the choice she has made."

Mr. Hopkins coming in put an end to the conversation. He inquired kindly if "Phebe" had concluded to remain at the hotel?

"Mrs. Gaylord claims her on the old contract, I believe," replied Willie.

"Sensible to the last," he supplemented. And Fanny went on with her work.

All this time clouds were shifting in other portions of our historical firmament, and bright rays from behind the curtain were falling elsewhere on damp, gray lives. Mrs. Belmont had reached Philadelphia, and was not very agreeably or graciously received, though her relative knew nothing of her residence in Washington, or of the public life she had been leading. Lillian had been careful to throw upon her mother's actions regarding her the brightest colors possible; still enough had been known of the incidents of the last few years to cast a shadow over the present reception, and the lady felt its chilliness.

Anna Pierson, too, was watching the summer sky with its chill, gray clouds, and wondering why the misty folds sometimes crimsoned with a far-off beauty. Her dead had been buried, and frequent news of the absent brother told of safety. As the days flew by, there came reports of exchange of prisoners, of furloughs and release from hospital treatment and restraints. These, it must be, were the bright reflections that gilded her western sky as she carefully watched it. Ellen St. Clair's letters were frequent, and usually contained very cheering reports. "George was getting better, could sit up a little, and was as impatient and peevish as a naughty child." Still the October haze would paint the leaves before the exiles could be expected at the widow's cottage.