Part 29 (2/2)
”She would not willingly disgrace herself, nor,” and she added with some hesitancy, ”bring misery, perhaps death, upon her mother: at least I must rely upon all this as the lesser of the two evils.”
”Then she is not wholly depraved, as you have been so willing I should believe,” remarked her companion. ”I thought I could not be mistaken in that face. What if you should go and throw yourself on her mercy? I can but feel sure that you would receive it.”
”No, I cannot do that. And then you thought it impossible that she should recognize me. It may be so. There certainly would be a want of discretion should I wantonly expose myself without a surety of protection. The only way I can discover is to trust in Providence and wait results.”
”Providence!” sneered her companion. ”Meager claims have we on its friendly protection I imagine. The fact is, Mrs. Southey, we must figure this whole matter for ourselves. There seems to be considerable s.p.u.n.k in the plethoric old gentleman this war is stirring up, and I doubt if he would treat such as we with a great amount of gallantry if introduced to him, and, therefore, let us figure closely, and not trust to vagaries of which we know so little. It may do for a _Christian like yourself_, but you know that I am an outsider.” This last remark was a little too cynical, and the lady to whom it was addressed arose to her feet with flas.h.i.+ng eyes. Her companion only smiled, however, as she motioned her to be reseated.
”I beg your pardon, _mon amie_, I did not really think you would resent the first compliment I ever gave you,” she laughed, then continued. ”I have been hindering you all the time. Where were you going? Out for a walk?”
No sisters ever understood each other better than did these two women, and seldom was it that two ever despised each other more. They had met but seldom before ”Mrs. Southey” came to Was.h.i.+ngton as a southern spy, but well she knew that in the home she sought she would find co-operation. In this she had not been mistaken. Her mission was carefully guarded, but her everyday life underwent careful scrutiny. Her dignity as the 'Mistress of Rosedale' was continually pierced and wounded without mercy, while she remained powerless in the hands of her tormentor. The morning scene we are chronicling was not an exceptional one; still it left the lady in a burning rage. At dinner, however, the hostess met her with many bland excuses for neglecting her so long, thus pressing the thorns deeper that were sorely goading her victim all unconsciously to other eyes. How true that the spirit of evil despises and seeks to lacerate itself when its reflection is seen in the bosom of another!
”I have an invitation for you to take an airing in the elegant turn-out of our pet senator, by the side of his queenly wife, this p. m., at four.” The bustling housekeeper said this amid the superintending of the dinner arrangements. ”You will go, of course, and so I told the servant who brought in the card. You are looking so pale and thin that I am sure the ride will do you good.”
At the hour appointed the carriage stood before the door, and the senator's wife called out pleasantly, as the two ladies appeared in sight, ”the air is delicious, Mrs. Southey, and I can fully recommend its sanitary powers, having been cured of an oppressive headache already. You are not looking as well as usual,” she continued, as the lady addressed tripped down the stone steps where the footman was waiting to hand her into the carriage.
”Will it reach the heart and conscience and drive out its ailments?”
queried the hostess.
The thin lips of Mrs. Southey parted slightly as she threw back a keen glance at the speaker in the doorway. Without apparently noticing it she continued, ”If I thought it would I would order a carriage and perform some long-neglected duties.”
It was a lovely afternoon, as the senator's wife had reported, and as Mrs. Southey reclined dreamily in one corner of the luxurious barouche, a sensation, almost peaceful, came stealing over her while she listened to the agreeable words of her companion, and felt the cool soft breezes playing about her. For a while, at least, she forgot herself with all the attending perplexities of her situation, in the musical clatter of the horses' hoofs on the hard road. At last she was waked from her reveries as from a dream, by observing the carriage stop in the street and hearing her companion accost some one outside.
”I am happy to meet you,” she said; ”I have been so anxious about your patient. How is he getting along?”
”Slowly improving,” came back the answer.
”_Good heavens! That voice!_” How the guilty woman trembled! It was that of her only daughter--her Lillian! Did she long to clasp again that form, once so beloved, in her maternal embrace? Why did her cheeks and lips suddenly become chill and pallid? Why should every nerve quiver as she sat there mute with a palsying fear? Ah, she well knew that a pair of large dark eyes were fastened upon her, reading the emotions of her very soul, avoid them as she would! In vain did she endeavor to adjust her veil, which was thoughtlessly thrown back from her face in her dream of peace; but it became entangled with the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs of her bonnet, and it was impossible to disengage it. With a sensation of despair she settled back as far as possible among the shadows and painfully waited for the issue.
”Then you will come to-morrow?” she heard Lillian say. ”I want much to see you for more than one reason.”
”I think I will not fail,” was the cheerful answer.
”Then I will tell him. The prospect, I am sure, will speed his convalescence.”
The carriage moved on. The crouching figure straightened a little for a freer breath.
”Did you see those beautiful eyes?” asked her companion turning towards her. ”I beg your pardon!” was the impulsive exclamation as she looked into the face beside her. ”I ought not to have kept you out so long. You look as though you were chilled through; we will return immediately!”
”O, no! I am not cold! A sudden--dizziness I think--must have come over me! Do not return; indeed--I am not cold--the ride is exceedingly pleasant! Let us go on.”
Her listener was surprised. Never had she seen the aristocratic Mrs.
Southey so beside herself. Her words and manner perplexed her, still she made no reply.
”The young lady--who was she? Her eyes? O, yes! They were very fine! I think I must have seen her before!”
”At the hospital then,” was the reply; ”for she seldom goes out. I must tell you about her. She has been in Alexandria, doing good service I believe, and has now come to the city to nurse her husband, who is badly wounded and was brought thither for better accommodations, as he is an officer in high rank and is much needed in the field.”
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