Part 33 (1/2)
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 a.s.sociations. ”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 f.a.n.n.y 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. g.a.y.l.o.r.d'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. g.a.y.l.o.r.d claims her on the old contract, I believe,” replied Willie.
”Sensible to the last,” he supplemented. And f.a.n.n.y went on with her work.
All this time clouds were s.h.i.+fting 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 Was.h.i.+ngton, 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.
”It is terribly dreary here,” Ellen wrote one day while the September rains were falling; ”and I have pet.i.tioned for a removal to other quarters, and next week George is to be taken to Was.h.i.+ngton, where I shall be permitted to follow. He has fully recanted his Southern faith, and very marked honors are being showered on him. It is somewhat grateful to my feelings to be the sister of so noted a personage at this time. Can you realize it? I have stood in the presence of the chief magistrate himself. Yes, it is true. In one of his visits at the hospitals yesterday he was officially escorted to our rooms by a little negro about two feet high, and I--well, I did almost fall in love with him. No one must ever call him ugly in my presence. I think him decidedly good-looking. When he said at parting, 'Miss St. Clair, take extra good care of your brother--and yourself,' the work was done; I am his friend for ever more!”
George St. Clair bore his short transfer remarkably well, and upon arriving in the city was placed in the ward of convalescents, where his spirits soon revived, notwithstanding the hard shots that were so often thrown with unerring aim at his well-established prejudices. Here were a few highly educated and popular men, some of high rank in the army, and our soldier found himself in very congenial society.
Then there came another letter to the widow's cottage, saying: ”I am most ign.o.bly discharged. 'Do not need a nurse any more,' etc., etc. So you will greet your disconsolate daughter immediately after a little sight-seeing.”
It was true. All that was now required was patience while the old strength slowly returned, and Toby was fully capable of attending to his master's necessities. The second morning after the new arrival dawned cold and rainy. The poor torn back fretted in such an atmosphere and was very painful. Not feeling able to join the others in the morning meal, George St. Clair returned to his bed, and was lying moodily watching his companions, when a lady entered, and walked directly up to a n.o.ble-looking officer with whom he had been much pleased the day before, but whose name he had not learned, as all addressed him as ”Colonel.”
There was something strangely familiar about that walk and movement of the head and shoulders, and, as he had nothing better to do, gazed at her, wis.h.i.+ng all the time that she would turn a little, that he might have a view of her face, but she was busily engaged, and seemed in no hurry to gratify our hero. All apparently had met her before, for each received a word of greeting, as he judged, although too far away to hear more than the murmuring of voices. Then the Colonel monopolized her attention, and after a moments talk both turned abruptly in the direction where he was reclining.
”Then he has been telling her of me!”
They moved forward. ”Coming to see the 'Rebel,' no doubt. Who can she be?” That walk! That form! They neared him. A veil had partially covered her face, but now it was thrown back as she sprang forward with a cry of surprise and joy. ”George St. Clair! My brother!”
With an impulse unusual to the young lady of Rosedale, she clasped her arms about his neck and kissed his forehead with a sisterly demonstration.
”I did not know,--I had not heard that you were here! How glad I am to meet you.”
”Lillian! I never was so astonished! You in such a place as this! The delicate, frail, 'Lily-Bell?' Let me take your hand; It cannot be!”
She had stepped back from him as he spoke, and now a low rippling laugh floated away from her parted lips.
”Well, well! am I of no account?” exclaimed her companion, joining in the laugh. ”This may be very interesting to the parties immediately concerned, but to look mutely on is another thing.”
Lillian shook her finger at him menacingly.
”Yes, George, you remember I told you of my husband. I have found him; Colonel Hamilton! Two brave soldiers who have bled for their country's weal. You will be brothers? Let me perform the ceremony of uniting hands,--the hearts will be sure to come together.”
”Surprises thicken! Why did you not tell me during our long chat last evening, that you were the thief who robbed me of my coveted 'Lily Bell?' All this, and yet the world moves on! The war is developing and unraveling! What will come next?”
”Not to be known as there are no headings to the chapters!” Then there was a long talk, and many little items of news imparted that brought the deepening color to more than one cheek.
”It would, without doubt, be a little unpleasant for me to return to my Southern home just at present,” said St. Clair, when the conversation lagged. ”And I am told from headquarters that I shall not be able for active service for months yet; so I propose to go farther north where my parents are, and, perhaps, burrow for the winter. It will be pretty cold for Confederate blood, but it is about the best I can do.”