Part 34 (1/2)
”You are quite imaginative, my dear,” remarked Mrs. St. Clair warmly.
”It was the shock, her mother being with Lily at the time that gave her the look you speak of. I do not wonder, for there was room at least for censure!”
”That's a fact, wife! I should like to know where the mistress of Rosedale is keeping herself? Bertha writes that she disappeared soon after leaving the city, and Charles has never heard from her since.
Didn't meet her in Was.h.i.+ngton I suppose?”
”No, Father,” and a hearty laugh followed. When quiet was restored Ellen asked: ”Where is Charles, Father?”
”Skulking around without doubt for fear of being drafted, and the negroes have it all their own way at Rosedale now, I believe.”
That night as the mother and daughter were left alone, the former interrupted a prolonged silence by the abrupt question: ”Anna, my child, what about this George St. Clair? Has a secret crept into your confiding heart that you would keep hidden from the careful, watchful eye of your parent? Tell me, what about this rebel colonel?”
A long silence followed. At last, ”I was waiting, Mother,” she said, ”for my heart to be sure of its first great lesson before imparting it to you. But first let me tell you he is true, loyal, to the old flag under which my brother fought and died. It was the circ.u.mstances of his life that has placed him where he was, and not the convictions of his better judgment.”
The mother watched the beaming face. ”And you can excuse him?”
”Yes, Mother, my heart pleads for him! I cannot deny it; I do love George St. Clair! My brother has been slain upon the altar of sacrifice, but his hand has not the stain of his blood upon it!” There were tears in the mild blue eyes and the mother saw them.
”Does he know all this?”
”All, Mother! This was the storm that rolled about me when in Alexandria. The waves dashed high, but it cannot be wrong; I do love George St. Clair!”
”Do you realize the great difference in your social positions? You the daughter of a poor widow--he the heir of large possessions and a devotee to aristocracy. O my daughter, I fear for your future happiness!” The dear face showed the inward struggle of the mother's heart, and the hand upon which her head was languidly resting trembled.
”Wait until you see him,” pleaded the daughter; ”he is good and n.o.ble!”
”My basket is getting full of bitter fruit in the commencement of this terrible war; what will it be when the harvest is wholly gathered?”
”Mother, have you forgotten that 'all things shall work together for good to those who trust G.o.d?' Can you not trust now as surely as when you laid your two sons where the fire might consume them?” She was standing by the side of that mother now, and an arm had stolen softly about her neck.
”I will trust Him!” came from the compressed lips, and drawing her daughter upon her knee as in the years gone by she looked into her flushed face. ”Whatever G.o.d wills my selfish heart will not p.r.o.nounce unkind!”
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER x.x.xII.
THE DARKNESS THICKENS.
”Pa.s.s those letters over to me, Mr. Cheevers,” suggested the wife, as the gentlemen addressed drew several from his pocket while waiting for his supper. ”One from New Orleans--that is good--one from Was.h.i.+ngton!
Lillian! It has been some time since we have had such a pleasure,”
continued the lady more calmly, for she had not intended to let Mrs.
Belmont know of her correspondence with her daughter, but her glad surprise on this occasion had betrayed the secret. The husband was peering over the top of his paper at the mother as the exclamation fell on her ear, and saw the sudden start and pallor of her face as she endeavored to appear uninterested. Mrs. Cheevers had opened the welcome missive and was reading. ”How strange,” she murmured as she turned the page. Mrs. Belmont stirred uneasily in her chair. ”_Well, I declare!_”
”A good many exclamation points”; this from the husband, carelessly.
”Lillian seems very happy with her husband and in her new vocation as nurse. How little we ever imagined, Charlotte, that your daughter would make such a n.o.ble woman! It takes a good many hard winds to bring out the strength of the 'sapling,' but it will do it!” The letter was finished and Mrs. Cheevers sat motionless with it lying upon her lap.
”No bad news, I hope?” interrogated Mrs. Belmont with some trepidation.
”No. I was trying, however, to guess it out! You did not tell us, Charlotte, that you had been in Was.h.i.+ngton; why did you not call upon your daughter? She writes that she saw you and has been looking everywhere and cannot find you, and has come to the conclusion that you are not in the city, and then adds 'she can hardly think of going back to Rosedale at present, as traveling in that direction would be very unpleasant with the whole army of the Potomac to encounter; and I have thought perhaps she would visit you. If she does, detain her if possible until my return to Philadelphia. Pearl is recovering, and before cold weather will probably go back to his duties. The realization of that coming good-bye envelopes me with its terrible presentiments. How can I ever permit him to go from my sight again! You will say I am foolish and Uncle would scold me if he could, for I propose going with him; not as a soldier but as a.s.sistant in the hospitals, which will spring up in the trail of our advancing army. But we will talk this over, when on his furlough we visit for a few days his mother and my dear uncle and aunt.'