Part 36 (1/2)
”I did, Auntie, but was answered by her husband, who said that his wife had very unexpectedly taken it into her head to go north while he was away, and could not say when she would return, etc. Now where that 'north' is, cannot be ascertained, as he was to immediately return to his post, in the army, I suppose.”
”Have you told Pearl?”
”No, I cannot. If Mother had remained here, it may be that she could have cleared away the cloud, but how can I breathe this most humiliating suspicion into his ear? He knows of her transaction in regard to our separation, and was magnanimous enough to bury it; but it would be agony to tell him more. He does not know of that heart-breaking curse, that would be almost unendurable, were it not for the great joy that has come to me. But, Auntie; what do you think? Was Lily g.a.y.l.o.r.d my child? My Lily-Pearl?” Her large eyes were fixed with a burning gaze on the troubled face before her.
”Your child, Lillian? I do not wonder at your earnestness! yet I cannot tell you; but confide in Pearl, he will know better how to counsel.”
”I cannot! This work I must do myself! But one thing is certain; my heart shall be satisfied! If alive she is mine; if dead I must know it!
This poisonous canker-worm has been for years gnawing at my very soul!
My convictions have been, and still are, that there was a grievous wrong done me when I was told that she had been transplanted to a purer clime!
It was not death that stole her from me!”
Where was the subject of all this anxiety and solicitude on this calm, hazy October day? In Boston; as happy and peaceful as a young girl of sixteen ever desired to be.
Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d had received letters from her husband saying that he was glad she had taken it into her silly head to go north, and it was his opinion she might better remain until the immediate danger that was threatening Western Virginia had pa.s.sed. His brother's widow, with her children, could take care of ”Birch Wood.” Acting upon these suggestions she had returned to Boston and hired a suite of rooms, and, taking Willie with them, was ensconced amid all desired comforts and luxuries.
Tiny was entrusted with extraordinary responsibilities and her yellow face grew brighter when enstalled as mistress of the kitchen, while Lily superintended the whole establishment. Willie was exuberant and Mrs.
g.a.y.l.o.r.d peaceful. Rover had at all times his full share of attention, and his bed by the kitchen stove was soft and warm.
Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft often called, with their sunny faces, during the long winter months, but Mrs. g.a.y.l.o.r.d seldom left her warm rooms.
”Here we will stay until the war is over,” said that lady one evening as they gathered around the table preparatory to an hour of reading and listening. The wind roared threateningly up from the ”Bay” and the snow beat outside against the windows, but within that comfortable home reigned peace and love. Lily was again by the great sea, and, when she sat at her chamber window and looked over the dark waters and watched the rolling waves as they dashed upon the piers in the harbor, the old days came back to her; the dreams of her childhood; the longings of her restless heart while she thought of the beautiful lady who had picked her up from the billows; of the pearls deep down in the waters, where she had grown, and called her ”Lily Pearl.” Should she ever know how she had come by that name? She was ”Lily g.a.y.l.o.r.d” now; the Phebe of other days had been put aside among the disagreeables of the past; except with Willie, who declared that she must ever be his own precious Phebe, or the brightness would be all taken out of the sunny memories; and she had answered ”call me what you will, my brother, only let me live in your heart and thoughts”: and so the days went on.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER x.x.xIV.
A STORM ABOUT THE WIDOW'S COTTAGE.
It was a damp and chilly morning when George St. Clair left the home of the Cheevers. A shadow of pain had settled down upon the handsome face of the heroic officer, and as Pearl Hamilton saw it he exclaimed with all the fervor of the brotherly love which had grown up between them: ”You shall not go alone, even to New York, for you look as disconsolate as a rejected lover; and what if your father should miss you in that terrific hub-bub? I can get back to-night, so please excuse me to my mother at dinner, Lillian”; and s.n.a.t.c.hing his hat and coat from the rack he took the arm of his companion and went with him down the marble steps.
”Please, George,” called out Lillian from the door; ”do not let Pearl get lost by the way. My heart tells me to throw the old shoe of good luck after you, with the wish that your visit at the North may be as productive of joy as was mine nearly eighteen years ago, without any of its shadows!” It was a bright face that now beamed from the carriage, and as St. Clair waved his hand to the ladies it rolled rapidly away.
”I am glad after all that he was not obliged to go alone,” remarked Mrs.
Cheevers as they turned to enter the house. ”I am fearful his poor back will never be strong again! In my opinion his days of fighting are over.”
”I wish those days were ended for all,” said Lillian, thoughtfully. ”The papers bring us sad records of late. So many precious lives lost; so many loving hearts desolated! I liked Dr. Wadsworth's sermon yesterday morning from the text 'show thyself a man,' but I could but think that David meant in his living rather than in his dying! It may be n.o.ble in one to lay down his life for the preservation of his country's honor, but love is as surely bereft after all!”
They were seated now by the warm grate where the red coals were piled up in a cheerful glow, and while the aunt took some work from the basket on the table her companion gazed pensively into them. At last turning quickly around, while a smile lighted up her face she remarked: ”I am dizzy! I am reminded so often of our little trick of 'whirling' in childhood, until, unable to stand we would drop down on the green gra.s.s and wait for the sensation of giddiness to pa.s.s off. But what is to be done, Auntie, when the whirling never ceases?”
”Fall down upon the gra.s.s my child and wait, but be sure that in the falling you gain the power to wait!”
”True, Aunt; and yet how like Peter we are p.r.o.ne to look about us while walking over the waves, until our faith gives way and we begin to sink!”
”And what did Peter do? Sit down on the first billow he met and declare 'he was dizzy' and perplexed?”