Part 78 (1/2)
”'All probationers must be unbetrothed, and their heart still free.'... 'A short life history of the previous inward and outward experiences of the future Deaconess pupil. It must be composed and written by herself.' Olga, what would you do with your past?”
”I have buried it, dear. All the love of which I was capable I poured out, nay, I crushed the heart that held it; as the Syrian woman broke the precious box of costly ointment, anointing the feet of her G.o.d!
When my clay idol fell I could not gather back the wasted trust and affection, and so, all--all is sepulchred in one deep grave. I have spent my wealth of spicery; the days of my anointing are for ever ended. To true deep-hearted women it is given to love once only, and all such scorn to set a second, lesser, lower idol, where formerly they bowed in wors.h.i.+p. Even false G.o.ds hold sway long after their images are defiled, their temples overthrown, and as the Dodonian Groves still whisper of the old oracular days, to modern travellers, so a woman's idolatry leaves her no shrine, no libation, no reverence for new divinities; mutilated though she acknowledges her Hermae, no fresh image can profane their pedestal. Memory is the high priestess who survives the wreck of altars and of G.o.ds, and faithfully ministers amid the gloom of the soul's catacombs. I owe much to mamma, and something to Erle Palma, who is a n.o.bler man than I have deemed him, less a bronze Macchiavelli, with a heart of quartz; and I shall never again as heretofore rashly defy their advice and wishes. But I know myself too well to hope for happiness in the gay frivolous insincere world, where I have fluttered out my b.u.t.terfly existence of fas.h.i.+onable emptiness.
'I kissed the painted bloom off Pleasure's lips And found them pale as Pain's.'
I have bruised and singed my Psyche wings, and _le beau monde_ has no new, strong pinions to replace those beat out in its hard tyrannous service. You think me cynical and misanthropic, but, dear, I believe I am only clear-eyed at last. If I had married him for whom I dared so much, and found too late that all the golden qualities I fondly dreamed that he possessed were only baser metal, gaudy tinsel that tarnished in my grasp, I am afraid it would have maddened me beyond hope of reclamation. I have made s.h.i.+pwreck; but a yet sadder fate might have overtaken me, and at least my soul has outridden the storm, thanks to your frail babyish hands, so desperately strong when they grappled that awful night with suicidal sin. Few women have suffered more keenly than I, and yet, in Murial's sweet patient words,--
'G.o.d has been good to me; you must not think That I despair. _There is a quiet time Like evening in my soul. I have no heart_.'”
There was more peace in Olga's countenance as she clasped one of Regina's hands in hers than her companion had yet seen, and after a moment, she continued:
”You know, dear, that we are only waiting for Congress to adjourn, in order to have Mr. Chesley's escort across the ocean, and he will arrive to-morrow. Erle Palma is exceedingly anxious that you should accompany us, and I trust your mother will sanction this arrangement, for I should grieve to leave you here. Perhaps you are not aware that your guardian has recently sold this house, and intends purchasing one on Murray Hill.”
”Mr. Palma cannot possibly desire my departure half so earnestly as I do, and if I am not summoned to join my mother, I shall insist upon returning to the convent whence he took me seven years ago. There I can continue my studies, and there I prefer to remain until I can be restored to my mother. Olga, how soon will Mr. Palma be married?”
”I do not know. He communicates his plans to no one; but I may safely say, if he consulted merely his own wishes, it would not be long delayed. Until quite recently, I did not believe it possible that that man's cold, proud, ambitious, stony heart would bow before any woman, but human nature is a riddle which baffles us all--sometimes.
I must dress for the wedding, and mamma will scold me if I am late.
Kiss me, dear child. Ah, velvet violet eyes! if I find a resting-place in heaven, I shall always want even there to hover near you.”
She kissed the girl's colourless cheek, and left her; and when the carriage bore Olga and her mother to Mrs. St. Clare's, Regina retreated to her own room, dreading lest her guardian should return and find her in the library.
At breakfast he had mentioned that he would dine at his club, in honour of some eminent judge from a distant State, to whom the members of the ”Century” had tendered a dinner, but she endeavoured to avoid even the possibility of meeting him alone. Had she been less merciless in her self-denunciation, his avowed impatience to send her to her mother might have piqued her pride; but it only increased her scorn of her own fatal folly, and intensified her desire to leave his presence. Was it to gratify Mrs. Carew's extravagant taste that he had sold this elegant house, and designed the purchase of one yet more costly?
In the midst of her heart-ache she derived some satisfaction from the reflection, that at least Mr. Palma's wife would never profane the beautiful library, where his ward had spent so many happy days, and which was indissolubly linked with sacred memories of its master.
Unwilling to indulge a reverie so fraught with pain and humiliation, she returned to her ”Egmont,” resuming her translation of a speech by ”Clarchen.” Ere long Hattie knocked at the door:
”Mr. Palma says, please to come down to the library; he wishes to speak to you.”
”Ask him if he will not be so kind as to wait till morning? Say I shall feel very much obliged if he will excuse me tonight.”
In a few minutes she returned:
”He is sorry he must trouble you to come down this evening, as he leaves home to-morrow.”
”Very well.”
She went to the drawer that contained all her souvenirs of Mr.
Lindsay, and lingered some minutes, looking sorrowfully at the photograph; then pa.s.sed her lips to the melancholy image, and as if strengthened by communion with the dead face, went down to the library.
Mr. Palma was walking slowly up and down the long room, and had paused in front of the snowy azalea. As she approached he put out his hand and took hers, for the first time since they had sat together in the Park.
”How deliciously this perfumes the room, and it must be yours, for no other member of the household cares for flowers, and I see a cl.u.s.ter of the same blossoms in your hair.”
”I had forgotten that Olga fastened them there this afternoon. I bought it from the greenhouse in ---- Street, where I often get bouquets to place under mother's picture. Azaleas were Mr. Lindsay's favourite flowers, and that fact tempted me to make the purchase. We had just such a one as this at the parsonage, and on his birthday we covered the pot with white cambric, fringed the edge with violets, and set it in the centre of the breakfast-table; and the bees came in and swung over it.”
She had withdrawn her hand, and folding her fingers, leaned her face on them, a position which she often a.s.sumed when troubled. Her left hand was uppermost, and the opal and diamonds seemed pressed against her lips, though she was unconscious of their close proximity. Mr.