Part 49 (2/2)
In the radiant dawn of that day which would decide the earthly destinies of three beings, Salome saw Dr. Grey coming across the lawn.
His step was quiet,--neither slow nor hasty, and she could not conjecture the result; but as he approached, she rose, wrapped her shawl about her, and advanced to meet him. He paused, took off his hat, and she knew all before a syllable pa.s.sed his lips.
”Salome, G.o.d has heard my prayers,--has mercifully taken my darling from the arms of death, and given her to me. I do not think I am too sanguine in saying that she will ultimately recover, and my heart can not find language that will interpret its grat.i.tude and joy.”
Never before had such a light shone in his clear, calm blue eyes, and illumined his usually grave countenance; and though continued vigils and keen anxiety had left their signet on his pale face, his great happiness was printed legibly on every feature, and found expression even in the deepened and softened tones of his voice.
The girl did not move or speak, but looked steadily into his bright eyes, and the calmness with which she listened, comforted and encouraged him to hope that ere long she would conquer her preference.
How could he know that at that instant she was impiously vowing that heaven had heard her last prayer?--that never again should a pet.i.tion cross her lips? G.o.d had granted one prayer,--had decided against hers,--had denied her utterly; and henceforth she would not weary Him,--she would not mock herself and her misery.
Dr. Grey saw that there was no quiver on the still, pale lips, no contraction of the polished forehead; but the rigidity of her face broke up suddenly in a smile of indescribable mournfulness,--a smile where self-contempt and pity and hopeless bitterness all lent their saddest phases.
”Dr. Grey, in your present happy mood, you certainly can not be so ungracious as to deny me a favor?”
”Have I ever refused my little sister anything she asked?”
”The only favor you can ever grant me will be to persuade Miss Jane to consent to my departure. Look to it, sir, that I am allowed to go, and that right speedily; for go I certainly shall, at all hazards.
Convince your sister that it is best, and let me go away forever, without incurring the displeasure of the only friend I ever had or ever shall have.”
She moved away as if to leave the grounds, but he caught her arm.
”Wait five minutes, Salome, and I will take you home in my buggy. It is not right for you to walk alone at this early hour, and I will not allow it.”
She shook off his hand as if it had been an infant's; and, as she walked away, he heard her laugh with a degree of savage bitterness that stabbed his generous heart like a dagger; while behind her trailed the hissing echo,--
... ”Oh, alone, alone,-- Not troubling any in heaven, nor any on earth.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
In the pure, clear light of early morning, ”Gra.s.smere,” with its wide, smooth lawn, and old-fas.h.i.+oned brick house, weather-stained and moss-mantled, looked singularly peaceful and attractive. Against the sombre ma.s.s of tree-foliage, white and purple altheas raised their circular censers, as if to greet the sun that was throwing level beams from the eastern hill-top, and delicate pink, and deep azure, and pearl-pale convolvulus held up their velvet trumpets all beaded with dew, to be drained by the first kiss of the great Day-G.o.d. Up and down the comb of the steep roof, beautiful pigeons with necklaces that rivalled the trappings of Solomon, strutted and cooed; on the eaves, busy brown wrens peeped into the gutters,--
”And of the news delivered their small souls,”--
gossiping industriously; while from a distant nook some vagrant partridge whistled for its mate, and shy doves swinging in the highest elm limbs, moaned plaintively of the last hunting-season, that had proved a St. Barthlomew's day to the innocent feathered folk.
On the lawn a flock of turkeys were foraging among the clover-blossoms, and over the dewy gra.s.s a large brood of young guineas raced after their mother, or played hide-and-seek, like nut-brown elves, under the white and purple tufts of flowers. Save the bird-world--always abroad early--no living thing seemed astir, and the silence that reigned was broken only by the distance-softened bleating of Stanley's pet lamb.
As Salome walked slowly and wearily up the avenue, she saw that the housemaid had opened the front door, and when the orphan ascended the steps, all within was still as a tomb, except the canary that sprang into its ring and began to warble a _reveille_ as she approached the cage. Miss Jane was usually an early riser, and often aroused her servants, but to-day the household seemed to have overslept themselves, and when Salome had rearranged her dress, and waked her little brother, she rang the bell for Rachel, who soon obeyed the summons.
”Is Miss Jane up?”
”No, ma'am, I suppose not, as she has not rung for me. You know I always wait for her bell.”
”Perhaps she is not very well this morning. I will go and see whether she intends to get up.”
<script>