CHAPTER XXV.
“Doctor Grey, sister says she wants to see you, before you go to town.”
Jessie Owen came softly up to the table where Dr. Grey sat writing, and stood with her hand on his knee.
“Very well. Tell sister I will come to her as soon as I finish this letter. Where is she?”
“In the library.”
“In ten minutes I shall be at leisure.”
He found Salome with a piece of sewing in her hand, and her young sister leaning on her lap, chattering merrily about a nest full of eggs which she and Stanley had found that morning in a corner of the orchard; while the latter swung on the back of her chair, winding over his finger a short curl that lay on her neck. It was a pleasant, peaceful, homelike picture, worthy of Eastman Johnson’s brush, and for thirty 325 years such a group had not been seen in that quiet old library.
Dr. Grey paused at the threshold, to admire the graceful pose of Jessie’s fairy figure,—the lazy nonchalance of Stanley’s posture,—and the finely shaped head that rose above both, like some stately lily, surrounded by clustering croci; but Salome was listening for his footsteps, and turned her head at his entrance.
“Stanley, take Jessie up to my room, and show her your Chinese puzzle. When I want either or both of you, I will call you. Close the door after you, and mind that you do not get to romping, and shake the house down.”
“How very pretty Jessie has grown during the last year. Her complexion has lost its muddy tinge, and is almost waxen,” said the doctor, when the children had left the room and scampered up stairs.
“She is a very sweet-tempered and affectionate little thing, but I never considered her pretty. She is too much like her father.”
“Salome, death veils all blemishes.”
“That depends very much on the character of the survivors; but we will not discuss abstract propositions,—especially since I have resolved to follow the old oriental maxim,—
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‘Leave ancestry behind, despise heraldic art, Thy father be thy mind, thy mother be thy heart. Dead names concern not thee, bid foreign titles wait; Thy deeds thy pedigree, thy hopes thy rich estate!’ |
Dr. Grey, the week has ended, and I took the liberty of reminding you of the fact, as I am anxious to acquaint you with my purposes for the future.”
He drew a chair near hers, and seated himself.
“Well, Salome, I hope that reflection has changed your views, and taught you the wisdom of my sister’s course with reference to yourself.”
“On the contrary, the season of deliberation you forced upon me has only strengthened and intensified my desire to carry into execution the project I have so long dreamed of; and to-day I am more than ever firmly resolved to follow, at 326 all hazards, the dictates of my own judgment, no matter with whose opinions or wishes they may conflict.”
She expected that he would expostulate, and plead against her decision, but he merely bowed, and remained silent.
“My object in asking this interview was to ascertain how soon it would be convenient for you to place in my hands the legacy of one thousand dollars which was bequeathed to me on condition that I went upon the stage; and also to inquire what you intend to do with the children, of whom Miss Jane’s will constitutes you the guardian?”
“You wish me to understand that you are determined to defy the wishes of your best friend, and take a step which distressed her beyond expression?”
“I shall certainly go upon the stage.”
“I have no alternative but to accept your decision, which you are well aware I regard as exceedingly deplorable. The money can be paid to you to-morrow, if you desire it. Hoping that you would abandon this freak, I had intended to keep the children here, under your supervision, while I removed to my house in town, and left their tuition to Miss Dexter; but since you have decided otherwise, I shall remain here for the present, keeping them with me, at least until after Muriel’s marriage. The income from this farm averages two thousand dollars a year, and will not only amply provide for their wants and education, but will enable me to lay aside annually a portion of that amount. When Muriel marries, Miss Dexter may not be willing to remain here, and if she leaves us I shall endeavor to find as worthy and reliable a substitute. Have you any objection to this arrangement?”
“I have no right to utter any, since you are the legal guardian of the children. But contingencies might arise for which it seems you have not provided.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I can trust Jessie and Stanley to you, but when you are married I prefer that they should find another home; or, if need be, Jessie can come to me.”
An angry flush dyed Dr. Grey’s olive face, and kindled a fiery gleam in his usually mild, clear, blue eyes, but looking at 327 the girl’s compressed and trembling lips, and noting the underlying misery which her defiant expression could not cover, his displeasure gave place to profound compassion.
“Salome, dismiss that cause of anxiety from your mind, and trust the assurance I offer you now,—that when I marry, my wife will be worthy to assist me in guiding and governing my wards.”
She was prepared to hear him retort that the career she had chosen would render her an unsuitable counsellor for little Jessie; and conscious that she had deeply wounded him, his calm reply was the sharpest rebuke he could possibly have administered.
“Dr. Grey, I have no extraordinary amount of tenderness for the children, because they are indissolubly associated with that period of my life to which I never recur without pain and humiliation that you can not possibly realize or comprehend; still, I am not exactly a brute, and I do not wish them to be trained to regard me as a Pariah, or to be told that I have forfeited their respect and affection. When I am gone, let them think kindly of me.”
“Your request is a reflection upon my friendship, and is so exceedingly unjust that I am surprised and pained; but let that pass. I am sure I need not tell you that your wishes shall be complied with. I have often thought that after Stanley completed his studies, I would take him into my office, and teach him my own profession. Have you any objection to this scheme?”
“No, sir. I am willing to trust him implicitly to you. He has one terrible fault which I have been trying to correct, and which I hope you will not lose sight of. The boy seems constitutionally addicted to telling stories, and prefers falsehood to truth. I have punished him repeatedly for this habit, and you must, if possible, save him from the pauper vice of lying, which is peculiarly detestable to me. I know less of the little one’s character, but believe that she is not afflicted with this evil tendency.”
“Stanley’s fault has not escaped me, and two days ago I was obliged to punish him for a gross violation of the truth; 328 but as he grows older, I trust he will correct this defect, and I shall faithfully endeavor to show him its enormity. Is there anything else you wish to say to me about the children? I will very gladly hear any suggestions you can offer.”
“No, sir. I have governed myself so badly, that it ill becomes me to dictate to you how they should be trained. God knows, I am heartily glad they were mercifully thrown into your hands; and if you can only make Stanley Owen such a man as you are, the old blot on the name may be effaced. From Mark and Joel I have not heard for several months, and presume they will be sturdy but unlettered mechanics. If I succeed, I shall interfere and send them to school; otherwise, they must take the chances for letters and a livelihood.”
“Salome, you are bartering life-long peace and happiness for the momentary gratification of a whim, prompted solely by vanity. How worthless are the brief hollow plaudits of the world (which will regard you merely as the toy of an hour), in comparison with the affection and society of your own family? Here, in your home, how useful, how contented you might be!”
Her only reply was a hasty, imperious wave of the hand, and a long silence followed.
In the bright morning light that streamed in through the tendrils of honeysuckle clambering around the window, Dr. Grey looked searchingly at the orphan, and could scarcely realize that this pale, proud, pain-stricken face, was the same rosy round one, fair and fearless, that had first met his gaze under the pearly apple-blossoms.
Then, pink flesh, hazel eyes, vermillioned lips, and glossy hair had preferred incontestable claims to beauty; now, an artist would have curiously traced the fine lines and curves daintily drawn about eyes, brow and mouth, by the stylus of care, of hopelessness, of wild bursts of passion. Her figure retained its rounded symmetry, but the countenance traitorously revealed the struggles, the bitter disappointments, the vindictive jealousy, and rudely-smitten and blasted hopes, that had robbed her days of peace and her nights of sleep.
Until this moment, Dr. Grey had not fully appreciated the 329 change that had been wrought by two tedious years, and as he scrutinized the sadly sharpened and shadowed features, a painful feeling of humiliation and almost of self-reproach sprang from the consciousness that his inability to reciprocate her devoted love had brought down this premature blight upon a young and whilom happy, careless girl,—transforming her into a reckless, hardened, hopeless woman.
While his inexorable conscience fully exonerated him from censure, his generous heart ached in sympathy for hers, and his chivalric tenderness for all things weaker than himself, bled at the reflection that he had been unintentionally instrumental in darkening a woman’s life.
But hope,—beautiful, blue-eyed, sunny-browed hope,—whispered that this was a fleeting youthful fancy; and that absence and time would dispel the temporary gloom that now lay on her heart, like some dense cold vapor which would grow silvery, and melt in morning sunshine.
Under his steady gaze the blood rose slowly to its old signal-station on her cheeks, and she put up one hand to shield its scarlet banners.
“Salome, will you tell me when and where you intend to go? Since you have resolved to leave us, I desire to know in what way I can aid you, or contribute to the comfort of the journey you contemplate.”
“From the last letter of Professor V——, declining your proposal that he should come here and instruct me, I learn that within the ensuing ten days he will sail for Havre, en route to Italy, where he intends spending the winter. If possible, I wish to reach New York before his departure, and to accompany him. The thousand dollars will defray my expenses until I have completed my musical training, which will fit me for the stage, and insure an early engagement in some operatic company. Knowing your high estimate of Professor V——, both as a gentleman and as a musician, I am exceedingly anxious to place myself under his protection; especially since his wife and children will meet him at Paris, and go on to Naples. Are you willing to give me a letter of introduction, commending me to his favorable consideration?”
The hesitating timidity with which this request was uttered, touched him more painfully than aught that had ever passed between them.
“My dear child, did you suppose that I would permit you to travel alone to New York, and thrust yourself upon the notice of strangers? I will accompany you whenever you go, and not only present you to the professor, but request him to receive you into his family as a member of his home-circle.”
A quiver shook out the hard lines around her lips, and she turned her eyes full on his.
“You are very kind, sir, but that is not necessary; and a letter of introduction will have the same effect, and save you from a disagreeable trip. Your time is too valuable to be wasted on such journeys, and I have no right to expect that solely on my account you should tear yourself away—from—those dear to you.”
“I think my time could not be more profitably employed than in promoting the happiness and welfare of my adopted sister, who was so inexpressibly dear to my noble Janet. It is neither pleasant nor proper for a young lady to travel without an escort.”
He had risen, and laid his hand lightly on the back of her chair.
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“She smiled; but he could see arise Her soul from far adown her eyes, Prepared as if for sacrifice.” |
“Is it a mercy, think you, Dr. Grey, to foster a fastidiousness that can only barb the shafts of penury? What right have toiling paupers to harbor in their thoughts those dainty scruples that belong appropriately to princesses and palaces? Why tell me that this, that, or the other step is not ‘proper,’ when you know that necessity goads me? Sir, I feel now like that isolated Florentine, and echo her words,—
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... ‘And since help
Must come to me from those who love me not, Farewell, all helpers. I must help myself, And am alone from henceforth.’” |
“You prefer that I should not accompany you to New York?”
“Yes, sir; but I gratefully accept a letter to Professor V——.”
“Very well; it shall be in readiness when you wish it. Have you fixed any time for your departure?”
“This is Friday,—and I shall go on the six o’clock train, Monday morning.”
“Is there any service that I can render you in the interim?”
“No, thank you.”
“As you have no likeness of the children, would it be agreeable to you to have their photographs taken to-day,—and, at the same time, a picture of yourself to be left with them? If you desire it I will meet you in town, at the gallery, at any hour you may designate.”
Standing before him, she answered, almost scornfully,—
“I shall not have time. Some day—if I succeed—I will send them my photograph, taken in gorgeous robes as prima donna; provided you promise that said robes shall not constitute a San Benito, and doom the picture to the flames. I will detain you no longer, Dr. Grey, as the sole object of the interview has been accomplished.”
“Pardon me; but I have a word to say. Your career will probably be brilliantly successful, in which event you will feel no want of admirers and friends,—and will doubtless ignore me for those who flatter you more, and really love you less. But, Salome, failure may overtake you, bringing in its train countless evils that at present you can not realize,—poverty, disease, desolation, in the midst of strangers,—and all the woes that, like hungry wolves, attack homeless, isolated women. I earnestly hope that the leprous hand of disaster and defeat may never be laid upon your future, but the most cautious human schemes are fallible—often futile—and if you should be unsuccessful in your programme, and find yourself unable to consummate your plans, I ask you now, by the memory of our friendship, by the sacred memory of the dead, to promise me that you will immediately write and acquaint me with all your needs, your wishes, your real condition. 332 Promise me, dear Salome, that you will turn instantly to me, as you would to Stanley, were he in my place,—that you will let me prove myself your elder brother,—your truest, best friend.”
He put his hand on her head, but she recoiled haughtily from his touch.
“Dr. Grey, I promise you,
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‘I will not soil thy purple with my dust, Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass.’ |
I promise you that if misfortune, failure, and penury lay hold of me, you shall be the last human being who will learn it; for I will cloak myself under a name that will not betray me, and crawl into some lazaretto, and be buried in some potter’s field, among other mendicants,—unknown, ‘unwept, unhonored, and unsung.’”
If some motherless young chamois, rescued from destruction, and pampered and caressed, had suddenly turned, and savagely bitten and lacerated the hand that fondled and fed it, Dr. Grey would not have been more painfully startled; but experience had taught him the uselessness of expostulation during her moods of perversity, and he took his hat and turned away, saying, almost sternly,—
“Bear in mind that neither palace nor potter’s field can screen you from the scrutiny of your Maker, or mask and shelter your shivering soul in the solemn hour when He demands its last reckoning.”
“Which ‘reckoning,’ your eminently Christian charity assures you will prove more terrible for me than the Bloody Assizes. ‘By the memory of our friendship!’ Oh, shallow sham! Pinning my faith to the dictum, ‘The tide of friendship does not rise high on the bank of perfection,’ my fatuity led me to expect that your friendship was wide as the universe, and lasting as eternity. Wise Helvetius told me that, ‘To be loved, we should merit but little esteem; all superiority attracts awe and aversion;’ ergo, since my credentials of unworthiness were indisputable, I laid claim to a vast 333 share of your favor. But, alas! the logic of the seers is well-nigh as hollow as my hopes.”
He looked over his shoulder at her, with an expression of pity as profound as that which must have filled the eyes of the angel, who, standing in the blaze of the sword of wrath, watched Adam and Eve go mournfully forth into the blistering heats of unknown lands. Before he could reply, she laughed contemptuously, and continued,—
“Nil desperandum, Dr. Grey. Remember that, ‘Faith and persistency are life’s architects; while doubt and despair bury all under the ruins of any endeavor.’ When I have trilled a fortune into that abhorred vacuum, my pocket, I shall go down to the Tigris, and catch the mate to Tobias’ fish, and by the cremation thereof, fumigate my pestiferous soul, and smoke out the Asmodeus that has so long and comfortably dwelt there.”
“God grant you a Raphael, as guide on your journey,” was his calm, earnest reply, as he disappeared, closing the door after him.
When the sound of his buggy-wheels on the gravelled avenue told her he had gone, she threw herself on the floor, and crossing her arms on a chair, hid her face in them.
During Saturday, no opportunity presented itself for renewing the conversation, and early on Sunday morning Dr. Grey sent to her room a package marked $1,000.00—though really containing $1,500.00—and a letter addressed to Professor V——. Without examining either, she threw them into her trunk, which was already packed, and went down to breakfast.
She declined accompanying Miss Dexter and Muriel to church, alleging, as an excuse, that it was the last day she could spend with the children.
Dr. Grey approached her when the remainder of the family had left the table, where she sat abstractedly jingling her fork and spoon.
He noticed that her breakfast was untasted, and said, very gently,—
“I suppose that you wish to visit our dear Jane’s grave, 334 before you leave us, and, if agreeable to you, I shall be glad to have you accompany me there to-day.”
“Thank you; but if I go, it will be alone.”
He stooped to kiss Jessie, who leaned against her sister’s chair, and, when he left the room, Salome caught the child in her arms, and pressed her lips twice to the spot where his had rested.
Late in the afternoon she eluded the children’s watchful eyes, and stole away from the house, taking the road that led towards “Solitude.” In one portion of the osage hedge that surrounded the place, the lower branches had died, leaving a small opening, and here Salome gained access to the grounds. Walking cautiously under the thick and dark masses of shrubbery and trees, she reached the arched path near the clump of pyramidal deodars, whose long, drooping plumes were fluttering in the evening wind.
Thence she could command a view of the house and grounds in front, and thence she saw that concerning which she had come to satisfy herself,—believing that the evidence of her own eyes would fortify her for the approaching trial of separation. Dr. Grey’s horse and buggy stood near the side gate, and Dr. Grey was walking very slowly up and down the avenue leading to the beach, while Mrs. Gerome’s tall form leaned on his arm, and the greyhound followed sulkily.
Salome had barely time to look upon the spectacle that fired her heart and well-nigh maddened her, ere the dog lifted his head, gave one quick, savage bark, and darted in the direction of the cedars.
Dread of detection and of Dr. Grey’s pitying gaze was more potent than fear of the brute, and she ran swiftly towards the gap in the hedge, by which she had effected an entrance into the secluded grounds. Just as she reached it, the greyhound bounded up, and they met in front of the opening. He set his teeth in her clothes, tearing away a streamer of her black dress, and, as she silently struggled, he bit her arm badly, mangling the flesh, from which the blood spouted. Disengaging a shawl which she wore around her shoulders, she threw it over his head, and, as the meshes caught in his collar, 335 and temporarily entangled him, she sprang through the gap, and seized a heavy stick which lay within reach. He followed, snarling and pawing at the shawl that ultimately dropped at Salome’s feet; but finding himself beyond the boundary he was expected to guard, and probably satisfied with the punishment already inflicted, he retreated before a well-aimed blow that drove him back into the enclosure.
The instant he started towards the cedars Dr. Grey suspected mischief, and, placing Mrs. Gerome on a bench that surrounded an elm, he hurried in the same direction.
When he reached the spot, the dog was snuffing at a patch of bombazine that lay on the grass; and, confirmed in his sad suspicion, the doctor passed through the opening in the hedge and looked about for the figure which he dreaded, yet expected to see.
Bushy undergrowth covered the ground for some distance, and, hoping that nothing more serious than fright had resulted from the escapade, he stowed away the bombazine fragment in his coat pocket, and slowly retraced his steps.
Secreted by two friendly oaks that spread their low boughs over her, Salome had seen his anxious face peering around for the intruder, and when he abandoned the search and disappeared, she smothered a bitter laugh, and strove to stanch the blood that trickled from the gash by binding her handkerchief over it. Torn muscles and tendons ached and smarted; but the great agony that seemed devouring her heart rendered her almost oblivious of physical pain. In the dusk of coming night she crossed the gloomy forest, where a whippoorwill was drearily lamenting, and, walking over an unfrequented portion of the lawn, went up to her own room.
She bathed and bound up the wound as securely as the use of only one hand would permit, and put on a dress whose sleeves fastened closely at the wrist.
Ere long, Dr. Grey’s clear voice echoed through the hall, and the sound made her wince, like the touch of some glowing brand.
“Jessie, where is sister Salome? Tell her tea is ready.”
The orphan went down and took her seat, but did not even 336 glance at the master of the house, who looked anxiously at her as she entered.
During the meal Jessie asked for some sweetmeats that were placed in front of her sister, and, as the latter drew the glass dish nearer, and proceeded to help her, the child exclaimed,—
“Oh, look there! What is that dripping from your sleeve? Ugh! it is blood.”
“Nonsense, Jessie! don’t be silly. Hush! and eat your supper.”
Two drops of blood had fallen on the table-cloth, and the girl instantly set her cup and saucer over them.
She felt the slow stream trickling down to her wrist, and put her arm in her lap.
“Is anything the matter?” asked Dr. Grey, who had observed the quick movement.
“I hurt my arm a little, that is all.”
Her tone forbade a renewal of inquiry, and, as soon as possible, she withdrew to her room, to adjust the bandage.
The children were playing in the library, and Muriel was walking with her governess on the wide piazza.
While Salome was trying by the aid of fingers and teeth to draw a strip of linen tightly over her wound, a tap at the door startled her.
“I am engaged, and can see no one just now.”
“Salome, I want to speak to you, and shall wait here until I do.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Grey. I will come down in ten minutes.”
“Pardon me, but I insist upon seeing you here, and hope you will not compel me to force the door open.”
She wrapped a towel around her arm, drew down her sleeve, and opened the door.
“To what am I indebted for the honor of this interview?”
“To my interest in your welfare, which cannot be baffled. Salome, what is the matter? You looked so pale that I noticed you particularly, and saw the blood on the table-cloth. My dear child, I will not be trifled with. Tell me where you are hurt.”
“Pray give yourself no uneasiness. I merely scraped and bruised my arm. It is a matter of no consequence.”
“Of that I beg to be considered the best judge. Show me your arm.”
“I prefer not to trouble you.”
He gently but firmly took hold of it, unwound the towel, and she saw him start and shudder at sight of the mangled flesh.
“An ugly gash! Tell me how you hurt yourself so severely.”
“It is a matter that I do not choose to discuss; but since you have seen it, I wish you would be so good as to dress and bandage the wound.”
“Oh, my little sister! Will you never learn to trust your brother?”
“Oh, Dr. Grey! will you never learn to let me alone, when I am indulging the ‘Imp of the Perverse’ in an audience, and do not wish to be interrupted?”
She mimicked his pleading tone so admirably that his face flushed.
“Come to the sitting-room. No one can disturb us there, and I will attend to your injury, which is really serious.”
She followed him, and stood without flinching one iota, while he clipped away the jagged pieces of flesh, covered the long gash with adhesive plaster, and carefully bandaged the whole.
“Salome, you must dismiss all idea of starting to-morrow, for indeed it would not be safe for you to travel alone, with your arm in this condition. It may give you much trouble and suffering.”
“Which, of course, nolens volens, I must bear as best I may; but, so surely as I live to see daylight, I shall start, even if I knew I should have to stop en route and bury my pretty arm, and be forced to buy a cork one, wherewith to gesticulate gracefully when I die as ‘Azucena.’ There! thank you, Dr. Grey; of course you are very good,—you always are. Shall I bid you all good-by now, or wait till morning? Better 338 make my adieu to-night, so that I may not disturb the matutinal slumbers of the household.”
There was a dangerous, starry sparkle in her eyes, that he would not venture to defy, and, sighing heavily, he answered,—
“I shall accompany you to the depôt, and place you under the protection of the conductor.”
“I do not desire to give you that trouble, and—”
“Hush! Do not grieve me any more than you have already done, by your hasty, unkind, unfriendly speeches. I shall see you in the morning.”
He left the room abruptly, to conceal the distress which he did not desire her to discover; and having found Muriel and Miss Dexter, Salome bade them good-by, requested them not to disturb themselves next morning on her account, and called the children to her room.
For two hours they sat beside her on the lounge, crying over her impending departure, but when she had promised to take them as far as the depôt, their thoughts followed other currents, and very soon after, both slumbered soundly in their trundle-bed.
With her cheek resting on her hand, Salome sat looking at them, noting the glossiness of their curling hair, the flush on their round faces, the regular breathing of peaceful childhood’s sleep. Once she could have wept, and would have knelt and prayed over them; but now her own overmastering misery had withered all the tenderness in her heart, and, while her eyes of flesh rested on the orphans, her mental vision was filled with the figure of that gray-haired woman hanging on Dr. Grey’s arm. In a dull, cold, abstract way, she hoped that the little ones would be happy,—how could they be otherwise when fortune had committed them to Dr. Grey’s guardianship? But a numb, desperate feeling had seized her, and she cared for nothing, loved nothing, prayed for nothing.
How the hours of that night of wretchedness passed she never knew; but when the little bird in the parlor clock “cuckooed” three times, she was aroused from her reverie by 339 the tramp of horses’ hoofs on the gravel, and then the sharp clang of the bell echoed through the silent house.
It was not unusual for messengers to summon Dr. Grey during the night, and she was not surprised when, some moments later, she heard his voice in the hall. After the lapse of a quarter of an hour, his firm, well-known step approached and paused at her threshold.
“Salome, are you up?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come into the passage.”
She opened the door, and stood with the candle in her hand.
“I regret exceedingly that I am compelled to leave here immediately, as I must hasten to see a man and child who have been horribly burned and injured by the falling in of a roof. The parties live some distance in the country, and I fear I shall not be able to get back in time to go with you to the cars. I shall drive as rapidly as possible, and hope to accompany you, but if I should be detained, here is a note which I hastily scribbled to Mr. Miller, the conductor, whom you will find a very kind and courteous gentleman. I sincerely deplore this summons, but the sufferers are old friends of my sister, and I hope you will believe that nothing but a case of life and death would prevent me from seeing you aboard the train.”
“I am sorry, sir, that you thought it necessary to apologize.”
She was not yet prepared to part from him forever,—she had been nerving herself for the final interview at the depôt; but now it came with a shock that utterly stunned her, and she reeled against the door-facing, as if recoiling from some fearful blow.
The livid pallor of her lips, and the spasm of agony that contracted her features, frightened him, and, as he sprang closer to her, the candle fell from her fingers. He caught it, ere it reached the mat, and placed it on a chair.
“My dear child, your arm pains you, and I beg you to defer your journey at least until Tuesday. I shall be anxious and 340 miserable about you, if you go this morning, and, for my sake, Salome, if not for your own, remain here one day longer. I have not asked many things of you, and I trust you will not refuse this last request I may ever be allowed to make.”
She attempted to speak, but there came only a quiver across her mouth, and a sickly smile that flickered over the ghastly proud face, like the lying sunshine of Indian summer on marble cenotaphs.
“Salome, you will, to oblige me, wait until Tuesday?”
She shook her head, and mastered her weakness.
“No, Dr. Grey; I must go at once. I take all the hazard.”
“Then you will find on the mantelpiece in my room, a paper containing directions for the treatment of your arm, which demands care and attention. I am sorry you are so obstinate, and, if I possessed the authority, I would forbid your departure.”
He could not endure the despairing expression of her eyes, which seemed supernaturally large and brilliant, and his own quailed, for the first time within his recollection. She knew that she was going away forever, to avoid the sight of his happiness with Mrs. Gerome; that, in comparison with that torture, all other trials, even separation, would be endurable, but the least evil was more severe than she had dreaded. Now, as she looked up at his noble face, overshadowed with anxiety and regret, and paler than she had ever seen it, the one prayer of her heart was, that, ere a wife’s lips touched his, death might claim him for its prey.
“Salome, I am deeply pained by the course you persist in following, but I will not provoke and annoy you by renewed expression of a disapprobation that has proved so ineffectual in influencing your decision. God grant that the results may sanction your confidence in your own judgment,—your distrust of mine. I promised you once that I would pray for you, and I wish to assure you, that, while I live, I shall never lay my head upon my pillow without having first committed you to the mercy and loving care of that Guardian who never ‘slumbers, nor sleeps.’ May God bless and guide you, my dear young friend, and if not again in this world, grant that we 341 may meet in the Everlasting City of Peace. Little sister, be sure to meet me in the Kingdom of Rest, where dear Janet waits for us both.”
His calm eyes filled with tears, and his voice grew tremulous, as he took Salome’s cold, passive hand, and kissed it.
“Good-by, Dr. Grey; if I find my way to heaven, it will be because you are there. When I am gone, let my name and memory be like that of the dead.”
She stood erect, with her fingers lying in his palm, and the ring of her voice was like the clashing of steel against steel.
He bent down, and, for the first time, pressed his lips to her forehead; then turned quickly and walked away. When he reached the head of the stairs, he looked back and saw her standing in the door, with the candle-light flaring over her face; and in after years, he could never recall, without a keen pang, that vision of a girlish form draped in mourning, and of fair, rigid features, which hope and happiness could never again soften and brighten.
Her splendid eyes followed him, as if the sole light of her life were passing away forever; and, with a heavy sigh, he hurried down the steps, realizing all the mournful burden of that Portuguese sonnet,—
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“Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore Alone upon the threshold of my door Of individual life, I shall command The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand Serenely in the sunshine as before, Without the sense of that which I forbore— Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine, With pulses that beat double. What I do And what I dream include thee, as the wine Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue God for myself, He hears that name of thine, And sees within my eyes the tears of two.” |