And the bride rose from her knee;
And she kissed the lips of her mother dead
Or ever she kissed me.”
—E. B. Browning.
None ever knew what passed between Mrs. Helmstedt and the gray-haired stranger who was closeted with her, in her favorite parlor, for several hours, that evening. No one was in the house, in fact, at the time, except the lady, her venerable guest, and her two confidential servants, Hildreth and Forrest, who had, of late years, grown into the habit of silence in regard to everything concerning their unhappy mistress. Once in the wane of that evening, Forrest rapped at the door for orders, and had caught a glimpse of his mistress’s blanched and haggard face, as she directed him to retire and wait until he should hear her bell. And after waiting in the dining-room opposite, for some hours, Forrest heard the departure of the visitor, but listened in vain for Mrs. Helmstedt’s bell.
Meanwhile, The Pearl Shell, containing Margaret and Franky, glided swiftly over the moonlit waters. As they neared the island, they saw another boat, containing a pair of oarsmen and a single passenger, push off from the beach and row rapidly toward a schooner, anchored some quarter of a mile off. But as it was not an unusual occurrence for passing vessels to send out boats to the isle for water, wood or provisions, purchased from the negroes, the sight of this one leaving its shores occasioned no remark.
“Now row swiftly home, dear Franky, or they will wonder what has become of us,” said Margaret, as soon as she had sprung upon the shore. But Franky refused to leave her until at least he had seen her safely housed. So he took her hand, and they ran on up the sandy barren, through the long timothy field, through the orchard, and through the garden, until they reached the front piazza, where Margaret insisted upon dismissing her boy lover, who reluctantly left her.
And Margaret ran into the hall door, and thence into her mother’s favorite parlor, on the threshold of which she stood appalled!
The two wax candles upon the mantelpiece were burning dimly, and their pale light fell ominously upon the figure of Mrs. Helmstedt, sitting on the short sofa, with her hands clasped rigidly together on her lap, her eyes fixed and strained outward, and her face blanched and frozen as if the hand of death had just passed over it.
One instant Margaret stood panic-stricken, and the next she was at her mother’s side, speaking to her, kissing her, stroking her forehead, and trying to unclasp and rub her rigidly-locked hands. For some minutes these efforts were all in vain; and then a deep shuddering sigh, that shook her whole form like the passage of an inward storm, dissolved the spell that had bound her, and she grew conscious of the presence of her child.