“Ah, child! Nothing but a miracle could give me back dead happiness. And the days of miracles are over!”
“No! no! There is nothing in the Scripture to warrant that saying. The days of miracles are not passed. Until the days of human faith and Divine Omnipotence are past—the days of miracles are not passed. Anything that seems to me right that I should have, I will pray God—that if it be right, He will give it me—though it should appear to my ignorance utterly impossible!” Then Catherine abruptly stopped, fearing that she had said too much. And she silently prayed for a faith that should be as far removed from presumption, as from despair.
Carolyn convalesced very slowly. It was weeks before she left her bed. And then many more weeks before she left her room.
It was a glorious day in Autumn, when she first walked out upon the lawn, supported between Catherine and her father. And as soon as she set foot upon the green sward, some cattle that were browsing there—by some caprice to which cattle are subject—started off as if seized by sudden panic, and ran huddling together confusedly, and precipitating themselves towards the outer gate. And so weak were the poor invalid’s nerves, and so morbid her mind, that she burst into tears, and declared that the very brutes fled from before her face, as from one less human than themselves! Nor could any argument of Mr. Clifton’s or of Catherine’s, disabuse her mind of this absurd idea. She begged Catherine to take her back to her chamber. And for many weeks no entreaties could induce her to leave it.
Zuleime came freely to her sister now. She had her harp brought into her room. And she soothed the recluse with music every day. And at last Kate Kavanagh, who had gradually merged from nurse into companion, added her own rich, full-toned voice in accompaniment. The Misses Clifton were both very much surprised to see this “gift of gracious nature” thrown away upon a poor girl, with no hopes or prospects but manual labor for her living. And Zuleime, who could be thoughtful and benevolent in the midst of anxiety and sorrow, proposed to give Catherine lessons on the harp. But this was soon stopped. Both Zuleime and Catherine perceived that the music, far from soothing, seemed to irritate the invalid. And for this reason, Carolyn had lost her voice. She could never sing again. And even in speaking, her tones were harsh and rough. The harp was banished, and books were brought. And while Zuleime worked, and Carolyn fondled a little King Charles, that had been bought for the childish invalid, Kate read aloud to the sisters. And now it was that the world of written poetry broke upon the maiden’s delighted view. Before this, she had never read a line of poetry in her life, except hymns—for Mrs. Clifton had judiciously suppressed all books of that nature. But now the treasures of Milton, Goldsmith, and Cowper, were opened to her ardent mind! Oh, those days that followed the convalescence of Miss Clifton—those evenings after Carolyn had gone to rest, when she and Zuleime would go into the summer saloon and spend the hours in music or poetry, or in talk as musical, and as poetic. Those evenings, spent with a refined, warm-hearted girl like Zuleime—they were unfitting her for her prospective hard life of coarse labor and coarser association. She felt that it was so. And she determined to leave. She only waited until Mr. Clifton went to Richmond and brought back his wife. And then she bade them all good-bye and returned home—not to the farm-house of Hardbargain, but to her brother Carl’s cabin.
She needed to commune with herself, and be still. She wished to descend into the unsounded abysses of her heart, and examine, though with awe, the mystery of iniquity that in some unguarded hour had germinated there—this growing passion for a man betrothed to another. No matter if the marriage was broken off for the present. They loved each other. And that was the true betrothal. As for herself, she would, with the grace of God, turn out this dangerous bosom guest, so divinely fair as to seem like an angel of light rather than the tempting demon that it was! And to do this effectually, she must break every tie that held her to that fair illusive life she had lately led. She must forsake every association connected with her sin and folly. She loved Mrs. Clifton—loved her first for herself alone, and then as the mother of—one whose name she dared not now to breathe even to herself. She enjoyed the congenial society and occupations at White Cliffs and at Hardbargain. And now she was the most welcome visitor on the list of both families. But she must forego the privilege this gave her. More than all, she had enjoyed her pleasant life at Hardbargain. The cheerful housekeeping cares she had shared with its mistress—the conversations over the pleasant tea-table or the social work-stand—the books, the newspapers, and the evening music, and the society of the admirable Mrs. Clifton—these formed the externals, the body of her happiness; but the interior, the soul of her joy, was that there was the home of Archer Clifton—the place pervaded by his spirit! redolent of him! But all these must be abandoned! They might have affinity for her nature, but they did not belong to her lot in life. And see what they had brought her to! Even to an insane passion for her benefactor! And now it was high time she had come to her senses and self-recollection. She was a poor girl, of the humblest birth—born in poverty and destined to poverty. She must leave off spending evenings with refined and accomplished young ladies in elegant saloons, if she wished to do her duty in that station to which God had called her. And she must give up the society of Archer Clifton’s mother, if she wished to forget him. And she must betake herself to the coarse, hard, but dutiful life of her brother’s cabin.
Catherine went no more to White Cliffs or to Hardbargain. And when Mrs. Clifton sent for her to come and spend a day, she returned a gentle answer that she could not leave her grandfather.
CHAPTER XV.
THE BLACK SEAL.
Her eyes unmoved, but full and wide,
Not once had turned to either side—