What she was about to say was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Clifton, of Hardbargain, who came in, with her shawl and bonnet on, to take leave of Zuleime and Major Cabell, and invite them to join the rest of the family in coming to dine and spend the evening at Hardbargain the next day. Major Cabell accepted the invitation for himself and Zuleime, and the lady took her departure.
The next day was Saturday. The family set out on their visit at an early hour of the day, as is the social custom of country neighbors. Old Mr. Clifton, his wife, and his eldest daughter, rode in his carry-all. Mrs. Cabell and her three daughters went in that lady’s carriage. Zuleime rode on horseback, attended by Major Cabell.
It was a glorious Indian summer day, when the splendor of the autumnal sunlight would be too dazzling, but for the soft, warm mist spread veil-like over it. At another time, Zuleime, true worshiper of nature, might have drawn deep draughts of pleasure from the beauty of the scene. But now the gorgeous magnificence of the forests, in their many colored foliage—the misty mountain steeps softening the glory—the fine transparent neutral tint of the heavens leading the eye and mind up through infinite heights of ether—the glowing clouds reposing along the horizon—all were lost upon her.
An hour’s ride by the carriage road brought the party to Hardbargain.
Mrs. Clifton received them with her usual quiet cordiality. There was something very composing in that calm, kind, self-possessed woman’s manner. There was something very sedative also in the air of her home. In her company and in her house the restless became quiet, the anxious easy, the desponding cheerful, even the despairing mourners over some great heart-wreck, grew languidly aware of how much good was left them in the comforts of daily domestic life, and the amenities of social intercourse.
She was strikingly like her son. One was inclined to wonder how they—so nearly identical in features and complexion—should differ so widely in many points of character and sentiment, and had to remember that all in which he did not resemble her was inherited from the Cliftons. Kate felt the likeness keenly. And when the lady turned those quiet, brilliant eyes upon her, her heart thrilled to the glance with strange pain and pleasure. And when once or twice—for the lady was never very demonstrative in her affection—she had quietly drawn the maiden to her bosom—it was such a heart-feeding comfort, that Kate felt there would be no possibility of forgetting Archer Clifton, while thrown into daily intercourse with his mother. Once when Mrs. Clifton had looked tenderly into her eyes, and drawn and pressed her closely against her breast, the girl, lost for an instant, had thrown her arms around the lady, and buried her face in her bosom. And for some time after that, terrified at her own impulse, she had been as shy of the mother, as she could have been of the son. Kate had kept away from Hardbargain for many weeks, but to-day, when the party from White Cliffs had arrived, Mrs. Clifton sent for her, with the message that her friend Zuleime had come. That was no sufficient lure to the resolute girl, however, who had once for all determined that nothing but the absolute necessities of others should draw her again into the dangerous association of the Cliftons. She returned thanks to the lady, declining the visit. Mrs. Clifton was disappointed in missing the society of her young favorite for that day. Yet the time passed very pleasantly notwithstanding. There is scarcely any such thing as a stiff dinner party in the country. And such a thing was impossible at Hardbargain. The ladies had all brought their “parlor work”—fine netting, knotting, knitting, or sewing—and they worked and conversed in a quiet, pleasant way, while the gentlemen mingled in their conversation, or talked with each other upon the two reigning subjects of country discussion—agriculture and politics—or sauntered out upon the lawn to enjoy the fine autumnal weather until dinner. After which, the ladies in the cozy parlor lounged a little more lazily, and grew a great deal more kindly in their interchange of thought and sentiment, and the gentlemen enjoyed a promenade on the piazza, and the stolen luxury of their cigars.
After an early tea the party took leave. They returned in the same manner in which they had come. Zuleime on horseback, escorted by Major Cabell; the others in carriages. Even the soothing influence of Mrs. Clifton’s home and society had almost failed to quiet the miserable girl. Her manner, all day long, had been erratic in the extreme—now depressed into gloom—sunken nearly to the depth of stupidity—now full of “starts and flows” as the crime-burthened Macbeth. As she rode home, in perfect silence, the evil eye of her companion watched her stealthily. Her cheek was pale and hollow, and her eye sunken and heavy. Yet sometimes her eyes would lighten as with sudden terror, like those of a startled hare, and her cheek would flush and fade. The road was broad, yet shadowy, from the meeting of the branches of the huge trees overhead. And so soon as the sun went down it became too dusky to permit him to see the flickering and sinking of the fire in her eye and cheek, but he watched her closely, nevertheless. Suddenly he saw her sway to and fro in the saddle, like a reed blown by the wind. Then, ere he could spring to her aid, the reins dropped from her hands, and she fell from the horse, her foot catching in the stirrup. The well-trained palfrey stopped, and stood without so much as lifting a hoof. With a deep curse, Major Cabell threw himself from his steed, and raised her, disengaging her foot from the stirrup. He sat down on a bank, with her on his knees, and took off her hat, and began to feel her head, neck and arms, for injuries. It seemed impossible to tell whether, or how she was hurt. The carriages were some yards behind, and concealed by a turn of the road. He dipped his hand in a run, at the foot of the bank, and sprinkled her face; and before the carriages arrived, she had opened her eyes, and sat up. She said that she was not hurt—that it was only a fainting spell, such as she had had at the piano. But her voice was very weak, and her frame trembling, and her general manner frightened. She placed her hand against Major Cabell’s chest, partly to assist herself in rising, partly to push him away, and stood alone upon her feet, until her father’s carriage drew up. Then she said she was tired, and wished to get in.
Old Mr. Clifton sent a glance of impotent rage at Major Cabell, as he lifted his child in—placing her in the vacant fourth seat—the other three being occupied by his wife, eldest daughter, and himself.
Zuleime sat next to her sister, and opposite Georgia; and the last mentioned lady studied her vis-a-vis, with as much interest, and with far more curiosity and comprehension, than Major Cabell had exercised.
The girl sat perfectly still, and quite lost to all around her. But Georgia saw that it was the fearful stillness of self-restrained frenzy.