CHAPTER XXVI
GEORGIA.
The serpent now began to change;
Her elfin blood in madness ran.—Keats
Two months have passed since the death of the sisters. To the consternation of the haut ton of the city, the beautiful Mrs. Clifton has left Richmond, and come down to mourn with those that mourn at White Cliffs. With an air at once of earnest conviction and graceful weariness, she says that it is “All vanity and vexation of spirit,” meaning fashionable society, spring traveling, and sight seeing; summers at watering places among the mountains, or by the sea-side; winters in town, with plays, concerts, balls, dressing, visiting and waltzing; autumn parties in the country-houses, with equestrian expeditions, sailing excursions, and forest rides and drives, and even the moonlight serenades, and “the slight flirtation by the light of the chandelier.” Mrs. Georgia speaks the truth. “Vanity” all this undoubtedly is in her. But entres nous, the “vexation of spirit” appertains to certain “small” accounts, ranging from fifty to fifteen hundred dollars, and sent in by landlords, merchants, jewelers, milliners, etc., people so wanting in delicate perception, as not to see that the honor of the belle’s custom was quite payment enough in itself for their goods, and so utterly destitute of classic lore, and the faculty of distinguishing persons, as actually to draw out on a piece of paper a list of items opposite to a row of figures, with a sum total at the bottom, and send it to a Circe, as if she were a tradesman, and could understand it! Charming Georgia did not even try to comprehend such mysterious hieroglyphics. She knew, bewitching creature! that “where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” Therefore, to escape duns, to recruit health and spirits, and, of all things, to console Major Clifton, she has come down to White Cliffs. The beautiful Georgia presented herself to the mourning master of White Cliffs in a very deprecating spirit—she said that she felt her arrival there at such a moment to be almost an intrusion, but that he would excuse it, as she had exhausted money and credit, and had no other home.
“You know,” she added, as the tears suffused her large, dark eyes, “I am like the unjust steward of the parable, ‘I cannot work—to beg I am ashamed.’”
“Except instead of being unjust, you suffer from the injustice of others,” said Archer Clifton, very gently. He said that he considered the entail, which cut off the widow from any share in the landed estate of her deceased husband, very unjust and cruel. He knew that his uncle had deeply regretted it, and would have left all his personal property to her, had it not been swallowed up by debt. He said that he himself deplored the circumstance, and if it were legally in his power, he would divide the land with her, but that he only held it in entail, and as entire as it came to him it must be held for his heirs. He added, that he considered it his duty to compensate his uncle’s widow for the injustice of the law to her, and that the case being so, she would find thirty thousand dollars placed to her account in the Bank of Richmond. Mrs. Georgia was overcome with emotion at this generosity on the part of Major Clifton. She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and arose hurriedly, with every mark of extreme agitation, exclaiming—
“No, no—this is too much! too good! only lend me the shelter of this roof—once my home—until I look about me and consider what to do.”
He took her hand, with every demonstration of the tenderest affection and respect, and pressed it to his lips, and begged her to consider herself as heretofore, mistress of the establishment for as long as she wished—for her whole life, if she pleased—and himself only as her sometime guest—adding, that it was impossible he should ever bring another lady there. She withdrew her handkerchief from her eyes, and glancing at him with a countenance eloquent with gratitude, respect, and affection, exclaimed—
“I take a large portion of your personal property, and I turn you from your home! Oh! no, no, no, thou thrice noble and generous man, no! Not one dollar of that money will I touch, so help me Heaven! And not one hour will I stay under this roof, if the master of the house is to be only my ‘sometime guest!’ No! I—I—I must go back to the city, and give lessons in drawing and painting, as befits the artist’s daughter.”
“And as does not befit my uncle’s widow, lady!” said Archer Clifton, again taking her hand. “I have considered myself in some sort your guardian and protector—if you will admit the claim. Now, listen to me calmly, and act reasonably, for we of White Cliffs are not accustomed to be opposed by the ladies of our family. Hear me, then: This money, which I have placed to your account, is rightfully yours. I will explain. It was the fortune of my dearest Carolyn—” here his voice faltered, he paused a moment, during which Georgia pressed his hand, and looked in his face with an expression of unspeakable sympathy—then he resumed, calmly, “Had she died unmarried, and during her father’s lifetime, this money would have reverted to him, and he would doubtless have left it to you. I only give you that which, but for me, might have reached you more directly. And now let that subject rest forever.”