That bright gem’s purity.”—Mrs. Hemans.
Morning came at length. Carolyn Clifton arose unrefreshed, weak, dizzy and sick. This was the first night’s rest she had ever lost in her life. And on looking in the glass—habitually the first thing the beauty ever did after rising—she was shocked to see what havoc one night’s evil passions had made in her appearance. What a fright she had become! How pale her cheeks, how dragged the muscles, how red, dim, and sunken her eyes! And this upon her wedding-day—and when she had a quarrel to make up with her intended husband, too! When, in fine, every circumstance pressingly demanded that she should appear in the highest beauty. Would Archer Clifton—would that fastidious, artistic worshiper of the beautiful—feel inclined to a reconciliation with such a spectre as herself, she mentally inquired, as she gazed wonderingly, deploringly, upon her haggard face? Carolyn was vain and proud and scornful—so vain and proud and scornful that she did not know—could not imagine that that very haggard face—haggard with sorrow for the estrangement and the separation, would be a stronger appeal, make a deeper impression upon the heart of her lover, than all the glory of her beauty had ever done. And thus vanity, pride and scorn punish their subject, not only by depriving her of very much respect and affection she would otherwise have, but by making her insensible of that love and esteem that really does surround her.
Carolyn at length rang for her woman. And after some little delay she came in, evidently just aroused up out of her sleep, and wondering that her young mistress should summon her before sunrise. But as soon as she saw her lady, her wonder gave way to alarm, and she exclaimed—
“My good gracious alive, Miss Carolyn! What’s der matter, honey?”
“Has——any one arrived this morning, Aunt Darky?” inquired Miss Clifton, without noticing the old woman’s alarm.
“No, chile, sure not! Who should ribe at dis onlikely hour ob de mornin? Ledst it war de doctor. Has you sent for de doctor, honey? But Lord, indeed, chile, you better lay down agin. Don’t keep on standin’ dere holdin’ up your hair, weak as you looks, an’ I’ll run an’ see!”
“Aunt Darky, I am not ill. I have had a bad night’s rest—that’s all. Go—and—”
“A bad night’s res’, an’ like enough, honey! I had a berry bad night’s res’ de night afore, me an’ Old Nick took up ’long o’ each oder! ’Deed chile, I was sort o’ scared an’ sorter happy, ’cause I was scared! An’ deed, chile, ‘tween so many contrydictions, I could’n onderstan’ myself and kept awake all night! Lord, honey, it’s nat’ral! We’s all alike, ’cept ’tis de collor, an’ dat’s only outside show, skin deep. But bless you, honey, that wan’t nothin’ to the night ’resses I’se lost since dat, with long o’ cryin’ babies an’ teethin’ babies, an’ sick chillun, an’ ole man Nick comin’ home drunk ebery time ole Marse give him any holyday money to spen’ on hisself! Now praise be de Lor’, de chillun’s all raise’ an’ married an’ settle’ off, an’ I’m a free ‘oman! An’ I tell my galls how I ain’ gwine be bother’ long o’ der chillun, now in my ole days!”
“Aunt Darky,” said Miss Clifton, feeling in no way flattered by the parallel, “go and get my bath ready, and have a cup of strong coffee brought the instant I leave it.”
“Yes, honey—an’ hadn’t de baff’s water better have de air tuk off o’ it, as you’se not so strong dis mornin’?”