"Well, Pete, let me tell you something. In my opinion you will be wiser than you are now, and that before many years; only keep your eyes open."
"Neber you mind, Miss Gracy. Dis nig' 'll keep his eyes peeled, dat's what he will."
Grace Stanley passed leisurely into the hall which ran through the main building leading to the open court beyond where the fountain was throwing its cool, sparkling jets into the sunshine. She did not heed it, however, but passed on up the broad winding stairway, meeting no one on the way as she ascended to the hall above. The sun had nearly reached his meridian glory, and the oppressive heat had as usual driven the inmates of that elegant home to their shaded retreats, where in comfortable deshabille they lounged on beds and sofas drawn up by the open windows, that perchance they might catch some stray breeze that would flit up from the orange groves or come from the woodland far away on the hill side.
"Grace," called a sweet voice through the half-open door of Lillian's room, "I thought it was your light step I heard on the stairs. Come in here, darling. See how nice and cool it is." Grace obeyed, but Lillian did not notice the sombre shadows that were playing over the usually sunny face of her cousin, so absorbed was she with the hovering glooms that had fallen from her own passing clouds, and so she continued, pleasantly: "Perhaps you would like to make yourself a little more comfortable? Put on this wrapper, dear, and then come and sit by me, will you? I want to talk a little."
This was just what her companion did not care to do; still, remembering that her mission to Rosedale was to cheer by her lively mirth and vivacity her drooping cousin, she hastened to obey. Yet how was she to accomplish her task? Only three weeks had passed since her arrival, yet weeks so heavy with their weight of circumstance that her very soul seemed pressed down beneath their weight. Where now was her native joyousness? The cheering powers she was expected to impart to others? She must recall them. Yet she was chilled and oppressed; what was she to do? Act. Her retreating volubility could only be summoned again to its post through action, and it must be done!
"What a sweet little bouquet," she exclaimed, arousing herself to her work. "A delicate spray of jesamine, a few tiny rose-buds and geranium leaves. Do you know that I never could have done that? There is something so exquisite in their arrangement. Somehow as a whole they send an impressive appeal to the inner senses, my 'Lily Bell.' There must be such a bubbling fountain of poesy in a soul like yours. Teach me, dear cousin, to be like you." And the pensive speaker dropped upon the floor at the feet of Lillian, where she most delighted to sit, and drooping her head wearily upon her companion's knee.
Both were silent. One heart had that morning drawn back the rusty bolt on the door of its inner chamber and rejoiced to find itself strong enough to drive out at last, its long imprisoned secret of gloom that had made it so wretched through the revolving changes of many years, while the other was even then busy with the fastenings of the secret closet where the unsightly skeleton of her lost love was to be hidden from the world, from herself. Yet so doing might eat the bloom from her cheek and the joy from her buoyant nature. Why did she wish to be like Lillian? She had not asked even her aching heart this question, but all unconsciously to herself a response came up from the hidden recesses of her soul where a fresh grave had been dug by trembling hands and into it a dead hope had been lowered and closely covered, while the damp earth was trodden down hard about it, and the low whisper said, "If like her, this poor heart to-day would not be draped with its sombre emblems of bereavement." To be as she was, to possess the power to win. O the poor throbbing hearts all over the world that must keep on through the years with their wounds and pains, for in them are many graves hidden away among the cypress shades, where the passer-by can never spy them out; but the eye of the eternal one sees them all, and at every burial the tear of sympathy mingles with the liquid drops of bereavement that must fall on the stone at the mouth of the sepulcher which by and by will be rolled away at His command.
Lillian aroused herself after a long silence.
"You give me more praise, darling, than I deserve," she said. "I am as incapable as yourself in performing these little touches of the fine arts which you see every day on my table. Black Tezzie can alone teach you the mysteries of a skill she so fortunately possesses. Do not look so incredulous, or I shall be obliged to prove it to you," she smiled.
"I am not unbelieving, sweet Lily-Bell," she answered, "but I confess that you have surprised me. I should sooner have suspected either of the other servants of such a gift as that ungainly biped," Grace laughed, but Lillian remained silent.