Wives and Widows; or, The Broken Life

CHAPTER LXVII.

OUR FIRST VISITOR.

"Mr. Dennison descended from his carriage and came forward with more haste and animation than was usual to him. He was evidently delighted to see his guest.

"'Why, Lawrence, is it you; when and how did you reach us?' he said, extending his hand.

"'Half an hour ago, by rail and steamer,' answered the gentleman, meeting Mr. Dennison half-way, and shaking hands with him.

"'Made the acquaintance of my wife, I see?'

"As he spoke, Mr. Dennison glanced smilingly toward me.

"'Oh, yes, I think so; if this young lady is your wife.'

"The gentleman hesitated in some confusion. I think he had taken me for Mr. Dennison's daughter.

"The old gentleman turned suddenly red, and laughed a little unnaturally.

"'My wife, yes, almost a bride yet, but we are making her blush. My love, this is Mr. Lawrence, of New York, one of the best friends I have. You must take him into especial favor for your husband's sake.'

"I am sure there was color enough in my face then. Why will Mr. Dennison constantly drag that odious word, husband, into everything he says? Does he think I can ever forget it?

"We sat down in company, enjoying the cool shadows of the veranda. All my pleasure was at an end; the conversation turned upon stocks, railroads, and mining. I gathered from it that Mr. Lawrence was a stock-broker or something of that kind, and that Mr. Dennison was connected with him in an enterprise for which money was to be supplied. Once or twice I caught the stranger looking at me while my husband conversed, but I was occupied with my embroidery, and did not seem to notice him; perhaps he was admiring the contrast between the pure white of my dress and the gorgeous richness of the worsteds in my lap.

"While they were talking, Mr. Dennison insisted that I should sit closer to him, and more than once he placed his hand on my work and prevented me going on with it, as if I had been a child. This annoyed me. After all, one does not care to be so obviously exhibited as 'the old man's darling.' It is embarrassing when the fine eyes of a man like that are upon you.

"After dinner that day, Mr. Dennison stole off to a low pan in the library for his half-hour of sleep. I usually occupied my own room at this hour, but as I went that way, our guest came in from the veranda, where he had been smoking a cigar, and laughingly entreated that I should not leave him alone.

"I ran up-stairs, threw a black lace shawl over my head, Spanish mantilla fashion, and joined him. It was sunset, and all the beautiful landscape lay wrapped in a veil of purplish mist, through which trembled a soft golden glow that brightened all the west, and shimmered through the tree-tops like flashes of fire.

"We walked on through the delicious atmosphere, to which the perfume of innumerable flowers gave forth their sweetness, as they brightened under the soft dews that had just began to fall.

"Unconsciously, we turned out of the oak-avenue and walked toward a pretty pond, or miniature lake, which lay to our right, sheltered by one live-oak and a cluster of magnolia-trees, from which the blossoms brought to me that morning had been cut. A shrub-like species of the magnolia grew around the pond, hedging it in with great white blossoms, and the sedgy borders were aglow with wild flowers. It was not yet time for the water-lilies to be in blossom, but in some places their large green pads covered the lake with patches of glossy greenness, while a light wind rippled through them, stirring the waters like ridges of diamonds between the trembling leaves.

"How beautiful it was! The birds were no longer musical, but we watched them fluttering through the leaves and settling down in safe places among the rushes, while the sweet stillness of the closing day fell upon them.

"My hand rested on the arm of our guest; he was talking earnestly, and his eloquence thrilled me with sensations unlike anything I had felt before. There was unmeasured poetry in every word he uttered. We had, I do not know how, got on to the subject of that book again, and he was defending it in language warm, fervid, and startling, as the story itself. My hand shook on his arm; a new idea had seized upon me, and against my own will I spoke.

"'You wrote the book,' I said, 'I know it by your language. I can read the fact in this defence.'

"'And you will like me no longer. You will condemn me as you have that poor volume,' he answered, turning suddenly, and looking into my eyes with the glance of an eagle.

"'Condemn you!' I said. 'What, I?'

"'But you condemn my book?'

"'No, I did not. To question a thing, is not to condemn it.'

"'But the doubt wounds me. You might have found sympathy for much that the book contains. It should appeal to a heart like yours.'

"He held my hand firmly in his clasp. How it got there, I do not know. I struggled a little to free it, but his fingers closed around mine like a vice.

"'Say that you will read my book again.'

"'I will. Nothing could prevent me now.'

"'And you will read it with a new inspiration?'

"'After this conversation, yes.'

"'That is, for one day you will think my thoughts, and give them fresh beauties as they pass through your own vivid imagination.'

"'I will read them, and remember all that you have said.'

"'Sweet woman, I thank you. If my poor words can touch a heart like yours, it is enough.'

"He bent and kissed my hand, thus releasing it from his clasp. It seemed as if some of my strength went out as he did this. The intense eloquence of this man had inspired me for the time, now I was weak and silent.

"'Tell me,' he said, 'what particular passages you disliked in my poor volume.'

"I could not answer; the book itself had gone out of my mind. I had only power to think of the man who stood before me, with that earnest protest burning on his lip, and those eyes, dark and luminous, bent upon me. I think that he did not observe my trepidation. He was carried away by a wish to protect the offspring of his brain from misconception or censure. I had read the volume hastily, and found it too brilliantly intense for the idle lassitude of my humor. It had startled me into more thought than I cared to exercise. The quiet of my home seemed like dulness after reading it. Now this man, its author, had come and completed the discontent his book had engendered. I had never seen a man of his class before, and to me the charm of novelty and romance surrounded him with a sort of glory.

"'Tell me,' he repeated, 'in what a thought of mine could have offended a creature so lovely and so rich in talent.'

"Was he mocking me because of my absurd criticism? I looked up suddenly, and met the full glance of those eyes. The blood rushed to my face, and my eyelids drooped.

"'You will not help me to amend a fault,' he said, in a tone of reproach.

"'Because I cannot. It was no particular thought—no description in itself that disturbed me; but, if I may so express it, the entire atmosphere of the book. It made me unhappy.'

"I was driven to desperate frankness by his persistency, and spoke out almost with tears in my eyes.

"'Then some thought in the volume, or the narrative itself, struck upon your heart, or disturbed your conscience?' he answered, in a low voice.

"I started. Was this true?

"'Perhaps some points of the story were not unlike your own experience?' he continued.

"I felt the tears starting to my eyes. Yes, he was right. It was a sense of the barrenness of my own future that had made me so restless. If the volume had produced this effect, how much greater was the disturbance when its author stood by my side, with looks and voice more eloquent than his writings. He waited in silence for my answer; it only came in low sobs.

"'Forgive me; I have wounded you unthinkingly.'

"His voice was like that of a penitent man in prayer; his face grew earnest and sad.

"'Look on me, and say that I am forgiven.'

"I did look at him, and met the tender penitence in his eyes with a thrill of pain. How had the man won the power of arousing such feelings in a few brief hours? Was it because I had been familiar with his thoughts so long? I could not answer; but the very presence of this stranger disturbed me. Sensations never dreamed of in my previous existence rose and swelled in my bosom. The impulse to flee from his presence seized upon me. I did turn to go, but he walked quietly forward at the same time.

"The sunset was now fading into soft violet and pale gray tints. Dew was falling thickly in the grass, and fire-flies began to sparkle all around us. In the stillness and beauty of coming night, we walked on together almost in silence. I had no words for conversation, and our guest seemed to have fallen into deep thought. As we drew near the house, Mr. Dennison came out to meet us. He had been smoking a cigar in the veranda, and flung it away as he drew near us. How heavily he walked. How dull his eyes seemed as he bent them upon me, after the passion and feeling I had read so clearly in those of our guest.

"Mr. Dennison took my hand and placed it on his arm, laughing pleasantly, as he asked Lawrence how far we had been walking. Lawrence did not answer. He was regarding us with an earnest questioning look, from which I turned away half in anger. Was he reading me and my position so closely as that?

"Why should I think of this man so much? Has the isolation in which we have been living made the advent of a stranger of so great importance that his presence must fill all my being? The first thing this morning I looked out of my window, wondering if he would be visible anywhere in the grounds. Yes, there he was standing by Mr. Dennison, admiring a blood-horse that a colored groom had brought from the stable. It was a beautiful animal, coal-black, wonderfully symmetrical and full of graceful action. Mr. Dennison had bought him only the week before, and this groom had been ordered to break him for my use as a saddle-horse. The gentlemen seemed to be examining him critically, as the groom led him to and fro upon the lawn. For the first time I took an interest in the beautiful animal. Being up to that time a timid and inexperienced rider, my husband's purchase had afforded me little pleasure. He had long since given up horseback exercise, and a solitary ride, followed perhaps by a groom, did not hold forth much promise of happiness for me, so I had allowed his new purchase to stand in the stable unnoticed. But now I looked upon the creature with interest, as he stood restlessly, with the sun shining upon his glossy coat, and shimmering like quicksilver down his arched neck.

"All at once, I saw Lawrence spring upon the horse and dash off across the lawn, sitting bravely as if he and the beautiful animal were one creation. The horse was restive at first and plunged furiously, for they had put a sharp curb in his mouth, and Lawrence was bringing him to subjection with a heavy hand. I shrieked aloud at the first plunge, but there was little need of fear. The next moment horse and rider were in full career over the lawn. That day week I rode my new purchase for the first time.

"We have been riding every day miles and miles over the country. There is not a broad prospect or a pleasant nook within a ten-hours' ride, that we have not visited in company. Mr. Dennison encouraged these excursions. He is anxious that I should learn to ride freely, and seems grateful that Lawrence is willing to teach me. The weather has been more than pleasant, and these two weeks have gone by like a dream. How brief the time has been, yet how long it seems, one lives so much in a few hours.

"My heart is full, so full that I cannot write anything that it feels. In fact, there is nothing tangible enough for words. Dreams, dreams all, but such delirious dreams. Last night I lay awake till a rosy flash broke through the curtains telling me that it was morning. All night long I lay with the curtains brooding over me like a cloud, and the silver moonlight shimmering through the windows half illuminating the room and the bed upon which I rested, which was all whiteness like a snow-drift. There I lay hour after hour, with both hands folded on my breast, whispering over the words that he had said to me. They were nothing when separated from his looks, or disentangled from the exquisite tenderness of his voice, but oh, how much, when so richly combined, for never in one human being, I am sure, were looks and voice so eloquent.

"I could hear the deep breathing of my husband in the next room, and this made me restless. But for him those words, meaningless in themselves perhaps, would have taken life and force. Ah, why is youth and ambition so rash. Had I only waited before these golden fetters were riveted upon me!

"A vase of moss-roses stood upon the little table near my bed. He had gathered them for me just as the sun was setting, while the first dew bathed them. I took some of these flowers together in my hands, and kissed away their perfume, with a delightful consciousness that he had given it to me. Out of all the wilderness of flowers, now fresh from the dew, these were the gems, for he had brought them to me.

"When daylight came, I arose and went down to the veranda, not weary from sleeplessness, but with a gentle languor upon me which was better than rest. For the first time since Lawrence had been with us, I opened the book he had written, and read passages from it at random. How beautiful they were! and I not discover this before. The truth is, their very excellence carried with it exaltation.

"I read them with a new sense and a keener relish. Their very intensity had, at the first reading, disturbed me almost painfully, now each sentence brought thrills of appreciation. In all respects it was a new book to me.

"I felt that this second reading was dangerous, but the thoughts fascinated me, and I read on, while orioles and mocking-birds held a carnival of music in the thickets around me, and a bright sun drove all the rose-tints from the sky. All at once I looked up, a shadow had fallen across the page I was reading; I closed the book at once, blushing like a guilty creature.

"'Confess,' said Lawrence, with a gleam of laughing triumph in his eyes, 'that you have in some degree changed your opinion.'

"'I have no opinion to change,' was my answer; 'for until now I never really understood your book.'

"'And you understand it now?'

"'Yes.'

"'And feel it?'

"'Too much.'

"I felt the blood rush into my face with very shame at this hasty admission. When I ventured to look up, a faint wave of color was dying out from his face, leaving it grave and pale. Was he condemning me already? That moment Mr. Dennison came through the front door, looking cool and tranquil in his dress of pure linen, which was scarcely whiter than his hair.

"'Come,' he said, in jovial good humor, 'throw by your books, and let us have breakfast.'

"I was glad to see him,—grateful that he had released me from the thraldom of those eyes.

"We rode out that day. A waterfall some eight miles off was almost the only point of interest that I had not visited, and there our ride terminated. A colored groom always rode after us, but his presence was no check upon conversation, and sometimes he loitered behind so far that we lost sight of him altogether. In fact, our whole excursion was one long tête-à-tête.

"Lawrence had been grave and preoccupied all the way, but when we quitted our horses and went down to the fall, his spirits rose, and he looked around upon the scene with animation. The cataract, for it was little more, leaped through a chasm between two precipices, formed by a vast rock, which some convulsion of nature had split asunder. Down this chasm the crystal waters plunged nearly a hundred feet, like a stream of shooting diamonds, covering the sides of each precipice with fleeces of emerald-green moss. From these mosses sprung ferns that waved like ten thousand plumes in the current of air that blew coolly down the ravine, keeping every thing in graceful motion. Young trees added their luxuriance to the scene, crowning the summit of the rocks like a diadem, and a host of clustering vines fell over the edge of the precipice, streaming downwards like banners on a battlement, and sometimes sweeping out with the current.

"We entered the ravine first, and stood within the very spray of the cataract; for the stream widened out directly after it left the chasm, and went rioting off among boulders and broken rocks, across which a plank bridge had been flung, which commanded a full view of the fall. We stood a while enjoying the view, and then moved up a footpath that ran along the right-hand precipice, from which we could look down the ravine, and attain an entirely different view from the one we had left. The path was broken and abrupt, but this was scarcely an objection to us. There was something exhilarating in the exercise, and I rather liked the vigorous climbing after so long a ride on horseback; even with the obstruction of a long skirt flung over one arm, it was scarcely fatiguing. We had nearly reached the top of the precipice, I had taken Mr. Lawrence's arm, for he insisted that I must be out of breath, and I was protesting against his assertion, when a large dog rushed out of the undergrowth, which grew thickly on that side of the path, as if frightened at something, and made a plunge directly against me.

"My arm was torn from its support, I staggered—reeled on the verge of the precipice, flung out my arms, and plunged down—down—down into chaos. I had neither struck the earth nor water, something hard and firm girded my body. My face was smothered in green, damp leaves, and my hair already dripped with falling spray.

"I heard the roar and rush of waters all around me, and through it a fierce cry as of some one in agony. I attempted to move, but the branches that supported me swayed downward, and with a desperate spring I caught at the stem of a wild vine, which clung to and spread over the face of the precipice, twisting itself in with the young tree, which but for that would have broken under my weight. Looking upward through the blinding mist, I saw a white face bending over the precipice, and heard a voice hoarse with terror calling upon me to hold firmly and keep still.

"I did hold firmly, but the trembling of my frame shook the tree and clinging shrubs with a dangerous vibration, and it seemed to me that their roots were slowly tearing out from the soil which held them in the cleft of the rock. This shook me with an awful terror; I tried to close my eyes and be still, but that was impossible. I saw the blue sky bending so calm and quiet above me. I saw the quivering greenness that clothed the rocky face of the precipice, and ten thousand tiny white flowers trembling through it so close that my face almost touched them. The fall, like a sheet of melted glass, rolled and plunged so near, that it seemed ready to leap upon me. My appalled eyes turned shuddering from a vast whirlpool of foam that rioted thirty feet beneath me, shooting forward, curving over, and plunging down great watery hollows, then leaping suddenly upward, as if maddened that their prey had not fallen at once into the white caldron of their wrath.

"In vain my eyes closed upon all this threatening horror. Then all was darkness, and the roar of the fall became terrific. The spray swept over me like a storm of shooting diamonds, wetting my habit through and through till it dragged me downward with heavier weight and fresh peril. I could feel the drops falling like rain from my hair, and my poor hands grew cold as they clung to the vine. A cry broke from my lips. Surely the tree was uprooting beneath me. I could feel it giving way inch by inch. A handful of loose earth broke away and rolled over me, rattling down to the white gulf below. Shriek after shriek—oh, my God! they were smothered and lost in that roar of waters, and could warn no one of this new peril. I seized upon the wild vine higher up, and strove to press less heavily on that breaking tree; my foot found a crevice in the rock, and, forcing itself through the wet moss, in some degree sufficed to lessen the weight that was dragging me down to death. But still my support was slowly giving way, I could hear the small roots snap, and feel the earth break from around them. My hands were numb and cold, my brain began to reel, and ten thousand broken rainbows seemed shooting up from the falls, and tangling themselves around me, dragging me down—down—down.

"A human voice brought me back; a wild, cheerful shout forbade me to give way, and broke the delirium, which in a moment more would have loosened my hold, and sent me whirling through that white gulf of waters into eternity. 'Hold fast one moment! For God's sake, be firm!' It was his voice. A thrill of hope drove back the delirium that had seized upon me. I pressed my foot more firmly into the crevice, and forced myself against the rock, clinging with both hands to the vine. A trail of blackness fell over the face of the precipice, and I heard the clank of iron striking against the rock. Directly the air above was darkened, and, with a thrill of horror, I saw Lawrence fling himself over the face of the precipice, and glide slowly down to my side. He crowded his foot close to mine, thus attaining a foothold, but otherwise supported himself by the line of leathern straps that had aided his descent. With one hand clinging firmly to this support, he placed the stirrups from my saddle under my feet, told me how to seize upon the straps to which they were attached when he should call out, and seizing the double straps above my head, swung himself upward, and left me alone, shaken with double terror. Then I knew that a life dearer than mine was in peril, and my soul went up with him, uttering a cry of thankfulness when his voice reached me, calling out, cheerfully, from the edge of the precipice,—

"'Stand firm; do not move till you feel the straps tighten around you!'

"I obeyed, holding desperately to the vine with one hand, while the other was ready for action. I felt the stirrups tighten under my feet,—the leather straps were taut and motionless,—I grasped one with my left hand, but still clung to the vine, afraid to swing out over that awful abyss. It was a moment of sickening horror.

"'Be bold—fear nothing—trust yourself to me!'

"Instantly my hand left its hold on the vine, my feet were lifted from their frail support, and with the stirrups beneath them, swung out from the rock. Oh, how fearfully those lines strained and quivered! how those white waters leaped and roared under me! I drew no breath; my heart stood still; a shock of awful terror seized upon me; the minute in which I swung out into mid-air seems to me even now as a long, long day. Oh, it was terrible!

"The faces of the angels, when they meet you after death, must give such promise of new life, as his gave to me when my frightened eyes first saw him bending over that precipice. The trust of the angels must be like mine when I felt his arms around me, and knew that he had lifted me out of chaos. Never, on this side of heaven, shall I have another sensation like that.

"How long I remained in those arms it is impossible for me to say. When I came to life, he was sitting upon the turf, where they had laid me, with my head resting on his knee. Some brandy from a flask, which the groom always carried with him, had been forced through my lips, where I felt the taste still burning. That had checked the shudders of cold which were creeping over me, and for a while I lay speechless, feeble as a child, but oh, how happy! He had saved me. It was his strength which had rescued me from that whirlpool of waters, from the horrible death, for which I was so unprepared.

"These were the first thoughts that came to my brain, as I lay there so deathly and motionless. The light fell rosily on my eyelids, but I had no strength or wish to unclose them; nay, I checked the very breath as it rose to my lips, fearing that it would betray the life rekindling in my bosom, and thus break the dream which was so like Elysium.

"He bent his face to mine and called me by name. His voice shook with apprehension; I could feel that he trembled.

"I could not help it: a smile crept to my lips and warmed them into redness. He held my hand, and was chafing it between his smooth white palms.

"'She is recovering,' he exclaimed, joyfully.

"'So she am, marser,' answered Tom, the groom; 'beginning to look mighty natral. Lor' knows dis darky thought she was done gone sure 'nuff.'

"I moved then. Tom's voice had broken up my dream.

"'Are you better? Speak, dear lady, and tell me that you are not seriously hurt.'

"Opening my eyes wide, I looked into his, and closed them again, feeling the warm, fresh life rushing to my face with a glow.

"'Ah, your looks tell me that no serious evil will come from this,' he said. 'Let us thank God.'

"'I do thank God, but you most of all,' I whispered; 'without that, life would—'

"What was I about to say. My voice was weak, I do not think he heard me. I listened for some response, but none came, and when my eyes turned upon him, the look with which he met them was grave and thoughtful.

"Tom was busy about the saddles at some distance. With that prompt action which is in itself success, Lawrence had taken the girths and stirrups from the saddles, the martingales and bridles, all of which he had buckled and knotted together into the cable that saved my life. While Tom was repairing all damages, I grew strong enough to sit up, but my habit was so wet and heavy that it seemed impossible for me to walk. A slight lunch had been prepared for us which Tom had brought with him. Lawrence found a bottle of champagne in the basket, and poured out a brimming cup which he entreated me to drink while the sparkles were rising. I drank eagerly, again and again, till the slight chills that had begun to creep over me were broken up, and a glow of strength enabled me to rise.

"'Now,' said Lawrence, 'that you have some color in those cheeks, and the deathly look is gone, let us mount and away. It will be a miracle if you are not ill from this shock.'

"I arose and prepared to go, but faltered, and found the weight of my skirt oppressive. Lawrence threw one arm around my waist, and almost carried me to the horse. For one moment he folded me close in his arms before lifting me to the saddle, and whispered,—

"'Forgive me, that I led you into this danger.'

"I could not answer. The man who had saved my life, at a terrible risk to his own, asked me to forgive him. Did he guess that it was worship, not forgiveness, that I felt.

"We rode home at a gallop. Exercise drove the chills from my frame, and a strange excitement took possession of me. When I reached home, my cheeks were on fire. It was not fever, but a sensation stranger and wilder than I had ever felt before. Instead of returning home, I would have given the world to turn my horse and flee to the uttermost parts of the earth, where no one but the man who had saved me could ever know of my existence.

"Still, the horse was bearing me forward at the top of his speed, and no one attempted to check him or turn him aside. In the madness of my folly, I almost hoped to see Lawrence seize the bridle, and swerve his course away from the home I was beginning to hate."

"We reached home. The groom had ridden on in advance, to have dry clothes prepared for me; but it was of little use, for my habit had gradually lost its dampness, and I was feverish rather than chilly. Mr. Dennison came forth to meet us, his face full of alarm, his walk unsteady as if fright had shaken him. The old man lifted me from my saddle, and held me fondly in his arms, kissing my lips and forehead with passionate thankfulness before he set me down. Drops like rain fell upon my face, and I knew that the stout old man was weeping, though I had never seen tears in his eyes before.

"'My darling—my own beautiful wife,' he said, in the abandonment of his gratitude, 'what should I have done without you?'

"Mr. Dennison spoke so earnestly, that Lawrence must have heard him; but he was busy about the horses, and seemed quite unconscious of the tenderness which disturbed me so.

"'Thank God! you have not suffered as I feared,' continued my husband, encircling me with his arm, and almost carrying me into the house. 'Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes bright. Oh! my poor darling, I expected to see you white and drooping.'

"I leaned on him heavily, for my limbs were stiff, and I could hardly walk, besides a dead heaviness had seized upon my heart. When I shrank from the open caresses of my husband, this man did not seem to observe them. Was it that he did not care? This question drove all the unnatural excitement from me. I was white and cold enough then.

"No, I would not be forced into a dreary bed, and left to my thoughts. Exhausted as I was, anything seemed better than that. After Cora had taken off my soiled and torn habit, smoothed my hair and bathed my head with cologne, I girded a wrapper of soft white cashmere around me, with a scarf of scarlet silk which lay upon the sofa, and went down, spite of the girl's remonstrance.

"They were sitting together, those two men, conversing earnestly. I think Lawrence was giving an account of the terrible danger I had escaped, for Mr. Dennison was saying as I came up, treading so softly, that he had no idea of my presence:

"'My friend, it would be a little thing compared to this, that you had saved my life, for no human being will ever guess how much dearer this sweet creature is to me than that.'

"'She is indeed a most lovely woman,' answered Lawrence; 'any man might hold his existence light, in comparison with hers.'

"He spoke quietly, but I observed that his eyes did not seek those of my husband, and a cold whiteness lay upon his face. Was it the shock of that scene at the falls harassing him yet, or were unrevealed thoughts struggling with him?

"My husband started up joyfully when I appeared. He drew an easy-chair to the window, placed me in it, brought a stool for my feet, and sat down upon it, lifting his glad eager eyes to my face, with the devotion of a spaniel, while he patted and caressed the feet his movement had displaced.

"I felt myself growing angry. Why would the old man thus expose his folly before our guest, who seemed hewn from marble, so little did he regard the fondness that filled me with repulsion and shame.

"'Ah, my friend, see how she blushes at her husband's great joy and thankfulness. My poor child, Lawrence has been telling me all, how brave and steady you were, held almost by a thread over that fearful whirlpool without a shriek, and obeying orders like a veteran. He would not tell me all, but Tom did, so far as the fright would let him. Now say, my angel, what reward can we give our brave friend? He will not take my gratitude.'

"'But he must take mine,' I cried, reaching out both hands, with sudden appeal. 'He must not sit there cold and calm as if he had no interest in my safety. I cannot bear it.'

"Lawrence started up, and the quick fire leaped to his eyes. He took both my hands in his, with a firm, almost painful grasp.

"'Not gratitude. I will not have that, because—because it is all so undeserved. I did nothing that Tom himself would not have thought of. It was her own sublime courage, sir, that saved us from a terrible calamity.'

"Mr. Dennison gave me a look that seemed almost like adoration.

"'I am sure she would behave like an angel anywhere,' he said, 'but that does not lessen the value of your own brave action, my friend, and for that we are both bound to you forever.'

"'Well, let it rest so,' answered Lawrence, with an uneasy laugh. 'Just now I feel more like thanking God for a great mercy given, and terrible peril escaped, than anything else. Upon my word, Dennison, I can almost feel those white waters boiling around me now.'

"'They would have made an awful winding-sheet,' I said, with a shudder. 'But you saved me, oh, yes, you saved me.'

"'And your husband also, dear one,' said Mr. Dennison; 'for what would my life have been without you. Why, Lawrence, I have worshipped her ever since she was a little girl; even then, her proud saucy ways had their enchantment. She did not know it; how could she? but the old man's heart was set upon her while she was playing with her doll and bowling her hoop. Her own father never watched her growth with more interest than I felt, and when she learned to love me, why then, Lawrence, I knew for the first time what heaven was.'

"Lawrence looked at me steadily while the old man was speaking, so steadily, that I felt the hot blood rush to my face. Mr. Dennison observed this, and went on triumphing in the love he so truly believed to be his.

"'You see, my friend, how the very remembrance of that sweet confession bathes her face with blushes. She had taken a fancy to the old fellow long before a younger rival could think of entering the field against him, and married him for true love only, not because he was considered the richest planter in this district. She was innocent as a lamb, and as disinterested.'

"'Oh, Mr. Dennison,' I broke forth, 'do not talk about these things, they only weary Mr. Lawrence.'

"'Certainly not. I am deeply interested in everything that makes the happiness or misery of my friend,' said Lawrence, coldly.

"'Ah, she is too modest, I have always told her so, and far too careless about her own interests. Why, would you believe it, Lawrence, I could not get her to look into the state of my property, and learn how much or how little might hereafter come to her. She did not marry my property, but my own dear self; these were her very words, and for such words you cannot blame me if I adore her.'

"I felt myself glowing with shame. If I had ever used such words, it was when this old man seemed the only refuge left to me in my utter desolation. Perhaps I said them and felt them just then, for quiet home, protection, and a shelter were all I asked or hoped for in life; but now, with that man drinking in every word, I felt such protestations as a bitter humiliation.

"I arose to go. The conversation had become unbearable. I felt my lips quiver, and tears of intense mortification gathering to my eyes.

"Lawrence came toward me a step or two, and then retreated, for Mr. Dennison had given me his arm, and I left the room, bowed down with humiliation, and burning with shame. Why would the old man talk of me as he did? Even if I had loved him, it would have been embarrassing; as it was, all the pride of my nature rose up in revolt against him. At the foot of the stairs I dropped his arm, and insisted on going up alone. He seemed astonished and a little hurt. How would it have been had I dared to express all the rage that was struggling in my bosom?

"Cora was waiting for me. Poor girl! she had been sadly shocked by the abrupt account of my danger, which Tom had repeated to every one he met. She is a wayward creature, and at times, I really believe, hates herself with bitter detestation for the black tinge which taints every drop of blood in her veins. Never in my whole life have I seen a human being so sensitive. No matter to her that she is beautiful, and that even the blacks look upon her as apart from themselves, this bitter truth is always uppermost in her mind. She has black blood in her veins, and she was born a slave. I remember how this beautiful girl hated her mother, because it was through her that the taint and the bonds came. One would have thought this wretched woman was the slave of her own child, for one was made to feel all the degradation of her lot, and the other was, to a certain extent, lifted out of it, from the day she was given to me—a child myself—as my especial maid. How it used to amuse my father when this colored child would domineer over and scorn her own mother.

"Sometimes I think Cora is seized with a venomous dislike of myself. I do not wonder at it. In her way, she is quite as beautiful as I ever was, and as for talent, the girl surpasses me in everything. Her industry is untiring, her perceptions quick as lightning. In some other country she might marry well, and take rank in social life scarcely second to my own. Sometimes I think her ambition turns that way, for she is constantly teasing me to take her to Europe. I only wish it were in my power, for I love the poor girl dearly, and should rejoice to see her lifted out of the pitiful condition that all of her race must occupy here, bond or free, for at least a century to come.

"I have been writing about this girl Cora, because she is so connected with my own life that nothing can separate us. We played together on equal terms as children, and when she gradually dropped into the habits of a servant, it made no change in my affection for her. In my chamber we have always been friends, more than that—more than that!

"Cora saw that I was disturbed, and sitting down at my feet, besought me to tell her the cause.

"For the first time in my life I had a secret to keep from this girl. I could not own to her that a few garrulous words from an old man, who had been so kind to us both, had filled my heart with indignant shame, for she would have asked why such fond words had the power to offend me, and there was no answer ready to my lips.

"Perhaps Cora guessed this, for she was quick as the flash of a star in her intelligence; at any rate, she asked me no questions, but contented herself with braiding my hair, smoothing it with her soft palms, and stooping to kiss my forehead when she saw a shadow of discontent pass over it.

"'Do not fret,' she said, softly, whispering back the thoughts I was striving to drive from my brain; 'seventy years is longer than most men live. Only have patience and wait.'

"I was angry with her for understanding that, which I wished buried from the whole world. Dashing her hands away, I swept the hair she was braiding in a coil around my head, and turned upon her with such sharp rebuke, that she retreated from me frightened.

"'Ah! has it gone so far?' she muttered, shaking her head. 'Well, after this there will be neither patience nor peace for any of us.'

"I ordered her to be silent, and directly after heard her sobbing in the next room as if her heart were broken.

"Why did Cora's words haunt me all that night? are evil thoughts the only ones which cling tenaciously to the brain? I tried to cast them off, heaven knows I did! but that was impossible, nor could I sleep. The shock upon my nerves had been far too severe for that.

"Why would the old man haunt my room and sit by the pillow on which I could find no rest? His presence tortured me. I could not keep my aching eyes from his white hair and the wrinkles on his forehead, which seemed to deepen and grow prominent in the moonlight of my shaded lamp. How could I forget his seventy years, with such things before me in my wakefulness? But he would not leave me; anxiety kept him watchful. It seemed to me that those bright, earnest eyes read all the dark thoughts that haunted my brain. I turned my face to the wall and pretended to sleep. He sat motionless, holding his very breath, for he knew how much rest must be needed after the awful shock I had received, and would not frighten it away by a single motion. After a while, when everything was still, I felt him bending over me; directly his quivering old lips touched my forehead, and what appeared to me like a heavy rain-drop fell upon my closed eyelid.

"'Thank God,' he murmured; 'she is asleep at last!'

"This child-like gratitude touched me more than the protest of a thousand clergymen could have done. How purely and dearly the old man loved me, and how unworthy I was! Great heavens, why did I ever marry him, and thus make deception almost a duty? There is one excuse for me—I did not then know what love meant.

"Toward morning, Mr. Dennison went into his own room; then I breathed again; true, he was very near, and by changing my position I could see his white head and grand old face upon the pillow, where he had fallen asleep with a smile of thankfulness upon his lips. After all, he is generous, good, and rich in intelligence. Why is it that love will not go with the reason?

"They would have kept me in bed the next day, but I resisted. The minutes were too precious for such waste. I went down-stairs, feeling like a criminal and looking like one, Cora said, but the two gentlemen regarded my sadness and my pallor as a proof of illness, and would scarcely allow me to speak, such was their anxiety for my welfare. So I sat in my easy-chair languid and still, listening to them as they conversed, and yet gathering but few of their words into my mind. All at once a blow seemed to have struck me. It was only a word, but that one word took away my breath. Mr. Dennison had been asking some question, and Lawrence answered,—

"'To-morrow.'

"'Not so soon as that. Indeed, my friend, we cannot spare you,' said Mr. Dennison.

"I held my breath. It seemed as if my heart would never beat again. A slow faintness crept over me while Lawrence answered,—

"'But I must: the business which brings me South is too important for delay. Already I have spent nearly a month that may cost me dear.'

"His eyes turned full upon mine. They were dark and heavy with sadness. God forgive me if mine expressed too much!

"'But my wife will never consent to this. Speak, dear, and give him one of your pretty commands. It must be important business indeed, which can win him to disobey you.'

"I opened my lips to speak, but no words followed the effort. A choking sensation came into my throat, and the very light went out from before my eyes. They thought me insensible, but my faculties were locked up; I knew everything.

"Mr. Dennison ran into the house, crying out for Cora. That instant Lawrence took me in his arms; I felt his breath upon my face when he drew back with a faint exclamation. Cora stood close by him.

"'She is faint, she is insensible,' he said, hurriedly. His voice was confused, and I could feel that the arm which held me was seized with sudden trembling. 'It was imprudent to let her come down.'

"Cora put him aside, and took my hand from his, just as Mr. Dennison came back to the veranda.

"'Ah,' he cried, joyfully; 'she is better, the color is coming back to her mouth! poor child, poor child! we have let you come out too soon.'

"He stooped down and kissed me tenderly, but I shrunk from him with sudden recoil, and leaning upon Cora, entered the house, so weary and sick at heart that I almost prayed to die.

"There was no rest for me that day. One thought occupied my whole mind: he was going in the morning—going I knew not whither, and the history of the last two weeks would be henceforth all of life that I should care to remember. I wandered from room to room, wondering what course I could take, and how it would be possible to appease the aching pain at my heart. Sometimes I could hear his voice rising up from the veranda. It was low and grave, sometimes I thought constrained, as if the words he uttered came from a preoccupied heart.

"No criminal ever listened for the steps that were to bring him a reprieve with more interest, than I felt in gathering up the broken sentences of that conversation. He was going away, first to New Orleans, then back to New York, where business must suffer until his return. I heard this clearly. It was no rash speech, but a settled determination;
yet up to that morning he had never spoken
of it."

"I went into the black shadow of this grand old tree, sat down with my back against its trunk, and fell into a passion of bitter weeping. Why had I become all at once so unhappy? What sorrow, or cause of sorrow, had fallen upon me? I would not even attempt to answer this question, but asked it over and over again, as if the solution were not in my own heart reproaching me.

"All at once I heard a noise in the grass—the steady fall of a man's foot. I hushed my tears, and drew my shawl over the white dress that threatened to betray me, even buried as I was in deep shadows. A tall figure directly after appeared in the moonlight, standing by the lake. I knew it at once. He also had come out into the beautiful night, unhappy, perhaps, and restless as myself. He stood awhile motionless, then I saw him move away, and walk quickly up and down the shore, as if the beauty of the night filled him with irrepressible inquietude. Then I asked myself why he could not rest, and what feelings had driven him forth. My heart gave a reply which turned its sadness into excitement. Still I neither moved nor spoke, but watched his abrupt movements to and fro with breathless interest. Ah, he was wretched as myself—the thought of parting had driven him forth. I was sure of that, and the certainty was like a triumph.

"All at once Lawrence turned from the moonlight, and plunged into the black shadows of the oak, where he walked up and down like a disturbed spirit. I could hear broken words fall from his lips, as if he found it a relief to speak aloud in the solitude. There was passion and pathos in his voice, but I gathered no other meaning from the sounds that reached me.

"Perhaps I stirred, and by a movement of my shawl revealed the whiteness of my dress, for he came toward me, exclaiming,—

"'Great heavens! what is this?'

"I shrunk back against the body of the oak, and huddled the shawl around my person, hoping thus to escape his observations; but he came close to me, and said very quietly, though his voice trembled a little,—

"'Do not hide yourself, but come out into the moonlight. I felt that you would be here.'

"I arose, obedient as a little child, and walked by his side toward the magnolia-tree, where the moonlight fell in white radiance.

"'Why did you come out at this late hour?' he said, looking down upon me with gentle compassion in his eyes.

"'I could not sleep. I was so unhappy that the close air of the house stifled me.'

"'I understand,' he replied, almost mournfully. 'It is the old story. I too—but what matters that—the air of the house was oppressive. No matter, I shall quit it to-morrow.'

"'To-morrow,—and you will go?'

"'Yes; Dennison is an old friend—a dear old friend. I shall go to-morrow.'

"'To-morrow, and forever!' I cried, in a burst of passionate despair, which frightened me the moment it left my lips.

"He did not answer in words, but took my two hands between his, and bent his eyes upon me with a glance so searching, that I shrunk away from him, for the moonlight gave supernatural intensity to his face.

"'To-morrow, and I think forever; believe me, it is better so.'

"'Better? Forever! forever! Oh, these are terrible words!' I cried, scarcely caring to conceal the anguish which wrung such expressions from me.

"'They seem terrible to youth, I know,' he answered, sadly; 'but after a while you will learn that time softens even our ideas of eternity. Life is, and must be, one continued scene of parting.'

"'But parting is such pain,' I pleaded.

"'Pain does not last forever.'

"'Oh, it will; it must!' I cried out, in a passionate protest.

"The man smiled, and shook his head, sadly enough.

"'It seems so now; but you will know more of the world some day, and learn to cast deep feeling from you. It is a sad drawback in life.'

"'And you have learned this lesson?' I asked, half in tears, half angrily.

"He paused a moment, made a gesture as if he were casting some great restraint upon himself, and then answered:

"'Yes, I have learned the lesson. So must you.'

"'But I can not. God made me as I am. It is my nature to feel and suffer keenly.'

"'I think so. Yet in a little time how all this may change!'

"'Never!'

"'Ah, yes; and when that change comes—when you are brilliant, careless, a beautiful coquette, perhaps we can meet again, and play with the foam of life pleasantly, as it is tossed to our feet by the waves of society; but deep waters are treacherous; we must not trust to them.'

"'You talk strangely,' I said, feeling an angry fire kindling against him in my bosom.

"'I talk honestly, as you will admit some day.'

"I turned from him, angry with the tone of protection and superiority which he had assumed. Surely I was no school-girl to be thus adroitly put upon my good behavior.

"'You are angry with me?'

"'Yes; I have cause. You seem to speak from premises which I do not understand. What have I done that you should lecture me so?'

"My anger seemed to amuse him. His eyes flashed, and he laughed a low, sweet laugh, that the rippling wind carried off in its murmurs.

"'What have you done, child? Why, wandered off here, at the peril of your health, when you should have been quietly sleeping!'

"'But you have done the same thing!'

"'Yes; but nothing harms me. Being a man, I know how to take care of myself.'

"'Is it a part of manhood to be without feeling?'

"'And you charge me with that?'

"'Yes, I do, or you would never speak of me with an idea that I could become a brilliant coquette.'

"'Indeed! Why, are you not a woman?'

"I turned to move away. There was something bitter in his utterance of the last word that irritated me.

"He followed me.

"'You did not hear me out,' he said;—'and a beautiful woman—can such rare beings escape admiration?'

"Still I walked on, leaving the live-oak and magnolia-tree behind. His last speech seemed hollow and conventional. Did he think to appease me by commonplace flattery like that?

"He walked by my side in silence some minutes, looking earnestly in my face when it turned to the moonlight. All at once he broke out earnestly, passionately, throwing off all the constraint that had made him seem so artificial.

"'Let us be frank with each other,' he said. 'You are my friend's wife. I go from his house to-morrow, because I am afraid of loving you more than an honorable man should. Is this honest? Are you angry with me?'

"My face was lifted to his; my hands unconsciously clasped themselves. I trembled in every limb; but it was neither with anger nor pain.

"'Am I not right?' he demanded, turning his face away.

"I did not answer, for I knew well that, right or wrong, his going would leave me miserable.

"'I thought myself stronger and wiser,' he continued, without seeming to heed my silence; 'but that day when you were in such peril I learned how deep was the impression your beauty and loveliness had made upon me. Since then I have been resolved to go—my honor and my happiness demand it.'

"Still I was silent, partly from a wild sense of triumph, partly from terror lest he should guess at the feeling.

"'You will not answer me; my frankness offends you.'

"He seemed touched and hurt by the silence, which I could not force myself to break. All at once I was sobbing. He took my hand gently in his, and led me back along the path we had been walking. I cannot repeat all that he said to me. It was himself on whom all blame rested. This was the spirit of his conversation. Not for one moment did he hint that I could have been interested in anything he did, save as the hospitable lady of a mansion in which he was a guest. Was he deceived? I cannot tell; but this I do know, every word he uttered was full of loyal respect for my husband. He did not seem to understand or notice the tears I was shedding, but quietly led me toward the house. At last he stopped, took my hand, pressed it to his lips, and left me standing alone within sight of my dwelling.

"Lawrence left the next morning at daylight. I had been dreaming on my sleepless pillow that scene by the lake over and over again. Every word that man had uttered passed through my brain, and made a sweet lodgment in my heart. How careful he had been to save my pride while confessing his own weakness. If he had been masterful, and treated me like a child, no word of his had conveyed a suspicion that I too was in danger. His delicacy enthralled me more by far than persuasion could have done. He spoke only of his own struggles and his own danger, never hinting that I might share in one or the other. How magnanimous, how self-sacrificing he was—and this man loved me!

"All at once I heard a noise of wheels in front of the house. A sharp apprehension broke up my dreams. I sprang out of bed, lifted the lace curtain, and saw my husband's light buggy drawn up on the carriage-drive. While Tom was packing a valice under the seat, Mr. Lawrence stood near drawing on his gloves.

"He was going without one word of farewell. The thought made me wild. I flung up the window with a violence that tore the valenciennes from the sleeve of my night-dress, and called out,—

"'Not yet, not yet!'

"He did not hear me, or perhaps would not. That instant he sprang into the buggy, snatched the reins from Tom, and drove off. As he passed a curve in the road, he drew up and looked back at the house, as if unable to leave it without a farewell-glance. I was still at the window, half shrouded by the curtains, but leaning out, with wild unconsciousness of my position. He waved one hand, drew his horse up with the other so sharply that the buggy was half wheeled across the road; the next instant the horse made a plunge forward, seemingly unmanageable, and in an instant bore him out of sight.

"I knelt by the window a long time, looking upon the spot where he had disappeared in blank despair. In one minute my life seemed to have become a barren waste. Points in the landscape that had been so beautiful over-night, struck me with a dreary appearance of change. My eyes grew hot and ached with the pain of my sudden desolation. I could neither weep nor cry out, but knelt there with a dull sense of sorrow and utter loneliness creeping over me. Burdened with these wretched feelings, I crept back to my couch, and burying my face in the pillows, suffered silently."

"How miserably slow the weeks and months roll on. I can endure this irksome sameness of life no longer; the very fragrance of the air sickens me. I long for change—for excitement. Youth has no need of rest; its aspirations are always pressing onward. He said that I was beautiful. My husband has told me this a hundred times, but it made little impression, for what is the worth of beauty in a great dull house like this? I long to go out into the world again, for there is a chance that I may—no, no, I will not think of that. He did not even tell me where he was going. But change I must and will have; it is the want of excitement that makes me a slave to these fits of depression. While surrounded by the homage of other men, I shall learn to forget that this one refused it to me.

"This evening I ventured upon the subject which has been haunting me for weeks. Mr. Dennison remarked that I was getting pale, and had lost all the brilliant glow of spirits which made my first coming home like an opening of paradise to him. Was I ill, or had he failed in anything that could have made me happy?

"I did not complain, but smiled upon him in a way that brought light into his eyes, and said pleasantly enough, that I was not quite myself in splendid solitude, that female friends were necessary to me, and I had parted with them perhaps a little too suddenly. Sometimes, I confessed, a feeling of discontent would creep over me, and but for him and all his generous attentions, I should grow weary of our grand lonely life.

"Mr. Dennison became anxious at once. 'Would I have guests invited? It was the easiest thing in life to have the great house filled with the most agreeable company to be found in the State.'

"'Guests? Oh, nothing of the kind! The duties of a hostess were beyond me just then,—but a little journey somewhere—how would he like that?—say to New Orleans?—the approaching autumnal weather would render a trip to the city pleasant, and we could come back any day.'

"Mr. Dennison accepted this proposal at once. He had seemed a little anxious at first when I spoke of leaving home, as if some doubt rested in his mind; but when I mentioned New Orleans, the cloud left his face, and he fell in with the suggestion.

"My suspicions were right. Mr. Dennison was not altogether at rest about Lawrence. At first he suspected that I was anxious to be thrown in his way again. I could see it in his face, and dared not speak of Saratoga, Newport, or any Northern watering-place, which it had been my first intention to suggest. So I mentioned New Orleans, and he was satisfied, while I fairly bit my lips white with the vexation of my failure. But New Orleans was better than nothing. There, at least, we should find society, amusement and distraction. Besides, our names would be announced in the public journals, and he might learn of our presence there. Yes, yes, New Orleans was preferable to home, especially as the autumn was near, and the gay season northward already breaking up.

"Cora was in ecstasies when I told her that we were going away. Poor girl, she had found my domestic life very dull and depressing; I could see that by the alacrity with which she went to work. Once more she became bright and animated as a bird. My wardrobe was speedily put in order, and we left the plantation, much happier to go away than we had been to enter it."