Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale

At this moment a pair of strong arms were thrown about her and a voice hissed in her ear: "Don't ye bawl, and ye shan't be hurt! I'se got a strong grip and so ye'd better be quiet!" She gave one shriek, and then finding he had bound her hands while speaking shouted again the name of "Mrs. Belmont!" Quick as thought a bandage was thrust over her mouth which almost suffocated her. "Thar, thar – I reckon yese'll be quiet now!" and taking her in his powerful grasp bore her rapidly away.

"Sam! Sam!" screamed Mrs. Belmont; "come quickly! Do you not hear the dear child calling? Something has happened! Run and find her!" She was close to the carriage and there was no need of calling so loudly; but the poor, frightened negro did not move.

"Why do you not run?"

"O Lor, Lor, Missus! Dis nigger can't do nothin'! I'se mighty 'fraid, Missus! Can't go nohow!"

Mrs. Belmont wrung her hands in the very abandonment of grief! "Poor, poor girl!" Then darting into the woods she called with a loud voice: "Lily! Lily!" But the roaring of the waves not far away was her only answer. After many exclamations of sorrow and outbursts of grief; after much calling and many remonstrances with the poor frightened negro for his good-for-nothingness on all occasions, and this trying one in particular, Mrs. Belmont reseated herself in the carriage and commanded that Sam should drive as rapidly as possible to the city.

"Dat I will, Missus; but what ye do wid di young lady?"

"Drive to the city as I command you!" was the emphatic answer.

"Yes, Missus;" and after some hesitation and audible ejaculations from Sam they gained the highway and an hour after drove up to the door of the St. Clair's.

"What the deuce does this mean!" exclaimed the old gentleman as Mrs. Belmont entered the parlor with haggard looks and her long black hair in disorder about her face. The sad story was soon told amid sobs and exclamations from her hearers.

"What possessed you to remain down to the beach at such a late hour?" interrogated Mr. St. Clair angrily. "One could almost suspect you of design."

"My dear husband," said the wife; "do not be too rash! The question is, what can we do for the poor girl?"

"Send to headquarters of the police immediately! The place must be thoroughly searched by moonlight and continued until she is found!"

All this time Mrs. Belmont sat like one who had suddenly lost the power of motion, while her keen, dark eyes seemed to burn the carpet at her feet. At last she arose and with the dignity of former days walked from the room, and her carriage was soon after heard rolling away from the door.

"You have offended your cousin Mr. St. Clair," said the wife.

"I do not care if I have! She had no business to be out in such a place without being better attended at any rate!"

"Mrs. Gaylord must not hear of this to-night," continued the good lady musingly as her husband left the room. "How can I tell her! It is terrible!"

Day after day was the search continued but with no success. Mrs. Belmont had closed her doors against all visitors, taking the precaution, however, to station her servants where they would be able to bring her the first news concerning the missing one. Mr. Gaylord reached Savannah in time to join in the search and administer consolation to his newly-afflicted wife.

CHAPTER XXI.

BREAKING OF HOME TIES

Let the human soul wander where it will with its burden of guilt; let it try as best it can to hide its deformity under the covering of complacency, the eye that never slumbers is upon it and an accusing conscience will continue to repeat "thy sin shall find thee out!" Poor Mrs. Belmont! Step by step had she been led forward on the path where she little expected to walk, but in her stepping down from true womanhood she had been met by the spirit of evil and he had guided her tremblingly on.

The third evening after the close of our last chapter a tall figure in feminine attire might have been seen in the street opposite her residence. A half hour after, the side door of that house opened softly and closed again as a closely-veiled woman emerged into the darkness. Passing down the main avenue it came to a street more unfrequented where the two met and walked on together a few moments in silence. At last stopping suddenly the voice of Mrs. Belmont inquired in a subdued tone, "Well – what are you going to say? Quick!"

"I'se goin' to tell ye. I took the gal down to the boat, but 'twas a mighty hard tug. She didn't make no fuss tho', so I took off the handkerchief and told her to be aisy and I'd treat her well. Then came lots of questions but I didn't tell her nothin'. The sea was mighty high and I know'd there was no gettin' to the ship, so I jest hugged the shore as near as I dast to 'til I got away where nobody could find us, then I pulled up where I know'd was good shelter to wait for the tide, when gorry! I'd no more than sot foot on a hard rock than the gal sprung to her feet and was off quick as a wink! How she got her hands untied nobody knows! But she couldn't ha' kept up five minutes for the wind was risin' and the waves was awful, so I reckon there's no more trouble for nobody!"

"You are a blunderer!" gasped his listener.

"I'se done my best, that's all!"

"Here – take that – and remember next week you go to Charleston as a volunteer to fight, and if you get shot so much the better for you! This is the bounty to be given your family! Go – and let me and this transaction die from your memory forever! Go!"

They separated and Mrs. Belmont returned to her home with the same stealthy tread as that with which she had left it. Alone in her chamber the wretched woman listened once more long and helplessly to the terrible upbraidings of conscience!

"I did not intend all this," she cried. "O, no! The stain of murder cannot be found on my soul! I only thought – the great Judge knows I would never have injured my own flesh and blood! The great Judge!" she repeated, while a tremor ran through her frame. "Yes, He knows I did not mean all this! I was compelled – having taken the first step there was no retreating! Ah, that first act! Whither will it lead me?"

In the morning the storm had passed and Mrs. Belmont came forth to light and life more rigid and stern than before. It was said that "her sorrows had made her grave; yet more grand and dignified," and soon the "presumptuous" whispers of blame were hushed, for one so noble as the "mistress of Rosedale" could not be guilty of crime! And the wave of public opinion closed over the scene and the waters of social life were calm again.

George St. Clair had remained in Charleston during these excitements, watching the progress of other scenes even more sad and cruel, yet free from the plague spots of crime, and bearing aloft the banner held to be of glory and honor for the reason that a nation, not an individual, had demanded the sacrifice of many lives, not one! South Carolina had drawn her ample robes more closely about her and with one pitiful leap had plunged over the fearful precipice down into the dark and unexplored depths of the yawning chasm of disunion, dragging after her a few of her unfortunate sisters. No wonder they stood and trembled upon the brink when it was once reached, for there were mysteries wholly unlooked for which seemed to lose their golden tints upon nearer approach and assume the dignity of practical realities. The little "affair" at Fort Sumter somehow had cast a shadow of foreboding over more than one chivalric heart.

Col. St. Clair met his commanding officer the morning after the surrender of the little half-starved garrison, standing alone viewing through his glass the noble fort with the new emblem of glory floating over it.

"Well – how do you like the looks of that, Colonel? The Morning Star with healing in its beams – ha?" Taking down his glass he turned to his companion, who had not yet spoken, and continued; "what the deuce is the matter with you St. Clair? Your face ought to be shining with victory, but instead it presents a perfect blank!"

"As unreadable as our future," he replied with an attempt at a smile.

"Ah! A discovery! Getting tired already! Hope the white feather has not began to grow as soon as this!" There was a sneer on the face of the speaker which his companion did not fail to notice.

"General," he said mildly, "I acknowledge with deference your superiority in military rank, but do not forget that the blood of the St. Clair's runs through my veins, disseminating through my being no mean cowardice, as you well know!" The general laughed.

"You are awake now my brave boy and more like yourself! I only wanted to arouse you! Now tell us, what is the matter? Something more than our surroundings disturbs you. Out with it!"

"What time do the Eaton's go north?" was the calm inquiry.

"Next Wednesday in the steamer from New Orleans," the general replied in the same indifferent tone.

Another short silence ensued when St. Clair again remarked: "We have won such a victory that we can afford to rest for a time, I suppose? The fact is, general," he continued, "I have received a telegram this morning that has disturbed me not a little!"

"I am glad your ill humor can be accounted for. I never saw you appear so unlike yourself; no bad news I hope!"

The manner of his companion was particularly offensive just then, but smothering his rage St. Clair replied: "You understand that I would like a furlough to return home for a few days! It seems that my father must leave Savannah, where he has been an honored and beloved citizen for nearly half a century, or forfeit his life, for no other reason than that he cannot at his advanced age learn immediately the act of dissembling nor tear from his heart the live-long love for the old flag."

"What do you mean, St. Clair?"

"I mean just this! My father was fired upon last night while sitting quietly in his own library, the ball passing a little above his head and lodged in the wall opposite."

The general was excited. "A blood-thirsty wretch!" escaped from his lips, while his companion continued calmly: "In order to save our loved ones we must push them off into the enemy's country; now honestly, general, has not that a smack of the ridiculous about it?" Without waiting for a reply he turned, remarking: "It is time that I was at work if I am permitted to go on the next train."

Anna Pierson was alone in the school room, her head bowed upon the desk before which she was sitting. A sheet of letter paper with a few lines written upon it was lying beside her, while the idle pen with the ink dried upon it had apparently fallen on the page blearing and spoiling it. Poor Anna! She had sat there a long time silent and motionless, seemingly unconscious even when little May stole softly into the room to tell "Miss Anna" that Uncle George had come; she was obliged to run back with the intelligence that Miss Anna was asleep; neither did the tread of heavier feet arouse her when nearly half an hour later George St. Clair quietly pushed back the half-open door and stood irresolutely for a moment on the threshold. She was not asleep as he well knew, for a low, deep sigh reached him, and the little hand that hung so listlessly over the corner of the desk on which her head was resting trembled. In a moment he was beside her, and taking the bowed head between his hands he raised it tenderly and looked down into the tear-stained face.

"Anna!"

"George St. Clair!" she exclaimed with almost a shriek, at the same time attempting to rise. But he held her fast.

"No, Anna! It takes a longer time than you have given me to get a perfect daguerreotype! I want the memory of this just as I found it, tear-stained and all! It is no more than I deserve. I should not have been so cruelly selfish as not to have told you weeks ago to leave Savannah and return to your northern home."

"Is it too late now?"

"No, but you must be speedy! More than this, you must take my father and mother and Ellen with you!"

"With me?"

"Yes, Anna; we cannot leave them here after what has happened."

"O, no; I shall be so happy! But George – "

"What, Anna?"

"My mother is a widow in humble circumstances – "

"Do you imagine that I would burden yourself or your mother?"

"Not that," she interrupted. "I was only thinking of the change from a home of luxury to one of only comfort, yet very peaceful and dear, at least to me. But it would be delightful if I could make them as happy and joyous in my humble home as they have made me in theirs. Will they let me try?"

"Has no one but the three you have mentioned added a morsel to your enjoyment since you have been an inmate of this home?"

The blood rushed to her cheeks and brow and she struggled to liberate herself that he might not look so intently down into her swimming eyes, which she well knew would tell him more than she would have him know.

"Then there was no one else! Well – take them; I will consign them to your care until the detestable struggle is over! When this is done I will relieve you. Bertha is a true rebel and will have no fears in remaining where she is."

The voice of the speaker was low and tremulous as he uttered these words, and Anna thought that she had never before seen his face so pale and thin. He had permitted her to rise and she now stood before him. Did she love him? She had asked herself that question many months previously, and although her lips were prompt in their denial her heart had remained silent. It throbbed now as she met his troubled gaze and beheld the look of sorrow on his face. It was for a moment only. For the first time her eyes fell upon his military dress; it was a rebel uniform! A flood of recollections rolled in upon her in deadly combat. Would that hand which had so lately touched her cheek spill the life-blood of those who were so dear to her? The thought sent the blood back to her heart and left cheek and lip pallid and cold! With an involuntary shudder she laid her trembling hand on his shoulder and tried to speak, but the words died on her pale lips. George St. Clair passed his arm about her and drew her to a seat on the sofa. "You are ill; sit here until I procure some water!"

"No, no; I am not ill; it is over now. You came to talk to me about going home. It is very kind of you;" and, rising, she extended her hand. He took it tenderly in his as she continued: "I joyfully accept the charge you have placed in my care, and will endeavor to be to them all you could wish; and now, before our last farewell, make me one promise, will you." Her lips quivered, but with an effort she thrust back the tears that were welling up from her full heart, while her hand lay motionless in his. "It is this: Should one or both of my brothers, through the fickleness of war, be thrown into your power, that you will let the memories of the last eighteen months soften your heart with mercy toward them."

"Has this uniform converted me into a monster? I do not wonder? Yet I promise you all and more! God only knows what those memories of which you speak will do with me. Now we will go and talk the departure over with the rest, yet not with that pale face, Anna. It would add a new pang to the sorrows of my parents, who are now unhappy with the prospects of expulsion, as they term it. Have you not one kind word for me now that we are so soon to part, perhaps never to meet again? O, Anna, I had torn from my life's history several pages which I had determined to read to you to-day, but cannot now." He raised her hand to his lips. "Farewell! we will go. To-morrow, no doubt, you will be busy; the next day we must be in Charleston to intercept a New Orleans steamer going north. This route will be a little longer but more agreeable, as every train is thoroughly searched for any who may be going thither with more information concerning our plans than would be desirable. Again farewell." He dropped her hand and left the room.

Anna sank down again on the sofa, and for a few moments gave vent to her pent-up tears. The succeeding day was full of sadness and bustle. Many tears were shed, and presentiments indulged in. The invincible Bertha alone stood firm and apparently unmoved. Only once did the son and brother appear with the family. He came to dinner, but disappeared as soon as it was over. Anna tried to think of her home, where she would soon be, of the joy of her fond mother at the reunion, but it was piercing the cloud to draw the sunshine from beyond.

In one week the little party arrived safely in Washington; from there they took the cars for Baltimore, and thence to New York.

A few miles back from the noble old Hudson stands a pleasant little village, nestled in among the green hills and wide-spreading trees, cosy and quiet, excepting where the rapid stream comes rushing down through the valley, turning in its course two huge splashing wheels that never grow weary as they keep on with their work, propelling the machinery of the massive cotton mills which were the life and pride of the inhabitants for many miles around. It looked calm and peaceful as seen from the deck of the steamer, where Anna was sitting, and her heart bounded with ecstacy as the pleasant remembrances of her home life came sweeping over her. She had been sitting with the hand of Ellen St. Clair clasped tightly in her own, apparently listening to her exclamations of delight at the grand scenery through which they were passing, while in truth she was harkening to other voices that came up from the past, and gazing on the many sweet faces that filled her heart with a new joy, and drew back for a while the dark curtains that seemed to hang between her and the shadowed future.

"I declare, I do not believe you have heard one word I have been saying." This from Ellen at last. "All of that ecstasy is wasted; and I indulge in it so seldom! Tell me, Anna, what were you thinking about?"

"Of home, dear Ellen, and how happy we will all be together."

"But Father thinks we may better take rooms at the hotel; he is afraid."

"I understand all. They will be better acquainted with our habits soon, and, it may be, will think more leniently of us; but I am responsible for your safe-keeping, you know, and could not think of extending my care over more than a mile to the hotel." Anna smiled, while Ellen's laugh reached the parents who were sitting some distance from them.

"They are happy, wife," suggested Mr. St. Clair, "and I reckon we might as well be so too, and make the best of circumstances."

The little circle in the widow's cottage would have been happy, yes joyous, had there not been two vacant chairs at the evening gatherings and at the morning devotions, while the sound of war came to them from the distance, telling of bloodshed, of anguish, of heart-strings breaking and homes made desolate forever. It was sad; but the widow never ceased to pray, and with her petitions there went up a meed of praise that He had given her the power to offer, on the altar of sacrifice, her first born, with his brother, both true and noble.

Colonel St. Clair's letters were frequent, and although full of love and solicitude for his parents and Ellen, he had never more than casually mentioned the name of Anna in any of them. But his sister was with her and she was happy. Having never herself known the love of a sister, she fancied that in this dear friend she had at last found a recompense for her years of unsatisfied longing. Milton has said "The happiness of a nation consists in true religious piety, justice, prudence, temperance, fortitude, and the contempt of avarice and ambition; they in whom these virtues dwell eminently need not kings to make them happy; but are the architects of their own happiness, and whether to themselves or others are not less than kings." And we add, the country who has these virtues and lives upon the principles emanating therefrom needs not war to wipe out injustice and wrong.

CHAPTER XXII.

LEADING HER ON

The path downward is easy of descent, even though the end thereof be eternal ruin! There were thousands at the time of which we are writing (as well as in all stages of human life) who threw themselves from the lofty pinnacle of true nobility to grovel awhile in the slough of wickedness, then perish forever! How terrible must be the awakening of such a soul, if the kind Ruler should ever permit the awakening to come, and yet worse, sadly worse, would be the unconscious sleep that plunges its victim over the precipice of ruin to be aroused at last beyond the boundaries of hope!

One night after the first signal defeat of the southern army, which seemed to dim for awhile the bright halo of victory that had darted up the horizon from northern skies, a circle of ladies were gathered in a spacious parlor in Charleston, doubtless for business purposes, and those of no ordinary character, if we should judge by the earnest debates that were carried on in one corner by a group apart from the rest, or by the sage countenances and serious deportment of the others.

One of the number, a tall lady in black, had arisen from her seat on the sofa, where she had been discussing for a long time some important subject in which all appeared particularly interested, and was now walking with measured tread and folded arms up and down the long parlors, seemingly unconscious of the low buzz of subdued voices which fell on her ear at every turn, for her dark, keen eyes had never once been raised from the carpet on which she was treading.

Just outside of the window stood a large magnolia tree whose upper branches reached the narrow opening made by letting down the window to admit the fragrant air from the blossoms outside. To-night this had not been neglected, and as the heavy lace curtains were pushed slightly to one side a pair of dark, wondering eyes peered down upon the scene below. In the kitchen another group had gathered; their faces were darker and their clothing coarser and homelier than those upon which the slave boy was gazing from his elevated seat in the magnolia tree, but the all-absorbing subject had fired the blood and quickened the pulse alike of each. Harry had determined to learn as much as possible about the excitement, and his heart had beat rapidly as he listened to much that had been said by those who had occupied the sofa directly under the window; but he could hear little now and he waited impatiently for the return of the principal speaker who provokingly continued her thoughtful promenade. He was thinking of the light, frail mulatto girl down stairs who was nervously waiting for his appearance and the new secret he was to confide in her; and the half hour seemed to extend to an interminable length.

It ended at last. The tall figure reseated itself in the chair, and the eager face of the listener pressed hard to the frame of the window that his ear might not lose a word.

"Yes; I will go!" were the first that reached him.

"You have decided nobly!" exclaimed several in a breath.

"It is just what I knew you would do after deliberating upon it!" replied the one who seemed to be particularly addressed. "You are so much better fitted for the mission than any one present! Your queenly bearing and imperious manners would command the confidence and respect of strangers. Then your acquaintance in Washington would so materially assist you! It has been proven that our army must act with skill as well as power, and as the colonel says, 'we must learn something of their plans before they are brought against us, if we are to overthrow them.' For this you are well adapted as you will have no trouble in mingling with the most refined, or in select circles where such things are ably discussed." Mrs. Belmont had been sitting during this speech seemingly absorbed in her meditations, but the listener outside lost not a word.

"You will disguise yourself in some way, I suppose," suggested another. Mrs. Belmont aroused herself at this.

"I will take one hundred dollars only of the money subscribed, and will return to this house one week from to-day without a card and my name shall be 'Mrs. Southey.' If Harry does not recognize me I shall feel secure. His keen eyes and quick perceptions would penetrate my mask I know if it could be done. I intend it shall be complete, but this shall be my test!"

An approving hum went round the circle. "But supposing he should know you?" suggested the mistress. "I fear that half-blooded rascal – he knows altogether too much if I can read aright the merry twinkle in his eyes and the inquiring look with which he scrutinizes every stranger who visits here. But we will try him. We must not shrink from any imaginary ill when you are to risk so much for our good," continued the lady.