Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale

"As to myself," interposed the father, "I am very naturally inclined, after placing in the hands of our hostess a sufficient sum for every expense, including the perplexities such an increase of family would cause, to remain in our present quarters until further developments."

"Very likely!" interposed the mother with with a beaming face.

Anna had left her seat at the head of the table at the very commencement of this little speech, and the hostess sat with folded hands pale and trembling as one in a troubled dream. Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair looked at each other with surprise written all over their good-natured faces, but the sister was lost in amazement. She had not once thought such a union possible, and was not ready to give it sanction.

"Mrs. Pierson, tell me frankly, do you wish that the bullet which so ignobly tore my back had finished its work, so that the present summing up would have been avoided? It would not, however, have saved your daughter's heart, for she loved me before all that."

The widow looked calmly into the face of the speaker as she answered tremulously: "My daughter's happiness is my highest ambition. Not so much as to the comforts of this life as to the assurances of the life to come. Wealth or honorable position socially have not been included in my aspirations for her. Congenial companionship and a true heart are the highest blessings of life I could wish." Tears came into her eyes and she arose from the table to hide them.

"I am not going to let my dinner spoil at any rate!" exclaimed Mr. St. Clair, with a composing laugh: "This roast lamb is capital."

"And you would like some coffee;" suggested Anna, appearing at her post, while Mrs. Pierson returned to her seat at the table.

"Now that is sensible. Let us appoint an hour for congratulations and proceed with present duties unmolested. George, my boy, replenish the stomach if you would restore the back. For my part I think this a most capital arrangement. With the old homestead, 'West Lawn' and 'Rosedale,' which I shall be obliged to take into my possession, will yield us all what bread and butter we shall require – not as good as this perhaps, but it will do. By the way, I would like to know where Mrs. Belmont is."

"Gone back to Rosedale!" suggested Mrs. St. Clair with emphasis.

"Not a bit of it! If she could indulge in such an unwomanly sneak as to fly from the presence of her daughter, she would never risk her neck down among the bullets that are whizzing so near her home. No – no!"

He rattled on as a merry accompaniment to the monotonous sounds of knife and fork; but the responses were few and subdued. A hush had fallen upon more than one heart in that little circle around the well-filled board, yet to none was it dark or gloomy. There were sunbeams streaming through bright golden tints lighting them up, but Ellen St. Clair did not raise her eyes. She loved Anna, but had not thought of her as the bride of her peerless brother. "And what would Bertha say?" It was so unexpected!

So intent were they with their own thoughts that no notice had been given to the dark cloud that had suddenly risen up from the south, spreading itself over the sky, until a fearful gust of wind dashed against the windows and made all start to their feet in alarm.

"A regular southern hurricane," remarked Mrs. St. Clair. "See how those trees bend and what a shower of bright leaves are in the air."

The rain dashed against the panes, while the gale blew the clouds at a rapid speed northward, stripping the branches of their gaudy dress and strewing the faded grass with a carpet of gay colors. George St. Clair watched it with mingled emotions. It was noonday, yet the darkness was oppressive. He saw the dense cloud sweep over the sun, leaving in its trail the hazy blue of an autumn sky. He listened to the fitful wail of the angry blast and thought of the tornado that was at that moment devastating the beautiful fields and groves of his sunny land, and the spirit of rebellion arose in his heart. "What was the need of this noonday storm? Why must war rifle the land of its beauty and crimson the earth with the shed blood of thousands?"

CHAPTER XXXV.

A PROUD SPIRIT BROKEN

Only a week and Colonel Hamilton was ordered back to Washington. The right wing of the army was to swing round over West Virginia, to intercept, if possible, the progressive movements of General Lee's forces that were threatening a northern aggression; and every officer able for action was ordered to report at headquarters. Lillian would not remain behind. How could she fold her hands and wait? She must work; her mind must be employed or the dizzy whirl would overpower her. Besides, she had a mission, of which all others, unless it was her Aunt Cheevers, were ignorant. The plan of operation had been secretly marked out by herself, and she must go.

"I can never let that Mason and Dixon line divide us again," was her closing remark after listening to a long list of reasons why she should remain in her comfortable surroundings amid friends and luxuries.

The fond husband could not refuse, and together they entered the National Capital, and were greeted cordially by sympathizers and army officials. As, however, we are not writing the history of the rebellion, but only narrating incidents gathered during its progress, we will not trace the march of Colonel Hamilton's corps, but will meet him again when the warm days return to deck the blood-stained land with beauty and breathe freshness once more into the trampled vegetation.

There had been skirmishes along the line of march, fightings, repulses and victories; and Lillian had not been permitted to fold her hands. There were the sick to be attended to, and wounded to be dressed; while the 'cup of cold water' and the 'oil and wine' were needed everywhere: Whether friend or foe; Confederate or Unionist, it made no difference, in each she discovered a brother, and withheld no comfort or ministration in her power.

"You seem young to be in the army," she said one day to a beardless youth who had been severely wounded by a sharpshooter and was placed under her care.

"Eighteen, ma'am," was the laconic reply.

"Will you tell me your name?" she asked, while tenderly bathing the pale face and combing the rich brown hair from a full rounded forehead.

"Rufus Gaylord."

She started.

"Gaylord!"

How her thoughts flew! What a sweep over they took in that intervening moment of silence!

"Is your father's name Hudson Gaylord?"

"No; he is my uncle. Do you know him? I thought you were a Northerner!"

"I know him only by reputation. Where is he?"

"Down in Richmond, talking about arming the niggers, I reckon;" was his answer, while a sneer curled his lip. "Beechwood is only a few miles from here and I want to be taken back to it as soon as I can ride so far, as Mother does not know where I am."

Here was an opening to the cloud; should she enter it? How she trembled at the thought.

"Is your aunt at Beechwood?" she found breath to inquire at last.

"No, she is in Boston, and Uncle Hud says will stay there until the army leaves Virginia. I don't reckon she cares how long she stays though, for she has her girl back again, every one thought was drowned, and – "

"Her adopted daughter! did you say?"

"Well, y-e-s! But what do you know about her? I'll be hanged if I shouldn't think you were her sister; I never saw eyes more alike. She is splendid, and I am glad she has come to life again;" and in spite of a deep wound in the shoulder, and the presence of a bullet somewhere in the chest, his cheek flushed with boyish admiration as he talked of his foster cousin, and Lillian did not fail to discover the cause of the deepening blush.

"Are you sure of what you have been saying?"

"Sure that Aunt Nell is in Boston, and that she has Lily with her; but not quite sure as to you being her sister." In spite of her emotion, Mrs. Hamilton smiled at the ingenuity of this remark. Her resolution was taken. She would return to Washington, and, as soon as possible, go to Boston, and find this girl who bore such a striking resemblance to herself. She arose to answer a call and found that her trembling limbs refused to do her bidding. As she reseated herself the boy said kindly.

"I reckon you are not feeling very well. I would rest a bit, for it must be dreadful taking care of such a lot!"

True to her purpose, within a week she had communicated with Colonel Hamilton and obtained a leave of absence, and was on her way to Philadelphia. A little breathing spell was necessary; she would stop and tell auntie all about it!

It was night when she reached the city, and, taking a carriage, she was soon in Race street. Stopping at the corner, she had a fancy to go alone to look in upon the peaceful home-scene, if perchance the curtain was left up at the side window. Was auntie thinking of her? She would give her a pleasant surprise.

How little we know what is to fill the next moment that sweeps through our eventful lives! The curtain was left up, as she had imagined, and sitting by the table in the center of the room were two ladies, instead of the one she had expected to find alone. The gas shone directly upon the face of Mrs. Cheevers, but the head of the other was turned away. Still there was no mistaking that imperious posture and stateliness of form, or the braids of jetty hair. It was her mother! They were talking, but she could not distinguish a word. What caused that guilty mother to move so uneasily in her chair, and turn towards the spot where her daughter stood trembling in the shadows? Had conscience touched a note of warning?

"I must enter," thought Lillian, and passing around to the front door, rang the bell. Mrs. Cheevers answered it in person. "Do not speak, Auntie; it is I," she said, hurriedly, as the door opened. "My mother is in there; I saw her through the window. How shall I meet her?"

"Promptly and boldly, my child. Come right in."

She led the way, while her visitor followed trembling in every limb. "What has brought you back at this time?" she went on cheerfully to ask. "You said nothing about it in your last letter." Mrs. Belmont arose as they approached, and stood pale and haggard before her injured child.

"My mother!" Lillian exclaimed, with outstretched arms. "How I have wanted to meet you! Why did you flee from me?"

"You wanted to see me? Lillian, is that true?"

"It is true, Mother. Why do you look so sternly? Has your daughter committed the unpardonable sin because she felt disposed to forsake all others, if need be, and cleave to her husband?"

"Well, do you understand it? See where I now am! Look at the shame, the disgrace, the poverty, you have brought upon me! I am a wanderer without home or country, a pauper in a strange land, and you have done it. Once I would have died for you; but what have you sacrificed for me?" She turned slowly and reseated herself by the table.

"This is my mother! Cold, stern and unloving!" And sinking down upon the sofa her pent-up feelings found vent in tears.

"It is my opinion, Charlotte," said Mrs. Cheevers, calmly, "that the day will come when you will repent the injustice of this hour. If all you have said is true in regard to yourself, how can you afford to throw away so wantonly a daughter's proffered affection? If she can overlook the wrongs of her mother, that mother ought to clasp her tightly in the arms of love."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Cheevers? What have I done to her that should call forth such a remark from a third party?"

"O, you need not take the trouble to tell me to mind my own business; for whatever affects my brother's wife or his child is my affair; and I repeat, it is your duty to lay aside that stately indignation, and if Lillian will extend the hand of filial love, it is yours to clasp it."

Mr. Cheevers coming home from the store, turned the current of conversation into another channel.

"Well, well!" he exclaimed, as he recognized the bowed figure on the sofa. "Mrs. Hamilton, as I live! Just put down that little white hand and kiss your old uncle. Just as glad to see you as though you were my own daughter. How is Pearl? Now, look here, Lillian," he continued, as he perceived the quivering lips attempting to answer; "none of that toward me! Anybody who draws the moisture out of those beautiful eyes while I am around must answer for the offence. There isn't another in this great city to-night who has more reason to laugh and be glad than have you, so be about it! Let that statue of dignity mump it out if she is determined to do so, but the wife of Colonel Hamilton has no good reason for tears."

"Hiram!" interposed the wife, and she shook her head menacingly at him.

"It is all very well; but what brought you to us so unexpectedly?"

"A little business, Uncle," Lillian replied, finding voice to speak. "I am going farther north, perhaps to Boston, and shall return here when my object is accomplished."

Mrs. Belmont turned hastily in her chair, and glared at the speaker with dilated eye balls.

"To Boston!" cried Mr. Cheevers. "Well, now if I were a woman I would ask 'What under the sun are you going there for?'"

"But as you are a gentleman you will wait patiently until I can tell you all."

"Just so. Did you come on the eight train?"

"Yes."

"Have you thought, wife, of food and rest?"

"Stupid as ever! I will go immediately."

Mrs. Belmont soon followed the lady out of the room. An hour afterward, while sitting at the table, where a bountiful lunch had been prepared, Mrs. Cheevers told Lillian that her mother had retired to her room feeling very unwell.

"Probably!" retorted her husband, with a merry twinkle in his eye.

"That is not fair Hiram; she has been sick ever since she returned; and I think she was fearful of an approaching illness or she would not have come here. I went with her to-day to see Dr. Kehn about her head, and it was his opinion that there was some trouble with the brain that might prove serious, and you know that you have spoken of the wild look in her eyes."

"And have not wondered at it, wife; but you are looking well, Lillian, field life agrees with you."

"Tired though, and have come to Uncle Hiram's for a little rest."

"That's right, my child. I only wish you could have brought Pearl along."

There was a long talk in an upper room that night not far from the guest-chamber to which Mrs. Belmont had retired; for Lillian had desired to tell her aunt all about it, and the good lady listened and wondered.

"Boston is a great city, my child, and what if you could not find Mrs. Gaylord?"

"Her husband mentioned in his letter the name of a Mr. Bancroft, merchant I believe, and through him I thought to learn all I desired. At any rate I must try to find this girl! It is not because I am told that her eyes are like mine, as there is nothing remarkable in this; many have large dark optics," and she laughed, "but because something continually goads me with the conviction that she is my child."

"And have you not told Pearl?"

"No, I could not bear to trouble him as my poor heart is agitated; and it would be an additional grief to have him treat the matter with incredulity. He too must wait for the unfolding."

"But your mother? How will she ever account for the young lady's disappearance? How can either of you forgive what she has done if it is proven that Lily Gaylord is your child?"

Lillian started to her feet, while Mrs. Cheevers looked wildly towards the door. A low, wailing cry as if a heart was being crushed had reached them from the outside, and their cheeks blanched as they listened. For a moment the two listened to their heart's throbbings as the stillness of death settled down about them; then a sound as of one falling broke the silence. Lillian rushed to the door in time to clasp the inanimate form of her mother before the poor head struck the floor upon which she was kneeling. It was true! She had been listening! The upper part of the door did not close tightly, and it was to this opening that her ear had been placed until the brain reeled and she sank upon her knees.

"O my mother!" almost shrieked the distracted daughter as she attempted to raise her.

Mr. Cheevers heard the cry and came rushing up the stairs, and the wretched woman was soon carried to her bed, where, in a short time, the family physician was in attendance. For many weeks the proud, erring Mrs. Belmont lay tossing upon her bed in wild delirium, and Lillian stood by and listened to her ravings.

"I did not do it! Look – there is no blood on my hands! It was she! It was she! Let me look again; yes – the same purple spots; Lillian! Lillian! Why won't you come to me? I did not do it! It was the sea – the wicked, cruel sea! O my curse! It has fallen back upon my poor head! It is burning up my brain! O God! But he won't hear! The fires —the fires!"

In vain did the untiring watcher breathe into her ears the words of sympathy and forgiveness, but the whirling brain caught them not. The tenderest of hands bathed the burning brow and administered to her every necessity. It was a long, a fearful struggle between life and death; but when the spring days were all past, and the warm summer sun shone down upon the fresh young grass in the public squares, Mrs. Belmont lay with folded hands and worn-out frame in quiet helplessness upon the bed, where for so many weeks she had tossed in frantic delirium. The poor clogged brain had been relieved of its heavy load and the burdened conscience quieted, and now the reaction had come and Lillian again prayed and waited!

"If she would but speak to me or show some signs of recognition," Lillian had said one day to her aunt, as they stood looking at the pale, wan face upon the pillow. "It is so hard to see her lying there day after day so still and passive, taking all that is given her without a word or gesture! Terrible fears at times take possession of me – what if she never recovers her reason! The doctor has hinted such a possibility if I am not mistaken, and I dare not ask him if my suspicions are correct." The quivering lids were slowly raised for one moment from over the large eyes, where a most pitiful pleading look was hidden, and the longing glance fastened itself on the troubled face beside her.

"Mother, dear Mother, do you know me? Speak just one word to your poor Lillian;" and she kissed tenderly the firmly set lips. Again the lids slowly fell and the dark orbs were shut in with their unfathomed mysteries.

"This is dreadful!" and with tears streaming down her face the aunt turned and walked from the room.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

UNFOLDINGS AND REVELATIONS

Weeks passed away and Mrs. Belmont was able to sit for hours in her easy chair, but the once active, energetic and massive intellect was weak and inefficient as that of a child. The large eyes would follow the flitting forms about her with a weird wistful look, yet she seldom spoke, and when she did, the words revealed the sad truth that the powers that had long sat enthroned in the realm of reason ruled no more.

"I must go," Lillian said to her aunt one day, as they drew the invalid chair close to the window where a cool breeze from the Schuylkill could fan her pale face, and, as the words fell on the ears of Mrs. Belmont a quick flush overspread it. The daughter noticed the change with joy and a strange wondering. "Mrs. Jackson can do all that is needed to be done now," she continued, without removing her gaze from the placid features. "I will not be absent more than a week at most, and Pearl, you know, writes that if he can obtain leave for a few days will be here by my return."

"Pearl?"

"Yes, Mother; would you like to see him?"

There was a struggling among the buried memories which were not dead but sleeping, for the eyes gleamed with a new light, and the face resumed its look of intelligence. It was only for a moment, however, and then the former inertness returned, as she repeated, "Pearl!"

"He loves you, Mother; shall I read what he wrote last?" There was no response, and taking the letter from her pocket, she read slowly and distinctly. "She is our mother, Lillian, and, no matter what she has done, it is the duty of her children to forgive, and never refer to the past. I am anxious to meet her for her daughter's sake. My heart opens wide to take in her love and bury the whole hateful past. Whisper my name to her gently, familiarize her brain with associations concerning me."

"He is coming to see you, Mother, to love you; are you glad?"

"Forgive? Did he say forgive?"

"He certainly did, and he is true to his word. Shall I tell him to come?" The large eyes fixed intently on the beaming face before her, as if endeavoring to pierce the shadows.

After a moment's silence the mother slowly answered "Tell him come," and settled back in her chair wearied and exhausted.

Lillian was exuberant. "She is better," was her conclusion as she adjusted the pillows and brushed back the thin hair from the white temples. The heavy braids were gone, and the queenly bearing lost in helpless weakness.

It was finally concluded that Mrs. Hamilton should leave her mother in the care of the efficient nurse who had been in attendance during her long sickness, and, without speaking to her upon the subject, proceed on her journey to Boston, to return as soon as possible. Therefore on the following morning she started on her exciting mission. What a threefold cord was drawing her! The mother, to whose helplessness her filial love was clinging; the idolized husband for whom her heart was pining; and now the living tendrils of a buried affection had sprung up, and were twining themselves with an unseen power around the vibrating cord that bound her life to earthly loves and earthly hopes. The mother-love had awakened with its pleadings and would not be hushed. A little more than a year ago, and the brittle thread that held her was feeble, and the fibres frail; now other strands had been added, and as the car rolled over the space that separated her from the consummation of her long-cherished hopes she thanked God for the tender hand that had led her. The great joy, however, that would sweep over her soul, as she recalled the reasons of her present mission, was not without its gloomy apprehensions. What if, after all, Mrs. Gaylord's adopted daughter was not her Lily? How was she to be sure? and then the mother's ravings, her wild confessions; her cries of innocence; certainly these must have come from the hidden consciousness of an appalling truth! She sat by the open window and watched the receding fields, the trees and villages, as the train sped through them, with a sensation of alarm, for she realized that every puff of the tireless engine brought her nearer and nearer to the acme of her hopes or to disappointment.

How her limbs trembled when, on reaching Boston, she entered a carriage and gave orders to be driven to the Parker House! In Boston at last! In this boiling cauldron of living souls should she find her child? What a thought! What a hope! She must rest. Sleep alone could give her strength of body for the trying ordeal. She partook of a hasty lunch and retired to her room. What if Mrs. Gaylord had left the city. It had been so long since the boy had told her she was here. Here was a new agony! She had not thought of that; and ringing the bell asked for a directory.

Bowing, the servant turned to bring it.

"Stay, perhaps you can tell me how far it is to Mr. Bancroft's store."

"Peter Bancroft, ma'am?"

"I do not know."

"He is just one block away, ma'am: Shall we send your card?"

"Yes." She had not known before what were her wishes, and she wrote her address opposite her name and requested an interview. In a half hour the servant returned.

"Mr. Bancroft is in the parlor, ma'am, and will meet you there. Will you be kind enough to come immediately as his business is pressing?"

Lillian arose quickly and followed the servant.

"I beg your pardon for troubling you, but I am anxious to find a Mrs. Hudson Gaylord. Are you the Mr. Bancroft with whom she is acquainted?"

"O, yes, if you are her friend I rejoice to meet you;" and he extended his hand.

"I am not acquainted with her, but would like to learn if she has a young lady whom she claims as an adopted daughter?"

"Lily? Certainly! But they are not in the city." She started and he hurried to say: "She is only an hour's ride away. You can get to her before ten in the morning. There is a little hotel out in Kirkham where she has a fancy to spend her summers rather than at a fashionable watering place, and I believe it was in that vicinity where she found her two protegees. If I can assist you in any way I shall be happy to do so." He arose to depart. Lillian extended her hand; with many thanks and exchanging good-nights they separated, the merchant to forget perhaps the trifling incident in the press of business, the other to her lonely room and rest.