Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale

"Woman's propensity! Delightful independence when the current is all the right way! But I tell you, Lillian, I want to see that girl! The same independent looking little queen that her mother used to be! And this boy – he has a fine head, and without doubt is a smart young fellow;" and he handed back the photographs at which he had been gazing.

"Mrs. Gaylord has such a pensive expression on her face that one might imagine her the possessor of some secret sorrow," remarked the wife, thoughtfully. "Her eyes and compressed lips."

"Not sad perhaps, Auntie, but disappointed! As nearly as I could understand by the long conversations we had together she belongs to that class of mature women who in early years dressed up their future in spotless white, with very bright adornings, and because they found it wearing a most common, practical garb, turned away from its proffers of good to grieve and grow discontented. Mrs. Gaylord has a truly poetical mind, whose creations are pure and ideal. She thought love was a holy aspiration unmixed with earthly blemishes, but has awakened to the realization of her mistake, therefore cannot be reconciled to the practical side of life. Her last words at parting unsealed the book of her history. 'Good-bye!' she said: 'If a heart that is feasting can pity a hungry, starving one then think of me!'"

"Poor soul; I am sorry for her!" remarked Mrs. Cheevers sympathetically.

"Because of the bond of sympathy twisted out of a similar experience, I suppose," laughed the husband as he arose to leave the room. "By the way, I imagine that Colonel Hamilton will be here to-day, wife; shall I send up something nice from the market?"

"Not before to-morrow morning, Uncle; he writes he will take the night train from Washington to save time!"

"Horrors! He is as slow as molasses in winter;" and the front door gave an expressive bang as it closed behind him.

Colonel Hamilton arrived in due time, however, and was received with open arms. "Tell her I have come, Lillian," he said, before proceeding to the invalid's room. "I am in a hurry to meet her. The shock may be too great if I go unannounced."

Lillian obeyed and sprang with light step up the stairway and entered her mother's room. She was sitting by the window while Mrs. Jackson was putting the finishing touches to her toilet, for, weak as were her faculties, pride had not become inactive. Her dress must be perfect and her adornings ample as in other days.

"How nicely you are looking this beautiful morning," said the daughter, adjusting the rich lace at the throat. "All ready for company I see – whom shall I invite?"

The large eyes looked steadily into the beaming face for a moment, then as they turned languidly away said, hesitatingly: "Charles."

"You want to see your boy, don't you Mother? Well you shall if he can be found! He was at Uncle Stanley's the last I heard of him. We will look him up by and by." A smile darted quickly over the pale face.

"Is there no one else you would like to see? What if Pearl should come; shall I bring him to you?" Again the eyes darted a keen glance into the inquiring face. "You will love him; he is so good and forgiving!"

"Forgive? No! no! Pearl, – Can he forgive?" And the tears came into her eyes.

"He will forgive! It is all over now, and we are very happy. Let me bring him to you, and from his own lips you shall hear it. May I?"

"No! no! I was wicked, cruel! He cannot, no, he cannot!" And the stately head dropped wearily upon her hand, while the elbow rested on the arm of her easy chair.

"How nice that dainty cap, with its bright ribbons, makes you look. He will be proud of our mother, and it will make me so happy!"

"You happy?"

"Yes, Mother; your Lillian; may I go for him?"

There was a long pause, for the poor brain was struggling with itself, as one battles with sleep when the morning dawns. The answer came at last.

"Yes, go get – Pearl. I am ready!"

Lillian smoothed the soft dark hair, petted her sunken cheek with her white hand, and, as she kissed the broad forehead, remarked playfully, "You are as pretty as a young girl waiting for her lover."

She encountered her husband just outside the door. "Come in," she said, "Mother is waiting to see you;" and, for the first time Pearl Hamilton stood in the presence of Mrs. Belmont.

With a quick step he approached her chair, and kneeling at her feet, said gently, "Mother, bless your son, it was I who disappointed you, I who tempted you to do wrong; will you forgive me? There have been dark clouds, but they are gone now; put your hand on my head and call me Pearl, this will make us happy."

She did not move or raise her hand, but sat motionless as a marble statue, with her gaze riveted on the upturned face.

Lillian took the thin hand and laid it tenderly on the bowed head as she whispered, "forgive him, Mother."

"No, no!" she exclaimed, drawing it quickly back. "Forgive? I did not know! See! there is no blood on my hand; look!" and she held it up before the wondering suppliant, who turned his inquiring eyes towards his trembling wife.

"I did not do it!" she continued; "'twas the sea – the wicked sea! Forgive? O God! But He will not hear me! I did not do it!" and the head sank back upon its resting place.

"I ought not to have come; how her mind wanders!" whispered Colonel Hamilton, rising.

"Mother, listen to me," said Lillian, taking the hand which lay so motionless on the rich dress, "I know there is no blood there, for the sea was not wicked, and the little boat was taken care of by the precious One, who will hear when you call. There is much for you to know that will make you happy; but first let us brush the cobwebs out of the present. Old Vina would say, 'Bress de Lord for what ye now hab,' and you have not made me happy yet by receiving and loving my husband. Open your arms, Mother, to your son, for he is waiting."

She raised her head, and with outstretched arms said, plaintively, "My son, my son!"

The strong arms of love and forgiveness were thrown about her, and, weary as a child, she laid her head upon his shoulder and remained motionless as a sleeping infant. He would not disturb her and the moments went slowly by.

"Put me on the bed," she said at last; "the sea! – O the sea!"

The arms that were folding her so gently, lifted her in their strong grasp, laying her gently on the bed, where, turning her face to the wall, she lay motionless.

"I think you may better leave her now," remarked Mrs. Jackson, coming in at the heavy tread. "She needs rest and a little sleep will refresh her."

"I did not expect to find her as she is," remarked Colonel Hamilton, as they seated themselves in the parlor below. "What did she mean about the 'sea,' and the 'blood on her hands,' Lillian? I noticed you understood it all."

"Yes, Pearl, I do understand! You are to know as well as I. But how can I tell you! O, my husband, there is much yet to be forgiven! Is your heart large enough for the demands to be made upon it?"

"You startle me, Lillian! Do not make me fear for the sanity of my darling wife! What can there be that will draw harder upon my powers of forgiveness than what I have already experienced? Do not fill those beautiful eyes with such a strange look. I am Pearl Hamilton, who has become familiar with injustice and wrongs; and if there are more to confront, know then that they cannot daunt or alarm me! I wait, Lillian, what is it?"

She looked at him a moment in surprise and admiration. "And this noblest type of man is my husband!" she said, earnestly. "I will tell you about my trip to Boston."

"Not now; I can wait for that. What about the sea?"

"We must go around a little to get there, so permit me to lead as I choose."

With an air of martyrdom he folded his arms over the golden bands of his military coat and prepared to suffer.

"You have never once inquired as to my business. A careful officer should be more interested in the affairs of those under his command."

"Well, imagine my interest wide awake, and hurry on to the sea."

"I will not trifle with you, Pearl. I went in search of a young girl in whose history I had become nervously interested. George and Ellen St. Clair told me about her; and in Virginia a young soldier, who was brought to the hospital, added some information that awakened an uncontrollable desire in my heart to see her. I went to Boston for that purpose."

"Woman's curiosity!" he laughed. "Did you find her?"

"I did."

"What was she like?"

"I have her picture. Shall I show it to you?"

"Yes, if it will hasten you to the sea."

Lillian arose, and taking from the table the three photographs, returned to the sofa. "This is a Mrs. Gaylord, who has the girl in her care – a southern lady of great wealth, I believe."

"Gaylord? Let me see. There was a rebel scout of that name brought before me just as I left, and I ordered him kept in the guard-house until my return."

"Hudson Gaylord?"

"That was it, as sure as you live. Hudson Gaylord! A fine-looking fellow, but caught in a pretty bad trap, I am thinking."

"Pearl, he is this lady's husband. You must do all you can for him. Promise me this."

"Why? I see no reason for interfering with justice because you have in your possession a photograph of his wife. But go on."

"This, Pearl, is the picture of the young lady in whom I was so much interested." She held it up before him.

He started back in surprise. "Who is she?" he gasped. "I should say it was yours, dress and all, just as I saw you first in this very house. Who is she?"

"Look at that brow and the hauteur of the compressed lips. They are not mine."

"But the eyes and the queenly bearing, the slender form and white dress – . Taken as a whole, there could scarcely be a better representation of yourself when fourteen."

"Believe me, my husband, for what I am going to tell you is true. That picture is our child!"

"Lillian, are you mad?" And he started to his feet and stood gazing at her. "Our child! You told me she was dead. And how can this be?"

"She is ours! Our Lily-Pearl! She did not die, but was taken from me and given to the wife of a fisherman who was to care for her for a paltry sum; but God interfered and has twice saved her from the sea and many dangers, and she is now called the adopted daughter of this Mrs. Gaylord, for whose husband I have been pleading."

"Lillian, are you awake? Or am I dreaming? Tell me again. Is this our child?"

"Our Lily-Pearl! Worthy the name she bears, and as true and noble as your child must be. Can you forgive? There is a long story for you to listen to, but it was to hide her wrongs that the wicked sea now haunts our mother's weakened brain. The blood upon her hands is the mark conscience has placed there, but how thankful am I that no such crime blackens her soul."

He was walking the floor with rapid steps, and apparently not listening, for he held in his hand the picture that was entrancing him.

Lillian said no more, but waited. At last he stopped before her and asked huskily, "Why did you not bring her to me? This is cruel! You have feasted your eyes on her beauty, heard her sweet voice speak words of love that have satisfied your heart, and now is this Mrs. Gaylord to retain her and rob me? I believe I am angry with you, my precious wife."

"No, no, Pearl; she is coming to us just as soon as we are ready to receive her. I could not well burden them farther here, and so I waited to consult you. Mrs. Gaylord is very sad about giving her up, but she is ours; and Lily is anxious to meet her father."

"Then I shall go for her. If there is no room in Philadelphia for the daughter of Pearl Hamilton, then I will take her to Washington with me. Get yourself ready, for to-morrow we start for Boston. I will see this child, our daughter."

CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE HAZY MISTS ARE LIFTING

Colonel and Mrs. Hamilton arrived in Boston in due time. There had been long talks by the way, much questioning and wondering, but true to the dictates of a noble, generous soul, he had said, "Notwithstanding all, I will forgive."

When the train left the station for Kirkham on the following morning, many eyes were turned on the glittering colonel who, with his wife, entered the car and took a seat near the door.

"Let us go farther on;" requested Lillian, as he stepped back for her to enter. "There is a seat yonder."

"Yes, but twelve steps farther away from her;" and he laughed at the absurdities of his own heart.

"Do you know," she said at last, "there is a greater conflict before you than any in which you have engaged during the war? Mrs. Gaylord is no enemy, yet I believe you will be hardly able to resist her pleadings."

"Shall I remove my regimental straps now, or wait to lay my sword at her feet?"

"You may wait, but be assured it must be done! You can laugh now but you will pity her. Lily is fresh, sweet and pure, and has nestled close under the drooping wings of her pining love, and a wound must be made in the severing. Can you do this?"

"Little novice! Do you ask a soldier such a question as that?"

There was a serious look on his face, notwithstanding his careless words, but his heart was buoyant! It was his child that was so soon to rest her beautiful head so near it! His own darling who was to drive away the last of its desolation, and how could he intrude into its bright chambers, so full of sunshine, the sombre shadow of another's grief? He pitied her, and would use his influence to liberate her husband and send him out of harm's way. What more could he do for her? "She will ever have a claim on my sympathies, and every kindness I can bestow to ease her aching heart shall be cheerfully given; but Lillian, the wound must be made;" he said, after a long silence. "Our daughter, my dear, was taken by Mrs. Gaylord for the purpose of administering to this drooping love you are speaking of, and if by her gentleness, sweetness and purity, she has succeeded in awakening the sleepy bird, it is her glory, not her debt. But when you talk about the cripple, that is quite another thing. My warlike propensities beat a retreat immediately before the power of that battalion. They were children together; and it was only love and kindness in its purest guise that has united them, and to wound such a heart is a little hard."

Mrs. Hamilton sat a long time thinking of the prostrate form beneath the old oak tree as it first met her gaze. It was all over – the shady resorts were to be vacated forever; the path by the meadow brook would be trodden by other feet, while the little pond with all its enchantments was to be cast among the fond memories of the past. Lillian's heart grew sad as these gloomy prospects came to her. She was aroused at length by the call, "Kirkham – next station," and turned to behold her husband looking intently at her.

"As fine as a panorama, my dear," he said with a merry twinkle in his eye. "Your face has had all the changes of the 'dissolving views,' and I have been permitted to look at them without paying the usual quarter."

"A trifle dishonest, though, for a gentleman," was the playful retort; then added, seriously: "When two weeks ago I alone neared this station every nerve quivered with excitement! I was nearing my child – crossing the gulf of treachery that had so long separated me from happiness! My limbs trembled and nerves quivered! Instead of all this you are as calm and expectant as on the eve of meeting an old friend."

"Why not, little wife? You see the banks of this terrible gulf were lowered a little, when, nearly two years ago, my Lillian came over to meet me!"

"Here we are," interrupted the happy wife, rising from her seat; "gulf or no gulf we are coming together!"

The coachman bowed obsequiously as the two emerged from the car.

"Is Mrs. Gaylord still at the hotel?" inquired the lady.

"She is ma'am." And he closed the door and drove away. Not a word was spoken during the short ride, for an oppressive lull such as sometimes precedes a storm had settled down over the hearts of each, and it did not lift until the carriage stopped.

Mrs. Gaylord came into the parlor to greet the visitors with a hesitating step. She was alone! After the introductions Mrs. Hamilton asked for Lily. "Her father is so impatient to meet her," was the supplementary remark.

"She is spending the day with Willie, for the purpose, no doubt, of giving me a foretaste of what is to be."

"How far away," asked the colonel impatiently.

"Over two miles, yet she insisted upon walking there, as he had come for her before breakfast."

"I will speak for the carriage;" and he left the room hurriedly.

"My shadows which were almost impenetrable are nevertheless thickening," remarked Mrs. Gaylord when alone with Mrs. Hamilton. "News has just reached me that takes the light out of the borders of my clouds!"

"From the war?"

"Yes. Mr. Gaylord, it seems, has been taken prisoner while in citizen's dress, when out on a scouting expedition, and it is quite uncertain what will become of him. So many ties severed without time given for the healing, empties life too rapidly for the pulse to maintain its steady motion."

"It may be I can steady it a little! Your husband is in the hands of the regiment of which Colonel Hamilton has command, and he will use his powers to secure his liberty."

"Do you know this?"

"He has told me. Mr. Gaylord was brought in just as he was leaving for Washington. The debt of gratitude we owe would, if nothing else, have this influence."

"We are ready," called Colonel Hamilton from the hall, and Lillian taking the hand of Mrs. Gaylord said, soothingly:

"Cheer up, my dear friend, there is sunshine enough for us all if we will only secure it, and we will attempt to woo a little of it when all together once more;" and then went out to join her husband who was impatiently waiting.

"A true little country miss to take such a walk," he remarked as they rolled on towards the farm.

"She is used to it," interposed the coachman with true "Yankee" freedom; "she has gone over this road lots of times when she wasn't the young lady she is to-day! You are her father I suppose?"

Lillian laughed. "I have not introduced you, Frank. This is my husband, and I suppose you learned that Lily was my daughter when I was here before."

"Yes ma'am; and I'm glad! But I needn't 'a' been told that for one would know it to look at you."

"But a little more doubt about the father?" and Colonel Hamilton brought his hand down firmly on the shoulder of the Yankee questioner, while a merry peal of laughter rang out on the summer air.

"Wal – no; but there's the house – and the wheat is ripe enough this minute to harvest!"

"I will go to the door," said Lillian as they came to a halt at the gate; "Mrs. Hopkins, without doubt, is very busy with her dinner, and we will not disturb her by waiting for a reception." She stepped down while speaking and walked briskly towards the house. Before reaching it, however, the door flew open and Lily darted into the outstretched arms of her mother.

"I am so glad!" she exclaimed. "Come – Willie is sick and it may be you can help him!"

"But, my dear, just wait for one moment; your father wants to see you!"

In her excitement she had not thought of the carriage, or the reasons for the unexpected visit, or anything but that the companion of many years had been lying insensible on the bed where the departed one had bid them both farewell so long ago! But the words startled her, and she raised her head from its sweet rest on the dear shoulder to discover a tall military officer standing before them. All the dreams of her maturer years, winged as they had been with glowing aspirations of "what might be." She had so longed to be something besides "little Phebe," to have wings and fly away up among the clouds; to be a bird on the highest tree on the summit of the mountain; and now what was she?

"My daughter! My Lily!" and as he looked at the wondering face his arms were outstretched for the sweet love his great heart was longing for. Without a word the fairy form sprang into them and a pair of clinging arms were placed about his neck. Long and silent was the embrace for the heart was content.

"Darling, can you love your father? I am not as good-looking as the one you so much resemble, but will I do?"

The large eyes gleamed, and looking intently at him, said: "I think you will!"

He caught her again in his arms and covered her beaming face with kisses.

"There, darling; now let us go to Willie, for I confess that my warmed heart is reaching out for him also."

"O thank you! You will love him I know!" and she preceded her parents into the house. Mrs. Hopkins came forward to greet her visitors with traces of tears still on her cheeks.

"He is better now, and the doctor says it is only overexertion in the hot sun and perhaps a little worry with it," and she led the way to his room.

"I am so glad," Lily was saying with her arms about his neck as they entered. "We will not go out again until it is cooler!"

"But – " He saw Mrs. Hamilton and reached out his hand.

"Here is my husband, Willie, who has learned your worth before seeing you."

"A dull scholar I should be certainly if I had not."

"And you find me only a poor cripple who is obliged to creep through the dust just like any other worm!" He tried to smile but it proved a failure.

"No, my boy; not through the 'dust' just now, but into my heart, where, thank God, there is plenty of room for you!"

The physician, who had stepped out as they entered now returned, and walking up to the bed said, kindly: "You are all right now, Willie, but you must be a little careful of yourself for a few days and keep in the shade." And then he went away.

"You will stay to dinner?" pleaded Mrs. Hopkins; "I have nothing very nice to give you."

"Shall we, darling?" This to his daughter.

The beautiful eyes added their plea, and the carriage was ordered back to the hotel to return for them at five.

While sitting in the parlor Lily told her father of the mother's gift in the years gone by, adding: "He is my brother – I can never forsake him;" and the answer had been: "He shall not be forsaken. I am too grateful for what I have received willingly to sever a single thread that binds you to the friends of your past."

Mrs. Hopkins was standing in the door when these words were spoken, but turned away with a pain in her heart and a strange pallor on her usually flushed face.

That evening there was a long consultation in the little upper parlor of the village inn, and Mrs. Gaylord had repeated the plea: "You will let her remain with me until the summer heat is over? I cannot return home now if I would, and it would be insufferable here without her! As soon as the maple leaves shall crimson and the birds go where I cannot follow, I will come with her to Philadelphia and stand between you no more. It will take the intervening weeks to prepare my heart to endure the separation. Certainly you cannot refuse me this!" And the whole matter was given to the daughter for a decision. She whispered it at last in the ear of her doting father, as she hung about his neck while he petted and caressed her: "For Willie's sake, until he is stronger and able to return to Boston I will remain."

"Pretty hard, my darling, but as there is no appeal the subject is of course closed."

"But there is another of whom I have not told you, whose heart will rejoice at this decision," Lily remarked playfully.

"Not a lover I hope," interposed the father.

"Yes – a true lover! One who has helped me in many a trying hour, and whose advice it has always been safe to follow. You need not draw down that military mustache so threateningly, for this 'lover' is no other than 'Crazy Dimis,' who is even now free from the restraints of the 'county house' and is roaming about somewhere. She appeared to us yesterday out of the honeysuckle swamp, and with her usual earnestness exclaimed, as she pointed her long bony finger at me, 'Little fool, kiss and cry, kiss and cry, don't I know? Life is full of 'em; go, love is waiting – get it;

Eyes must weep – and eyes must hunger,Love must sleep and life must wonder;

don't I know?' And with a loud laugh she darted into the thick shades and life was left to 'wonder.' There is a good deal of common sense in her gibberings, and when three years ago she told me to 'go and make omens' I obeyed, and came to Mrs. Gaylord, whose hands were full of cheering 'omens.'"