Kitabı oku: «Sea-gift», sayfa 29
CHAPTER XLIV.
Madame Dubourg’s was a grand brown stone building, with broad carved balustrades, and stone vases of cactus. I had chosen the hour of twelve for our visit, as the parlors would most likely then be free from visitors, and we could see Lulie in quiet. When we alighted from our carriage there was a large-armed Irish woman washing off the stone steps, and a man in a paper cap standing on a high step-ladder, to rub the plate glass windows. They were talking and laughing together, but ceased as we got out, and looked at us and each other with some surprise on their faces. The woman gathered up her cloth and water bucket and disappeared through the area with an audible snicker, while the man fell to rubbing the wide panes with renewed diligence. There was a pretty silver knocker on the figured glass door, and as I let it fall the door was thrown open by a footman, who had put on his gold laced coat so hurriedly the collar was turned under, and from whose moustache some fragments of cheese were still hanging. He favored us with a prolonged stare of wonder, then presented a somewhat tarnished gold salver for our cards. I laid one in it, on which was simply written, ”An old friend,” and said: ”To see La Belle Louise.”
”You can’t see her,” he replied, with something of insolence in his tone.
I restrained my first impulse of anger, and slipping a five dollar gold piece in his hand, said quietly,
”Take my card up to her, and say nothing about a lady’s being with me.”
”I will, sir,” he said, with a low bow, his manner changing instantly at the touch of the gold.
He ushered us through a wide hall, with mosaic floor, into a spacious parlor, furnished in dark green velvet, and opening into another of light green satin damask, and this, in turn, leading to a large conservatory of rare plants and flowers. Though the furniture and all the appointments were so magnificent, yet every thing bore the defacement of reckless vice. The splendid Axminster carpets, though partially protected by linen tracks, were soiled and worn by muddy boots, the grand piano had its rosewood surface scratched and bruised, the music books were torn and scattered, buhl quartette tables around the room were covered with sloppings of wine, broken glasses, wet packs of cards and dice, the embroidered flowers on the ottomans were frayed into strings, and the gorgeous paintings on the walls were splotched and blistered, and their gilded frames tarnished. We had walked through both parlors to the conservatory and returned to the first, when we heard a light foot-fall on the stairway, and Lulie came down into the hall and stood for a moment looking through the side lights out into the street, with the same look of wan despair upon her face. The next instant she walked lightly into the room, twirling the tassel of her morning robe over her forefinger. She advanced half across the room before she saw us, and then her eyes opened as if in terror, a leaden pallor spread over her face, as if life had fled, and pressing her hand to her heart, with the tremulous wail, ”O God!” she sank down upon the floor, her pallid cheek resting on the cushion of a fauteuil that had been overthrown, and her colorless lips uttering low moans, that were piteous, indeed, to hear.
In a moment Carlotta was down on the floor beside her, lifting the poor bowed head to her bosom, smoothing the brown hair from the fair brow that was once so pure, and dropping the tears of her Christ-like pity on the upturned face. The poor girl had no strength to stir, but only put up her white hands feebly and murmured:
”Do not touch me; oh! do not touch me. God knows I am unworthy to breathe the air you do. Leave me! Cast me off as all the world have done,” and again she would make those gentle, piteous moans.
As soon as Carlotta could command her voice she bent down, and kissing her forehead tenderly, said:
”Lulie, darling, we have come to save you.”
”To save me? Oh, no; it’s too late – too late!”
”Do not say so, dearest Lulie,” urged Carlotta; ”our carriage is at the door. Do not wait a moment, but come with us and leave forever this pit of perdition.”
”Would to God I could,” she said, shaking her head slowly, and speaking in the same low tone; ”there was a time I might have gone, but not now, not now.”
”But, Lulie, we are going away from this country to Cuba, where no one has ever known you. No one is with us except mother, who is even now waiting to receive you. We will forever bury the past, and look forward only to a new life. Lulie, come with us, and be my darling sister in our happy home.”
She raised herself from Carlotta, and, placing her hands over her face, sat rocking herself back and forth, her very frame convulsed with the agony of her struggle. When she lifted her face again her mind was made up.
”It cannot be, Lottie,” she said, calling Carlotta’s name for the first time. ”Heaven only knows how I appreciate your goodness and thank you for it; but I cannot go with you; I cannot throw the shadow of my presence on your household. The world has no forgiveness for my sin, and no life of penitence or purity I might lead would ever wash away the stain. I do not doubt your kindness; as God is my witness I believe that you would love me, but, do what you would to forget and conceal it, in your hearts I could never be anything but poor fallen Lulie – and the consciousness that you all knew of my ruin would make your very presence a torture to me.”
”But, Lulie,” persisted Carlotta, ”this sensitiveness would after a while pass off, and our very kindness would beguile you of your remorse. And even if you suffer, I should think any change would be better than this life of shameless iniquity, so utterly opposed to the refinement and delicacy I believe still linger in your breast.”
”Oh, Lottie, do not chide me. You, whose heart is pure, who have never known the wild reckless abandonment of all that is virtuous, all that is good, cannot understand the terrible remorse that drives me into vice, whose constancy will prevent reflection – aye, reflection. An eternity of hell is compassed in one hour of my retrospect. I cannot be alone; solitude would drive me mad. One thought alone has brought relief – relief mingled with horror – the thought of death! Oft in the night has it come to my sleepless pillow and whispered to me ‘Die!’ and yet, when I poured the poison in the glass, my trembling hand has dropped it from my lips. But the crisis has come,” she said, fiercely, striking her hands together and wringing them till her jewelled rings cut into the flesh. ”I will not shrink again. I will die!” and clasping her hands across her head, she gazed at me with such intense anguish and despair in her hollow eyes, I shrank from her face.
”Lulie, Lulie, dearest, do not speak so,” said Carlotta, again putting her arms around her and trying to soothe her. ”You cannot surely contemplate self-destruction. Think, Lulie, what an awful thing it is to die. There, darling,” she continued, as Lulie’s head drooped on her shoulder, ”you were speaking wildly just now, you did not mean what you said. Come, the carriage is waiting. You must go with us; we cannot leave you here.”
But Lulie only shook her head firmly and remained silent.
After a rather long pause Carlotta spoke again, in a low impressive voice:
”Lulie, hear my last appeal. For the sake of the long ago, when we were innocent happy children, and our hearts were bound with ties of love which have never yet been broken; for the sake of those dear old days, I beseech, I implore you to leave these unworthy associations, and seek with us a better life. Aye, Lulie, for the sake of your dead mother, I beg you to come. If a heart can be sad in Heaven, hers is bleeding now to see you thus; her precious little Lulie in such a place as this! Oh! will you not make her happy again?”
The fountains of her heart were now broken up, and with long shuddering sobs she lay weeping on Carlotta’s neck.
I had not spoken yet, but had left all to Carlotta’s tact and skill. I now knelt down by Lulie and took her hand, while my broken voice and tearful eyes attested the sincerity of all I said:
”Dear little playmate, by the memory of our childhood’s love, by the thousand scenes and incidents that endeared us to each other – our nursery games, Miss Hester’s school, the little parties when you first ventured to take my arm – by your first rejection of my love as we grew older, but above all, by the confidence you placed in me under the old oak at Chapel Hill, I implore you to trust us now and to put your future into our hands.”
”Oh, spare me! spare me!” she cried, sobbing afresh, ”for humanity’s sake spare me! If you would not kill me, do not tell me of my joyous, sinless childhood. It is gone forever from me. Oh, my wrecked and ruined character! Oh, my blighted, broken heart! Mother! mother! MOTHER! God grant you may be blind in Heaven, that you may not see your poor, polluted child on earth. Lottie, do not torture me more; ‘tis useless to persuade me; I cannot go. Leave me to my fate. If you are willing, put both arms round my neck once more and kiss me farewell. John, my noble, true-hearted friend, Good-bye!”
Carlotta strained her again and again to her bosom, then, seeing she was not to be shaken from her purpose, we slowly and sorrowfully left the room. At the door Carlotta’s feelings overcame her, and resolving to make one more trial, she went back, and embracing her again, said:
”Lulie, I cannot leave you so. By the Blood of dear Jesus, by the Cross of our Redeemer, I beseech you to go with us to our home.”
Poor Lulie caught her hand and pressed her tear-wet cheek and lips upon it, then pushed her from her side, not rudely but sadly, with despair in her very touch.
And so we left her sitting on the floor, with her head buried in her folded arms upon an ottoman. We were so troubled to leave her as we found her, that we wrote a long note and sent it up to Madame Dubourg’s that evening from the hotel. The waiter soon returned with our note unopened, but on it, scribbled with a pencil:
”Dear friends, forget me!
Lulie.”
Next morning, as we stood on the deck of the steamer for Havana, inhaling the breeze and enjoying the scene, while the giant wheels were throbbing us out into the ocean, we little thought that in the great city behind us, up in a room with perfumed and silken hangings, an overburdened heart, slower and slower, was throbbing, throbbing, throbbing a soul out into eternity.
CHAPTER XLV.
Carlotta and I are standing in the balcony of our chamber, gazing in rapt admiration on the gorgeous beauty of a Cuban sunset. The home we have come to is indeed a lovely one; it is situated about fifteen miles from Havana. The house, built of white stone, is like some Gothic castle, with its towers, and arches, and extensive proportions, yet has all the airy lightness of Italian architecture, in tasteful decorations and elegant finish. It stands on a slight elevation overlooking the sea, and is surrounded with all the appointments refined taste could suggest or wealth procure. White shelled walks, bordered with smoothly trimmed evergreens, wind through gardens of exquisite flowers, or beneath wire-trellised graperies, whose luscious clusters rival those of Eschol. Beautiful drives lead around lawns of green velvet, where fountains play with sparkling jets, and marble statues gleam amid the shrubbery, or down through long fragrant groves of oranges and limes, that drop their yellow fruit beneath the passing wheels.
Every chamber in the house is fitted up with elegant comfort, the long suite of parlors furnished in varied magnificence, the halls filled with works of art, and the library with rarest literature. All the domestic details, usually so troublesome when we move to a strange place, are arranged with perfect system and regularity, and a large retinue of well trained servants, subservient in demeanor, anticipative, yet not officious in their attention, await our commands and faithfully discharge their appointed duties.
All these arrangements were perfected before our arrival by our very efficient agents, Messrs. Rinaldo, who have had charge of the estate since Mr. Rurlestone’s death, and nothing was left for me to do but to assume control of the establishment.
Herrara Lola, grown portly and plethoric since I last saw him, yet still exceedingly handsome, is living near, and he and his lovely Spanish wife are our frequent guests. Indeed they, and a few Southern families who have fled to Havana, are the only society we receive, as we desire yet a while quiet and retirement.
I have heard once from Ben Bemby since we reached here. All were well, and in good spirits. His father, himself and Horace, had all gone to work vigorously on their respective farms, preparing them for the next year’s crop, though he apprehended great difficulty in securing effective labor. His letter, though characteristic, showed a spirit of earnest energy and hopefulness, and was burdened throughout with messages of love for us all from true and honest hearts.
But, as I was saying, Carlotta and I were in the balcony, looking at the sunset. Cloudless and alone the god of day was sinking to his rest. A few fleecy racks towards the South were blushing with his good-night kiss, and a purple bank with silver fringe lay beneath him, like the pillow of his couch. Drowsily he sunk his head upon it, and drawing the ocean, like a burnished coverlid, over his golden face, was asleep!
The spell of our silent admiration was broken by Miguel, my valet, who approached with the mail from Havana. Running hurriedly through the letters I came to one directed to Carlotta and myself, and dated from New York the very day we sailed. Calling her to my side, I tore off the envelope and read:
”My only Friends —
When this reaches you I shall be in the grave, where the scorn and contempt of the world cannot harm me. The awful abyss of eternity is before me, and into its depths I blindly plunge – whither I care not – any where, any where to leave earth, with its curses on the fallen, and to crush out Memory’s page of past purity. There is but one ray of comfort in the dark Hereafter – the thought that in the realms of gloom to which I am going I will not meet the sad reproof of my mother’s face.
Dying, I leave no reproaches for the dead, no warning for the living. I fell through my own weakness, and my eternal doom will be just; but oh! my poor heart breaks as I think of what I was and what I might have been.
To you, who tried to save me, my life’s last pulse will be a throb of gratitude. I dare not pray for you, but He who suffered Magdalen to weep upon His feet will reward you.
Farewell, forever farewell!
Lulie.”
As I opened the sheet to read the last lines a little flower fell out on the floor. Carlotta picked it up, and, bursting into tears, placed it in my hand.
It was a little snow-drop, with its petals powdered with soot.
Carlotta has gone in with the letter to mother, and I sit alone in the balcony, thinking of Lulie. And the red light dies out in the West, and the stars shine down from the sky, and the stars shine back from the sea, and I am still gazing far over the gray waters towards the land that I fought for – a land where orphans’ tears meet widows’ wails, and maidens wear the mournful pledge of battle-broken troth – a land where want and woe are rife, and the burdened people bow beneath the yoke of conquest; and yet, from all the wealth and luxury that surround me, my Southern heart turns with all the yearning of a child back to my Southern Home.
