Kitabı oku: «Graham's Magazine, Vol XXXIII, No. 6, December 1848», sayfa 2
CHAPTER V
How beautiful was Mildred as she sprung to meet the embrace of her old grandfather; and how fondly did the old man gaze upon his recovered treasure, almost incredulous that this lovely girl could be the same little pet, whose infantine gambols and artless caresses time had not been able to efface from his mind.
The style of Mildred's beauty was, indeed, most captivating and piquant. To a form of perfect symmetry and airy grace was added a countenance beaming with intellect and vivacity. Her complexion was of the same dazzling fairness as her mother's, but her eyes were of a deep-gray, sparkling beneath the most delicately penciled brows, and her hair of that dark, glossy chestnut, flecked as it were with sunbeams, whose peculiar tint painters so much love to catch. A small, rosy mouth, and white, regular teeth, which in her innocent vivacity were often displayed, completes the picture of Mildred's charms.
After spending a few days at Mount Dundass she took leave of her grandfather, and under the escort of Mr. Donaldson, who had hastened thither for the purpose, departed for the Cascade, impatient to behold her mother, in whose love she trusted to find a recompense for the pain which parting with her dear friends at Norcross Hall had caused. And for a few weeks all went happily. The sight of her innocent, beautiful child banished for a time from the heart of Mrs. Donaldson that unnatural jealousy her husband had awakened. Mr. Donaldson, for his own selfish purposes, strove by every attention and kindness to win her esteem and confidence, while Mildred on her part delighted with and reciprocating her mother's affection, gratified by the interest her step-father expressed for her, and perfectly enchanted with the novel and beautiful scenery, threw off all her sadness – linking the past with the present, not regretful or sorrowful, but as one continued scene of love and happiness, for which her heart rose in gratitude to her Maker that he had conferred upon her so many rich blessings.
How often did she wish that Rupert and Helen could share with her this West India paradise. The climate so bland and delicious – soft, balmy airs by day, and nights of unclouded loveliness; the beautiful undulating scenery of hill and valley stretching far away into the dim haze of ocean – hills from whose summits towered the magnificent cabbage-palm, its immense plume-like leaves waving like the crest of some gigantic warrior above the band of palms crowding around, bending their graceful heads to this their chief; valleys of luxuriant beauty, studded with groves of the aromatic pimento, whose pure white blossoms seem like snow-flakes just fallen amid their dark, glossy foliage, while at intervals clumps of magnolia, resting on a carpet of bright verdure sprinkled with flowers, and their trunks garlanded with the gay passa-flora, arrested the eye. From those beautiful hill-sides silvery cascades came leaping and dancing down into the rich valleys, then twining their lovely arms through this charming landscape, as if they would fain bear off its beauties to the broad ocean, whither they are gliding.
In the meantime, you may be sure, Perozzi made his appearance at the Cascade, where, under some slight pretext, he soon became almost domesticated, merely riding over to the Pen at intervals of two or three days. To Mildred there was something extremely repulsive in his appearance, and she could not but feel amazed at the influence he seemed to exercise over her parents, and the deference with which they treated him. She little dreamed of the power he would soon exert against her happiness – just as over those luxuriant valleys, whose smiling beauty I have but imperfectly sketched, the whirl-wind comes rushing in terrible might, scattering ruin and devastation around, did the tempest burst over the head of Mildred, changing all the brightness of her young life to darkness. Perozzi needed no other impetus than the sight of Mildred's beauty to render him as eager to push forward the plot in agitation as Mr. Donaldson, and in accordance his attentions to her assumed a direct and positive form. She, however, had not the most remote suspicion of his intentions. How great, then, was her surprise when one day Perozzi made her a formal offer of his hand, assuring her at the same time that he did so with the consent and approbation of her parents and her grandfather. Mildred could hardly credit her senses, that Perozzi, a man as old as her step-father, should think of a mere child like herself for a wife, seemed very strange, but that her friends should also approve of such a match, stranger still.
"My dearest Mildred, what have you done!" cried Mrs. Donaldson, meeting her daughter a few hours after. "Can it be possible you have refused Signor Perozzi?"
"Dear mamma, you surely do not think I could do otherwise than refuse him!" replied Mildred, surprised at her mother's manner.
"And why not, Mildred? Would it not be a most eligible match for you – why he is not only very rich, but will probably soon succeed to a title."
"Riches and titles can never make happiness, mamma."
"But they conduce greatly to its maintainance, Mildred."
"O, no, mamma, not if attached to such a disagreeable person as the signor."
"Disagreeable! Mildred, you surprise me – pray what can be your objections?"
"Indeed, they are so numerous, that the repetition would only be tiresome," replied Mildred, smiling. "But you are surely laughing at me; you did not really suppose, now did you, that I could love such a man?"
"I did suppose you had more sense, Mildred, than to refuse him," replied Mrs. Donaldson. "I can only say your decision has deeply grieved both Mr. Donaldson and myself; yet we regret it more for the disappointment it will cause your grandfather, for to see you the wife of Perozzi has long been his most cherished wish."
"Can it be!" cried Mildred. "Can it be that my grandfather, my kind grandfather, would have me marry Perozzi – is it so, mamma?"
"It is, Mildred."
"Now, indeed, am I most unhappy," cried Mildred, bursting into tears, "for it can never, never be!"
"My sweet child, I am sorry to see you so grieved!" said Mrs. Donaldson. "It must be painful, I know, for you to distress your excellent old grandfather, who loves you so truly, and has ever treated you with such generosity; but perhaps your decision has been too hasty – it is not too late; reconsider the subject, Mildred, and perhaps you will conclude differently."
"No, mamma, my resolution is unalterable!"
"Let me at least soften your refusal to poor Perozzi – indeed, he is quite overwhelmed with despair; let me bid him hope that in time you may be brought to listen more favorably to his suit."
"O, not for worlds, mamma – not for worlds!"
"Well, well, my dear, you are strangely agitated. There, go – retire to your chamber, and compose yourself, my love;" and affectionately kissing her daughter, Mrs. Donaldson repaired to the library, where her husband and Perozzi were awaiting the result of this interview.
Had Mrs. Donaldson forgotten her own youth?
From that day Mildred was the object of ceaseless persecution. Go where she would, there was Perozzi ever at her side, to annoy her with his odious attentions; walking or riding, he intruded himself upon her; no room in the house seemed sacred from his approach; and even when she retired to her own apartment, he either stationed himself beneath her window, or stood at her door, ready to greet her with his hateful smile as she issued forth. Constantly, too, was he urging his suit, while her repeated refusals, her cold words, and still colder looks, might as well have been spent upon a rock – for a rock could not be more impressionless to their meaning. The persecution she underwent from the odious Perozzi, had, perhaps, revealed to her the true nature of her regard for Rupert, and in so doing, brought also the pleasing consciousness that she was beloved even as she loved him. How aggravating, then, her situation. Daily her life grew more wretched, nor had she even the consolation of sympathy. With a yearning heart did she now recall the happy days at Norcross Hall, rendered by contrast still more dear. "O!" she cried, in her anguish, "could I but once more rest in their loving arms, what power could tear me thence! Dearest Helen! Dearest Rupert, come to me! O, hasten thither and rescue me from this horrible thraldom!"
But months passed in sorrow; there came no letters from England – nothing to cheer up her fainting heart, and finally, Mildred, the once gay, happy Mildred, sunk into a state of utter despondency.
CHAPTER VI
"Hist – hist, Pedro!" and a tall, swarthy Creole, obeying the finger of Perozzi, glided stealthily behind a large tree, where stood the Spaniard, both screened from observation by the thick drapery of ferns and parasitic plants clinging around its trunk. Eyeing the man keenly, Perozzi said, in a low tone,
"Hark-ye, Pedro! I have a job for you; here are thirty pistoles as an earnest, and when it is finished, you shall receive thirty more."
"By St. Jago, signor! I am ready – what is it? This?" touching the handle of his knife.
"Corambre, knave! No. Listen to me. Do you see yonder mansion, with the green verandas stretching itself out on the hill-side like an anaconda at play?"
"The Scotchman's – Donaldson's?"
"The same. Now look, and tell me what you see at the open jalousie on the right, that is, if you can see through the heavy screen of jessamines which droop over it."
"Ho, ho! I have eyes at any time for a pretty girl, signor; she is an angel, that fair English girl!"
"Very well – you know her, then. Now do you remember the thick pimento walk between this and the hospital?"
"Si, signor."
"Now, Pedro, hasten thither, and conceal yourself. This fair Signora will soon pass that way. Now mind me, knave, when she reaches the middle of the grove, do you rush suddenly upon her – seize her in your arms, and – "
"Ho-ho! a pleasant job, signor!"
"Peace, knave! Seize her, I tell you, and draw your knife, as if about to plunge it in her white bosom. Now, mark me, at that moment I rush upon you and rescue the lady – do you understand?"
"Si, signor; but will your honor please to remember I am but flesh and blood – don't strike more than skin deep, signor."
"Tush, knave! and remember – no violence; by the Holy Mother! if you so much as breathe upon a hair of her head, you taste my dagger!"
"Ho-ho, signor! methinks to snatch a kiss from her sweet lips would be worth more than a thousand pistoles."
"Villain, to your work!"
"Ho-ho! a pleasant job, signor – a pleasant job!" And with a hideous leer, the lesser villain parted from the greater, and concealing himself within the deep shadows of the grove, awaited the coming of Mildred.
It was not long ere, little suspecting the terrible scene which she was to encounter, Mildred set forth en route to the hospital, to visit an old faithful female slave. This was a favorite walk, and soothed by the quiet of the scene, she lingered long in its delightful depths. As her foot pressed the summit of a gentle slope, enameled with many-colored flowers, and over which frown the blood-tinged foliage of a stately mahogany-tree, pendent garlands of the passion-flower, and delicate white jasmine swung in the soft breeze, she paused for a moment, as if to prolong this happy reprieve from the presence of the Spaniard.
Suddenly, the wretch, Pedro, sprung in her path, and while with one hand he seized the trembling girl, with the other he drew his stiletto, and muttering a horrible oath, raised it as if about to strike at her innocent bosom. Mildred did not scream, she did not faint, but he eyes closed, and all power of speech and motion seemed paralized. But the threatened blow was arrested; a violent struggle ensued, during which she was clasped still more tightly to the breast of the ruffian, who seemed to be defending himself from some superior arm. Oaths and curses mingled with the clash of weapons; she was dragged, as it were, several paces through the grove, and then, after another struggle, she felt the arm of the assassin relax its grasp – she was caught to the breast of her deliverer, and then placed gently on the soft turf.
"Mildred – my angel – my life – O, speak to me!"
That voice! Mildred knew its hateful tones; and a cold shudder crept through her frame, as if some venomous reptile had touched her, as she felt the villains lips press her brow. Recoiling, she slowly opened her eyes.
"Thank God!" exclaimed Perozzi, "you are restored to me. Holy Virgin! can it be – so near death, and yet living and unhurt, I now hold you in my arms! O, blessed moment, when love guided me hither!"
"I owe you my life, signor," said Mildred, freeing herself from his embrace, "but it is a thankless boon; methinks death would have been sweeter! Leave me – I am better – I am well – leave me, signor!"
"Sweet angel! leave thee – leave thee thus exposed to new dangers! No – lean on me, my beloved – let me guide your trembling steps!" and he passed his arm around her.
"Away!" cried Mildred, springing from him. "Away! touch me not! Monster – fiend! I hate you! Begone from my sight forever, or, in mercy, kill me!"
Perozzi became livid with rage, and his eye-balls gleamed like fire in the deepening shadows, as they rested on Mildred, never more beautiful than as she now stood before him in all the majesty of outraged purity. But masking the hell in his heart with a well-feigned air of desperation, he fell on his knees before her.
"Would that the assassin's knife had reached my heart!" he exclaimed. "Better for me to die than endure your scorn. Yes, die! By heavens! why not end this miserable existence – here – yes, here, at your feet, cruel Mildred! It shall be done!" and drawing a pistol from his breast, he placed the muzzle to his temple.
"Hold – hold – for God's sake, miserable man, hold!" shrieked Mildred, springing forward.
It was too late – the pistol exploded.
"Ha – ha – ha!" shouted Perozzi, wiping his blackened brows, "that was well done!" And raising the now senseless girl in his arms he bore her to the house.
When, after a long and death-like swoon, Mildred opened her eyes they rested upon the anxious countenances of her mother and Mr. Donaldson bending over her couch.
"Where am I?" she cried, starting up wildly – "how came I here – what has happened? Ah, now I remember – or was it some dreadful dream?" She pressed her hand to her forehead – "no, no, it was no dream – tell me," she added, with a convulsive shudder, closing her eyes as if to shut out some horrible vision, "is he dead – is Perozzi dead?"
"Compose yourself, my dear Mildred," replied Mrs. Donaldson, "he lives – fortunately the ball but slightly grazed his temple – yet, my child, such is his despair – to such a state of frenzy has your cruelty brought him, that we dare not trust him alone even for a moment, lest he once more attempt to end his misery by self-destruction."
A heart-rending groan was the poor girl's only answer.
"Mildred, my daughter," said Mr. Donaldson, "I had decided to say no more to you upon a subject so painful, but duty to my friend compels me to make one more appeal to your compassion. Can I stand calmly by and witness the wreck which despair has wrought in that beloved friend – can I behold him resolutely rushing upon death to end his misery and not speak! O, Mildred," falling on his knees, "save him – for you can – Mildred, behold me thus imploring your pity for Perozzi!"
Mildred burst into tears, and placed her hand within that of Mr. Donaldson.
"You will relent, my sweet child, will you not?" said her mother, throwing her arms around her – "yes, you will, and make us all happy – see," she added, drawing a letter from her bosom, "here is a letter from my beloved father – let his words plead with ours – shall I read?" Mildred assented, and breaking the seal Mrs. Donaldson continued:
"Mildred, – You have refused compliance with the fondest wish of my heart – you have obstinately cast from you the man of all others I wished to see your husband! Henceforth I renounce you. I loved you, my child, (as I now for the last time call you,) I have loved you from your infancy – to you I looked as my greatest earthly blessing – but it is all over – we never meet again! Yet, cruel, ungrateful girl, I will not doom you to a life of hardship and dependence. The fortune settled upon you is still yours. Take it, Mildred, and enjoy it if you can, knowing that you have broken the heart of your old doting grandfather,
Archibald Dundass."
As Mrs. Donaldson concluded, Mildred sobbed aloud. These reproaches, mingled with so much kindness, almost broke her heart.
"Give me the letter," said she, extending her trembling hand, and once more she tearfully perused it, while a glance of triumph was exchanged between husband and wife. The look of agony which Mildred cast upon them as she finished reading would have melted a heart of stone. Mrs. Donaldson burst into tears, and even the lip of her husband quivered with agitation.
"My God, pity me!" cried Mildred, clasping her hands and raising her eyes to heaven. Once more she turned them on her mother. "Mother, do not weep —I – O God – I – consent!" And as if with those dreadful words her pure spirit had fled, she fell back cold and rigid as marble upon the pillow.
CHAPTER VII
Let the silence of despair rest upon the sufferings of the unhappy Mildred after those fatal words had passed her lips.
Among other artful devices agreed upon between Mr. Donaldson and Perozzi, previous to Mildred's return, was that of keeping her entirely secluded from society, lest some other suitor might wrest the hand of the doomed girl from him. But now that a consent to their infernal measures had been torn from her, it was resolved that a magnificent fête should mark the début of the affianced bride. The evening previous to the wedding was the time fixed upon for this important event, and accordingly invitations were immediately issued for a grand bal masqué, including the governor's family, together with all the élite of the island.
For weeks all was hurry and confusion at the Cascade – artisans of many trades were busily engaged pulling down and putting up – the drawing-rooms – the halls – verandas, all newly decorated – in fact, the whole establishment, through the purse of Perozzi and the good taste of Mrs. Donaldson, completely revolutionized. Mildred in the meanwhile remained in strict seclusion in her apartment, unless dragged thence by the importunities of the Spaniard, so sad, so perfectly overwhelmed with the wretchedness of her lot, that it seemed most probable death might claim the young bride ere the day of sacrifice came. In vain her mother strove to interest her in the gay proceedings – entreating she would at least choose a costume for her expected début.
"Do with me as you will, mother," Mildred would reply, with a faint smile.
In the sleeping-room of Mrs. Donaldson there hung a portrait of a beautiful Turkish maiden. This picture was a favorite with Mildred, and it occurred to Mrs. Donaldson that a similar costume would well become the style of her daughter's beauty. A careful examination of her own and Mildred's ward-robe convinced her the thing could be done, and she set herself diligently to prepare the dress – Mildred passively obeying her directions.
At length all was finished, and in its swift course Time brought round the appointed evening for the début of the wretched Mildred, so soon to become a more wretched wife. At an early hour those guests who resided at a distance began to arrive, and after partaking of the grateful refreshments provided for them were conducted to their dressing-rooms, to prepare for the festivities of the evening – all being expected to appear en masqué.
Mrs. Donaldson, the still handsome mistress of the fête, wore a splendid dress of the tartan, in compliment to the Scottish tastes of her husband, who himself appeared in the costume of a Highland Chief, and had already entered the drawing-room, in readiness to welcome the gay throng. The victim, too, was ready. Passive as a lamb in the hands of the destroyer, she had suffered her mother and her maid to array her, and now sat like some marbled image, awaiting the coming of Perozzi to lead her forth.
How lovely she was, nor yet casting one look to the mirror wherein her exquisite form and beautiful face were reflected. The robe her mother had chosen was the same as the picture, of a pale rose color, floating like a summer cloud around her lovely person, and confined to her waist by a broad girdle of white satin, wrought with gold and clasped by a superb diamond. The sleeves of the same airy fabric as the caftan were long and loose, revealing in their transparency the fine contour of her snowy arm, and were ornamented upon the shoulders and around the graceful fold of the outer edge with rich embroidery seeded with pearls. The caftan was slightly open at the bust, displaying an under vest of thin white gauze gathered in maidenly modesty over her lovely bosom, and fastened by a magnificent cluster of diamonds and rubies. A talpec, or head-dress, of white velvet, around which were wound two rows of the finest pearls, was placed low on her pale brow, from which her beautiful hair fell in long natural ringlets, looped here and there with sprigs of the white jasmine and orange buds.
Gently the wind swayed the orange boughs, and creeping through the flowery links of the jessamine and passa-flora, kissed the pale cheek of Mildred as she sat there in her misery – twilight stole on with saddened step, and from out the cloudless heavens one by one the stars looked down upon her wretchedness. Then over the distant mountains rose up the full-orbed moon, bathing their summits with gladness and flooding the valleys with calm and holy light. On she came, majestic and serene, o'er her glorious path, and as her mild beams quivered through the thick clustering blossoms around the window they touched the heart of Mildred as the smile of angels. Throwing open the jalousie she stepped into the veranda, and leaning over the balustrade gazed upon the peaceful landscape stretching before her in all the chastened loveliness of the moonlight.
There was something in the scene which brought with it the "light of other days" to her sad heart. For a few brief moments she was happy – present sorrows lost themselves in past pleasures. Once more upon the ivy-clad battlements of Norcross Hall she was standing with Helen and Rupert, while the scene upon which the moon looked down identified itself with the woods and dells of that beloved spot. Her bright dream was brief – the voice of Perozzi in loud and angry altercation with some one awoke her too rudely to her misery.
"O, Rupert!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands in agony as she turned to re-enter her chamber – "Rupert, farewell – farewell forever!"
"Dearest Mildred!" cried a voice whose tones leaped into her heart with a strange thrill of joy – "dearest Mildred!"
Did she still dream – or was it indeed Rupert to whose breast she was now folded with a bliss too great for words!
"Thank God, Rupert, you have come!" cried Mildred.
"Mildred," said Rupert, (for it was indeed Rupert,) "what mean these tears? Are you not happy – this marriage – "
"A – h!" shrieked Mildred, clinging to him as though the basilisk hand of Perozzi were already upon her, "save me – save me, Rupert!"
"Save you! dearest, beloved Mildred – tell me – tell me quick – this marriage – is it not your own choice?"
"O no, no, no!" sobbed Mildred.
"Then no power on earth shall compel you to it! You are mine – mine, dearest Mildred!" and clasping her once more in his arms, Rupert kissed the tears from her beautiful eyes, as full of hope and love they met his beaming gaze.
"But my grandfather!" she cried, starting up.
"He is here, dear girl."
"Here! then lead me to him quickly – let me implore him to have pity upon me!"
The arrival of Mr. Dundass upon the scene was wholly unlooked for by Mr. Donaldson – need we say as wholly unwelcome. Guilt and fear paled his cheek and almost palsied his tongue as his lips feigned a welcome – nor was Perozzi less moved. To define the feelings of Mrs. Donaldson would be difficult. Her love for her daughter had been held in complete subjugation to the will of her husband, and while she grieved deeply for the sorrows heaped upon her, her love and fear of Mr. Donaldson, and her knowledge of his pecuniary distress caused her at the same time to exert all her influence to rivet the chain around poor Mildred – so strange is human nature! What then was to be the result of her father's unexpected visit – was it freedom for Mildred – was it to heap disgrace upon her husband?
In the mean time Mr. Dundass had been shown to a private room in a remote wing of the building, while Mr. Donaldson and Perozzi were already planning new schemes. They resolved that Mildred should be kept in ignorance of her grandfather's arrival as long as possible – of Rupert's they themselves knew nothing – and that on no account should she be allowed to speak with him privately. The marriage should take place at an early hour the following morning —that consummated they would defy even the devil himself!
Mr. Dundass was sitting sad and sorrowful in the apartment to which he had been conducted, for this marriage filled him with grief, wondering that Mildred did not appear to welcome him, or that Rupert did not return, when the door suddenly opened and Mildred rushed in, and falling at his feet exclaimed:
"O dearest, dearest grandfather, pity me – O sacrifice me not to Perozzi!"
"Sacrifice you, my darling child! Come to my arms – what mean you —sacrifice– I thought it was your happiness I was securing by consenting to your union."
"Happiness! O grandfather – rather my misery!"
"What does this mean?" exclaimed Mr. Dundass. "There must be treachery somewhere! God knows how it has grieved my heart to think of your union with that man – I know him to be a villain, and when repeatedly urged to consent to the marriage, I as repeatedly refused, until your own letter – "
"My letter – good heavens!" exclaimed Mildred.
"Written in the most moving language, at length won my reluctant consent!"
All was now explained, and the villainy of Mr. Donaldson and his coadjutor made clear.
"Courage, courage, my darling," said Mr. Dundass, "come with me. Come, Rupert, I will 'beard the lion in his den,' and make known this infamous plot – come."
"My mother – spare her, dear grandfather – forgive them all – I am happy now – let us not mar the pleasure of the guests," interceded Mildred.
"You say right, my child – to-morrow will be soon enough. But come with me, children – let us join the gay assembly – nay, fear not, Mildred. Perozzi, the villain, he shall not dare even to look upon you!"
Now strains of delicious music filled the air – lights gleamed – jewels flashed – feathers waved, and on every side the merry laugh and gay badinage met the ear from prince and beggar – wild roving gipsy and sombre nun – knights in armor – minstrels – flower-girls – jugglers and staid Quakers, as in confused mélée they swept through the rooms – yet all stood aside in silent admiration as the lovely Mildred Ward in her graceful Turkish costume, her face beaming with happiness, entered the saloon leaning on the arm of her gray-haired sire.
Muttering curses through his closed visor, Perozzi (who was dressed as a knight of Old Castile) hastily left the scene. He had sought Mildred in her chamber – she was not there, and well did his guilty fears surmise where she might be found. One glance at her speaking countenance was enough. He saw in a moment all was over – that the fiendish plot so near consummation was betrayed! With terrible oaths he mounted his mule, and plunging his spurs rowel-deep into the sides of the poor beast rushed, armed as he was, like some terrible demon through the peaceful moon-lit vale until he reached the Pen – vowing that on the morrow he would seize at once with the grip of a harpy upon the estates of Mr. Donaldson.
But here, too, he was foiled! Mr. Donaldson, it is true, did not deserve so much mercy, but when, like a penitent, he came before Mr. Dundass and confessed his crime, the heart of the old man was moved to pity. He generously advanced the necessary funds, and wrenched the Cascade from the clutches of Perozzi. Touched by such unmerited goodness and generosity, Mr. Donaldson resolved to become a better man, and to repair by his future conduct the errors of the past.
At Mount Dundass, whither the whole family accompanied its venerable proprietor, Rupert received the hand of the happy Mildred, and after the death of Mr. Dundass, which took place only a few months later, took his beautiful young bride to England.
