An American Story of Real Life CHAPTER 2.
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"How does that look, Fanny?" asked Bell Martin, turning her happy face toward her sister, and directing attention to a beautiful head-dress that a modest-looking, plainly attired girl, about her own age, had been arranging for her.
"Very pretty indeed, sister; Mary is always tasty in her devices and arrangements."
"Isn't she? We must try and find you a nice husband, Mary."
Mary smiled quietly, but made no reply. Her station did not permit her to return jests--and knowing this, she never attempted to do so. But still, she had her own thoughts, as well as they."
"I think that white rose is a little too much concealed, Mary, don't you?" remarked Bell, after having surveyed herself for some time in the mirror.
"Perhaps it is," replied Mary, lifting her hand to re-adjust the flower.
"But stop, Mary," interposed the light-hearted girl, taking hold of her hand before she had touched the rose. "That 'perhaps' was rather coldly said. You don't really think the flower too much hidden--do you?"
"No, I do not, or else I would have brought it out more."
"Then I won't have it touched, for I never opposed my taste to yours yet, that you were not in the right," Bell replied, laughing.
"You are very particular this evening, sister," remarked Fanny.
"Am I? Well I have my reason for it."
"Ah! What is it?"
"I'm going to captivate young Harry Ware."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. I intend carrying the citadel of his heart by storm."
"Take care that you do not lose your own in the contest!"
"Oh, never fear but that I'll keep fast hold of mine, at least till I see something to gain by a surrender."
"Harry is certainly a very captivating young man. Don't you think so, Mary?"
Directly appealed to, although in a laughing mood, Mary replied with the frankness of a sincere heart,
"I have not had an opportunity of observing him very closely; but the little I have seen of him, has not biased me a great deal in his favor."
"Hasn't it, indeed! Miss Demure?"
"It has not, Bell; but no doubt I can judge a flower for a young lady of your position in society, much better than I can a lover."
"Perhaps so. But why don't you like Harry Ware, Mary?"
"Did I say that I did not like him?"
"No. But you said you were not biased in his favor."
"That is true."
"Then why are you not biased in his favor?
"I am sure I don't know. But I feel as if I wouldn't like to see you as the wife of Mr. Ware."
The voice of the maiden trembled slightly as she said this, and her tones had in them something of tenderness; for she loved Bell Martin and her sister--although standing to them only in the relation of one that served--almost as purely as if they were of her own kindred.
"His wife, Mary! How strangely you talk! No one said anything about becoming his wife. O, dear! That's another matter, altogether."
"It's the next thing that follows the winning and losing of hearts, though, I believe," replied Mary, the color on her cheek deepening.
"Is it, Mary?" Oh! How the girl talks! And see how she is blushing, Fanny! As I have now I come to think of it, I do believe she has lost her heart already. I thought Mr. Lane, Pa's head clerk, came here pretty often of late."
This speech had the effect to make poor Mary's face as red as scarlet.
"There! See that! See that, Fanny! Just look at her face! Now, who would have suspected our modest, quiet Mary?"
"The next thing that follows the losing and winning of hearts, is marriage, I believe, aren't it, Mary?" said Fanny, with mock seriousness.
"O, of course it is. How soon is the wedding to take place? It shall be in this very house, for you are a good girl, Mary, and we all love you," Bell added, half laughing, half serious.
The momentary confusion that this unexpected sally wrought in the mind of Mary, soon subsided, and she said, in her quiet way--
"You have anticipated what I would have told you tomorrow."
"So it's all true, Mary!" ejaculated Bell, almost springing upon the floor with delight. Then turning quickly, and grasping the hand of the young girl, she said, in a serious voice--
"None will rejoice more than Fanny and myself at your good fortune, Mary. Mr. Lane, I have always heard spoken of by Pa in the highest terms, and I am sure he will make you a good husband. But we shall be very sorry to lose you. Indeed, I do not know what we will do when you are gone!"
"You can still feel kindly toward me. I ask but that return for the deep interest my heart does, and always must take in you," Mary said, looking up into the face of the sisters, her eyes ready to gush with tears. "We have been together as little children, sharing each other's pleasures. The same tender care that was over you--has been over me. And notwithstanding, as we sprang up toward womanhood, our relations to each other became necessarily changed, I have not loved you less. Forgive me for saying, that I have loved you as sisters--I could not help it."
The tears that had trembled beneath her dark lashes, now rolled over the maiden's cheek.
"We will love you as a sister!" was the instant response of the affectionate Bell, drawing her arm around the waist of Mary. Our stations in life are different. We cannot mingle in society together. But that need not--that cannot disturb the sisterly regard we must feel for you. You are worthy of it all, Mary."
A deep silence followed--a silence in which tender emotions were welling up from each gentle and affectionate bosom. As they had never felt it before, did Bell and Fanny feel the delight of being loved fervently by a pure and honest heart--even though it beat in the bosom of one all unknown to, and all unappreciated by, the world.
"But come, Bell," said Fanny, breaking in upon that deep pause, "time presses."
"So it does. But I will soon be ready. Here, Mary, arrange this scarf for me, if you please. There, that will do. And now don't you think thank I look charming?"
"Very, only a little--pardon me--overdressed."
"That's according to your taste, Mary."
"Of course. My taste inclines to the simple."
"It's a very pure taste, I know, but hardly gives attractions enough for one in my station. Young ladies who move in our circle, you know, dress with a rich display, sometimes."
"I know they do. But they hide, it seems to me, instead of bringing out, their loveliness."
"Perhaps they do. Still, to quote a homely adage--'Fine feathers make fine birds.' "
Mary shook her head, and smiled a reproof, as she said--
"It's no use for me to argue with you, Bell, for while you give up your point, virtually, in argument--you stick to it in practice."
"No, Mary, I don't think it is. I can admire the beauty of simplicity in others--you for instance--but I like a little finery for myself. But hark! there's the bell. Our company are beginning to come, and we must be down to receive them."
Among the first who came, were Henry Ware and his two sisters, with whom Bell and Fanny were on terms of intimacy. The young man, as has been seen, had resolved on making a conquest; he, therefore, had dressed himself with studied care, so as to bring out into good effect, his really attractive person.
There was something in the tone of his voice and the expression of his face, when he saluted Bell, already biased in his favor, that made her heart quicken its pulsations, and send the blood in warmer currents to her cheek. Henry Ware did not fail to observe the slight glow that mantled her young and innocent face, nor the pleasure that sparkled in her eye. They strengthened his hope of success.
"She is mine, in spite of the devil!" was the elegant and manly expression of his thoughts, whispered to himself, as he turned from her to address her sister.
Whenever, without attraction particular observation, he could get by her side during the evening, he was sure to be there; and all his conversation was skillfully managed, so as to excite in her mind, tender emotions.
Attached to Mr. Martin's elegant residence, was a large garden, richly adorned with plants of the rarest kinds. It was laid off in beautifully arranged walks, with arbors and alcoves, statuary and every tasteful device that could please the eye. Always, during an evening entertainment in pleasant weather, it was brilliantly illuminated with variegated lamps, ingeniously arranged into elegant and striking figures.
Into this, a portion of the company might always be found, strolling about, thus dividing the allurements of the social circle, with the calmer and more elevating delights of nature.
"Come, Bell, suppose we take a little walk in the garden--the air of these rooms is becoming oppressive," said Ware to the gentle girl who leaned upon his arm. "We have danced and sang, and mingled pleasantly in the mirthful circle here for some two hours. A change to the quiet scene outside, will be very pleasant."
"It certainly will," replied Bell, making an involuntary movement toward the door.
The two then retired from the brilliantly lighted saloon and mirthful company, and entered the garden. The air was mild, and balmy from the perfume rising from a thousand odoriferous flowers. The moon and stars looked down from a sky of unusual brilliancy, and shed their soft light, like a veil of silver over all things.
"Beautiful! beautiful!" ejaculated Bell, as she perceived and felt the loveliness of the scene.
"It is, indeed, very beautiful!" replied her companion, uttering a sentiment he scarcely felt. His mind was too selfishly interested in securing the affections of the maiden, to care anything about a lovely moonlight scene, except so far as it might tend to aid in the accomplishment of his purpose. He could, therefore, perceive the beauty of external nature, but not feel it.
Slowly, they took their way down one of the most retired alleys of the garden. Bell, whose feelings the scene around had almost instantly softened into tenderness, leaned with an air of affectionate confidence upon the arm of Ware, and listened to his artful and insinuating words, that, while they spoke not of his own thoughts and feelings, were fraught with just the sentiments calculate to awaken the heart of one so young, and by nature so affectionate, as the innocent maiden by his side.
"Let us rest here for awhile, and enjoy the calm delight of this lovely season," the young man said, after having strayed through the garden for some ten to fifteen minutes, pausing as he did so, before an arbor thickly shaded by a vine, upon which the yet unripe clusters hung in luxuriant profusion.
"How much I enjoy a scene like this," he remarked, after they were seated, thus alone. "It has in it something so purifying and elevating to the spirit. Something that lifts us above the base ideas and groveling affections of this sordid world. It is under the influence of an hour like this, that we feel ourselves to be immortal."
"Do you remember the lines of 'On a Star'?" asked Bell, after a brief silence.
"I do not."
"That brilliant star, yonder, has recalled the touching effusion to my mind."
"Can you repeat the lines to which you allude?
"O yes. For I have thought of them hundreds offtimes!"
"Then recite them, Bell."
The maiden complied, and recited, in a low voice, full of pathos, the following lines:
"Beautiful star, that are wandering through
The midnight ocean's waves of blue!
I have watched since your first pale ray
Rose on the farewell of summer's day.
From your first sweet shine in the twilight hour.
To your present blaze of beauty and power!
Would I could read my destiny,
Lovely and glorious star, in thee!
Yet why should I wish?--I know too well
What your tablet of light would tell!
What, O, what, could I read there
But the depths of love's despair--
Blighted feelings, like leaves that fall
The first from April's coronal--
Hopes, like meteors, that shine and depart
An early grave and a broken heart!"
"A beautiful beginning, but a sad ending, Bell. Why should such poetry be a favorite with you? But that brilliant star, overhead, if the star of your destiny, would reveal a brighter page."
"I hope so. Still, I have always loved those lines, and have repeated them over, almost involuntarily, a hundred times, until my feelings have become imbued with their sadness. Heaven grant that they be not prophetic of wrecked hopes and a broken heart for me."
Bell spoke with emotion--for, suddenly, there came over her heart a chilling fear, that seemed like a prophetic warning.
"How strange that you should speak thus!" said her companion, in surprise. "You, than whom no one has a brighter prospect--you, every footstep of whose way has, thus far, been upon flowers."
"It is strange that I should feel thus. But it is only when I repeat those verses, that a shadow falls upon my heart."
"Then I would never repeat them again; for they mock you with idle fears."
"I believe they do," replied Bell, rallying herself with an effort.
"How exquisitely falls that music upon the ear, softened by distance," remarked Ware, after another pause. "It comes like the swelling and subsiding tones of the wind-touched harp."
"Music never came to me with such sweetness before," said the maiden, in innocence and simplicity. "It seems as if I could listen to it forever."
"I feel the same subdued and tender impressions," replied the young man, in a low, soft tone.
"But come," he added, after a brief silence, "we will be missed."
"True--true! I had forgotten, under the sweet influence of the hour, that others are to be thought of and regarded."
The two then returned, slowly, arm in arm entered the house, and rejoined the mirthful groups within.
It was past two o'clock, when the last visitor departed. Mary, who had superintended the arrangements of the party, after all were gone and a few directions had been given to the servants, went up to the room of Bell and Fanny to assist in undressing them. She found the former seated by a window in a musing attitude, looking out upon the brilliant sky.
"Come, Mary, you must attend to me first, for Bell is way up among the stars, and won't be down again for half an hour."
Mary smiled at this pleasant sally, but Bell did not seem to hear it.
"There, Mary, you can go to star-gazing with Bell if you choose--I'm going to court a few pleasant dreams!" she added, springing lightly into bed. In a few minutes she was fast asleep.
Mary turned, and stood looking for some moments at Bell, who was still lost in deep abstraction. Then going up to her, she laid her hand gently on her arm, and said--
"Shall I assist you to undress?"
"If you please, Mary," replied Bell, looking up with a deep sigh, and then submitting to Mary's hands in silence. Her rich attire was soon changed for garments of snowy whiteness, and in these she again took her place by the window, and lifted her young face once more to the sky that was sparkling in beauty and brightness.
As Mary turned to leave the chamber, she felt a strong reluctance to do so. For a few moments she hesitated, and then going back, she said in a respectful tone--
"You do not seem like yourself tonight, Bell."
The maiden roused herself again at this, and after looking into Mary's face for an instant or two, said--
"Come, and sit down here, Mary."
Mary complied in silence.
"I am not myself tonight. In that you say truly. But what ails me, I cannot tell; I have never felt the influence of a scene like this as I do now. It seems as if I could sit and gaze forever upon the sky and its myriads of beautiful stars. Let me repeat to you some verses of that exquisite poetess. They describe this hour and this scene most beautifully.
"Look up,
Toward the beautiful heaven! the fair moon
Is shining timidly, like a young queen,
Who fears to claim her full authority;
The stars shine in her presence; o'er the sky
A few light clouds are wandering, like the fear
That even happy love must know the air
Is full of perfume and most musical.
Although no other sounds are on the gale
Than the soft falling of the mountain rill
Or the waving of the leaves."
"Is that not appropriate and beautiful?"
"Very. But it is too late now to be gazing at the moon and stars, and repeating poetry, Bell. Come, get into bed and go to sleep. A good night's repose will calm down your over excited feelings. Come! or I shall really think that in the effort to captivate the heart of Henry Ware--you have lost your own!"
Thus rallied, Bell came more to herself, and after having been urged again by Mary, retired to her bed. It was long, however, before she sank into slumber, and that was full of the dreams of a maiden's first, pure, ardent love for one she fondly invests with a thousand perfections.
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