The Maid of Maiden Lane Read online

  CHAPTER XI

  WE HAVE DONE WITH TEARS AND TREASONS

  "Here is a letter from Arenta!" repeated the Doctor to his wife, whowas just entering the room, "Come, Ava, and listen to what she has tosay. I have no doubt it will be interesting." Then Cornelia read aloudthe following words:

  MY DEAR FRIEND CORNELIA:

  If to-day I could walk down Maiden Lane, if to-day I could see you andtalk to you, I should imagine myself in heaven. For as to this city, Ithink that in hell the name of "Paris" must have spread itself far andwide. Indeed I often wonder if I am yet on the earth, or if I have goneaway in my sleep to the country of the devil and his angels. Even as Iam writing to you, my pen is shaking with terror, for I hear thetumbrel come jolting along, and I know that it is loaded with innocentmen and women who are going to the guillotine; and I know also that itis accompanied by a mob of dreadful creatures--mostly women--for I hearthem singing--no, screaming--in a kind of rage,

  "Ca ira les aristocrates a la lanterne!"

  Do you remember our learning in those happy days at Bethlehem of theslaughter of Christians by Nero? Very well; right here in the Paris ofMarat and Robespierre, you may hear constantly the same brutal cry thatfilled the Rome of the Caesars--"DEATH TO THE CHRISTIANS!" Famine,anarchy, murder, are everywhere; and I live from moment to moment,trembling if a step comes near me. For Athanase is imprudence itself.His opinions will be the death of him. He will not desert theGirondists, though Mr. Morris tells him their doom is certain. Marat isagainst them, and the Jacobins--who are deliriously wicked--are againstthem, and the mob of the Faubourgs is against them; and this mob isalways of one mind, always on the spot, and always hungry and ready foranarchy and blood. Besides which, they are already accused of havingsold themselves to Mr. Pitt. Very often I have heard my dear fathertalking of universal suffrage as the bulwark of liberty; well then, wehave now, and here, an universal suffrage that is neither a fraud nor afiction; and as Athanase says, "it is expressing itself every minute,in the crimes of the Holy Guillotine."

  And yet Paris makes a pretence of being gay and of enjoying itself. Wego to the theatre and the opera, and we dance, as it were, red,wet-shod to the hideous strains of the Carmagnole. It is indeed a danceof death. The other night we were at a reception given by Madame Talmato the victorious General Dumouriez. All the Brissot party were there.Your father will remember Brissot de Warville very well. He was greatlypetted by Mrs. Jay and the aristocracy of New York and Philadelphia.Jefferson made a friend of him, and even Washington talked with himabout his book on our country. Then he passed himself off as a noble,but he is really the son of an innkeeper. I had so often heard of him,that I regarded with interest his pale face and grave, melancholymanner. He was accompanied by Camille Desmoulins, and by Danton; thelatter a man almost terrible in his ugliness. David, the painter ofSocrates, was there; he had his hair frizzed, and was dressedsplendidly; and with him was Chenier, more tragic looking than any ofhis plays. The salons were filled with flowers and beautiful women;among them the majestic Madame Vestris, and the lovely MademoiselleCandeille, who was singing a song when there arose a suddenindescribable noise, growing louder and louder, and then the cry ofMARAT! MARAT! and the "Friend of the People" entered. Now I shall sparea few minutes to tell you, that no one has made frightful enough hislarge bony face, his thin lips and his livid complexion. He wore an oldcarmagnole, a dirty handkerchief twisted about his neck, leatherbreeches, shoes without stockings, and a piece of red cotton round hishead, from which there hung a few locks of greasy hair. A nervoustwitching keeps him constantly moving, and he has the leprosy:--this iswell known. He walked straight to Dumouriez, who said disdainfully,"Ah! are you the man they call Marat?" Marat immediately demanded fromhim an account of military measures he had taken. They had some sharpconversation which I did not hear, and Marat finally went away utteringthe most insulting threats, and leaving every one in a state of mortalterror. The next day the newsboys were shouting "the discovery of agreat plot by Marat, the Friend of the People! Great meeting ofAristocrats at Talmas, etc."

  This is the kind of pleasure we have; as to religion, there is nolonger any religion. Everywhere the Almighty is spoken of as the"soi-disant God." The monarchy is abolished, and yet so ignorant arethe leaders of the people, that when Brissot mentioned the wordRepublic in Petion's house, Robespierre said with a grin, "Republic!Republic! what's a republic?" Spying, and fear, and death penetrateinto the most private houses; above all, fear, constant fear of everyone with whom you come in contact. This feeling is so universal, thatsome one has conjugated it thus--I am afraid--Thou art afraid--He isafraid--We are afraid--You are afraid--They are afraid--For as deathhas been officially declared "an endless sleep" any crime is possible;the mob have no fear of hell, and as for the guillotine, it is theiropera and their perpetual comedy. Very soon these things must bring onFrance the chastisement of the Lord; and I shall not be sorry for it.

  I have told you the truth about our condition, because I have just hada letter from my father, and he talks of leaving his business in ClausBergen's care, and coming here to look after me. You must convince him,that he could do me no good whatever, and that he might do me muchharm. He is outspoken as a Zealander, and what is in his head and hisheart, would come to his lips; also, if it should come to flight, hewould embarrass me very much. Tell him not to fear; Arenta says, not tofear. I may indeed have to take a seat in "the terrible armchair"[Footnote: The chair in which the accused sat before the RevolutionaryTribunal and from which they usually went to the guillotine.] but Ishall not go to the guillotine; I know that. While Minister Morris ishere I have a friend that can do all that can be done. I have had a fewletters from Rem, but they do not satisfy me. He is in love, AND NOTWITH YOU. Will you please inform me what that means? Say to AuntAngelica that I am astonished at her silence; and ask our good Domineto pray that I may soon return to a country where God reigns. Neveragain do I wish to spend one minute in a place where there is no God;for whatever they may call that place, its real name is hell. Write mea long letter and tell me all the news of New York, and with myrespectful remembrance to your dear father and mother, I am always yourloving friend, ARENTA, MARQUISE DE TOUNNERRE.

  "Poor Arenta!" said the Doctor when Cornelia had finished the wretchedepistle. "She is however showing the mettle of the race from which shesprang. The spirit of the men who fought Alva is in her, and I thinkshe will be a match for Marat, if it comes to that. Suppose you go andsee Van Ariens, and give him all the comfort you can. Are you tooweary?"

  "I should like to see him, I am not tired now. Home is such a gooddoctor."

  "I think you will find him in his house. He comes from his office veryearly these days."

  Cornelia crossed the street and was going to knock at the door, whenVan Ariens hastily opened it. His broad face shone with pleasure, andwhen Cornelia told him her errand, he was in a hurry of loving anxietyto hear what his child had written.

  "I understand," he said, when he had heard the letter. "She isfrightened, the poor little one! but she will smile and say 'it isnothing.' That is her way. However, I yet think I must go to her."

  "Do not," urged Cornelia. "France is now at war with Holland, and youwould be recognized as a Dutchman."

  "That is so. My tongue would tell tales on me; and to go--even toheaven--by the guillotine, is not what a good man would wish. Noindeed!"

  "And you may see by Arenta's letter, that she does not fear theguillotine. Come over to-night and talk to my father and mother, and Iwill tell you what I saw in Philadelphia."

  "Well then, I will come."

  "Is Madame Jacobus back in New York yet?"

  "She is in London."

  "But why in London?"

  "That, I know not. Two reasons I can suppose, but which is right, or ifeither be right, that is beyond my certainty."

  "Is her sister-in-law dead?"

  "She is dead. Her husband was an Englishman; perhaps then it is aboutsome property in England she has gone. If it is no
t that, of nothingelse can I think but Captain Jacobus. But my sister Angelica had evertwo ways--nothing at all she would say about her money or her business;but constantly, to every one, she would talk of her husband. I thinkthen it is money or property that has taken her to England. For if ithad been Jacobus, to the whole town she would have told it." Then hetook both Cornelia's hands in his, and looking at her earnestly said--

  "Poor Rem! Impossible is it?"

  "Quite impossible, sir," she answered.

  "When he got thy letter refusing his love and offer, he went to Boston.I think he will not come back to me. I am very sorry," he said simply,and he let her hands drop.

  "I am sorry also--for your sake. I hear however that Rem is doing wellin Boston."

  "Better than his hopes. Very good fortune has come to him."

  "And you, sir?"

  "I am not doing much at present--but Smith and Warren do less. In anhour or two to your house I will come. There is plenty to talk about."

  The next day Cornelia walked down Broadway to Madame Jacobus' house. Itwas closed and desolate looking, and she sighed as she compared its oldbright spotless comfort, with its present empty forlornness. The changetypified the change in her heart and love, but ere she could entertainthe thought, her eyes fell upon the trees in the garden, full of thepale crinkled leaves of spring, and she saw the early flowers breakingthrough the dark earth, and the early shrubs bursting into white andgolden blooms. In some way they had a message for her; and she wenthome with hope budding in her heart. Soon after Mrs. Moran heard hersinging at her work,

  "The far east glows, The morning wind blows fresh and free; Should not the hour that wakes the rose Awaken thee? No longer sleep-- Oh listen now! I wait and weep, But where art thou?"

  From one to another song she went, simple melodies all of them,delightful little warblings of love, which except for their gladnessand loyalty, had nothing in them to charm.

  She was a deserted maiden. Her lover had palpably and with extremecruelty deceived her; but she had grieved, and forgiven. And lovebrings its reward, even if unrequited. Those who love, and have loved,are the better for the revelation; for love for love's sake enrichesand blesses the lover to the very end of life. She did not forget, forlove has everlasting remembrance; and she did not wish to forget, for agreat affection is a great happiness, and the whole soul can findshelter in it.

  Neither were her days monotonous or unhappy. All the real pleasures oflife lie in narrow compass; and she found herself very often a littlehurried for want of time. She had not, it is true, the resources of thewoman of to-day--no literary, musical, social, or sporting clubsexisted for Cornelia; but she had duties and devices that made everymoment pleasant or profitable. Many hours daily were given to fineneedlework--calm quiet hours full of thought as well as work; she hadher music to practice, new books and papers to read, calls to make,mantua makers and milliners to interview, dinners and dances andtea-parties to attend, shopping to look after, delicate bits of darningand mending to exercise her skill on, creams and pasties and cakes toprepare, visitors to welcome and entertain, and many other duties whichsprang up--as extras do--unexpectedly, and yet which opened the doorfor very pleasant surprises and events.

  Besides which, there was her father. After her return from school shehad always driven with him to some extent; but his claim on her now wasoften a little exacting. He said the fresh spring winds were good forher, and that she stayed in the house too much, and there was noevading the dictum that came with both parental and medical authority.Perhaps this demand upon her time would not have been made if the Hydeshad been in New York; but Doctor Moran by frequent inquiries satisfiedhimself that they were yet in Philadelphia; and for his daughter'ssatisfaction he frequently said as they drove up Maiden Lane, "We willtake the Greenwich Road, there is no fear of our meeting any one we donot wish to see." She understood the allusion, and was satisfied toescape meetings that promised her nothing but pain.

  In the month of May there occurred one of those wet spells which are soirritating "growing weather" of course, but very tiresome to those whofelt the joy of spring escaping them. Week after week it was too damp,or the winds were too sharp, or the roads too heavy for quick driving,and thus the month of all months went out of the calendar with few redletter days to brighten it. Then June came in royally, and Cornelia wasglad of the sunshine and the breeze and the rapid canter; and for aweek or two she was much out with her father. But he was now ever onthe watch, and she judged from the circumstance that the Hydes wereback in New York. Besides which, he did not any longer give her theassurance of not meeting any one they did not wish to see.

  One exquisite day as they went up Maiden Lane the Doctor said--"Myfriend General Hewitt sails for England to-day, and we will go and wishhim a good voyage." So to the pier they went, and the Doctor left hiscarriage, and taking Cornelia on his arm walked down to where theEnglish packet was lying. They were a little too late to go on board,for the shoremen were taking away the gang-plank, and the sailorspreparing to lift the anchor; but the General stood leaning over theside of the vessel, and exchanged some last words with his friend.

  "SHE WAVED HIM AN ADIEU"]

  While Cornelia listened, she became suddenly conscious of the powerfulmagnetism of some human eye, and obeying its irresistible attractionshe saw George Hyde steadily regarding her. He stood by the side of hisfather, as handsome as on that May morning when he had first lookedlove into her heart. She was enthralled again by his glance, and neverfor one moment thought of resisting the appeal it made to her. With aconscious tenderness she waved him an adieu whose spirit he could notbut feel. In the same moment he lifted his hat and stood bareheadedlooking at her with a pathetic inquiry, which made her inwardly cryout, "Oh, what does he mean?" The packet was moving--the wind filledthe blowing sails--the hoarse crying of the sailormen blended with the"good-byes" of the passengers--and the Earl, aware of the sad andsilent parting within his sight--moved away as Cornelia again waved amute farewell to her lost lover. Then the Doctor touched her--

  "Why do you do that?" he asked angrily.

  "Because I must do it, father; I cannot help it. I desire to do it."

  "I am in a hurry; let us go home."

  Filling her eyes with the beauty of the splendid looking youth stillstanding bareheaded watching her, seeing even such trivial things ashis long cloak thrown backward over his shoulder, his white handholding his lifted hat, and the wind-tossed curls of his handsome head,she turned away with a sigh. The Doctor drove rapidly to Maiden Laneand did not on the way speak a word; and Cornelia was glad of it. Thatimage of her lover standing on the moving ship watching her with hisheart in his eyes, filled her whole consciousness. Never would it bepossible for her to forget it, or to put any other image in its place.She thanked her good angel for giving her such a comforting memory; itseemed as if the sting had been taken out of her sorrow. Henceforwardshe was resolved to love without a doubt. She would believe in Joris,no matter what she had seen, or what she had heard. There were placesin life to which alas! truth could not come; and this might be one ofthem. Though all the world blamed her lover, she would excuse him. Herheart might ache, her eyes might weep, but in that aching heart and inthose weeping eyes, his splendid image would live in that radiantdimness which makes the unseen face, often more real than the presentone.

  Doctor Moran divined something of this resolute temper, and it made himsilent. He felt that his daughter had come to a place where she had putreason firmly aside, and given her whole assent to the assurances ofher intuition. He had no arguments for an antagonism of this kind. Whatcould he say to a soul that presaged a something, and then believed it?His instinctive sagacity told him that silence was now the part ofwisdom. But though he took her silently home he was conscious of agreat relief. His watch was over.

  Now a woman's intuition is like a leopard's spring, it seizes thetruth--if it sei
ze it at all--at the first bound; and it was by thisunaccountable mental agility Cornelia had arrived at the conviction ofher lover's fidelity. At any rate, she felt confident, that ifcircumstances had compelled him to be false to her, the wrong had beensincerely mourned; and she was able to forgive the offence that wasblotted out with tears. She reflected also, that now he was so faraway, it would be possible for her to call upon Madame Van Heemskirk,and also upon Madame Jacobus as soon as she returned; but if Hyde hadremained in New York, these houses would necessarily be closed to her,for he was a constant visitor at both.

  She resolved therefore to call upon Madame Van Heemskirk the followingweek. She expected the old lady might treat her a little formally,perhaps even with some coldness, but she thought it worth while to testher kindness. Joris had once told her that his grandfather andgrandmother both approved their love, and they must know of hisdesertion, and also of the reason for it. Yet there was in her heartsuch a reluctance to take any step that had the appearance of seekingher lost lover, that she put off this visit day after day, finding inthe weather or in some household duty always a fair excuse for doingso, until one morning the Doctor said at breakfast:

  "Councillor De Vrees died yesterday, and there is to be a greatfuneral. Every Dutchman in town will be there, and many others beside,He has left an immense fortune."

  "Who told you this?" asked Mrs. Moran.

  "I met Van Heemskirk and his wife going there. Madame De Vrees is theirdaughter. Now you will see great changes take place."

  "What do you mean, John?"

  "Madame De Vrees has long wanted to build a mansion equal to theirwealth, but the Councillor would never leave the house he built attheir marriage. Madame will now build, and her children take theirplaces among the great ones of the city. De Vrees was an oddity; veryfew people will be sorry to lose him. He had no good quality but money,and he was the most unhappy of men about its future disposal. I neverunderstood until I knew him, how wretched a thing it is to be merelyrich."

  This conversation again put off Cornelia's visit, and she virtuallyabandoned the idea. Then one morning Mrs. Moran said, "Cornelia, I wishyou to go to William Irvin's for some hosiery and Kendal cottons. It isa new store down the Lane at number ninety, and I hear his cloths arestrangely cheap. Go and examine them for me."

  "Very well, mother. I will also look in at Fisher's;" and it was atFisher's that she saw Madame Van Heemskirk. She was talking to Mr.Henry Fisher as they advanced from the back of the store, and Corneliahad time to observe that madame was in deep mourning, and that she hadgrown older looking since she had last seen her. As they came forwardmadame raised her eyes and saw Cornelia, and then hastily leaving themerchant, she approached her.

  "Good-morning, madame," said Cornelia, with a cheerful smile.

  "Good-morning, miss. Step aside once with me. A few words I have to sayto you;" and as she spoke she drew Cornelia a little apart from thecrowd at the counter, and looking at her sternly, said--

  "One question only--why then did you treat my grandson so badly? Ashameful thing it is to be a flirt."

  "I am not a flirt, madame. And I did not treat your grandson badly. No,indeed!"

  "Yes, indeed! He told me so himself."

  "He told you so?"

  "He told me so. Surely he did."

  "That I treated him badly?"

  "Pray then what else? You let a young man love you--you let him tellyou so--you tell him 'yes, I love you' and then when he says marry me,you say, 'no.' Such ways I call bad, very bad! Not worthy of my Jorisare you, and so then, I am glad you said 'no.'"

  "I do not understand you."

  "Neither did you understand my Joris--a great mistake he made--and hedid not understand you; and I do not understand such ways of the girlsof this day. They are shameless, and I am ashamed for you."

  "Madame, you are very rude."

  "And very false are you."

  "I am not false."

  "My Joris told me so. Truth itself is Joris. He would not lie. He wouldnot deceive."

  "If your grandson told you I had deceived him, and refused to marryhim,--let it be so. I have no wish to contradict your grandson."

  "That you cannot do. I am ashamed--"

  "Madame, I wish you good morning;" and with these words Cornelia leftthe store. Her cheeks were burning; the old lady's angry voice was inher ears, she felt the eyes of every one in the store upon her, and shewas indignant and mortified at a meeting so inopportune. Her heart hadalso received a new stab; and she had not at the moment any philosophyto meet it. Joris had evidently told his grandmother exactly what theold lady affirmed. She had not a doubt of that, but why? Why had helied about her? Was there no other way out of his entanglement withher? She walked home in a hurry, and as soon as possible shut herselfin her room to consider this fresh wrong and injustice.

  She could arrive at only one conclusion--Annie's most unexpectedappearance had happened immediately after his proposal to herself. Hewas pressed for time, his grandparents would be especially likely toembarrass him concerning her claims, and of course the quickest andsurest way to prevent questioning on the matter, was to tell them thatshe had refused him. That fact would close their mouths in sympathy forhis disappointment, and there would be no further circumstances toclear up. It was the only explanation of madame's attitude that waspossible, and she was compelled to accept it, much as it humiliatedher. And then after it had been accepted and sorrowed over, there cameback to her those deeper assurances, those soul assertions, which shecould not either examine or define, but which she felt compelled toreceive--He loves me! I feel it! It is not his fault! I must not thinkwrong of him.

  There was still Madame Jacobus to hope for. She was so shrewd and sokindly, that Cornelia felt certain of her sympathy and wise advice. Butmonth after month passed away and madame's house remained empty andforlorn-looking. Now and then there came short fateful letters fromArenta, and Van Ariens--utterly miserable--visited them frequently thathe might be comforted with their assurances of his child's ability tomanage the very worst circumstances in which she could be placed.

  And so the long summer days passed and the winter approached again; butbefore that time Cornelia had at least attained to the wisest of allthe virtues--that calm, hushed contentment, which is only another namefor happiness--that contentment which accepts the fact that there is achain of causes linked to effects by an invincible necessity; and thatwhatever is, could not have wisely been but so. And if this wasfatalism, it was at least a brighter thing than the languid pessimism,which would have led her life among quicksands, to end it in wreck.

  One day at the close of October she put down her needlework with alittle impatience. "I am tired of sewing, mother," she said, "and Iwill walk down to the Battery and get a breath of the sea. I shall notstay long."

  On her way to the Battery she was thinking of Hyde, and of theirfrequent walks together there; and for once she passed the house ofMadame Jacobus without a glance at its long-closed windows. It wasgrowing dark as she returned, and ere she quite reached it she wasaware of a glow of fire light and candle light from the windows. Shequickened her steps, and saw a servant well known to her standing atthe open door directing two men who were carrying in trunks andpackages. She immediately accosted him.

  "Has madame returned at last, Ameer?" she asked joyfully.

  "Madame has returned home," he answered. "She is weary--she is notalone--she will not receive to-night."

  "Surely not. I did not think of such a thing. Tell her only that I amglad, and will call as soon as she can see me."

  The man's manner--usually so friendly--was shy and peculiar, andCornelia felt saddened and disappointed. "And yet why?" she askedherself. "Madame has but reached home--I did not wish to intrude uponher--Ameer need not have thought so--however I am glad she is backagain"--and she walked rapidly home to the thoughts which thisunexpected arrival induced. They were hopeful thoughts,leaning--however she directed them--towards her absent lover. She feltsure madame would see c
learly to the very bottom of what she could notunderstand. She went into her mother's presence full of renewedexpectations, and met her smile with one of unusual brightness.

  "Madame Jacobus is at home," said Mrs. Moran, before Cornelia couldspeak. "She sent for your father just after you left the house, and Isuppose that he is still there."

  "Is she sick?"

  "I do not know. I fear so, for the visit is a long one."

  It continued so much longer that the two ladies took their tea alone,nor could they talk of any other subject than madame, and her mostunexpected call for Doctor Moran's services. "It was always the DutchDoctor Gansvoort she had before," said Mrs. Moran; "and she was everready to scoff at all others, as pretenders.--I do wonder what keepsyour father so long?"

  It was near ten o'clock when Doctor Moran returned, and his face wassombre and thoughtful--the face of a man who had been listening forhours to grave matters, and who had not been able to throw off theirphysical reflection.

  "Have you had tea, John?" asked Mrs. Moran.

  "No. Give me a good strong cup, Ava. I am tired with listening andfeeling."

  She poured it out quickly, and after he had taken the refreshing drink,Cornelia asked--

  "Is madame very ill?"

  "She is wonderfully well. It is her husband."

  "Captain Jacobus?"

  "Who else? She has brought him home, and I doubt if she has donewisely."

  "What has happened, John? Surely you will tell us!"

  "There is nothing to conceal. I have heard the whole story--a verypitiful story--but yet like enough to end well, Madame told me that theday after her sister-in-law's burial, James Lauder, a Scotchman who hadoften sailed with Captain Jacobus, came down to Charleston to see her.He had sought her in New York, and been directed by her lawyer toCharleston. He declared that having had occasion to go to Guy'sHospital in London to visit a sick comrade, he saw there CaptainJacobus. He would not admit any doubt of his identity, but said theCaptain had forgotten his name, and everything in connection with hispast life; and was hanging about the premises by favour of thephysicians, holding their horses, and doing various little services forthem."

  "Oh how well I can imagine madame's hurry and distress," said Cornelia.

  "She hardly knew how to reach London quickly enough. She said thoughtwould have been too slow for her. But Lauder's tale proved to be true.Her first action was to take possession of the demented man, andsurround him with every comfort. He appeared quite indifferent to hercare, and she obtained no shadow of recognition from him. She thenbrought to his case all the medical skill money could procure, and inthe consultation which followed, the physicians decided to perform theoperation of trepanning."

  "But why? Had he been injured, John?"

  "Very badly. The hospital books showed that he had been brought thereby two sailors, who said he had been struck in a gale by a fallingmast. The wound healed, but left him mentally a wreck. The physiciansdecided that the brain was suffering from pressure, and that trepanningwould relieve, if it did not cure."

  "Then why was it not done at first?"

  "Whose interest was it to inquire? No money was left with the injuredman. The sailors who took him to the hospital gave false names, andaddress, and he received only such treatment as a pauper patient waslikely to receive. But he made friends, and was supported about theplace. Imagine now what a trial was before madame! It was a difficultmatter to perform the operation, for the patient could not be made tounderstand its necessity; and he was very hard to manage. Then pictureto yourselves, the terrible strain of nursing which followed; thoughmadame says it was soon brightened and lightened by her husband'srecognition of her. After that event all weariness was rest, andsuffering ease; and as soon as he was able to travel both weredetermined to return at once to their own home. He is yet however asick man, and may never quite recover a slight paralysis of the lowerlimbs."

  "Does he remember how he was hurt?"

  "He declares his men mutinied, because instead of returning to NewYork, he had taken on a cargo for the East India Company; and that theblow was given him either by his first, or second mate. He thinks theysailed his ship out of the Thames, for her papers were all made out,and she was ready to drop down the river with the next tide. He vows hewill get well and find his ship and the rascals that stole her; and Ishould not wonder if he does. He has will enough for anything. Madamedesires to see you, Cornelia. Can you go there with me in the morning?"

  "I shall be glad to go. Madame is like no one else."

  "She is not like herself at present. I think you may be a littledisappointed in her. She has but one thought, one care, one end and aimin life--her husband."

  The Doctor had judged correctly. Cornelia was disappointed from thefirst moment. She was taken to the dim uncanny drawing-room by Ameer,and left among its ill-omened gods, and odd treasure-trove for nearlyhalf an hour before madame came to her. The rudely graven faces, somarvellously instinct with life, made her miserable; she fancied athousand mockeries and scorns in them; and no thought of Hyde, orArenta, or of the happy hours spent in that ill-boding room, couldcharm away its sinister influence.

  When madame at length came to her, she appeared like the very genius ofthe place. The experiences of the past year had left traces which noafter experience would be able to obliterate. She looked ten yearsolder. Her wonderful dark eyes, glowing with a soft tender fire aloneremained untouched by the withering hand of anxious love. They were asvital as ever they had been, and when Cornelia said so, she answered,"That is because my soul dwells in them, and my soul is always young. Ihave had a year, Cornelia, to crumble the body to dust; but my soulmade light of it for love's sake. Did your father tell you how muchCaptain Jacobus had suffered?"

  "Yes, madame."

  But in spite of this assurance, madame went over the whole story indetail, and Cornelia could not help but remember that Mr. Van Arienshad said "about her husband she will talk constantly, and to the wholetown." For however far the conversation diverged for a moment, madamealways brought it sharply back to the one subject that interested her.Even Arenta's peculiarly dangerous position could not detain herthoughts and interest for many minutes.

  "I am sorry for Arenta," she said; "no greater hell can there be, thanto live in constant fear. But she has the gift of a clever tongue, andevery one has not the like talent; and also if a woman with the decencyof her sex may be a scholar, Arenta has learning enough to compass thefools who might injure her."

  "Marat and Robespierre are both against her husband, and she may sharehis fate."

  "Marat and Robespierre!" she cried. "Both of the creatures have adevil. I wish them to go to the guillotine together, and I would burythem together with their faces downwards. Let them pass out of yourmemory. Poor Jacobus was in a worse case than Arenta. Till I bekey-cold dead, I shall never forget my first sight of him in thatdreadful place--" and then she described again her overwhelmingemotions when she perceived he was alike apathetic to his paupercondition, and to her love and presence. There never came a momentduring the whole visit when it was possible to speak of Hyde. Madameseemed to have quite forgotten her liking for the handsome youth; ithad been swallowed up in her adoring affection for her restored husband.

  Cornelia would not force the memory upon her. Some day she mightremember; but for a little while madame had more than enough of freshmaterial for her conversation. Every one who had known Captain Jacobusor herself, called with congratulations for their happy return; andwhen Cornelia made a nearly daily visit with her father, madame hadthese calls to talk over with her.

  One morning, however, the long-looked-for topic was introduced. "I hada visit from Madame Van Heemskirk yesterday afternoon," she said; "andthe dear old Senator came with her to see Captain Jacobus. While theytalked, madame told me that you had refused that handsome young fellow,her grandson. What could you mean by such a stupidity, Miss Moran?"

  Her voice had just that tone of indifference, mingled with sarcasticdisapproval, tha
t hurt and offended Cornelia. She felt that it was notworth while to explain herself, for madame had evidently accepted theoffended grandmother's opinion; and the memory of the young Lord waslively enough to make her sympathize with his supposed wrong.

  "I never considered you to be a flirt," she continued, "and I amastonished. If, now, it had been Arenta, I could have understood it. Itold Madame Van Heemskirk that I had not the least doubt Doctor Morandictated the refusal."

  "Oh, indeed," answered Cornelia, with a good deal of spirit and someanger, "you shall not blame my father. He knew nothing whatever of LordHyde's offer, until I had been subjected to such insult and wrong asdrove me to the grave's mouth. Only the mercy of God, and my father'sskill, brought me back to life."

  "Yes, I think your father to be wonderfully skilful. He has doneJacobus a great deal of good, and he now gives him hope of a perfectrecovery. Doctor Moran is a fine physician; Jacobus says so."

  Cornelia remained silent. If madame did not feel interest sufficient inher affairs to ask for the particulars of one so nearly fatal to her,she determined not to force the subject on her. Then Jacobus rang hisbell, and madame flew to his room to see whether his want had receivedproper attention. Cornelia sat still a few moments, her heart swelling,her eyes filling with the sense of that injustice, harder to bear thanany other form of wrong. She was going away, when madame returned toher, and something in her eyes went to the heart of the older woman.She turned her back, with a kind but peremptory word, and taking herhand, said--

  "I have been thoughtless, Cornelia, selfish, I dare say; but I do notwish to be so. Tell me, my dear, what has happened. Did you quarrelwith George Hyde? And pray what was it about?"

  "We never had one word of any kind, but words of affection. He wroteand asked me if he could come and see my father about our marriage, ona certain night. I answered his letter with all the love that was in myheart for him, and told him to come and see my father that very night.He never came. He never sent me the least explanation. He never wroteto me, or spoke to me again."

  "Oh, but this is a different story! His grandmother told me that yourefused him."

  "That is not the truth. Lady Annie Hyde came most unexpectedly thatvery day, and I suppose the easiest way to stop all inquiries aboutMiss Moran, was to say 'she refused me.'"

  "And after Lady Annie's arrival, what happened?"

  "I was absolutely deserted. That is the truth. I may as well admit it.Perhaps you think it impossible for a young man so good-natured tobehave in a manner so cruel and dishonourable; but I assure you it isthe truth."

  "My dear, I have lived to see it almost impossible to think worse ofpeople than they are; and if you can bear to hear more on this subject,I will tell it to you myself."

  "I can always bear the truth. If I have lost my heart, I have not lostmy head; nor will I surrender to useless grief the happiness which Ican yet make for others, and for myself."

  "If what you have told me be so--and I believe it is--then I say LordGeorge Hyde is an intolerable scoundrel."

  "I would rather not hear him spoken of in that way."

  "I ask your pardon, but I must give myself a little Christian libertyof railing. The man is false clean through. He was evidently engaged toLady Annie when he first sought your love, and therefore as soon as shecame here, he deserted you. I will tell you plainly that I saw him lastsummer very frequently, and he was always with her--always listeningwith ears and heart to what she said--always watching her with all hissoul in his eyes--ever on the lookout to see that not a breath of windruffled her soft wraps, or blew too strongly on her little white face."

  "That was his way, madame. I have seen him devoting himself to you inthe same manner; yes, and to Madame Griffin, and Miss White, and ascore of other ladies--old and young. You know how good-natured he was.When did you hear him say a wrong word of any one? even of Rem VanAriens who was often intolerably rude."

  "Very well! I would rather have a man 'intolerably rude' like my nephewRem, than one like Lord Hyde who speaks well of everybody. Upon myword, I think that is the worst kind of slander!"

  "I think not."

  "It is; for it takes away the reputation of good men, by making all menalike. But this, that, or the other, I saw Lord Hyde in devotedattendance on Lady Annie. Give him up totally. He is in his kingdomwhen he has a pretty woman to make a fool of. As for marriage, theseyoung men who have the world, or the better part of it, they marrywhere Cupidity, not Cupid leads them. Give him up entirely."

  "I have done so," answered Cornelia. And then she felt a sudden angerat herself, so much so, that as she walked home, she kept assuring herheart with an almost passionate insistence, "I have not given him up! Iwill not give him up! I believe in him yet."

  Madame's advice might be wise, but there are counsels of perfectionthat cannot be followed; because they are utterly at variance with thatintuitive knowledge, which the soul has of old; and which it will notsurrender; and whose wisdom it is interiorly sure of. And after thisconfidence Cornelia did not go so often to madame's. Something jarredbetween them. We know that a single drop taken from a glass of waterchanges the water level swift as thought, and the same law is certainin all human relations. Madame was not quite the same; something hadbeen taken away; the level of their friendship was changed; and whenDoctor Moran could not but perceive this fact, he said--

  "Go less frequently to madame's, Cornelia. You do not enjoy yourvisits; dissolve a friendship that begins to be incomplete. It is thebest plan."