Regulus. "Gabriella is too young yet to a.s.sume the burden of authority.
Her physical powers are still undeveloped. Besides, we shall pa.s.s the winter in the metropolis. Next summer we will talk about it."
"They speak of adding a primary department to the academy," said my former master, "which will be under female superintendence. If this _is_ done, and she would accept the situation, I think I have influence enough to secure it for her."
"We will see to that hereafter," said Mrs. Linwood; "but of one thing I am a.s.sured, if Gabriella ever wishes to a.s.sume duties so honorable and so feminine, she would think it a privilege to be under your especial guardianship, and within reach of your experience and counsel."
I tried to speak, and utter an a.s.sent to this wise and decided remark, but I could not. I felt the tears gushing into my eyes, and hastily rising, I left the room. I did not go out on the lawn, for I saw Edith"s white robes under the trees, and I knew the guests of the city were with her. I ran up stairs to my own apartment, or that which was called mine, and, sitting down in an embrasure of the window, drew aside the rosy damask and gazed around me.
Do not judge me too harshly. I was ungrateful; I knew I was. My heart rose against Mrs. Linwood for her cold decision. I forgot, for the moment, her holy ministrations to my dying mother, her care and protection of me, when left desolate and alone. I forgot that I had no claims on her beyond what her compa.s.sion granted. I realized all at once that I was poor and dependent, though basking in the sunshine of wealth.
In justice to myself I must say, that the bitterest tears I then shed were caused by disappointment in Mrs. Linwood"s exalted character. I had imagined her "bounty as boundless as the sea, her love as deep." Now the n.o.ble proportion of her virtues seemed dwarfed, their luxuriance stinted, and withering too.
While I was thus cheating my benefactress of her fair perfections, she came in with her usual quiet and stilly step, and sat down beside me.
The consciousness of what was pa.s.sing in my mind, made the guilty blood rush warm to my face.
"You have been weeping, Gabriella," she said, in gentle accents; "your feelings are wounded, you think me cold, perhaps unkind."
"Oh, madam, what have I said?"
"Nothing, my dear child, and yet I have read every thing. Your ingenuous countenance expressed on my entrance as plain as words could utter, "Hate me, for I am an ingrate.""
"You do, indeed, read very closely."
"Could you look as closely into my heart, Gabriella, were my face as transparent as yours, you would understand at once my apparent coldness as anxiety for your highest good. Did I consult my own pleasure, without regard to that discipline by which the elements of character are wrought into beauty and fitness, I should cherish no wish but to see you ever near me as now, indulging the sweet dreams of youth, only the more fascinating for being shadowed with melancholy. I would save you, if possible, from becoming the victim of a diseased imagination, or too morbid a sensibility."
I looked up, impressed with her calm, earnest tones, and as I listened, conscience upbraided me with injustice and ingrat.i.tude.
"There is a period in every young girl"s life, my dear Gabriella, when she is in danger of becoming a vain and idle dreamer, when the amus.e.m.e.nts of childhood have ceased to interest, and the shadow of woman"s destiny involves the pleasures of youth. The mind is occupied with vague imaginings, the heart with restless cravings for unknown blessings. With your vivid imagination and deep sensibility, your love of reverie and abstraction, there is great danger of your yielding unconsciously to habits the more fatal in their influence, because apparently as innocent as they are insidious and pernicious. A life of active industry and usefulness is the only safeguard from temptation and sin."
Oh, how every true word she uttered enn.o.bled her in my estimation, while it humbled myself. Idler that I was in my Father"s vineyard, I was holding out my hands for the cl.u.s.tering grapes, whose purple juice is for him who treadeth the wine-press.
"Were my own Edith physically strong," she added, "I would ask no n.o.bler vocation for her than the one suggested to you this day. I should rejoice to see her pa.s.sing through a discipline so chastening and exalting. I should rejoice to see her exercising the faculties which G.o.d has given her for the benefit of her kind. The possession of wealth does not exempt one from the active duties of life, from self-sacrifice, industry and patient continuance in well-doing. The little I have done for you, all that I can do, is but a drop from the fountain, and were it ten times more would never be missed. It is not that I would give less, but I would require more. While I live, this shall ever be your home, where you shall feel a mother"s care, protection, and tenderness; but I want you to form habits of self-reliance, independence, and usefulness, which will remain your friends, though other friends should be taken from you."
Dear, excellent Mrs. Linwood! how my proud, rebellious heart melted before her! What resolutions I formed to be always governed by her influence, and guided by her counsels! How vividly her image rises before me, as she then looked, in her customary dress of pale, silver gray, her plain yet graceful lace cap, simply parted hair, and calm, benevolent countenance.
She was the most unpretending of human beings. She moved about the house with a step as stilly as the falling dews. Indeed, such was her walk through life. She seemed born to teach mankind unostentatious charity.
Yet, under this mild, calm exterior, she had a strong, controlling will, which all around her felt and acknowledged. From the moment she drew the fan from my hand, at my mother"s bedside, to the hour I left her dwelling, she acted upon me with a force powerful as the sun, and as benignant too.
CHAPTER XII.
If I do not pa.s.s more rapidly over these early scenes, I shall never finish my book.
Book!--am I writing a book? No, indeed! This is only a record of my heart"s life, written at random and carelessly thrown aside, sheet after sheet, sibylline leaves from the great book of fate. The wind may blow them away, a spark consume them. I may myself commit them to the flames.
I am tempted to do so at this moment.
I once thought it a glorious thing to be an author,--to touch the electric wire of sentiment, and know that thousands would thrill at the shock,--to speak, and believe that unborn millions would hear the music of those echoing words,--to possess the wand of the enchanter, the ring of the genii, the magic key to the temple of temples, the pa.s.s-word to the universe of mind. I once had such visions as these, but they are pa.s.sed.
To touch the electric wire, and feel the bolt scathing one"s own brain,--to speak, to hear the dreary echo of one"s voice return through the desert waste,--to enter the temple and find nothing but ruins and desolation,--to lay a sacrifice on the altar, and see no fire from heaven descend in token of acceptance,--to stand the priestess of a lonely shrine, uttering oracles to the unheeding wind,--is not such too often the doom of those who have looked to fame as their heritage, believing genius their dower?
Heaven save me from such a destiny. Better the daily task, the measured duty, the chained-down spirit, the girdled heart.
A year after Mrs. Linwood pointed out to me the path of duty, I began to walk in it. I have pa.s.sed the winter in the city, but it was one of deep seclusion to me. I welcomed with rapture our return to the country, and had so far awakened from dream-life, as to prepare myself with steadiness of purpose for the realities of my destiny.
Edith rebelled against her mother"s decision. There was no need of such a thing. I was too young, too delicate, too sensitive for so rough a task. There was a plenty of robust country girls to a.s.sist Mr. Regulus, if he wanted them to, without depriving her of her companion and sister.
She appealed to Dr. Harlowe, in her sweet, bewitching way, which always seemed irresistible; but he only gave her a genial smile, called me "a brave little girl," and bade me "G.o.d speed." "I wish Richard Clyde were here," said she, in her own artless, half-childish manner, "I am sure he would be on my side. I wish brother Ernest would come home, he would decide the question. Oh, Gabriella, if you only knew brother Ernest!"
If I have not mentioned this _brother Ernest_ before, it is not because I had not heard his name repeated a thousand times. He was the only son and brother of the family, who, having graduated with the first honors at the college of his native State, was completing his education in Germany, at the celebrated University of Gottingen. There was a picture of him in the library, taken just before he left the country, on which I had gazed, till it was to me a living being. It was a dark, fascinating face,--a face half of sunshine and half shadow, a face of mysterious meanings; as different from Edith"s as night from morning. It reminded me of the head of Byron, but it expressed deeper sensibility, and the features were even more symmetrically handsome.
Edith, who was as frank and artless as a child, was always talking of her brother, of his brilliant talents, his genius, and peculiarities.
She showed me his letters, which were written with extraordinary beauty and power, though the sentiments were somewhat obscured by a transcendental mistiness belonging to the atmosphere he breathed.
"Ernest never was like anybody else," said Edith; "he is the most singular, but the most fascinating of human beings. Oh Gabriella, I long to have him come back, that you may know and admire him."
Though I knew by ten thousand signs that this absent son was the first object of Mrs. Linwood"s thoughts, she seldom talked of him to me. She often, when Edith was indulging in her enthusiastic descriptions of him, endeavored to change the conversation and turn my thoughts in other channels.
But why do I speak of Ernest Linwood here? It is premature. I was about to describe a little part of my experience as a village teacher.
Edith had a beautiful little pony, gentle as a lamb, yet very spirited withal, (for lame though she was, she was a graceful and fearless equestrian,) which it was arranged that I should ride every morning, escorted by a servant, who carried the pony back for Edith"s use. Dr.
Harlowe, who resided near the academy, said I was always to dine at his house, and walk home in the evening. They must not make too much of a fine lady of me. I must exercise, if I would gather the roses of health.
Surely no young girl could begin the ordeal of duty under kinder, more favoring auspices.
After the first dreaded morning when Mr. Regulus, tall, stately, and imposing, ushered me into the apartment where I was to preside with delegated authority, led me up a low flight of steps and waved his hand towards a high magisterial arm-chair which was to be my future throne, I felt a degree of self-confidence that surprised and encouraged me. Every thing was so novel, so fresh, it imparted an elasticity to my spirits I had not felt in Mrs. Linwood"s luxurious home. Then there was something self-sustaining, inspiring in the consciousness of intellectual exertion and moral courage, in the thought that I was doing some little good in the world, that I was securing the approbation of Mrs. Linwood and of the excellent Dr. Harlowe. The children, who had most of them been my fellow pupils, looked upon Gabriella Lynn, the protegee of the rich Mrs.
Linwood, as a different being from Gabriella Lynn of the little gray cottage in the woods. I have no doubt they thought it very grand to ride on that beautiful pony, with its saddle-cloth of blue and silver, and glittering martingale, escorted by a servant too! Had they been disposed to rebel at my authority, they would not have dared to do so, for Mr.
Regulus, jealous for my new dignity, watched over it with an eagle eye.
Where were the chains, whose prophetic clanking had chilled my misgiving heart? They were transformed to flowery garlands, of daily renewing fragrance and bloom. My desk was literally covered with blossoms while their season lasted, and little fairy fingers were always twining with wreaths the dark hair they loved to arrange according to their own juvenile fancies.
My noon hours at Dr. Harlowe"s, were pleasant episodes in my daily life.
Mrs. Harlowe was an excellent woman. She was called by the villagers "a most superior woman,"--and so she was, if admirable housekeeping and devotion to her husband"s interests ent.i.tled her to the praise. She was always busy; but the doctor, though he had a wide sweep of practice in the surrounding country, always seemed at leisure. There was something so cheerful, so encouraging about him, despondency fled from his presence and gave place to hope.
I love to recall this era of my life. If I have known deeper happiness, more exalted raptures, they were dearly purchased by the sacrifice of the peace, the salubrity of mind I then enjoyed. I had a little room of my own there, where I was as much at home as I was at Mrs. Linwood"s.
There was a place for my bonnet and parasol, a shelf for my books, a low rocking-chair placed at the pleasantest window for me; and, knowing Mrs.
Harlowe"s methodical habits, I was always careful to leave every thing, as I found it, in Quaker-like order. This was the smallest return I could make for her hospitality, and she appreciated it far beyond its merits. The good doctor, with all his virtues, tried the patience of his wife sometimes beyond its limits, by his excessive carelessness. He _would_ forget to hang his hat in the hall, and toss it on the bright, polished mahogany table. He _would_ forget to use the sc.r.a.per by the steps, or the mat by the door, and leave tracks on the clean floor or nice carpet. These little things really worried her; I could see they did. She never said any thing; but she would get up, take up the hat, brush the table with her handkerchief, and hang the hat in its right place, or send the house-girl with the broom after his disfiguring tracks.
"Pardon me, my dear," he would say with imperturbable good-nature,--"really, I am too forgetful. I must have a self-regulating machine attached to my movements,--a portable duster and hat-catcher.
But, the blessed freedom of home. It const.i.tutes half its joy. Dear me!
I would not exchange the privilege of doing as I please for the emperorship of the celestial realms."
But, pleasant as were my noon rests, my homeward walks were pleasanter still. The dream-girl, after being awake for long hours to the practical duties of life, loved to ramble alone, till she felt herself involved in the soft haziness of thought, which was to the soul what the blue mistiness was to the distant hills. I could wander then alone to the churchyard, and yield myself unmolested to the sacred influences of memory. Do you remember my asking Richard Clyde to plant a white rose by my mother"s grave? He had done so, soon after her burial, and now, when rather more than a year had pa.s.sed, it was putting forth fair buds and blossoms, and breathing of renovation over the ruins of life. I never saw this rose-tree without blessing the hand which planted it; and I loved to sit on the waving gra.s.s and listen to the soft summer wind stealing through it, rustling among the dry blades and whispering with the green ones.
There was one sentence that fell from my mother"s dying lips which ever came to me in the sighs of the gale, fraught with mournful mystery.
"Because man was _false_, I dared to think G.o.d was unjust." And had she not adjured me by every precious and every solemn consideration, "to forgive the _living_, if living _he_ indeed was?"
I knew these words referred to my father; and what a history of wrong and sorrow was left for my imagination to fill up! Living!--my father living! Oh! there is no grave so deep as that dug by the hand of neglect or desertion! He had been dead to my mother,--he had been dead to me. I shuddered at the thought of breathing the same vital element. He who had broken a mother"s heart must be a fiend, worthy of eternal abhorrence.