Chapter XI

"Ay, there are memories that will not vanish,
Thoughts of the past we have no power to banish;
To show the heart how powerless mere will;
For we may suffer, and yet struggle still;
It is not at our choice that we forget--
That is a power no science teaches yet,
The heart may be a dark and closed-up tomb,
But memory stands a ghost amid the gloom."

Miss Jerusha Sharpwell and Mrs. Fleetfoot had dropped in to take tea with Mrs. Sykes on a pleasant September evening. The latter lady, as in duty bound, was highly pleased to see her dear friends, and forthwith ordered Hannah, her servant-girl, to make a batch of soda rolls, with a bit of shortening rubbed in, and just step over to Mrs. Frye's, and ask that good lady "if she would not be so very kind and obliging as to lend Mrs. Sykes a plateful of her nice, sweet doughnuts, as she had visitors come in unexpectedly, and was not quite prepared to entertain them as she could wish." Thus were the guests provided for.

"How happened it you were absent from the last sewing circle, sister Sykes?" inquired Miss Sharpwell. "We had an unusually interesting season. Several new names were added to our list, and sister Fleetfoot, here, entertained us with a most amusing account of Pamela Gaddie's marriage with Mr. Smith, the missionary to Bengal."

"Indeed! I regret I was denied the pleasure of listening to the recital; but company detained me from the circle."

"Ah! who was visiting you?" asked Mrs. Fleetfoot.

"The Churchills, from Cincinnati," answered Mrs. Sykes. "You know they are particular friends of my husband."

"Yes; is their son married yet?"

"No; and he called on Alice Orville every day while he was here."

"La, do tell me!" said Jerusha. "How long was he with you, Mrs. Sykes?"

"A day and a half," returned that lady. "He came up in the morning-train and returned next evening."

"Well," said Mrs. Fleetfoot, "they do say Alice Orville is engaged to Fred. Milder."

"Sakes alive!" exclaimed Miss Jerusha. "I never heard a word about it before! Well, Mrs. Milder was always standing up for Mrs. Orville. I thought it meant something. Now I remember, Fred. was at the last sewing circle and walked home with Alice. I thought strange of it then, for it was hardly a dozen yards to her house, and some of us young ladies had to walk five times as far all alone. Who told you of the engagement?"

"La, I can't remember now!" said Mrs. Fleetfoot; "but I've heard of it ever so many times."

"Well, they'll make a pretty couple enough," observed Mrs. Sykes; "though I rather fancied Alice was engaged to somebody off south, 'cause she seems sort of downcast sometimes, and keeps so close since she got home."

"O, la, that's cause she's got wind of the story that was going about here before she came back! I wonder if there was any truth in it?" said Mrs. Fleetfoot.

"I don't know; I never put much confidence in flying stories," remarked Jerusha.

"Neither do I!" said Mrs. Sykes; "or take the trouble to repeat, if I chance to hear them."

"Nor I!" chimed in Mrs. Fleetfoot. "If there is anything I mortally abhor, it is a tattler and busybody."

"Our sentiments, exactly!" exclaimed the other two ladies in concert.

Hannah now entered and announced tea, and the trio of scrupulous, conscientious ladies repaired to the dining-room to luxuriate on short rolls and Mrs. Frye's neighborly doughnuts.

Mrs. Orville had a pleasant residence on the lake shore, and everything wore a brighter aspect in the eyes of the mother, since her beloved daughter had returned to enliven the old home by her sunshiny presence. But Alice had passed from the gay-hearted child to the thoughtful woman in the two years she had been away, and there was a mild, pensive light in her dark eye that spoke of a chastened spirit within. Still, she was usually cheerful, and always, even in her most melancholy hours, an agreeable companion. Beautiful in person, highly educated and accomplished, her conversation, whether tinged with sadness or enlivened by wit and humor, exercised a strange, fascinating power over her listeners.

Alice had left New Orleans with the expectation of having her cousin Josephine spend the ensuing winter with her at the north; but shortly after her arrival home a letter from her cousin informed her of their fallen fortunes, and proposed emigration to Texas. As Alice knew not to what part of that State to direct a reply, all further correspondence was broken off between the parties. From Wayland Morris she never heard, and knew naught concerning him, save by occasional articles from his pen in southern journals, which were noticed with commendation and applause. She tried hard to forget him; "for it is not right," she said, "to waste my life and health on one who never thinks of me. But why did he awaken a hope in my breast that he loved me, if that hope was to be withdrawn as soon as it became necessary to my happiness?"

"Alice, Alice!" exclaimed Mrs. Orville, as the fair girl stood in the recess of a vine-covered window, absorbed in thoughts like these, "Mr. Milder is coming through the gate; will you go out to receive him?"

Alice roused from her reverie, and saying "Yes, mother," very quietly, hastened through the hall to meet her visitor.

"Good-evening, Mr. Milder!" said she, with a graceful courtesy. "Come into the parlor. I have been laying the sin of ungallantry upon you for the last three days."

"It is the last charge I would have expected preferred against me by you, Miss Orville!" said he, smiling.

"What other would you sooner have expected?" she inquired, looping up the snowy muslin curtains to admit the parting sunbeams.

"One I would have dreaded far more to hear,--that of being too assiduous in my attendance," returned he, in a low tone.

Alice answered by changing the conversation, and, after an hour passed in pleasant chit-chat, Fred. proposed a stroll on the lake shore. Alice was soon ready, and they sallied forth. The weather was delightful, and that walk along Erie's sounding shores was fraught with a life-interest to one, and regretful sorrow to both.

"I am going to Texas, Alice!" said Milder, as they reäpproached the mansion of Mrs. Orville.

"O, that you might find my cousin Josephine there, who is so good and beautiful!" remarked Alice.

"Would I might, if it would afford you a moment's pleasure," he answered, in a dejected tone.

"If you do, pray give her my love, and entreat her to write and inform me of her welfare," said Alice, earnestly.

"I shall be highly gratified to execute your commission," he answered; "and now, good-by, Alice! May you be as happy as you deserve!"

"And may you, also, Fred.!" said Alice, with tears in her eyes. One lingering pressure of the hand, and he was gone.

"Noble heart!" exclaimed Alice; "why could I not love him? Alas! a tyrant grasp is on my soul, which, while it delights to hold me in its toils, and tantalize and torment, will not love me, or let me love another!"

"Alice!" said a voice within.

"Yes, mother, I'm coming," replied the daughter, entering the hall with a languid step, and proceeding to divest herself of shawl and bonnet.

"You have had a long stroll and look fatigued," remarked the fond parent, noticing her daughter's flushed cheeks and hurried respiration, as she flung herself into a large rocking-chair by the open window. Where is Fred.?"

"Gone home," said Alice.

"Why did he not come in and rest a while?"

"I forgot to invite him, I believe," returned Alice, briefly.

"And did you not ask him to call at any future time?"

"No, mother; he is going to Texas."

"Indeed! How long has he entertained that idea?" asked Mrs. Orville in a tone of astonishment.

"Not long, I fancy. I told him to find cousin Josephine and entreat her to write to me," said Alice, fanning her face with a great, flapping feather fan.

"I hope he may do so; and much do I wish your cousin might be here to pass the winter, for I fear you will be lonely without some companion of your own age," said Mrs. Orville, attentively regarding her daughter.

"O, never fear for me, mother!" returned Alice. "I assure you I have ample resources for enjoyment in my own breast. They only need occasion to be called forth and put in exercise."

"I hope it may prove thus," responded the tender mother. "Let us now retire to our pleasant chamber, and I will do myself the pleasure of listening to your rich voice, while you read a portion of Scripture, and sing a sacred hymn."

Thus mother and daughter retired; and while the old heart that had passed beyond the youth-life of love and passion, rested calmly in its tranquil sleep, the young heart by its side throbbed wildly, trembled, wept and sighed; tossing restlessly on its pillow, haunted by ill-omened dreams and ghastly phantom-shapes too hideous for reality. For there is no rest, or calm, or quiet, for the passion-haunted breast.