Chapter II: Clifton and the Beauties

“Against the cliffs
See’st thou not where the mansion stands? The moonbeam
Strikes on the granite column, and tall trees
Group shadowy round it.”—ANONYMOUS.

A most portentous trial waits thee now—
Woman’s bright eyes and dazzling snowy brow.—MOORE.

The torrents had been so terribly swollen and overflowed, and the roads so dreadfully washed and guttered by the tempest and flood of the preceding evening, that the travellers found the greatest difficulty in pursuing their journey, often having to turn back miles on this road to take another way, and often being obliged to search leagues up and down the course of a river, to find a practicable ford.

Therefore it was near night-fall when they crossed the last range of forest-crowned mountains, and descended into the wooded valley that lay between them and White Cliffs. A winding road through the woods brought them to the house. The full moon was rising East of the cliffs, and casting their shadow back across the house and lawn. The mansion was a lofty edifice of white stone, with terraced roof, and many irregular, projecting wings. The tall trees surrounding the buildings, the lofty cliffs rising behind them, the dark shadow falling on all; the hour, the silence, and the solitude, gave an air of refreshing coolness and deep repose to the scene. On turning an angle of the building, they saw the drawing-room windows open, and the light from them gleaming out cheerfully across that part of the lawn. At that moment a servant, waiting at the hall door, came down to take their horses.

“All well at home, Dandy?” inquired Captain Clifton, as he dismounted, and threw him the reins.

“Sarvint, sir. All very well,” replied the man, touching his hat.

Captain Clifton led the way up into the hall adjoining the drawing-room, where they were met by an old gentleman, who seized both of Clifton’s hands, and shook them slowly and cordially, as he said, dropping each word separately, with a hearty, luscious emphasis—

“Why—my—dear—boy—how glad I am—to see you!”

“And I am very happy to be with you, sir; and to find you looking so well. Allow me to introduce to your acquaintance—Lieutenant Fairfax, of my company,” said Captain Clifton, presenting his friend.

“Glad to see him! Glad to see Mr. Fairfax! Glad to welcome any friend of my nephew’s to Clifton. How-do-you-do, sir? Knew your relative, Lord Fairfax, of Greenway Courthouse. Excessively fond of hunting. Kept bachelor’s hall. Very great mistake, that—very! Hope you won’t follow his example! Fine man, however, and I honor his memory! Come in, sir! come in! Come in, Archy! My—dear—boy—I’m—so—del—_ighted_ to see you!”

Whenever he spoke to his nephew, he seemed to dwell upon each separate syllable with a cordiality impossible to describe.

He was a large, old gentleman, clothed in a fresh, fragrant suit of pale blue linen, with his hair as white as cotton, his fresh, rosy complexion, fine teeth, and clear, kind, blue eyes, making a most refreshing picture of simplicity, cheerfulness, and cleanliness of soul and body in old age. He was of a sanguine temperament, and under great provocation, could get into a passion, too. And what old father of a family, with two grown daughters, and a young wife, all under eighteen years of age, and all beauties, has _not_ enough combustible material to burn the house down, or set his own temper on fire?—yet such was the kindness of his heart, that even when in violent anger, stamping up and down the floor, grasping desperately at his own white temple locks with both hands, and vociferating in stentorian tones—it was all, as Frank afterwards said, _shooting with blank cartridges_—he never said a word, or did a thing, to wound a single soul.

“I trust the ladies are all well, sir,” said Captain Clifton, as he followed his uncle.

“Yes—yes—that is to say, _Carry_ is well, but not well _pleased_. She expected you yesterday—didn’t consider the storm any excuse for your absence. Ah! you dog—you sad dog—at your age would _I_ have kept a lady waiting? Nay, would I do it _now_? But come, shall I present you to the ladies now, or do you prefer first the refreshment of the bath and a change of dress? Your own and your friend’s baggage arrived this morning by the wagon, and has been conveyed to your rooms.”

“Oh, a change of dress, by all means!” suggested Frank.

“Dandy—DANDY!” exclaimed the old gentleman, raising his strong voice, till the servant appeared, “show Mr. Fairfax to General Washington’s room.”

General Washington had slept one night at Clifton, and from that time to this, the room he occupied has been “General Washington’s room.”

The servant conducted Mr. Fairfax up stairs. And then the old gentleman, turning to his nephew, took his hands again, and said—

“My dear boy, once more I must say, I’m—so—_glad_—to—see you! _You_ are at home, you know. So go and find your room, and ring and give your orders, _my son_, for you are so. And I will go and let the ladies know that you have come, though I dare say they know it already.”

And shaking his hands, he let them go and turned slowly away.

Half an hour sufficed the young gentlemen to make themselves presentable. At the end of which time they descended the stairs, and were met in the hall by old Mr. Clifton, who ushered them into the drawing-room.

This apartment was a most delightful summer room. It was very spacious, occupying the whole first floor of one of those irregular wings of the house. The ceiling was lofty, the walls were covered with pearl white paper, and the floor of white oak was waxed and polished to an ivory smoothness. On three sides were tall windows, reaching to the floor, and opening out upon the piazza or the lawn, and draped with snowy, flowing curtains. On the fourth side was the open fire-place, whitened inside, and having on its marble hearth an alabaster vase of lilies, whose fragrance filled the air. The walls were adorned with tall mirrors, and with choice paintings, all of a cool, refrigerating character, such as: An Alpine Scene, A Green Forest Glade, with Deer Reposing, A Mountain Lake, A Shaded Pond, with Cows, A Farm Yard in a Snow Storm, etc. A piano stood at the farthest end of the room. A harp reclined near it. A few marble-topped stands and tables, scattered over with rare prints, books, _virtu_, _bijouterie_, etc., stood at convenient distances. A lady’s elegant work-table, with its costly trifles, was a pleasing feature in the room. Sofas, ottomans, divans, and lounging chairs, “fitted to a wish for study or repose,” were everywhere at hand.

Through the open windows came the evening wind, laden with the fragrance of flowers, the murmur of falling waters, the whisper of leaves, and the cheery chirp of insects—those night songsters who begin when the birds go to sleep—nature’s vesper choir. While _from_ the open windows could be darkly seen the tall shadowy trees, the towering white cliffs, and, in the distance, a bend of that great river which took its rise here, and which there sleeping among the dark green hills, with the moon shining full upon it, seemed a resplendent mountain lake, flashing back the moonbeams from its bosom in rays of dazzling light. The whole effect of the room and the scene was delightfully cooling and refreshing.

When Mr. Clifton conducted his guests into this saloon, it was occupied by three young ladies, who, immediately on their entrance, arose to receive them; and whom, in presenting his visitors, Mr. Clifton severally named as, my wife, Mrs. Clifton,—my daughter, Miss Clifton, and my second daughter, Zuleime. Captain Clifton, in turn, saluted his aunt and cousins. Miss Clifton, his betrothed, received him with cold hauteur.

So, these were the beauties—and beautiful, passing beautiful, they were indeed, though differing from each other in beauty, as “one star differs from another in glory.” But let me describe them.

Carolyn Clifton is tall and elegantly proportioned, and moves with high-bred dignity. Her features are Grecian—her complexion is dazzlingly fair, save when the pure rich blood mantles in her cheek, and crimsons the short and scornful lip. Her eyes are blue, and half veiled by their fair lashes, as in disdain of aught that might seek their glance. Her fair hair is carried up from her forehead, and falls in bright tendril-like curls around the back of her neck, lending an intellectual and queenly grace to the proud head. The costume of that day closely resembled the prevailing mode of our own. Miss Clifton wore a dress of pale blue silk, made low in the neck, with a long-waisted stomacher, tight sleeves reaching to the elbows, and ample flowing skirt. The neck was trimmed with a fall of deep lace, then called a “tucker,” and answering to the present _berthè_. The tight half-sleeves were trimmed at the elbows by deep lace ruffles, shading the arm. A necklace of large strung pearls around her throat, a bracelet of the same on her arm, and a pearl-headed pin run through the Grecian knot of ringlets at the back of her head, completed her toilet. She carried in her hand and toyed carelessly with a beautiful fan of marabout feathers. She was the daughter of the _first_ Mrs. Clifton, of Clifton, a fair, proud Maryland lady, one of the haughty Gowers, who lived long enough to augment by precept and example, the double portion of family arrogance Carolyn Clifton had inherited from both sides of her house. Miss Clifton had “received her education” at a first-class “Ladies’ Institute” at Richmond.

Zuleime, the younger sister, was about fourteen years of age, but well grown and full-formed for her years. She was the daughter of the second Mrs. Clifton, a beautiful West Indian Creole, who died in giving her life. She had the snowy skin and damask cheek of her father’s fair race, and the glittering black hair and sparkling black eyes of her Creole mother. Her dress was of plain white muslin, with short sleeves and low neck, and coral necklace, which well set off the exceeding brilliancy of her complexion. Zuleime was home for the mid-summer holidays.

Mrs. Clifton, of Clifton, Georgia!

“Yes, she is indeed the most beautiful woman in the whole world,” exclaimed Fairfax, to himself, as he turned from the fair and dignified Carolyn—the brilliant and sparkling Zuleime, to the dark and graceful Georgia. She is of medium height. Her complexion is a rich, dark, uniform olive, her very cheeks being of the same hue, but so transparently clear, that that which would mar the perfection of another face, adds deeper beauty to hers. Yes! the delicate bloom of the fair Carolyn, and the bright damask blush of the brilliant Zuleime, seem common-place beside the perfect beauty of the pure, clear olive cheek of the dark Georgia. Her hair is intensely black, with depths under depths of darkness, lurking in the labyrinths of irregular curls that cluster around, and throw so deep a shadow over her witching face. Her eyebrows are black and arched. Her eyelashes are long, black, and drooping. Her eyes are—pause—I have been trying to think of something to which her wondrous eyes may be compared, for darkness, profundity and power. Midnight? No, her eyes are darker, stiller, and more solemn yet. Thunder clouds? No, for her eyes are more stormy and impending still—and their electric stroke is silent as it is fatal. In short, her eyes resemble nothing but themselves. Her dress is of black gauze, over black silk, made high to veil her neck, and finished with a narrow black lace, within which gleams around her throat a necklace of jet and gold. She wears no other jewelry. A large black lace mantilla is carelessly thrown over all. When she moves her every movement is undulating grace—her motion might be set to music. And when she sits still she is _so_ still, and dark, and beautiful—_and something else, besides_, that the gazer experiences something like the fascination and terror one feels in looking down the depths of a dark chasm.

She was the daughter of a portrait painter in Richmond, and this was what Captain Archer Clifton, in his arrogance, called humble parentage. Mr. Clifton had met her under the following circumstances: On finally withdrawing his eldest daughter from school, he wished, before carrying her home, to have her portrait taken, and went for that purpose to the studio of Mr. Fuller, portrait and miniature painter, where he chanced to see her for the first time, the artist’s beautiful child, Georgia. He took so strong a fancy to this bewitching creature, that he delayed his departure—prolonging his stay in the city for three weeks, at the end of which, besides the accomplished Miss Clifton, with her elegant wardrobe, splendid jewels, costly presents, and finished portrait—he took home the artist’s daughter as the fourth Mrs. Clifton, of Clifton much to the indignation of the haughty Carolyn, who never ceased to treat her beautiful young stepmother with scorn and contempt.

Supper was announced, and the old gentleman, rising, requested his nephew to lead in his wife, while he himself, took the arm of his eldest daughter, and left Zuleime to Mr. Fairfax. They crossed the hall and entered a large and pleasant dining-room, where stood an elegant table, laid with a damask table-cloth, set out with silver plate, and Sevres porcelain, and laden “with all the luxuries of the season.” Waiters of perfect dress and _ad_dress were in attendance.

“I assure you, Miss Zuleime, that contrast is all the seasoning of existence—and _this_ is a high seasoning. For yesterday we sat down to eat supper off of pewter plates, on a bare board, in a mean hut, in company with rude mountaineers, and to-night we sit at the elegant tea-table of Clifton, surrounded with beautiful, refined, and accomplished ladies,” said Frank, as he handed his lively companion into her chair, and took the seat by her side.

The sprightly Zuleime laughed, and said she doubted whether he would find more substantial or savory fare here than he got at the mountain hut.

After all were seated, and all served, the conversation became general and vivacious—old Mr. Clifton being evidently “the life of the company.” He chatted, jested, laughed, told anecdotes, and finally, inspired Frank, who gave a laughable description of their adventures on the Alleghanies; of being upset in the stage coach, and pitched into Wolf’s Lick; of being lost in the fog, and near going down the Devil’s Staircase; finally, of being caught in the tempest, and shut up in a mountain hut with a raving maniac. At this the old gentleman began to rally his proud daughter on her gratuitous ill-humour of the preceding evening, at the said delay, and then to scold the young men for their effeminacy and want of gallantry, courage, in suffering themselves to be deluged by the storm. Now, to be charged, all at once, with effeminacy, and want of gallantry, and courage, even in jest, was too much, and in Frank’s case, too near the truth to go without reply. So he began vehemently to clear his fame, assuring the assembled company that it was _not_ altogether effeminacy, for that they had been hospitably sheltered in the cabin of a beautiful shepherdess.

“Yes,” said Frank, maliciously, “_so_ beautiful that _Clifton_ there couldn’t keep his eyes off her, and while I sat and played checkers with her brother, he sat and studied her face, ‘and it were a book’—_for hours_. I wish you had seen him, Miss Clifton—

“‘Never gazed the moon
Upon the water as he sat and read
As ’twere her eyes.’

Fact, my dear lady, and I should be guilty of misprision of treason, to conceal it!” laughed Frank, shaking his head at his friend.

“Ah-h-h! H-a-a-ah!—are you _there_, my fine fellow!” chuckled the old gentleman, gleefully rubbing his hands, and pointing his finger at his nephew, greatly enjoying his discomfiture.

“I assure you, sir,” began Captain Clifton, gravely.

“Oh! don’t assure _me_! don’t assure _me_! Assure Carolyn! What d’ye think o’ that, Carolyn? What d’ye think o’ that? More cause for ill-humor last night, than ye thought, eh! What think o’ that?” he continued, mercilessly.

And Carolyn—

“Oh, what a deal of scorn looked beautiful
In the contempt and anger of her lip!”

There are some women who cannot bear jest upon such subjects—who cannot tolerate that their lovers should look with common curiosity—far less gaze with interest or admiration “for hours,” upon any other young female face. And such a woman was Carolyn Gower Clifton. Captain Clifton knew this, and adoring her above all things, silently wished Frank and the mountain-girl both at the bottom of the Devil’s Staircase.

The old gentleman chatted and laughed; Frank jested and blundered; the sprightly Zuleime sparkled and overflowed with fun and frolic, and the meal went on merrily, notwithstanding.

When supper was over they adjourned to the airy summer drawing-room, where they distributed themselves according to their several humors. Miss Clifton passed imperiously down the room, and took her seat upon a distant divan. Captain Clifton followed, with a troubled air, and sat down on the low ottoman at her feet. They doubtless thought if they thought at all—that they were in a very obscure nook. But Frank had the impertinence to see them. There sat the haughty and scornful girl, with chin erect, lip curled, and eyelids cast down in disdain upon her suppliant. And there sat Archer Clifton, with his high, proud face turned up to hers, with an earnest, pleading, passionate gaze!

“Now, by the venom of Cupid’s shaft!” exclaimed Frank, to himself, “I cannot see what Clifton finds to worship in that arrogant girl. If it were this bright, warm Zuleime, here, now! But _her_! I might really suspect _him_ of being a fortune-hunter, and _her_ of being an heiress, if I didn’t know that Archer Clifton is himself the heir of the entailed estate of Clifton, and that if his uncle were to die to-night, he might, if he pleased, turn all these penniless women out of the house to-morrow! Can’t understand it, for my life! But I suppose the bond of sympathy between them is their name and their pride!”

“Do you find talking to yourself a very amusing pastime, Mr. Fairfax,” asked Zuleime, touching him on the elbow.

“No, my dear, delightful little girl, I don’t. What a delightful thing, in a country house, is a beautiful girl of fourteen, home for the holydays—a black-eyed, red-lipped girl, in a white muslin gown and a coral necklace!”

“Are your soliloquies as good natured as your conversation, Mr. Fairfax,” inquired the laughing Zuleime.

“Not quite, I’m afraid, my dear.”

“Do you know how to play chess, Mr. Fairfax?” she asked, opening the chess-board.

“I know how to play _anything_ you wish me to play, my love—even the fool!”

“_Oh!_ the latter is not so rare or difficult an accomplishment,” laughed the maiden, taking her seat, and beginning to arrange the chess-men. Frank sat down, and they commenced the game in earnest.

All this time the old gentleman, with his white head and rosy face, and kind smile and glance, had been walking leisurely up and down the floor slowly, rubbing his hands with an air of great enjoyment—pausing now by the work-table at which sat his beautiful wife, and gazing on her fondly while he toyed with the elegant trifles of her work-box—then sauntering off towards the chess-table, and patting the head of his “little black-headed darling”—as he called Zuleime—or passing a jest with Frank as he overlooked the game—until the boy came from the post-office somewhat late; when taking the paper he went and ensconced himself in an easy-chair on the opposite side of his wife’s work-table, and was soon busied in the perusal of the debate on Mr. Jefferson’s bill for cutting off entails. Frank felt very much pleased that the old boy, as he mentally called him, was quieted at last, and that he himself had at length an opportunity of initiating his charming companion into the mysteries of flirtation, while she imparted to him the secrets of chess.

The room was now very quiet. And Frank was soon deeply immersed in his game. Yes—the room was very quiet, it seemed the sanctuary of domestic love and happiness! At one extremity sat the betrothed lovers, conversing in a low tone, softer than the hum of far-off bees. At the other extremity sat the graceful young wife, placidly pursuing her quiet work, and seeming more like the darling spoiled child of the old man, her husband, who sat reading by her side, and whose kind eyes often wandered from the paper and rested fondly upon her. About midway of the room, sat Frank and his bright companion, too deeply interested in their chess to notice the happy lovers, or to observe the quiet contentment of the old man with his beautiful darling. Yes, this room seemed a temple of domestic truth and trust—of family peace and joy. At least so thought Frank, until raising his eyes from his game, his glance chanced to fall for an instant upon the face of Mrs. Clifton.

It might have been the darkness of her surroundings, which threw into such strong relief that fearful countenance, for the black dress and flowing black mantilla veiled all her form, while the clustering deep black curls darkly shaded her face. Her form was turned from the table and bent over the arm of the chair—her bosom was heaving, her lips apart and humid, her nostrils slightly distended, and her eyes, those dreadful eyes, fixed with a passionate, fierce, devouring gaze upon some distant object.

Frank impulsively followed the direction of that consuming gaze, to where the betrothed lovers sat fully reconciled. Clifton, unconscious of all eyes, but those blue orbs that smiled so graciously upon him, was pressing Carolyn’s hand to his lips in an ecstacy of love and gratitude. Frank turned again to Mrs. Clifton. Her countenance had changed as by the passage of a thunder-cloud. Her bosom was still as death. Her brow and cheek was darkened, her teeth and lips clenched together, her eyes fixed upon the lovers with the baleful glare of a demon. If the head of the fabled Medusa had suddenly met his astonished gaze, he could not have felt a deeper thrill of horror. And yet it was only a look—the look of an instant—it came and went like the swift swooping past of a fiend’s wing—but the shadow on all things seemed to remain. No more did that room seem the blessed retreat of household faith and love—no! a deadly serpent lay coiled among its flowers—a deadly poison lurked in its cup of joy—the shadow of a demon’s wing was brooding in the air—the house was CURSED!

Frank was of a highly honorable nature, but nervous and impressible—he could no longer confine his attention to the game; he misplayed awkwardly—ridiculously. Zuleime laughed at him—and her silver laughter struck almost unpleasantly upon his ear. He lost the game, and finally, complimenting his young antagonist upon the excellence of her own play—an excellence which he admitted he had not fully brought out—Frank arose from the table and sauntered out into the piazza, exclaiming inwardly—“Ugh! I believe in Satan, since I’ve seen that woman! Ugh! Whe-ew! Every time I think of her I shall feel hot and smell brimstone!” I said that Frank was of an extremely impressible nature. He stood now upon the piazza at the back of the house, and the majestic crescent of cliffs was before him. The quiet of the night, the freshness of the dew, the coolness of the breeze, the beauty and sublimity of the mountains rising from their girdle of forest, with their peaks bathed in moonlight—the distant glimpse of the bend in the river, where it lay like a silver lake among the hills—the divine peace and holiness of nature fell soothingly, refreshingly upon his excited nerves. And after sauntering up and down the piazza for some twenty minutes, he returned to the parlor in a happier mood. There he found the family grouped around the table on which sat a silver basket of pine-apples with cut-glass plates, and silver fruit knives and napkins.

“Come, Mr. Fairfax, my dear fellow, we are waiting for you,” said the old gentleman, beckoning him.

Frank joined them at the table, and after this repast was over, the family separated and retired to bed.