Chapter XXV: Life’s Storm and Soul’s Shelter

Go, when the hunter’s hand hath wrung
From forest cave her shrieking young,
And calm the lonely lioness—
But chide not—mock not my distress.
_—Byron._

Alice retired to her chamber and waited restlessly. An hour passed, and still she heard no sound of departing guests. It was quite dark and she rang the bell.

Milly entered with lights.

“Tea is ready to go on the table, Miss Ally. Shall we put it up?”

“Where is your master? What is he doing?”

“He is in the library, ma’am, with the gentlemen. They don’t seem to have any notion of going home. General Garnet—he sent for more wine, and ordered deviled turkey and scalloped crabs—two other gentlemen have come in, and they are all very high upon pullyticks.”

Alice heard and sighed deeply.

“So I thought, Miss Ally, how you’d like your cup of tea, anyhow. Shall I set the table as usual? Though it will be very lonesome for you to sit at the table all alone, now that Miss Elsie is gone, and marster’s engaged. Or else shall I bring you a cup of tea up here, with anything else you would like? There is some cold fowl in the pantry, and some neat’s tongue, too; shall I bring it up to you, with a cup of tea?”

“No, Milly. Perhaps the general would like supper got for his guests. Come with me; I will go down and see.”

“God bless your soul, Miss Ally, honey, they’s been a stuffing ever since they’s been here.”

“No matter for that, Milly; you know our gentlemen have infinite gastronomic capacities.”

“My Gor A’mighty, Miss Ally! you don’t say so. Is it catching?”

“What?”

“That there complaint our gemmen has got.”

“Nonsense, Milly! you misunderstood me; I meant to say that they had ‘no bottoms to their stomachs.’”

“My Gor A’mighty! Miss Ally, what a misfortunate state to be in. It’s a world’s wonder as it don’t kill ’em to death!”

“Pshaw, Milly! There is nothing the matter with them except that they never get done eating.”

“Oh, is that it, Miss Ally? Well, indeed, I don’t believe they ever does; especially when they is a talkin’ pullyticks. ’Case, you see, Miss Ally, I done sent ’em in four dozen scallop crabs and six dozen raw open Nanticoke oysters, each one of ’em as big as the palm of my hand, and two deviled turkeys, and bless patience if they didn’t put all that away in less than an hour, and sent for more.”

“Well, they will want a hot supper by and by, that is certain. So take the candle, Milly, and go before me. I am going down to the library door to speak to General Garnet.”

Milly lifted the candlestick, and preceded her mistress down the stairs.

When she reached the library door Alice stepped before her and rapped.

General Garnet came to the door and opened it. On seeing his wife:

“Well, what do you want now? Didn’t I direct you to keep your chamber until I came?” he inquired sternly.

“Yes; and I would have done so, but your visitors are staying longer than you or I supposed. Perhaps they will need supper; shall I order it?”

“No! Mind your own business. Don’t go beyond your orders. Return to your room and wait me there,” he said, and shut the door in her face.

Alice sighed, and turned from the door.

Milly was indignant. This was the first time she had ever positively witnessed any disrespect shown to her beloved mistress. And Milly boiled with rage.

“High! Who he? Mus’ think how people ’fraid o’ him. My Lor’! I only jes’ wish how my ole man, Tom, ’ould turn a darned etarnal fool in his ole days, and talk to me so! that’s all! ‘High!’ I say, ‘Nigger, better hit somebody, hadn’t you? Is you done tuk o’ your ole woolly head’s senses?’ ’Deed I would. Look here, Miss Ally, honey! Don’t you put up o’ that there shortness. Now Miss Elsie’s gone, he can’t spite you any way. He daren’t hit you. ’Case why? ’case the law protects you. Now, Miss Ally, I say, you take my ’vice. You jes’ pluck up a sperit and turn on him. And put a ’stonishment on to him. Jes’ you step it over him in style. Make him walk chalk. Ses you, ‘Now, you behave yourself, or I’ll unmask you afore all the world, and let people see how pretty you are underneat of your smiles.’ Lor’, Miss Ally, if men aint the easiest spil’t and a-made fools of, of all the dumb beasts as ever wore shoe leather. There’s my old man, Tom. Why, anybody’d think he was the bestest old nigger as ever said prayers. But Lor’! when we first took up ’long o’ each other, the cussed infunnally fool thought he was master; thought how he’d got a nigger of his own. Ugh—umph! I soon took him out o’ that there. I wa’nt a-goin’ to lay down on the ground and let people walk on me. Now he ’haves himself as a man ought to do. ’Twon’t do, Miss Ally, ’deed it won’t, Miss Ally! to spile men folks. Men folks ’quire to be made to know their places. ’Deed, ’fore my Heavenly Marster, they do, honey.”

Doubtless Alice would have rebuked this freedom of speech, had she heard one word of it; but she did not. She only knew that Milly was twaddling some monotonous strain of monologue, as she carried the candle before her upstairs.

Arrived within her chamber Alice dismissed her maid, refusing all refreshment, and threw herself, exhausted and anxious, upon her bed.

As the hours passed slowly away, sounds of revelry from below stairs began to reach and disturb her. As time wore on toward midnight these orgies became louder and higher. Vociferous laughter, shouting songs and thundering cheers mingled in a strange wild discord, and broke startlingly upon the aristocratic repose of that mansion and the holy quiet of that night. Alice listened in fear and trembling and disgust, for such orgies were unprecedented there.

At length, long after midnight, the company broke up in great disorder. Alice listened shudderingly to their noisy leave-taking, as with jocular songs, coarse jests, vociferous cheers and laughter, they departed. Then she heard the closing of doors and windows, and the steps of General Garnet as he moved about the house. Lastly, she heard him coming up the stairs. He entered the chamber. Alice rose to meet him.

“Oh, you are waiting to hear something about Elsie. Well, sit down,” said he, putting down the night-lamp, closing the door, and turning to her with a sarcastic smile.

Alice had sunk into a chair, faint, sickened by the sight of the demon leer that now he did not even turn to conceal.

“Well, now, what questions do you want to put to me? I am quite ready to answer any,” he said, dropping himself into a chair before her, crossing his feet, folding his arms, and leaning back.

“Elsie, then? Have you seen her?”

“No.”

“What, not seen Elsie!” she repeated, with a look of deep disappointment. “Not seen Elsie?”

“No,” he answered again, looking at her with steady, imperturbable contempt.

“But you—you intend to see her?” asked Alice, with a sinking voice.

“Never! Never, so help me Heaven! And now listen, minion! fool! It was for the purpose of punishing her and you—of beggaring her and you, that I obtained that deed!” he exclaimed, malice, scorn, taunting triumph writhing around his lips, flashing from his eyes, and lighting up the whole dark face with a lurid demoniac fire.

Alice stared at him for an instant with a marble-like immobility of countenance, as if it were impossible for her to comprehend such black treachery.

Stretching out his arm, and pointing his finger at her, he laughed aloud.

Then the spell of amazement that checked the current of her blood was broken, and slowly from the pallid lips came the words:

“Oh, my God! I understand it all now!”

“Ha! ha! ha! do you?”

“All—all,” she continued, without withdrawing her steady gaze—“all, all. I have sold my birthright and hers, for—a kiss!”

“Ha! ha! ha! Well, what do you want to complain of? You got the kiss,” he exclaimed, in the most insulting manner.

“I have sold her birthright for a kiss! a serpent’s kiss! a Judas kiss!” cried Alice, wildly wringing her hands.

“Come, Mrs. Garnet, no hard words, if you please. Remember how you hung upon me this morning. You were so affectionate! I was quite flattered; grew ‘quite in favor with myself,’ and almost with you—only it is impossible to rekindle ashes.”

“Oh, fiend, fiend! remorseless fiend! I shall go mad! Oh, God! where sleep your thunderbolts?” cried Alice, rising, and walking distractedly up and down the floor.

“Come, madam. No more of this. I am tired of it. Resume your seat,” exclaimed General Garnet, leaving his scornful, taunting manner, and speaking in the deep, stern tones of haughty command.

But Alice heard him not, as she walked wildly up and down the room, crying:

“Oh, God! God! where rest your thunderbolts?”

“Do you hear me? Sit down, I say! or, by Heaven, I will send you in search of the thunderbolts!”

But Alice was not to be stopped now. Still wildly walking up and down the floor, distractedly wringing her hands, she was pouring forth the gathered bitterness of many years.

“I have borne so much, great God. I have borne so much. Oh, I have been a woman ‘of sorrows and acquainted with grief.’ And who is it that has made my life, my harmless life, one long pain? You, General Garnet, you. You married me by force, you know you did. In my young girlhood—nay, in my innocent childhood, when life opened to me with such a bright promise of usefulness and happiness with one I loved, with one to whom my faith was plighted, you tore me away from that one, and made his life a useless, barren waste, and married me yourself, for your own selfish purposes, and nearly broke my heart and crazed my brain. God knows I have no clear recollection now of the months that followed my marriage. Well! Well! Well! ‘Time and the hour beareth away all things,’ and as time passed, I learned to love you. Because you were my husband, and the father of my child, and because it was the great necessity of my nature to love, I loved you. God knows, I think there was no other reason. Oh, if Heaven gave me one idea purer and higher than all the rest, it was that of the beauty and holiness of marriage! And though mine was a miserable sacrifice, so great was my need to live in an atmosphere of love and piety, that I tried to make a sort of temple of it. It was a wild ruin. Oh, worse! it was a ridiculous failure! This hour has proved it. Ha! ha! ha! Hark! did I laugh? No, it was not I. I have nothing to laugh at in earnest, and I never laugh in scorn. But there are two spirits in me now, and one mocks at the other.”

“Sit down, this moment, sit down!” thundered General Garnet, stamping furiously.

“But heedless as the dead was she
Of all around, above, beneath!”

Of all but the stormy outpouring of thought and feeling, from her own over-burdened heart and brain.

“When you trampled all my rights and my happiness beneath your feet, when you seized and married me against my will, I excused you, for I said you loved me with a strong passion, and strong passions have their necessities and their rights. When you required me to give up my dearest friends, and lay aside habits of study and elegant amusements, that were a second nature to me, I said that your position gave you a right to dictate to me, and I acquiesced without a murmur. When you took my little child away from me, the only comfort I had left in the world, and sent her across the ocean, to remain at school for many years, I said you were her father, and what you did was doubtless intended for her good, however mistaken the intention might be, and I submitted. Recently, when you have laid violent hands upon my person, and endangered my life, I said it was violence of temper, not malignity of heart, and I resolved, for your sake and mine, to keep our secret, and to bear with it. I excused it—nay, I went farther, and vindicated it. No ill-usage, from mere violence of temper, could have affected my happiness. I do not know but that I thought you had a right to strike me if you were angry. Because I was superstitious and fanatical, and because I loved you then. They say that ‘perfect love casteth out fear.’ My love, imperfect as it was, cast out fear. When I conscientiously assisted at Elsie’s marriage, and remained home here to meet you, I nerved my heart to bear all your fury. I even said it would be just, coming from you. And no matter how much I had suffered at your hands, no matter if you had left me for dead, as you did once before, if I had recovered I could have gone on cheerily with my daily duties, as if nothing had happened. Because I could have understood violence, as I said: I could have understood anything that grew out of heat of passion—anything, but this clear-headed, cold-blooded treachery—because I loved you then. Nay! My God! I believe in my soul, I love you yet, and it is that which stings my self-respect to madness. It is that which lays my soul open to the entrance of the scornful, jibing spirit that mocks at my holiest instincts.”

“Sit down! Sit down, I say!” vociferated General Garnet, striding toward her.

Suddenly she fell at his feet, and raised her clasped hands, saying:

“I am mad! I am mad! Two spirits possess me—a mad and a sane one. It is the mad spirit that impels me to say now—while your serpent-treachery folds its cold, damp coils about my heart, and not so much stings as chills me to death—to say now, in the face of all reason—while the same spirit keeps before me—to say, only forgive Elsie! only be reconciled with her, and take all the rest; and I will try to forget that I have been deceived and scorned. At least I will never, never harbor the thought, much less give it expression again. Come, forgive your child! You cannot be forever obdurate to your child! Be reconciled to her, and I will believe that anger and disappointment bereft you of your reason—for a little while—and that it was only during a temporary fit of insanity that you could have done such a thing. And I will honor you again.”

“Pooh! fudge! You are not so mad as to believe the words you are saying,” said General Garnet, jerking her up and flinging her upon the sofa. “There, be quiet; I hate raving. And now listen to what I have to say in regard to Elsie: I will never see her, or speak to her, or receive a letter or a message from her, under any circumstances whatever, so long as I live. I will never permit you to see her, or speak to her, or hold any communication, by letter or message, with her, under any circumstances that may occur, so long as you live. I will never give her an acre of land, or a cent of money, or an article of food, or raiment, or fuel, to save her from starvation or freezing!”

Alice, exhausted, prostrate, gazed at him in horror, as with a darkened and ferocious countenance, and a voice of concentrated hatred, so deep as to be nearly inaudible, he continued:

“If she were to dare to set foot upon this plantation I would loosen my bloodhounds upon her!”

“Fiend—you are the only bloodhound that would hurt her. Turn them loose on her, then—do it! They would crouch at her feet! They would lick her hands—her beautiful hands—that have fed and caressed them all. Or get strange dogs to hunt her with, and even they would grovel before the angel in her eyes. Oh, fool!—you are the only brute on God’s creation that would harm her,” said Alice, in a low, deep tone.

General Garnet continued, as if he had not heard her:

“If she were lying, dying, at my gate I would not suffer one of my negroes to hand her a drink of water, if that drink of water would save her from death!”

“Demon—there is not a man, woman, or child on this plantation that you could hinder, with all your malice and power, from rendering Elsie any service she might require—unless you imprisoned them, or tied them hand and foot!” said Alice, in a dying voice.

Still he continued, without attending to her indignant but faint interruptions. And his face became still more dark and demoniac.

“And now comes the very best part of the argument, which, like a good orator, I have saved for the very last—I wonder how you will like it! I shall take pleasure in watching the play of your pretty features while I tell you, and dissecting and analyzing the emotions of your heart as you hear! And saying within myself—there is so much regret, and there is so much shame, and there is so much jealousy, and there is so much rage. Listen, then—you have disappointed me in my first plan for uniting two great estates. Before I have done I will make you regret that. The estates shall be united yet. You have taught your daughter to disobey me. Very well; you have bereft her of her birthright for a caress, to your shame be it remembered—and I have discarded and disowned her. But, listen: I have another daughter—the child of my love—ha!—are you pale with jealousy? Listen, farther yet: all the broad lands of Mount Calm that came by you, and should descend to your child, and enrich her, will I bestow upon the child of my love; and her hand will I bestow upon Lionel Hardcastle, who will be glad to accept it, no doubt. Ha! Now die of rage!” he exclaimed, with a ferocious laugh.

But neither regret, shame, nor jealousy, nor rage, disfigured that peaceful face, or agitated that composed figure. General Garnet, who glanced at her first in triumph, now gazed in awe. Her eyes were closed, her hands had fallen. Her whole figure expressed perfect repose. She looked as if the Angel of Death had laid hand upon her head, and said to that storm-tossed life, “Peace—be still.” “And there had fallen a Great Calm.”