The Old Stone House - Constance Fenimore Woolson (each kindness read aloud txt) 📗

class="calibre1">“I will, Hugh. I, too, am very fond of Bessie. But do not take all the blame upon yourself; she is by nature rash and way ward.”

“I know she is, aunt. But, at the same time, if it had not been for my influence, Bessie would have been a very different girl; if she had thought that I disapproved of any of her actions that would have been the last of them, whereas instead of this, I have encouraged her. Whatever the blame may be I take it all upon myself. But Bessie is changing, I think; you will have no trouble with her hereafter, she will grow into a noble woman yet. And now, aunt, I will leave no work undone, but finish that volume, if you wish it.”

So saying, Hugh took up the book which Aunt Faith had placed ready for him, and began reading aloud; he read well, and it was one of her greatest pleasures to listen to him. She often kept volumes by her side for weeks with the pages uncut, waiting until he could find time to read them aloud. “And now I will say good-bye!” said Hugh, as he finished the little book; “you know I dislike formal leave-takings in the presence of all the family.”

“Good-bye, my dear boy!” said Aunt Faith, with a motherly embrace. “May God bless you and keep you in all your ways, in danger, sickness, temptation and perplexity, for the sake of His dear Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ. Oh, Hugh, can you not gladden my heart by saying those two sentences before you go,—you know what I mean?”

“I will try to say them soon, aunt. I feel that I have changed lately, but I want to know that it is not the mere excitement of parting and anticipation of a new life which has affected me. I am going to try hard to be a good man,—indeed I am; and if I find that these new feelings outlast my present excitement, I will write you word. Sometimes I almost feel as though I could make my public profession of faith now; but the next two months will show me the exact truth, and perhaps, Aunt Faith, the time of Sibyl’s wedding will also be the time when I shall come forward to join the church.”

“God be thanked,” said Aunt Faith, fervently; “the feelings will last, Hugh, for they are holy and true. Go, my boy; I give you up freely now, for you are virtually enrolled in the army of the Lord, and He will aid you in all times of trial if you call upon Him.”

A little before six all the family, together with Mr. Leslie, assembled in the sitting-room; there was an undercurrent of sadness in their minds, but Hugh would allow no melancholy words or looks.

“First we will have tea, then Bessie shall play ‘Bonnie Dundee’ for us, then we will all make a triumphal arch of flowers through which I shall pass, in token of the grand success which awaits me in the mercantile world, and then I shall go. No one must accompany me to the boat; I want to see you all on the piazza as the carriage drives away, and if there is so much as one tear-drop, I shall know it and be ready to inflict condign punishment therefor,” said Hugh, laying down the law with a magisterial air.

Tea was soon over, and then Bessie with trembling fingers managed, with severe self-control, to play ‘Bonnie Dundee’ to the end without a tear. Another note, however, she could not play, but replaced the cover of her harp in silence. Then Tom and Gem brought in from the garden all the flowers they could find, and a long wreath was made and twined around and over the two pillars of the front piazza.

“There comes the carriage!” said Tom, “and there come the B. B.‘s, too. Here, boys, form on both sides of the walk; Hugh’s going in a minute.”

The trunk was carried out, and Hugh took up his coat and valise. “Now I want you all to come out on the piazza,” he said. “Aunt Faith, here is your chair. Gem, you stand by Aunt Faith’s side: Sibyl and John, please stand opposite to them; and Tom,—where is Tom?”

“Here I am!” answered Tom from the back of the house; “I’m getting the dogs together for the group.”

“That’s right, the dogs by all means, for they are an important part of the family,” said Hugh, laughing. “Sit over that side, Tom, and keep them by you. Bessie, I want you to stand in the centre just under the arch; there, that is perfect. I shall turn round and look at you all when I reach the gate.” So saying, Hugh bent down and kissed Bessie’s pale cheek, and then passing under the arch, walked rapidly down the long garden-walk. The B. B.‘s in martial array on either side, gave him three cheers as he passed, and when he reached the gate he turned and looked back with a smile, waving his hat in token of farewell. In another moment he was gone, then the carriage rolled down the street out of sight, and Aunt Faith, rising, said solemnly, “May God bless our dear Hugh, now and forever.”

“Amen,” said Mr. Leslie.

Bessie had disappeared.

 

CHAPTER X.

THE HOME-COMING.

 

“A forlorn, gloomy day,” said Bessie at the breakfast-table the next morning, “and I’m glad of it!”

“I don’t know that I care,” said Tom. “When a fellow has got to go to school, it don’t make much difference.”

“It must have rained very hard in the night,” said Sibyl, looking out into the garden where the vine-leaves were strewed all over the ground.

“It rained, but there was not much wind,” replied Aunt Faith; “I was awake part of the night and listened to the storm. There was not wind enough to make any sea, and Hugh is probably in B–– by this time.”

“What a jolly ride he will have on the cars to-day, whirling through the country and getting nearer to New York every mile, while I am digging away at these old books,” said Tom discontentedly.

“Hurry, children!” said Aunt Faith, looking at the clock; “you must not be late the very first day of school.”

“Here comes Mr. Leslie!” called out Tom, slinging his books over his shoulder.

“John is very early this morning,” said Sibyl, going out to meet him as he came up the walk.

“That is the way it will be all the time now, I suppose,” said Bessie with some irritation; “Hugh gone, and Sibyl so absorbed that she is good for nothing as a companion. Aunt Faith, you and I are like the last roses of summer left blooming alone.”

Aunt Faith smiled. She was very gentle with Bessie this morning; she remembered her promise to Hugh, and she saw also that the young girl was suffering under her share of the sorrow of parting, a sorrow always heavier for the one that stays than for the one who goes.

“I shall go upstairs and paint,” said Bessie after a pause; “I succeeded at last in giving the right expression to Hugh’s eyes. You may see the picture, now, Aunt Faith; it is so like him.”

At this moment Mr. Leslie came into the sitting-room, but Sibyl was not with him; his face was pale, he went up to Aunt Faith and took her hand with tender solemnity.

“What is it?” she asked, sinking into a chair; her voice was quiet, she had too often endured affliction not to recognize its messenger at a glance. Mr. Leslie, in his ministration in times of trouble, had learned never to hide or alter the plain truth.

“The morning boat from B–– has just come in,” he said. “The captain reports that the evening boat of the same line, the America, which left Westerton last night, collided with a schooner off Shoreton about midnight, and sank in ten minutes. The night was very dark, but many of the passengers were picked up by the ‘Empire’ as she came along two hours afterward, some clinging to fragments of the wreck, and some in one of the America’s small boats. The other boats are missing, but there is hope that they are safe, as the storm was not severe, and the lake is now quite calm. The rescued passengers think that some may have been picked up by a propeller whose lights they saw in the distance.”

“You have come to tell us that Hugh is among the rescued,” said Aunt Faith in a faint voice, hoping against hope.

“Hugh is drowned!” said Bessie with hard, cold distinctness; then she sat down by the table and buried her face in her hands.

“Hugh is not among those brought back by the ‘Empire,’” said Mr. Leslie, “but I have strong hope that he is safe. Tugs have already started for the scene of the accident, the water is still at summer heat, and besides, among the many vessels and propellers constantly passing over that very spot, there is every probability that many have been picked up before this time. Hugh is very strong, and an excellent swimmer, also.”

“Hugh is drowned!” said Bessie in the same hard voice; “He will never come back to us alive.”

“Bessie, Bessie!” cried Sibyl, rushing into the room, “you shall not, you dare not say such cruel words!” Sibyl’s face was discolored with violent weeping, and her whole frame shook with agitation; she and her cousin seemed to have changed places, for Bessie did not shed a tear.

“I say what is true,” she answered; “Hugh is drowned! Hugh is dead!”

Mr. Leslie went over to her, and took her cold hand; “Bessie,” he said gently, “why do you give up all hope? There are a great many chances for Hugh.”

“Go away!” said Bessie in the same dull monotone; “Hugh is dead, I tell you! Go put crape on the door!”

“She is ill,” said Mr. Leslie in a low tone to Aunt Faith; “you had better take her upstairs.”

Aunt Faith roused herself from her own grief; “come, dear,” she said, rising.

“I shall not go,” said Bessie; “I shall wait here for Hugh.”

At this moment Tom and Gem ran into the room.

“Oh, Aunt Faith! what is it?” began Tom. “We met some boys and they told us that the America was run into last night.”

Gem looked at Bessie and Sibyl, and then without a word, she sat down in her little chair and began to cry bitterly. Aunt Faith could not answer Tom, the sound of Gem’s violent weeping, and Sibyl’s sobs, seemed to choke the words on her lips.

“I don’t believe a word of it!” cried Tom indignantly. “Hugh can swim better than any one in Westerton, and he’s as strong as a lion! I’m going right down to the dock, and you’ll see him coming back with me before night.”

“Hugh is dead!” said Bessie again; “Hugh is dead!”

The hours passed slowly in those long minutes of weary waiting in which young hearts grow into old age in a single day. Friends and neighbors flocked into the old stone house, and their voices were hushed as they came and went with kindly but useless sympathy. Mr. Leslie had gone to the scene of the accident on a fast tug, accompanied by some of Hugh’s young companions, and as, during the day, different vessels came into port, they were boarded by anxious friends and the latest reports eagerly sought. The bank of the lake was thronged, people stood there with glasses, in spite of the steady rain, scanning the eastern horizon in the hope of discovering the smoke of approaching propellers. Others had friends on board the