[Pg 258]The next day Señor Don Guzman de Cardona arrived, and the whole house was in a commotion1 of excitement. There was to be no school, and everything was bustle2 and confusion. I passed my time in my own room in reflecting severely3 upon myself for the imprudent words by which I had thrown one more difficulty in the way of this poor harassed4 child.
Dolores this day seemed perfectly5 passive in the hands of her mother and sisters, who appeared disposed to show her great attention. She allowed them to array her in her most becoming dress, and made no objection to anything except removing the bracelet6 from her arm. "Nobody's gifts should take the place of her mother's," she said, and they were obliged to be content with her wearing of the diamond bracelet on the other arm.
Don Guzman was a large, plethoric7 man, with coarse features and heavy gait. Besides the scar I have spoken of, his face was adorned8 here and there with pimples9, which were not set down in the miniature. In the course of the first hour's study, I saw him to be a man of much the same stamp as Dolores's father—sensual, tyrannical, passionate10. He seemed in his own way to be much struck with the beauty of his intended wife, and was not wanting in efforts to please her. All that I could see in her was the settled, passive paleness of despair. She played, sang, exhibited her embroidery11 and painting, at the command of Madame Mendoza, with the air of an automaton12; and Don[Pg 259] Guzman remarked to her father on the passive obedience13 as a proper and hopeful trait. Once only when he, in presenting her a flower, took the liberty of kissing her cheek, did I observe the flashing of her eye and a movement of disgust and impatience14, that she seemed scarcely able to restrain.
The marriage was announced to take place the next week, and a holiday was declared through the house. Nothing was talked of or discussed but the corbeille de mariage which the bridegroom had brought—the dresses, laces, sets of jewels, and cashmere shawls. Dolores never had been treated with such attention by the family in her life. She rose immeasurably in the eyes of all as the future possessor of such wealth and such an establishment as awaited her. Madame Mendoza had visions of future visits in Cuba rising before her mind, and overwhelmed her daughter-in-law with flatteries and caresses15, which she received in the same passive silence as she did everything else.
For my own part, I tried to keep entirely16 by myself. I remained in my room reading, and took my daily rides, accompanied by my servant—seeing Dolores only at mealtimes, when I scarcely ventured to look at her. One night, however, as I was walking through a lonely part of the garden, Dolores suddenly stepped out from the shrubbery and stood before me. It was bright moonlight, by which her face and person were distinctly shown. How well I remember her as she looked then! She was dressed in white muslin, as she was fond of being, but it had been torn and disordered by the haste with which she had come through the shrubbery. Her face was fearfully pale, and her great, dark eyes had an unnatural17 brightness. She laid hold on my arm.
"Look here," she said, "I saw you and came down to speak with you."[Pg 260]
She panted and trembled, so that for some moments she could not speak another word. "I want to ask you," she gasped18, after a pause, "whether I heard you right? Did you say"—
"Yes, Dolores, you did. I did say what I had no right to say, like a dishonorable man."
"But is it true? Are you sure it is true?" she said, scarcely seeming to hear my words.
"God knows it is," said I despairingly.
"Then why don't you save me? Why do you let them sell me to this dreadful man? He don't love me—he never will. Can't you take me away?"
"Do you think I care for them? I love you more than all the world together. And if you do really love me, why should we not be happy with each other?"
"Dolores," I said, with a last effort to keep calm, "I am much older than you, and know the world, and ought not to take advantage of your simplicity21. You have been so accustomed to abundant wealth and all it can give, that you cannot form an idea of what the hardships and discomforts22 of marrying a poor man would be. You are unused to having the least care, or making the least exertion23 for yourself. All the world would say that I acted a very dishonorable part to take you from a position which offers you wealth, splendor19, and ease, to one of comparative hardship. Perhaps some day you would think so yourself."
While I was speaking, Dolores turned me toward the moonlight, and fixed24 her great dark eyes piercingly upon me, as if she wanted to read my soul. "Is that all?" she said; "is that the only reason?"
"I do not understand you," said I.
She gave me such a desolate25 look, and answered in a tone of utter dejection, "Oh, I didn't know, but perhaps[Pg 261] you might not want me. All the rest are so glad to sell me to anybody that will take me. But you really do love me, don't you?" she added, laying her hand on mine.
What answer I made I cannot say. I only know that every vestige26 of what is called reason and common sense left me at that moment, and that there followed an hour of delirium27 in which I—we both were very happy—we forgot everything but each other, and we arranged all our plans for flight. There was fortunately a ship lying in the harbor of St. Augustine, the captain of which was known to me. In course of a day or two passage was taken, and my effects transported on board. Nobody seemed to suspect us. Everything went on quietly up to the day before that appointed for sailing. I took my usual rides, and did everything as much as possible in my ordinary way, to disarm28 suspicion, and none seemed to exist. The needed preparations went gayly forward. On the day I mentioned, when I had ridden some distance from the house, a messenger came post-haste after me. It was a boy who belonged specially29 to Dolores. He gave me a little hurried note. I copy it:—
"Papa has found all out, and it is dreadful. No one else knows, and he means to kill you when you come back. Do, if you love me, hurry and get on board the ship. I shall never get over it, if evil comes on you for my sake. I shall let them do what they please with me, if God will only save you. I will try to be good. Perhaps if I bear my trials well, he will let me die soon. That is all I ask. I love you, and always shall, to death and after.
Dolores."
There was the end of it all. I escaped on the ship. I read the marriage in the paper. Incidentally I afterwards heard of her as living in Cuba, but I never saw her again[Pg 262] till I saw her in her coffin30. Sorrow and death had changed her so much that at first the sight of her awakened31 only a vague, painful remembrance. The sight of the hair bracelet which I had seen on her arm brought all back, and I felt sure that my poor Dolores had strangely come to sleep her last sleep near me.
Immediately after I became satisfied who you were, I felt a painful degree of responsibility for the knowledge. I wrote at once to a friend of mine in the neighborhood of St. Augustine, to find out any particulars of the Mendoza family. I learned that its history had been like that of many others in that region. Don José had died in a bilious32 fever, brought on by excessive dissipation, and at his death the estate was found to be so incumbered that the whole was sold at auction33. The slaves were scattered34 hither and thither35 to different owners, and Madame Mendoza, with her children and remains36 of fortune, had gone to live in New Orleans.
Of Dolores he had heard but once since her marriage. A friend had visited Don Guzman's estates in Cuba. He was living in great splendor, but bore the character of a hard, cruel, tyrannical master, and an overbearing man. His wife was spoken of as being in very delicate health,—avoiding society and devoting herself to religion.
I would here take occasion to say that it was understood when I went into the family of Don José, that I should not in any way interfere37 with the religious faith of the children, the family being understood to belong to the Roman Catholic Church. There was so little like religion of any kind in the family, that the idea of their belonging to any faith savored38 something of the ludicrous. In the case of poor Dolores, however, it was different. The earnestness of her nature would always have made any religious form a reality to her. In her case I was glad to remember that the Romish Church, amid many corruptions,[Pg 263] preserves all the essential beliefs necessary for our salvation39, and that many holy souls have gone to heaven through its doors. I therefore was only careful to direct her principal attention to the more spiritual parts of her own faith, and to dwell on the great themes which all Christian40 people hold in common.
Many of my persuasion41 would not have felt free to do this, but my liberty of conscience in this respect was perfect. I have seen that if you break the cup out of which a soul has been used to take the wine of the gospel, you often spill the very wine itself. And after all, these forms are but shadows of which the substance is Christ.
I am free to say, therefore, that the thought that your poor mother was devoting herself earnestly to religion, although after the forms of a church with which I differ, was to me a source of great consolation42, because I knew that in that way alone could a soul like hers find peace.
I have never rested from my efforts to obtain more information. A short time before the incident which cast you upon our shore, I conversed43 with a sea-captain who had returned from Cuba. He stated that there had been an attempt at insurrection among the slaves of Don Guzman, in which a large part of the buildings and out-houses of the estate had been consumed by fire. On subsequent inquiry44 I learned that Don Guzman had sold his estates and embarked45 for Boston with his wife and family, and that nothing had subsequently been heard of him.
Thus, my young friend, I have told you all that I know of those singular circumstances which have cast your lot on our shores. I do not expect at your time of life you will take the same view of this event that I do. You may possibly—very probably will—consider it a loss not to have been brought up as you might have been in the splendid establishment of Don Guzman, and found yourself heir[Pg 264] to wealth and pleasure without labor46 or exertion. Yet I am quite sure in that case that your value as a human being would have been immeasurably less. I think I have seen in you the elements of passions, which luxury and idleness and the too early possession of irresponsible power, might have developed with fatal results. You have simply to reflect whether you would rather be an energetic, intelligent, self-controlled man, capable of guiding the affairs of life and of acquiring its prizes,—or to be the reverse of all this, with its prizes bought for you by the wealth of parents. I hope mature reflection will teach you to regard with gratitude47 that disposition48 of the All-Wise, which cast your lot as it has been cast.
Let me ask one thing in closing. I have written for you here many things most painful for me to remember, because I wanted you to love and honor the memory of your mother. I wanted that her memory should have something such a charm for you as it has for me. With me, her image has always stood between me and all other women; but I have never even intimated to a living being that such a passage in my history ever occurred,—no, not even to my sister, who is nearer to me than any other earthly creature.
In some respects I am a singular person in my habits, and having once written this, you will pardon me if I observe that it will never be agreeable to me to have the subject named between us. Look upon me always as a friend, who would regard nothing as a hardship by which he might serve the son of one so dear.
I have hesitated whether I ought to add one circumstance more. I think I will do so, trusting to your good sense not to give it any undue49 weight.
I have never ceased making inquiries50 in Cuba, as I found opportunity, in regard to your father's property, and late investigations51 have led me to the conclusion that he left a[Pg 265] considerable sum of money in the hands of a notary52, whose address I have, which, if your identity could be proved, would come in course of law to you. I have written an account of all the circumstances which, in my view, identify you as the son of Don Guzman de Cardona, and had them properly attested53 in legal form.
This, together with your mother's picture and the bracelet, I recommend you to take on your next voyage, and to see what may result from the attempt. How considerable the sum may be which will result from this, I cannot say, but as Don Guzman's fortune was very large, I am in hopes it may prove something worth attention.
At any time you may wish to call, I will have all these things ready for you.
I am, with warm regard,
Your sincere friend,
Theophilus Sewell.
When Moses had finished reading this letter, he laid it down on the pebbles54 beside him, and, leaning back against a rock, looked moodily55 out to sea. The tide had washed quite up to within a short distance of his feet, completely isolating56 the little grotto57 where he sat from all the surrounding scenery, and before him, passing and repassing on the blue bright solitude58 of the sea, were silent ships, going on their wondrous59 pathless ways to unknown lands. The letter had stirred all within him that was dreamy and poetic60: he felt somehow like a leaf torn from a romance, and blown strangely into the hollow of those rocks. Something too of ambition and pride stirred within him. He had been born an heir of wealth and power, little as they had done for the happiness of his poor mother; and when he thought he might have had these two wild horses which have run away with so many young men, he felt, as young men all do, an impetuous desire for their possession, and[Pg 266] he thought as so many do, "Give them to me, and I'll risk my character,—I'll risk my happiness."
The letter opened a future before him which was something to speculate upon, even though his reason told him it was uncertain, and he lay there dreamily piling one air-castle on another,—unsubstantial as the great islands of white cloud that sailed through the sky and dropped their shadows in the blue sea.
It was late in the afternoon when he bethought him he must return home, and so climbing from rock to rock he swung himself upward on to the island, and sought the brown cottage. As he passed by the open window he caught a glimpse of Mara sewing. He walked softly up to look in without her seeing him. She was sitting with the various articles of his wardrobe around her, quietly and deftly61 mending his linen62, singing soft snatches of an old psalm-tune.
She seemed to have resumed quite naturally that quiet care of him and his, which she had in all the earlier years of their life. He noticed again her little hands,—they seemed a sort of wonder to him. Why had he never seen, when a boy, how pretty they were? And she had such dainty little ways of taking up and putting down things as she measured and clipped; it seemed so pleasant to have her handling his things; it was as if a good fairy were touching63 them, whose touch brought back peace. But then, he thought, by and by she will do all this for some one else. The thought made him angry. He really felt abused in anticipation64. She was doing all this for him just in sisterly kindness, and likely as not thinking of somebody else whom she loved better all the time. It is astonishing how cool and dignified65 this consideration made our hero as he faced up to the window. He was, after all, in hopes she might blush, and look agitated66 at seeing him suddenly; but she did not. The foolish boy did not[Pg 267] know the quick wits of a girl, and that all the while that he had supposed himself so sly, and been holding his breath to observe, Mara had been perfectly cognizant of his presence, and had been schooling67 herself to look as unconscious and natural as possible. So she did,—only saying,—
"Oh, Moses, is that you? Where have you been all day?"
"Oh, I went over to see Parson Sewell, and get my pastoral lecture, you know."
"And did you stay to dinner?"
"No; I came home and went rambling68 round the rocks, and got into our old cave, and never knew how the time passed."
"Why, then you've had no dinner, poor boy," said Mara, rising suddenly. "Come in quick, you must be fed, or you'll get dangerous and eat somebody."
"No, no, don't get anything," said Moses, "it's almost supper-time, and I'm not hungry."
And Moses threw himself into a chair, and began abstractedly snipping69 a piece of tape with Mara's very best scissors.
"If you please, sir, don't demolish70 that; I was going to stay one of your collars with it," said Mara.
"Oh, hang it, I'm always in mischief71 among girls' things," said Moses, putting down the scissors and picking up a bit of white wax, which with equal unconsciousness, he began kneading in his hands, while he was dreaming over the strange contents of the morning's letter.
"I hope Mr. Sewell didn't say anything to make you look so very gloomy," said Mara.
"Mr. Sewell?" said Moses, starting; "no, he didn't; in fact, I had a pleasant call there; and there was that confounded old sphinx of a Miss Roxy there. Why don't she die? She must be somewhere near a hundred years old by this time."[Pg 268]
"Never thought to ask her why she didn't die," said Mara; "but I presume she has the best of reasons for living."
"Yes, that's so," said Moses; "every old toadstool, and burdock, and mullein lives and thrives and lasts; no danger of their dying."
"You seem to be in a charitable frame of mind," said Mara.
"Confound it all! I hate this world. If I could have my own way now,—if I could have just what I wanted, and do just as I please exactly, I might make a pretty good thing of it."
"And pray what would you have?" said Mara.
"Well, in the first place, riches."
"In the first place?"
"Yes, in the first place, I say; for money buys everything else."
"Well, supposing so," said Mara, "for argument's sake, what would you buy with it?"
"Position in society, respect, consideration,—and I'd have a splendid place, with everything elegant. I have ideas enough, only give me the means. And then I'd have a wife, of course."
"And how much would you pay for her?" said Mara, looking quite cool.
"I'd buy her with all the rest,—a girl that wouldn't look at me as I am,—would take me for all the rest, you know,—that's the way of the world."
"It is, is it?" said Mara. "I don't understand such matters much."
"Yes; it's the way with all you girls," said Moses; "it's the way you'll marry when you do."
"Don't be so fierce about it. I haven't done it yet," said Mara; "but now, really, I must go and set the supper-table when I have put these things away,"—and Mara[Pg 269] gathered an armful of things together, and tripped singing upstairs, and arranged them in the drawer of Moses's room. "Will his wife like to do all these little things for him as I do?" she thought. "It's natural I should. I grew up with him, and love him, just as if he were my own brother,—he is all the brother I ever had. I love him more than anything else in the world, and this wife he talks about could do no more."
"She don't care a pin about me," thought Moses; "it's only a habit she has got, and her strict notions of duty, that's all. She is housewifely in her instincts, and seizes all neglected linen and garments as her lawful72 prey,—she would do it just the same for her grandfather;" and Moses drummed moodily on the window-pane.
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1
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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plethoric
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| adj.过多的，多血症的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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pimples
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| n.丘疹，粉刺，小脓疱( pimple的名词复数 ) | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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splendors
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| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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exertion
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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savored
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的过去式和过去分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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investigations
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| （正式的）调查( investigation的名词复数 )； 侦查； 科学研究； 学术研究 | |
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notary
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| n.公证人，公证员 | |
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attested
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| adj.经检验证明无病的，经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 )；证实；声称…属实；使宣誓 | |
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54
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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55
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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56
isolating
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| adj.孤立的，绝缘的v.使隔离( isolate的现在分词 )；将…剔出（以便看清和单独处理）；使（某物质、细胞等）分离；使离析 | |
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57
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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58
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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59
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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60
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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61
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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62
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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63
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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64
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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65
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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66
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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67
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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68
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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69
snipping
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| n.碎片v.剪( snip的现在分词 ) | |
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70
demolish
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| v.拆毁(建筑物等)，推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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71
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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72
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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