Lilith sat in one corner of the Pullman car, with her chair wheeled around, her shoulders to all her fellow-passengers, and her face fronting the large mirror on the wall. She sat quite still, and wept silently.
Now there happened to be in the same car a lady who, in this year of grace 1882, might be called a Benevolent1 Crank; but the term had not been invented in her time. She was a large, rosy-cheeked, handsome matron, of perhaps fifty years, of the class 60called “motherly;” with such an exuberance2 of life, health, vitality3 and happiness as rendered her kindly4 affectioned, sympathetic and confiding5 towards every fellow-being.
She had got on the train at Baltimore and had ever since been sitting in the opposite corner to Lilith; not with her chair wheeled away from her fellow-passengers, but fronting them all as fellow-beings in whom she took a friendly interest, and looking with her kindly, smiling face, half shaded by the black plush bonnet6, and her portly form wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, the very picture of comfort, contentment and benevolence7.
She did not find much, however, in the seven men who shared the car to interest her—every one of them the incarnation of “business” or “politics,” as far as she could judge from physiognomies half hidden by the large, open newspapers they were reading.
Next she turned her social attention on the only woman beside herself in the car, and who sat in the opposite corner.
What she saw there was the red back of the chair, and a pair of pretty, sloping shoulders, in a gray coat and a little, graceful9, bowed head in a gray hat and vail, and—the reflection from the mirror.
It was this last that attracted and fixed10 the attention of the lady. She could not withdraw her eyes from the picture reflected there—a pale, lovely child face, with soft brown eyes, suffused11 with tears, and budding red lips, quivering with grief.
The lady watched this picture with growing interest and sympathy. Then she turned her head around to look at the passengers to see if by any sign she could judge whether any one of them could perhaps be the father, or grandfather, or uncle, or other male protector of this lonely and grieving child.
61But no; she felt sure that they were all strangers to the little one. Besides, two chairs behind hers were vacant.
Still she watched the weeping girl, but hesitated to address her; it was such an unusual, such an unwarrantable thing to do, and the little lady might not like to have a stranger intrude12 on her distress13 when to hide it she had turned her back on the world—of the Pullman car—reasoned the good woman, as she watched the woful picture, and sighed, and sighed and watched, until she could scarcely sit still in her seat.
“Suppose it were my own dear Edith or Clara left alone in the world, with no one to care for her, traveling alone, with no one to speak to her? Oh, dear!”
She looked and saw pretty shoulders rising and falling with half-suppressed sobs14, and she could stand it no longer.
“I must go to her! I must, indeed! I can’t be like the swimmer who would not rescue the drowning boy because he had never been introduced to his father. I must go to that child even if she should take me for no better than I ought to be and repulse15 me!”
So saying to herself, the good woman arose and left her chair and went and took the chair next behind Lilith.
Laying her hand gently on the girl’s arm and speaking very tenderly and deprecatingly, she said:
“My dear, you seem to be traveling alone, and——”
Lilith lifted her head with a startled look, and raised her soft brown eyes inquiringly to the face of the speaker, thereby16 embarrassing the good woman, who began all over again:
“You seem to be traveling all alone, my poor darling, and—and—and—you don’t seem very well. Can I do anything for you, my dear?”
62“Nothing, I thank you, ma’am. I thank you very much. You are very kind to notice me,” said poor, solitary17 Lilith, in an unmistakably grateful tone.
“My poor darling, I should have been a brute18—and worse than a brute, for brutes19 do have feelings—I should have been a stock or a stone, not to have noticed you and not to have felt for you, and me the mother of children of my own, too,” said the kind creature, ungrammatically, but very affectionately.
“You are very good, ma’am, and I thank you very much.”
“I wish you would let me do something for you.”
“There is nothing to do, thank you—nothing,” sighed Lilith.
“Oh, yes, there is, plenty, plenty! Now I see you so pale and weak that you are scarcely able to sit up, and if you are going to New York—— Are you going so far?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, New York is a long way off yet, and you are not able to sit up all the way. Now in the next compartment20—a little compartment right behind us—there is a sofa and two chairs, all unoccupied. Let me take you in there, and you can lie on the sofa and I will sit in one of the chairs and keep you company. Will you come? I will carry your bag.”
Lilith hesitated.
“Well, I declare,” said her new friend, “you look like the girl in the song—
‘Half willing!—half afraid.’
But you have no cause to be afraid of me, my dear. I only wish to be a help to you. I would not hurt a hair of your head,” said the good woman, earnestly.
“Oh, indeed I am sure you would not. You are very, very kind. And I am very thankful to you. I 63am not afraid of you, but of the conductor,” said Lilith.
“Of the conductor!” exclaimed the lady, with surprise and then with a laugh. “Why, on the face of the earth, should you be afraid of the conductor, my child?”
“He might accuse us of trespassing21, if we should go into that vacant apartment, for which we have no tickets, and I don’t know what the law for trespassing may be on the cars,” said Lilith.
“Well,” laughed the lady, “it is nothing very dreadful—it is not hanging, nor penal22 servitude for life, nor even fine or imprisonment23. It is simply to be politely requested to vacate a position to which you have no right in favor of some one who has a right—supposing such a one should turn up. Otherwise you may keep the place to the end of the journey. But if it would make you feel any better, I will speak to the conductor next time he passes through the cars. I have traveled this road so many times—how many you may know when I tell you that for the last seven years I have had one daughter married in Brooklyn, one in Jersey24 City, one in New York and one in Boston, and I spend nearly all my time in going backwards25 and forwards between my home in Baltimore and their homes. Think of it, my dear! There are four of them, and every one of them has a baby every year. And I have to go on every time a baby is expected, and then have to be there a month before the baby comes, and stay a month afterwards. But, as I was saying, I have traveled this road so frequently that I know all the conductors, and I like the one on this train better than any of them; for there is nothing in the line of his duty that he would not do for me, or for any woman.”
“Are you going on now to meet an expected little grandchild?” inquired Lilith, who, child-like, had 64ceased to weep when she became interested in something else besides her sorrows.
“Oh, no, not exactly now; though there will be such a harvest of them between this and Christmas that it will be hardly worth while for me to go back home this year. Eh, me! Ponsonby might as well be a full widower26, for he has been a grass-widower most of the time since our girls have been married. True, the two youngest girls—Edith and Clara—are at home, and they keep house for their father while I am away. But you were asking me about the cause of my journey. It isn’t a baby this time; it is a wedding. My Boston son-in-law’s sister, who lives with him, is going to be married on Thursday, and all the family connections are to meet at his house. I and my three other married daughters are to go on to-morrow morning. I shall stay at my son-in-law Saxony’s house to-night. Here comes the conductor. Mr. P——,” she said, turning to that officer, “this young lady is not well. Is there any objection to my taking her into that vacant compartment where she can lie on the sofa?”
“No objection at all, Mrs. Ponsonby; the compartment is not engaged,” replied the polite conductor.
The lady arose and gave her arm to Lilith and took her to the sofa, where the exhausted27 girl was glad to lie down. Then she returned for her own and Lilith’s light luggage, which she transferred to the new seats.
As the conductor passed through the drawing-room car on his return, a stout passenger with iron-gray hair, who had sat three seats off from Lilith and her friend, on the opposite side of the car, and had watched the interview between the woman and the girl, and had heard as much or as little of their conversation as their low tones would permit, and had formed his own opinions on the subject—beckoned 65the officer to approach, and looking solemnly over the top of his spectacles said, impressively:
“Conductor, I want you to keep an eye on that pair who have just gone into the next compartment. That young girl is traveling alone. That stout woman first accosted28 her. She has some evil designs on that girl, I am sure of it! Robbery or worse! She has every opportunity to chloroform and rob the girl, or to drug her and take her away for something worse!”
“All right, sir! I know the old party! She is Mrs. Ponsonby, of Baltimore. And she will be met at the depot29 by her son-in-law, Mr. Saxony, of Number —— Street,” replied the amused officer.
“Oh, very well, if that is so! But her extraordinary proceedings30 of accosting31 a strange young lady in the cars very reasonably aroused my suspicions. I am glad it is no worse,” said the Detective Crank, in a tone of disappointment that illy accorded with his words.
In the meantime, Lilith reposed32 on the sofa and her new friend sat by her side and chatted to cheer her up.
With a rare delicacy33 she refrained from asking Lilith any questions as to the cause of that distress which had drawn34 the good woman to the girl’s side, until they were drawing near to New York. Then she inquired:
“Is there any one to meet you at Jersey City, my dear?”
“No, no one,” answered Lilith.
“Nor any one the other side?”
“My dear child! Some one ought to meet you! It is not right or safe for a young girl traveling alone to enter a city at nightfall, with no one to meet her! But I suppose you know exactly the number and 66street of the people you are going to see,” said the good and sorely troubled woman.
“I am going to no house. I have no friends or even acquaintances in the city,” said Lilith.
“Then why on the face of the earth have you come here, my poor child?” inquired Mrs. Ponsonby, in surprise and distress.
Lilith, like the baby into whose state she sometimes relapsed, burst into tears, covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly.
“Now what have I done? Now what is the matter? Oh! what is the matter? Tell me, my dear. I am very sorry for you. I will help you all I can. Indeed I will, for Edith and Clara’s sake,” said Mrs. Ponsonby, bending over and caressing36 the girl, who, between her sobs and tears, tried to answer.
“I came,” she gasped37, “because I have lost everything in the world. I have suffered cruel, cruel reverses, and could not bear to stay in the place where I had seen such happy and prosperous days so suddenly turned to misery38 and destitution39.”
“Poor, poor, poor dear! Was it through the war, my dear?” inquired the woman, in tender, compassionate40 tones, while the tears stood in her kindly eyes.
“No, it was not through the war. It was since the war.”
“Oh, yes! My dear child, tell me all you wish, but no more than you wish. I will help you in any case. Indeed I will. Are you an orphan41, my dear?”
“Dear me! Poor child! How worse than orphaned, my dear?”
“Oh, ma’am, I cannot tell you now. Indeed I cannot. Do not blame me, and do not be angry. It is not my fault that I am so desolate and that I must be so reserved about my past life,” pleaded Lilith.
“I wonder what has happened to the child? That she is good I can see for myself. Nobody could make a mistake about her. I wonder what she means by worse than orphaned, now. I wonder if her father was hanged or sent to prison for life, or anything like that. There are so many men who ought to be gentlemen, but who come to that sort of end now, that I should not be surprised that it was so. Why, there is always something of that sort going on in some city or other, some bank defaulter, or some forger44, or manslaughterer, or something. And so it seems more than likely that her father may have disgraced his family in that way, and be in prison, or in a felon’s grave, and that’s what she means by being worse than orphaned. But her mother—— Is your mother living, my poor child?” she inquired, suddenly breaking the long silence and addressing Lilith.
“No, ma’am. My mother left this world a few hours after I came into it,” said Lilith.
“Poor, dear darling!” said the good woman, who then relapsed into silent thought, drawing her own conclusions.
“Yes, that is it!” she said to herself. “The mother gone, the father worse than dead! That must be it, or she would not talk of being worse than orphaned.”
Lilith, perhaps mistaking her continued silence for mistrust, said at length:
“You have been very kind to me, a perfect stranger to you, ma’am, and I thank you from my heart; but do not trouble your kind soul about me, ma’am. It is not worth your while, indeed.”
“Oh, it is easy to say that, my dear; but I can’t help troubling myself about you! Suppose you were my own Edith or Clara? But don’t be afraid, my dear; I won’t ask anything about your past; what I want to know is your future. You said when you started 68for New York that you wished to get away from painful associations; now what I wish to ask is, where do you intend to go in New York, and what do you intend to do?”
“I shall go first to some hotel, the only place a stranger can go to, I suppose, and then I mean to look out for some employment.”
“Then, my dear, you are all wrong. In the first place, you must not go to a hotel,” said Mrs. Ponsonby.
“But why?” inquired Lilith.
“Because you would go as a lamb among wolves. That is why.”
“Then I suppose I must try to find a private boarding-house.”
“Worse and worse! A respectable boarding-house would want references, and if you happened to apply to any but a respectable one——”
“That is the reason why I wished to go to one of the first-class hotels. They are always very respectable. No one can make a mistake about them, and they take strangers without references.”
“Yes, my dear, at ruinous prices. Unless you have got a great deal of money, you would be quite penniless before you could get any employment. And, by the way, what sort of employment do you expect to find?”
“I hardly know. I might be an amanuensis for some lady or gentleman——”
“For no gentleman. I put my foot right down on that. Let the men alone, my dear—unless they happen to be your very nearest male relations. And to enter a lady’s employment you would have to have good references. I do hope you have references, my dear?”
“No,” said Lilith, “I have none; not one; and circumstances are all so adverse45 that I cannot hope to get one.”
69“Dear me!” said Mrs. Ponsonby, taking a long look into Lilith’s face. “But you are all right. I am sure you are all right. You are not the sort of child to run away from your father or mother to seek your fortune. I tell you what I will do; I will be your referee46. That is—do you write a fair hand, spell words correctly, and compose sentences grammatically, as an amanuensis should do? For, you know, you may have to answer letters as well as to write from dictation.”
“Yes, ma’am, I can indeed. I have been accustomed to do all that for my dear lost foster-father. The next time the train stops I will write a specimen47 and prove it,” said Lilith.
“Very well, then,” said the Benevolent “Crank,” “I will be your referee. And as to your lodging48 in New York, I will take you to a cheap but very respectable house kept by the widow of a Methodist minister. She has no fashionable boarders, my dear, for she lives on —— Street, near —— Avenue, and fashion has left that part of the city these fifty years or more. She boards some of the public school teachers. I will take you to her house to-night before I go to my daughter’s, mind you. If Saxony comes to meet me, and is in a hurry, he may go home in the street cars, and I will take the carriage and carry you to Mrs. Downie’s,” said the new friend, who had worked herself up into a benevolent fever on the subject of the desolate young creature.
“Oh, how good you are to me! How wonderfully good! How do you know that I am deserving of your goodness? How do you know that I am not an impostor?” said Lilith, catching49 her friend’s hand and covering it with grateful kisses. “Yes! how should you know but that I am a very foolish, wicked girl?”
“Good Lord, child! how do I know anything, for that matter—how do I know light from darkness, except 70through my eyes and my understanding? That is the way I know you from an impostor. How I thank the Lord that I met you before you fell into the Lion’s Den8 of this great city!”
“And do I not thank the Divine Providence—oh, do I not? And thank you, oh, so much!” exclaimed Lilith, clasping her hands in the fervency50 of her utterance51.
“Now, here we are at Jersey City! Gather your traps, my dear, and be ready to get off. Don’t be afraid. The dragon’s mouth is always wide open, but you shall not fall into it!” said Mrs. Ponsonby, as the train ran into the depot.
“And there’s Saxony’s carriage, but I don’t see him,” she said, when they had crossed the ferry and passed out on Desbrosses Street.
“Where’s your master, Patrick?” she demanded, when she had dragged Lilith through the crowd to the door of the carriage.
“If you plaze, ma’am, Misther Saxony is dining out this evening, and Misthress Saxony requisted me to mate you in the carriage meself, ma’am,” said the Irish coachman, who resented the term “master” as applied52 to his employer.
“Very well. I am glad of it. Get in, my dear. And, Patrick, do you drive first to Number 10 —— Street, near —— Avenue. It will not be much out of your way,” said Mrs. Ponsonby, as she put Lilith into the carriage and followed her.
The short winter twilight53 was fading into night, and the streets were beginning to be lighted with gas.
“Suppose,” said Lilith, “suppose that your friend should not have a vacant room for me?”
“Then you must put up with a bed for this one night.”
“But if she has not an unoccupied bed?”
71“Then she must find one for this night, anyway,” persisted Mrs. Ponsonby.
It seemed a long ride through the crowded city streets before the carriage at last drew up before the door of a plain, dull-looking, three-story brick house.
Mrs. Ponsonby—without waiting for the coachman to get off his box, for, indeed, Patrick was so indolent that he always made an excuse that he “darn’t” leave his horses to open the door—alighted, and assisted Lilith to alight, and led her up to the house and rang the door bell.
A female servant answered it.
“Is Mrs. Downie at home?” inquired the elder lady.
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the waitress, opening a door on the right, and showing the two ladies into the long but plainly furnished parlor54, where they sat down.
“Will you tell Mrs. Downie that I would like to see her on business for a moment?”
“Yes, ma’am. What name?”
The lady handed the waitress a card.
“Mrs. Downie is at tea now, but I dare say she will not be long,” said the girl, as she left the parlor and ran down the basement stairs.
In a very few minutes the mistress of the boarding-house came up, with a warm, exuberant55 welcome for an old friend. She was a short, fat, good-natured looking woman, of about Mrs. Ponsonby’s own age, and she was dressed in a clean but rather dowdy56 black gown, all in keeping with her general aspect of careless good humor; and her pretty, soft, silvery gray hair was gathered into a knot behind, and as much disheveled all over her head by nature as it could have been done by the most fashionable hairdresser.
“Why, goodness me, Em’ly Ponsonby! This ain’t you? I never was so surprised in all my life as when Mary gave me your card! And we have just this 72minute sat down to tea; and you will come down and have some?” said the landlady57, in the softest and most caressing voice, that seemed to be perfectly58 natural to her.
“No, thank you, Sophie Downie,” replied Mrs. Ponsonby, as she arose and embraced her fat little friend. “I am in the greatest hurry that ever was, and only called here on my way from the depot to Sam Saxony’s to bring you a new boarder, a very dear young friend of mine, who came with me from Baltimore to get something to do in New York here. Miss—— Good Lord of mercy! I don’t know the child’s name!” said the good woman to herself, as she arose and went to Lilith, and whispered:
“What name, dear—what name?”
“Wyvil,” answered Lilith, in the same low tone.
“My young friend, Miss Wildell, wants a quiet, respectable home just such as you could furnish her,” resumed Mrs. Ponsonby, rejoining the landlady.
“Oh! Another Southern orphan, ruined by the war!” said kindly Mrs. Downie.
“Ah! poor thing!” replied the Baltimore lady, in a non-committal way. “I hope you can take her. She has some little money left, I think.”
“And she wants to get in one of the public schools? Poor girl! there ain’t the least chance.”
“No, I don’t think she wants to teach—but the question is, can you accommodate her?”
“I must ’commodate her somehow or other. I haven’t got a room; but if she could put up with a cot in my room——”
“Of course she could, until you can do better for her. And now I must go, for I am keeping you from your tea, while they are waiting for me on —— Street. Miss Wilde, my dear, I leave you in good hands, and if you ever want a friend, call on me. Sophie Downie, you see I am due in Boston, at my daughter’s, to-morrow. 73That’s why I am in such a hurry now. Good-bye!”
And so saying, the dear woman kissed her old friend, and then kissed Lilith and left a card with her address in the girl’s hand.
The next instant she was gone, and Lilith was alone with the landlady.
“Come, my dear, come upstairs to my room and take off your things and wash your face and hands, if you wish; and then we will go down and get some supper. My dear, I hope you will feel at home here. Most of my boarders are young people. Two young ladies who are public school teachers, and one who is a colorer of photographs, and then I have a young Methodist minister who has a parish near this. He is going to be married soon, though, as ministers must, you know, and then we shall lose him. And then, my dear, if you are still with us, you shall have his room and be comfortable.”
So talking, the landlady led Lilith upstairs and so installed her in the home that was to be hers for many months to come.
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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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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suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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thereby
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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trespassing
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penal
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imprisonment
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jersey
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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widower
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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proceedings
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accosting
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的现在分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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reposed
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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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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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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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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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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destitution
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| n.穷困，缺乏，贫穷 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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orphaned
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| [计][修]孤立 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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forger
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| v.伪造；n.（钱、文件等的）伪造者 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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referee
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| n.裁判员．仲裁人，代表人，鉴定人 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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fervency
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| n.热情的；强烈的；热烈 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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54
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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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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