The Haunted Homestead Part 15

He did not know how I felt----"

"Mother! mother! for Heaven's sake!"

"Dear Valley, let me go on and tell this story for the first and last time. I felt that I had to tell it some day; the day is come; let me finish--finish for my own justification, for I would be justified to you. Well, I never entered the lady's presence again, of course, and, from that day to this, was only my master's faithful servant, and no more. As soon as I was able to travel, my master sent me with you into the town to hire out. I found a good place, where we lived several years. I never even saw my master's face all the time, but strange reports went around, notwithstanding. People said that Colonel Waring and his lady lived very unhappily together; that they quarreled very often; that she was mad with jealousy of the Mestizza; that every time the colonel came in town, there would be a dreadful scene upon his return home. At last it is certain that my master left off visiting the city altogether, and did all his business there by deputies. But the lady's attacks of pa.s.sion or hysterics became periodical, returning at regular intervals, and in the course of the first year she became a confirmed lunatic. Before the end of the second year, it became necessary to put her under restraint. Finally, she was taken to a Northern lunatic asylum, in the hope of cure, and there, at the end of a few months, she died raving mad, and hurling down imprecations upon me.

It was generally reported then, as now, that jealousy had driven her mad; but it was not true--Heaven knows that it was not true, any more than it was true that she had a just cause for her jealousy. For if ever I saw insanity in any creature, I saw it in her great staring eyes the first and only time I ever set mine upon her face. No; jealousy did not cause her madness, but her madness caused her jealousy!"

Phaedra paused, and, with her head bent upon her hand, remained silent some moments; then she resumed:

"When that unfortunate lady had been dead some time, and one nurse after another had been intrusted with the care of her child, and had failed to give satisfaction, my year at last being up with my city employer, my master took me home, to mind Master Oswald. It was the first time I had seen the baby, although he had come home with his mother, and was in the carriage with his nurse at the very time that she first set foot upon the threshold of her new home. Master Oswald was about two years old when I first took charge of him; and if my heart had been ever so seared and hardened, it could not but have been touched at the sight of that motherless infant--so puny, neglected and suffering, as he looked. Well, I took care of him--Heaven knows I did--excellent care of him, or he would not be living now. But he doesn't remember that. How should he, indeed, when even his father did not remember it, although many, many times, when he saw how his heir thrived under my care, he would praise me, and promise me such great things for my own poor boy. Well, I was sure he would keep his word. He has not done so; and I could find it in my heart to pray for both your death and mine!" exclaimed Phaedra, with a short, sudden sob, as if she were on the eve of another burst of violent emotion.

"Do not grieve, mother; Mr. Waring has not done ill by us, I am sure. I have had as happy a life with him as my own nature will permit. I could not have borne life with a master less good-natured and tolerant. In truth, if our mutual relations had been reversed, I fear that I should not have been so uniformly kind as he. In fact, barring a little selfishness, where his habits and personal comforts are concerned, he is one of the very kindest of men. You know how he has regarded us both, from his boyhood----"

"Until he left home--he changed to us from that time."

"Only for a while, when he was at school, and his cla.s.smates laughed at him for his attachment to me, and he grew angry and ashamed to show it; now he is his old self again. And, mother, there is but one obstacle to his realizing for us the hopes his father disappointed."

"And what is that, Valentine?"

"His affection for us both, that has in it a certain alloy of selfishness, as, indeed, many other people's affections for others also have. He loves us both, in a different way; and he loves his own comfort in us. He would not like to lose his faithful, motherly housekeeper, or his confidential, attached valet; or that either the one or the other should have the power to leave him at will. Ah, mother, I can understand Master Oswald better than any one else in the world can. I can read his heart like an open book; and, moreover, I can in most things wind him around my finger like a string. Look at these things. Why do you suppose he collected them? He doesn't care for anything like this, but I delight in them, and so I persuaded him to collect them to adorn his rooms. I did not do so for my own gratification alone, but that I really did wish to see him cultivate a refined taste. Now, we are soon going to Europe.

Why? Do you think he wished to go at first? No; he never would have thought of it. It would have been a great deal too much trouble to take the lead in such a plan, but I thought he ought to make the grand tour, like other young men of fortune; besides which, I had a desire to travel myself. So I persuaded him that a gentleman of fas.h.i.+on (as he desires to be thought, you know) ought to see Europe. So we go! Why, bless his easy, good-natured heart, I have such great power over him--may I never abuse it! that ninety-nine days out of a hundred it is I who am master!"

"But the hundredth day, Valentine!"

The boy's face suddenly changed.

"I had rather not think of that, mother," he said, in an altered voice.

Phaedra's face also changed. It was as if a thundercloud had suddenly crossed the sun, and darkened all the room. The mother spoke first, and her voice was deep and hollow, as she said:

"Valentine! Valentine! you have said that in ninety-nine days of a hundred you can govern your master. Oh, my son, pray G.o.d to give you grace on that hundredth day to govern yourself!"

"Mother! Mother! Why do you say that to me?" exclaimed the boy, with a shudder.

"I do not know why--or if I do, I dare not tell you. A heavy weight is on my heart; I cannot shake it off. You are going away soon! I must warn you now; I may not have another chance, or may not feel able to do it.

Oh, Valentine, learn self-control, try to keep your temper always under.

Ay! seek the grace of G.o.d; there is such a thing, though your poor mother has not got it, and only wishes she had. Seek it, Valentine--it is your best safety; in every time of trial and temptation, it is a steadfast support. I know it, though I haven't got it; I know it, because I've seen it in many others."

Valentine was looking at her with the most intense expression of countenance.

"Anger is a short madness, is it not, mother? So it was with me, at least, when I was a boy; and how those frenzies of pa.s.sion, into which I would be thrown, used to terrify me when I came to my senses! I used to be haunted with a fear that, in some such mad and blind fury, I might----"

"Hus.h.!.+ oh, hus.h.!.+ Pray to G.o.d!" exclaimed Phaedra, turning pale.

"Well, but of late years I have been able to control myself, and have also suffered less provocation."

"Ah, yes; less provocation."

"Well, mother, I will promise you, faithfully, at least, to exercise habitual self-control. As for your other subject of anxiety, be at rest.

Oswald Waring has his fits of generosity, in which even his sensual love of his own comforts is forgotten. And I shall take advantage of one of those moods to procure our manumission--not that I am sure I shall leave him, even after that is obtained."

All that is necessary to record of their conversation ended here. In a few minutes after, Phaedra left the chamber to attend to her domestic affairs.

In the course of a few weeks, Mr. Waring hurried the completion of all the business to which his personal attention was indispensable; and then, attended by Valentine, he set out for his European travels, leaving the further settlement of his estate in the hands of Mr.

Pettigrew.

CHAPTER III.

THE BOTTLE DEMON.

Oh! that men should put an enemy in Their mouths to steal away their brains; that we Should, with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause, Transform ourselves into beasts!

Oh! thou invisible Spirit of wine, If thou hast no name to be known by, Let us call thee Devil!--SHAKESPEARE.

After an absence of fifteen months, Oswald Waring and his inseparable companion, Valentine, returned home.

Not in all respects was the master or the man improved by travel, as circ.u.mstances soon demonstrated.

Mr. Waring brought back the same benevolent, careless, mirthful, yet occasionally arrogant temper, that had always distinguished him; and Valentine, the same affectionate, aspiring, quick, inflammable nature, that made his conduct so uncertain.

The character of Oswald might have been easily read in his personal appearance. He was a rather handsome specimen of a pure Anglo-Saxon; he was of medium height, of a stout and well-set form; with a round head, smooth, white, receding forehead, shaded with thickly cl.u.s.tered curls of auburn hair; prominent, clear, light-blue eyes, whose prevailing expression was that of frank mirthfulness; a straight nose; a well-curved, but rather sensual mouth; and a full, rounded chin, that, altogether, made up a countenance whose chief characteristics were good nature, sensuality and gayety. His dress was equally remarkable for the costliness of its material and the negligence of its arrangement; and left the point at issue, whether the costume were the more extravagant or the more slovenly. His manners were marked by habitual cheerfulness, good temper and love of merriment. And, though he rarely emitted a flash of wit, he was ever the quickest to appreciate that gift in others; and it must have been a dull jest, indeed, that his ready laugh did not hail. And it is not unlikely that to his sincere, hearty, contagious laughter he owed a great deal of his popularity among men, and women too. For who does not love a good laugher?

Valentine was in almost every respect the antipodes of his master, yet resembled him in this, that his nature also might be easily read in his dark but singularly beautiful face. I use the term "beautiful" instead of the other term "handsome" advisedly, as more proper to the subject under description. Valentine was rather below the medium height, and slightly but elegantly formed, with a stately little head, delicate aquiline features, a complexion dark as a Spaniard's, bluish-black hair falling in many well-trained curls around the dark face, and light-blue eyes so deeply veiled under their thicket of long, close lashes, that it was only in moments of excitement, when they suddenly lightened, that their strange, startling, almost terrible contrast to the blackness of the hair and darkness of the skin could be noticed. In the matter of dress, Valentine was fastidious to a degree. In other circ.u.mstances, he might have been an exquisite and a _pet.i.t maitre_, as his master often laughingly called him. As it was, the youth was undeniably a dandy; but his love of dress was to be attributed fully as much to his innate love of order, beauty, and propriety, as to his c.o.xcombry. His fine raven-black hair--his "favorite vanity," was carefully kept, and trained to fall in those faultless ringlets; and it is upon record, that when the owner was not in full dress, that "splendid head of hair" was carefully bound down from injury by sun or dust, under a double silk bandanna, arranged in the graceful folds and twists of a Turkish turban.

Valentine's "foppery" was a never-failing source of merriment to his fun-loving master--though I think the boy's love of dress could scarcely with fairness be called foppery, since he was never known to try the effects of his most elegant toilet upon the hearts of any of the young girls of his cla.s.s, until his own heart was seriously engaged.

Valentine's deportment was characterized by habitual pensiveness and reserve, occasionally broken by sudden unaccountable fits of excitement, strange flights of fancy, and startling, frightful paroxysms of pa.s.sion, having many of the features of incipient insanity. These were undoubtedly to be attributed to the antagonistic const.i.tuents of his nature. What alchemy but the all-powerful grace of G.o.d could ever harmonize the discordant elements of a being deriving his descent from three races so different as the Indian, the Negro, and the Saxon, and reconcile him to the position in which this boy was placed?

Mr. Waring, soon after his return home, began to lead a wild, reckless life. He kept bachelor's hall at Red Hill, in extravagant style.

Frequent dinners, suppers, and wine parties, with cards, billiards, dice, etc., converted the quiet old country house into a scene of wild midnight orgies, with drinking, song-singing, and gambling, that threatened soon to leave the young spendthrift without a house to revel in, or a dollar to revel on.

And almost every day, when there was not a party at the house, Valentine would have to drive his master in the buggy to the town. Upon such occasions, the master would go to some favorite restaurant or billiard saloon, or perhaps to some wine or card party, to which he had been invited, while the man would take the buggy to the livery stable, and lounge about town until the small hours of the morning, when he would rouse the sleepy groom at the stables, get his buggy and horse, and take his master home. Sometimes Mr. Waring would be slightly elevated by the wine he had drank, but never to the degree of intoxication.

At first, and for a long while, Valentine resisted the temptations of the life into which he was led; but, in the course of time, those listless hours of waiting in town wore away his good habits; and it at last happened that, while the master was gambling and drinking in some splendid saloon, the man would be imitating him in some humbler scene of dissipation. And when he would have to drive Mr. Waring home, it not unfrequently happened that both were under the influence of wine.

To poor Phaedra, who happily had some time since found that grace of G.o.d that she had so long and humbly and earnestly desired, this conduct in her young master and her son gave the greatest distress and anxiety.

With Valentine she often and earnestly expostulated; and the impressible boy, for boy he continued to be to the day of his death, would promise with tears in his eyes, to amend. Even with Oswald Waring, using the privilege of the old nurse, she ventured to reason, faithfully, fearlessly, sorrowfully.

But, in his thoughtless, good-humored way, he laughed in her face, called her a well-meaning old woman, but advised her to attend to her own concerns.

Yet Phaedra did not slacken in making what poor opposition she could to the approach of ruin.

It was not the least deplorable and dangerous feature in the mutual relations of Oswald Waring and his favorite slave that their mutual positions often seemed temporarily reversed. Valentine would, upon occasions, seem, or really for the hour be, the leader, and Oswald the follower.

Unfortunately, Mr. Waring was singularly wanting in those qualities that command habitual respect from inferiors; nay, he even lacked self-respect and the dignity that it gives; while, more unhappily still, his servant Valentine possessed a large share of self-esteem, that, in his excitable nature, would, under provocation or temptation, rise to insufferable insolence. And this frequently placed them in false and trying att.i.tudes toward each other. It was a baleful circ.u.mstance, too, that when, under the effects of wine, the master fell from easy good-nature into maudlin tenderness and sentimentality, varied by eccentric impulses of domineering authority, all of which was extremely distasteful and irritating to the servant, whose pride, instigated by the like baleful spirit, would rise to an intolerable arrogance. It was a situation full of dire bodency to both.

It happened one evening that Valentine had driven Mr. Waring into town to be present at a wine and card party. It was late at night, or speaking more accurately, early in the morning, when they were returning home. It was difficult to say which of the two was most excited. Mr.

Waring was in his most maudlin mood of familiarity, Valentine in his most insolent humor. Each perceived the intoxication of the other, without being conscious of his own state. Oswald broke out in a baccha.n.a.lian song, which he sung all wrong, and by s.n.a.t.c.hes--occasionally, in a sudden fit of maudlin affection, varying the performance by throwing his arm around his servant, and hugging him closely. Valentine bore this once, but, the second time it was repeated, he shook his master's arm off, exclaiming: "I am not one of your companions." But Oswald laughed aloud, rolled himself from side to side, and breaking out into another low song: