The Harvest of Years Part 20

Mr. Benton, apparently nettled, said:

"I imagine you would not enjoy a drove of these people in your care. I had a little taste of the South during two years of my life, and my word for it, Louis, they are not attractive creatures to be tormented with.

They are a perfect set of stubborn stupidities, and driving is the only thing to suit them, depend on it."

Louis looked more than he said, only recalling that the blame for this could not rest on the slave alone. "I do not imagine I could enjoy slave-owning. I feel the majority of slave-owners lower themselves until they stand beneath the level of the brutes."

Father said, "It is all wrong."

Aunt Hildy added, "All kind of bondage is unG.o.dly, and the days will bring some folks to knowledge."

"Out of the depth into the light," said Clara, and our meal was over.

The days flew by on wings, each wing a promise, and it was a week after we plighted our vows ere I felt ready to read that letter and hear what Louis had to say. Then something came to prevent, and another week had pa.s.sed when Louis said:

"My Emily, I must have a talk with your father and mother. I cannot feel quite satisfied, and it is only right they should be consulted, for you are their own good girl. I would wait for their hearts to say, 'take her,' if I waited years, but then, my Emily, it is neither giving nor taking, for every change that is right does not ask us ever to give ourselves or our loved ones away. I dislike that term."

"You may wait, Louis; I will tell mother, and she can tell father."

"No, no, Emily! It is I who ask for your hand, and is it not my privilege as well as duty?"

"What a strange man you are growing to be, Louis! Hal couldn't bear the thought of telling mother or father his heart affairs, and I was the medium of communication between them."

"He feels differently about it," said Louis, "and yet he has the tenderest heart I ever knew within the breast of a man."

"He is a good brother, Louis. I could not ask a better."

"Nor find one if you did."

At that moment Matthias came in. Taking off his hat and saluting us in his accustomed way, he said:

"'Pears like I'll have to ask some of yere to go out in de woods a piece--thar's a queer looking gal out thar, an' she's mighty nigh froze to death; she is, sartin."

"Where is she, Matthias?"

"Clean over thar; quite a piece, miss."

"Near any house?" I said.

"Wall, miss, she mout be two or three good steps from that thar brick-colored house."

"Oh, clear over there? Well," I said, "I'll go over if Lou Desmonde will go with me."

"I will go, only never call me that again. Matthias calls me Mas'r Louis, and he says I remind him of a mighty nice fellow down in South Carliny," said Louis.

"Yis, sah, you does," said Matthias.

Telling mother and Aunt Hildy what we were going out to find, we started.

It was a very cold day, and through our warm clothing the winds of March pierced the marrow of our bones. We found the woman, who proved to be, as Matthias had said, nearly frozen. Louis took her right in his arms to the nearest shelter, Mr. Goodwin's, the brick-colored house, and his good, motherly wife had her put into the large west-room, where the spare bed was made so temptingly clean, and with such an airy feather mattress, that, light as she was, the poor girl sank into it almost out of sight. Matthias brought wood and made a fire on the hearth, and Mrs.

Goodwin, Louis and I worked hard for an hour chafing her purple limbs, her swelled feet and hands, and at last she turned her head uneasily, and murmured:

"The baby's dead--she is dead and I am going to her."

Then a few words of home and some pictures.

"Myself! myself!" she'd cry, "my picture; yes, my hair is beautiful; my golden curls, he said; and my baby's hair; let me put it here."

And she pa.s.sed into a sleep from which it would seem she could never waken. We sent Matthias back to tell mother, and say that we should both stay all night if necessary. This girl could not be more than twenty, we thought. Her fingers were small and tapering, and on her right hand she wore a ring set with several diamond stones. Her dress was of silk, and her shawl fine but thin. Her head covering had doubtless fallen off and then been carried by the wind, for we saw nothing of it. She was a beautiful picture as she lay there, for the blood had started and her cheeks were flushed with fever, her lips parted, showing a set of teeth, small, white and regular. Who could she be? Where did she come from? It was about an hour after she fell asleep that she stirred, wakened, and this time opened her eyes in which a conscious light was gathering.

"Where am I? What is it?"

Mrs. Goodwin stepped near her, Louis retreated from the room, and I kept my seat by the hearth.

"Dead, dead, I was dying but I am not dead; do tell me," she said, putting both her hands out to Mrs. Goodwin.

"You are sick, my child. We found you in the road and took you in. You had lost your way."

"Oh! oh!" she murmured, "can I stay all night?"

"Oh, yes, stay a week or two, and get rested!"

"May I go to sleep again? Who knows me here?" and again she fell asleep.

By this time Aunt Hildy appeared on the scene, and commanded me to go home and stay there.

"'Tain't no place for you; I've brought my herbs to stay and doctor her.

You go home and help your mother." I obeyed, of course, and when I left, kissed the white forehead of the poor girl, and sealed it with a tear that fell.

She murmured: "Yes, all for love,--home, pictures, mother,--all left for love, and the baby's dead. I'm going there."

I went out into the crisp air with Louis' arm for support, and a thousand strange thoughts whirling in my brain. "Great, indeed, must have been the sorrow which could have driven so tender a plant from home."

"Yes," said Louis, "G.o.d pity the man whose ruthless hand has killed the blossoms of her loving heart. She looks like little mother, Emily."

"So she does, Louis." And we talked earnestly, forgetting everything but this strange, sweet face. Supper was ready, and the rest were at the table.

"What have you been up to?" said Ben, "you look like two tombstones." I related briefly the history, and concluded by saying:

"She looks as frail as a flower." To which Mr. Benton added:

"Doubtless her frailty, Miss Minot, is the cause of her present suffering."

"Poor lamb," said Clara, "how thankful we should feel that Matthias found her."

"Yes," said Louis, "and if he only could have thought to have carried her into Mr. Goodwin's, and then come over after us, she would not have so hard a struggle for life."

"Do you think she can live?" said Mr. Benton.

"Oh, yes!" said Louis, "the blood has started, and with Aunt Hildy by her bedside she will be, by to-morrow, very comfortable. I think she had not been there long when we found her."