The Actress' Daughter Part 55

CHAPTER XXVI.

"LAST SCENE OF ALL."

"I have seen one whose eloquence commanding, Roused the rich echoes of the human breast; The blandishments of wealth and ease withstanding, That hope might reach the suffering and oppressed.

"And by his side there moved a form of beauty, Strewing sweet flowers along his path of life, And looking up with meek and love-bent duty-- I called her angel, but he called her wife."

ANON.

Long and cool lay the shadows on the gra.s.s, one by one the bright, beautiful stars arose in the sky, up and up sailed the "lady moon,"

smiling down with her serene face on the trio sitting in the moonlight in the humble parlor of that little cot by the sea.

No light but that of the cloudless moon, no light but the beaming glances from eyes bright with joy--no other light was needed. By Miss Jerusha's side sat Georgia--not Georgia, the radiant vision of the ball-room, Juno-like in her queenly beauty, but the humble, gentle loving girl, meek in her great happiness. One wrinkled yellow hand of the venerable spinster lay in the small dark hands blazing with gems, and held them fast as if she would have held them there forever, while her eyes never for an instant wandered from the sweet smiling face.

And at Georgia's feet knelt another--a vision in robes snowy white, with the sweetest, fairest face ever sun shone or moon beamed on--one who looked like a stray seraph in her white garments, and floating golden curls, and sweet, beautiful violet eyes. Dear little Emily Murray, sweeter and fairer than ever she looked nestling there, crying and laughing together, and clinging to Georgia as though she would never let her go again.

"And to think you should have seen so much, and come through such strange scenes!" sobbed Emily, laughing at the same time; "to think you should have found a brother, and traveled all over Europe, and then come back and found yourself the wife of the greatest man of the age! Oh, dear me!" said little Emily, laughing and swallowing a sob, "it is _so_ funny and _so_ strange to find our Georgia back here in the old cottage again."

"But it's very nice--now ain't it, Emily?" said Miss Jerusha, complacently.

"Nice! I guess it is," said Emily, clasping Georgia tighter. "Oh, Georgia! I've lain awake night after night, crying and thinking about you, and wondering what had become of you, and oh! so frightened lest you should be dead--drowned, or frozen, or something; and in the stormy nights all that long winter I never could sleep for fear you might be out in the frost and cold, without a home or friends. Oh, Georgia! I did feel so restless and miserable all that winter, for fear, while I was warm and sheltered, you might be lying in the bleak streets cold and dead." And little Emily sobbed.

"Dear little Emily!" said Georgia, kissing her.

"And, oh, it is so nice to think you have become a devout Christian,"

said Emily, changing from sobbing to laughing again, "and I am _so_ glad. Oh, dear me! how funny everything happens, to be sure. And Charley Wildair, too," pursued Emily; "I am sure I never thought _he_ would be a clergyman; but I am very, very glad. Oh, I am so happy," said Emily, laughing, and squeezing Georgia's waist, "that I don't know what to do with myself."

"Nor me neither, I don't now, railly," said Miss Jerusha, who was the very picture of composure.

"Dear Miss Jerusha," said Georgia caressingly, "and won't you forgive Richmond--he really does not merit your anger, and wants to be forgiven and be friends with you again so much. Please do."

"Oh, you must, Miss Jerusha, you know," said Emily, seizing her other hand, and putting her happy little face close up to hers, "it won't do to refuse a governor your pardon. You must forgive him, please--won't you, Miss Jerusha?"

"Well, now, I don't know," said Miss Jerusha, relentingly, "he did treat you dreffully, Georgey, but----"

"No, he didn't Miss Jerusha--just served her right," said Emily, "Georgia was naughty, I know, and didn't behave well. There, she forgives him--look, she's going to laugh. Oh, say yes, Miss Jerusha."

"Well, '_yes_' then; does that please you?" said Miss Jerusha, breaking into a grim smile.

"Dear Miss Jerusha, accept my best thanks for that," said Georgia, with radiant face, "and now, may I send Fly up for him to Richmond House, that he may hear your forgiveness from your own lips?"

"Well, yes, I s'pose so," said Miss Jerusha, rubbing her nose; "and see here, Georgey, while you're about it, I reckon you might as well send for that there brother o' your'n too; I turned him out o' doors once, and while I'm forgiving that there graceless husband o' your'n, I guess I'll get him to forgive _me_."

Georgia laughed, and went out to the kitchen to despatch Fly off on the errand.

"Perhaps I had better go," said Emily, timidly, "I--I think I'd rather.

It's so long since I met Mr. Wildair that I don't like to now."

"Pooh, nonsense," said Georgia laughing, "don't like to meet Mr.

Wildair, indeed! Not a step shall you go until they come, and besides, I want to make you acquainted with my poet brother, who is a handsome fellow!" and Georgia's eyes sparkled.

"Does he look like you, Georgia?" said Emily, meditatively.

"Not a bit; better looking," smiled Georgia. "And oh, Em, there's a particular friend of yours up at the hall, a certain Mr. Curtis, if you remember him."

"He's not a particular friend of mine," said Emily, pouting and blus.h.i.+ng. "I don't know anything about him. I wish he hadn't come."

"How flattered he would feel if he heard that. You refused him, didn't you, Emily?"

"Oh, Georgia, don't tease," said Emily, springing up and turning half pettishly away.

Georgia laughed, and silence for awhile fell on all three, broken at last by the sound of carriage wheels, and the next moment two tall gentleman stood in the little moonlit parlor with their hats off, and one of them stepping up to Miss Jerusha, extended his hand, and said, with a smile:

"Well, Miss Jerusha, am I forgiven at last?"

There was no resisting that frank tone and pleasant smile. Miss Jerusha looked meditatively at his proffered hand a moment, and then grasped it with an energy that made the governor of B---- wince, as she exclaimed:

"Well now, I railly don't think I ought, but Georgey says I shall hev to, and I s'pose I've got to mind her. Mr. Wildair, how d'ye du? I'm rail glad to hear they've made a governor of you, and I hope you'll behave better for the future, and be good to Georgey."

"I shall certainly try to; but, Miss Jerusha, I was almost as much sinned against as sinning. That malicious little cousin of mine, you know----"

"Oh, I know; Georgey told me. Well, she won't interfere again, I reckon--a impident little whipper-snapper, speaking as sa.s.sy to Georgey as if she was mistress herself, and allers grinnin' like a chessy cat."

"And has Miss Jerusha no greeting for me? Has she forgotten the little boy who paid her a visit one stormy Christmas eve long ago?" said Warren, as he advanced smilingly, shaking back his dark, cl.u.s.tering hair.

"My conscience! you ain't he, are you? Tall as a flagstaff, I declare!

Forget you--no I guess I don't. I did behave most dreadfully that night to turn you out; but gracious! I knew you wouldn't freeze or nothin', and neither you did, you see."

"No I am frost-proof," said Warren, laughing; "but I owe you a long debt of grat.i.tude for the care you took of this wild sister of mine all those years, Miss Jerusha. Come," he said, extending his hand, "we shall be good friends now, shall we not?"

"That we shall," said Miss Jerusha, cordially shaking the hand he extended. "My, to think the little feller I turned out that night should come back sich a six-footer, and rail good-looking, too, now ain't he, Emily? Why, you weren't the size of a well-grown doughnut then, you know. Good gracious! jist to think how funny things _will_ turn out.

'Clare to man, if it ain't the queerest world I ever heerd tell of!"

Miss Jerusha wiped her spectacles meditatively, and gave a small, mottled kitten who came purring round her a thoughtful kick.

"Hallo!" said Richmond, picking it up. "One of Betsey Periwinkle's. How is that intelligent domestic quadruped, Miss Jerusha? She and I used to be tremendous friends long ago, you know."

"Yes, I know; she was no ways proud, and made friends with most people,"

said Miss Jerusha, complacently; "that's Betsey's youngest. She's raised several small families since, and is beginning to fall into the old ages o' life now. Ah, well! sich things must be expected; everybody gets old, you know--even Betsey Periwinkle."

Very swiftly pa.s.sed that evening. It seemed as if the old happy days had come back--those unclouded days, when no shadow of the darkness to come had yet risen on horizon. Only one face was needed there to complete the circle, one voice to complete the charm; but that bright young head lay low now, the tall gra.s.s waved over that familiar face, and that clear, spirited voice was silenced forever. Tears sprang to Miss Jerusha's hard gray eyes, as she listened to the tale of the n.o.ble life and early death of her light-hearted favorite, and little Emily sobbed.

"You must give up this little cottage, Miss Jerusha," said Richmond, before they left that evening, "and come and live with Georgia and me.

Once upon a time you admired Richmond House, and now you must make it your home."

"Do, Miss Jerusha! Oh, dear Miss Jerusha, do!" cried Georgia, eagerly; "it will make me so happy to have you always near me. And you shall bring Fly and Betsey Periwinkle and all the little Betseys, and we will be ever so happy together."

But Miss Jerusha shook her head.