"Clara Van Zandt, no thank you! I would not give Regina's pure face and sweet violet eyes for all the other feminine flesh in New York!"

Had his attention been fixed just then upon Mr. Palma, he might have detected the sudden flash in his black eyes, and the nervous clenching of his right hand that rested on the arm of the chair; but the younger man was absorbed by his own emotions, and very soon his cousin rose.

"In future we will not discuss this folly. At present, please recollect that my ward's face has not yet been offered in the matrimonial market; consequently your bid is premature. Those papers I spoke of must be prepared as early as possible in the morning, and submitted to me for revision. Be careful in copying the record. Have a cigar? I shall not be back before dark."

The happiest hours Regina had known during her residence in New York had been spent in the room where she now sat; a bas.e.m.e.nt room with low ceiling, and faded olive-tinted walls. The furniture was limited to an old-fashioned square table of mahogany, rich with that colour which comes only from the mellowing touch of age, and polished until it reflected the goblet of white and crimson phlox, which Regina had placed in the centre; a few chairs, some swinging shelves filled with books, and a couch or lounge covered with pink and white chintz, whereon lay a pillow with a freshly ironed linen case, whose ruffled edges were crisply fluted.

Upon the whitewashed hearth were several earthen pots, filled with odorous geraniums; and over the two windows that opened on a narrow border of ground between the house wall and the street were carefully trained a solanum jasminoides white with waxen stars, and an abutilor, whose orange bells striped and veined with scarlet, swung in every breath of air that fluttered the spotless white cotton curtains, so daintily trimmed with a calico border of rose-coloured convolvulus. In the morning when the sun shone hot upon the front of the building, this room was very bright and cheerful, but its afternoon aspect was dim, cool, shadowy. A gentle breeze now floated across a bunch of claret-hued carnations growing in a wooden box on the window-sill, which was on a level with the ground outside, and brought on its waves that subtle spiciness that dwells only in the deep heart of pinks.

In an old-fashioned maplewood rocking chair sat Mrs. Mason, with her wasted and almost transparent hands resting on her open Bible. The faded face which in early years had boasted of unusual comeliness, bore traces of severe sorrows meekly borne; and the patient sweetness that sat on the lip, and smiled serenely in the mild grey eyes, invested it with that irresistible charm that occasionally renders ripe old age more attractive than flushing dimpled youth. Her hair, originally pale brown, was as snow-white as the tarlatan cap that now framed it in a crimped border; and her l.u.s.treless black dress was relieved at the neck and wrists by ruffles of the same material.

On the Bible lay her spectacles, and upon the third finger of the left hand was a gold ring, worn so thin that it was a mere glittering thread.

Near her sat Regina, playing with a large white and yellow cat that now and then sprang to catch a spray of lemon-scented geranium, which was swung teasingly just beyond the reach of her velvet paws.

"I am glad, my dear, to hear you speak so kindly of the members of your guardian's family. I have never yet seen that person who had not some redeeming trait. Many years ago, I knew Louise Neville very well. She was then the handsome happy bride of a young naval officer, who was soon after drowned in the Bay of Biscay; before the birth of their only child, Olga. At first Louise seemed heart-broken by the loss of her husband, but not more than two years afterward she married Mr. G.o.dwin Palma, who was reputed very wealthy. I have not seen her since Olga was a child, but have heard that her second husband was an exceedingly stem, exacting man; treating her with far less tenderness than she received from poor Leo Neville, who was certainly very fond of her. Mr. G.o.dwin Palma died suddenly one day, while riding down in his carriage to his office on Wall Street, but he had made a will only a few weeks previous, in which he bequeathed all his fortune--except a small annuity to Louise--to his son Erle, whose own mother had possessed a handsome estate. Louise contested the will, but the court sustained it; and I have heard that Mr. Erle Palma has always treated her with marked kindness and respect, and that he provides liberally for her and Olga. Louise is a proud, ambitious woman, fond of pomp and splendour; but in those tastes she was educated, and I always liked her, valued her kindness of heart, and strict integrity of purpose."

"You do not know my guardian?"

"I never met him till the day he brought you first to see me, and I was surprised to find him so comparatively young a man, for he is rapidly building up a very enviable reputation in his profession. He has been quite generous in his treatment of some relatives, who were at one time much reduced. His father's sister, Julia Palma, married a dissipated young physician named Roscoe, and your guardian has almost entirely educated one of the boys; sent him to college, and then took him into his law-office, besides a.s.sisting in the maintenance of Mrs.

Roscoe, who died about three years ago. Regina, I had a letter from Elise Lindsay since you were here. She sends kindest messages of love to you, and says you must not allow new friends to supplant old ones.

She mentioned also that the climate of India did not seem very desirable for Dougla.s.s, who has been quite sick more than once since his settlement in Rohilcund. I am glad that Elise has gone to Dougla.s.s, for his father died of consumption, and I always feared he might have inherited the tendency, though his const.i.tution seems tolerably good. After Peyton's death, she had nothing to keep her from her n.o.ble boy. G.o.d grant that India may never prove as fatal to all her earthly hopes as it has been to mine."

A spasm of pain made her gentle patient face quiver, and Regina remembered that Mrs. Mason's only daughter had married a gentleman connected with the English Board of Missions, and with her husband and babe perished in the Sepoy butchery.

Dropping the fragrant geranium sprig that so tormented the cat, the girl's fingers interlaced tightly, and she asked almost under her breath:

"Is Mr. Lindsay's health seriously impaired?"

"I hope not Elise merely said he had had two severe attacks of pneumonia, and it rendered her anxious. No man of his age ranks higher in the ministry than Dougla.s.s Lindsay, and as an Oriental scholar I am told he has few equals in this country. His death would be a great loss to his church, and----"

"Oh, do not speak of it! How can you? It would kill his mother,"

cried Regina, pa.s.sionately, clasping her hands across her eyes, as if to shut out some horrible vision.

"Let us pray G.o.d to mercifully avert such a heavy blow. But, my dear, keep this in mind: with terrible bereavement comes the strength to bear it. The strength of endurance,--a strength born only in the darkest hours of a soul's anguish; and at last when affliction has done its worst, and all earthly hope is dead, patience with tender grace and gentle healing mutely sits down in hope's vacant place.

To-day I found a pa.s.sage in a new book that impressed me as beautiful, strong, and true. Would you like to hear it?"

"If it will teach me patience, please let me hear it."

"Give me the book lying on the lounge."

She opened it, put on her spectacles, and read:

"There is the peace of surrendered, as well as of fulfilled, hopes,--the peace, not of satisfied, but of extinguished longings,--the peace, not of the happy love and the secure fireside, but of unmurmuring and accepted loneliness,--the peace, not of the heart which lives in joyful serenity afar from trouble and from strife, but of the heart whose conflicts are over, and whose hopes are buried,--the peace of the pa.s.sionless as well as the peace of the happy;--not the peace which brooded over Eden, but that which crowned Gethsemane.'"

"My dear Regina, only religion brings this blessed calm; this is indeed that promised 'Peace that pa.s.seth all understanding,' and therefore we would all do well to heed the words of Isaiah: 'Their strength is to sit still.'"

Looking reverently up at her pale, worn placid face, the girl thought it might have been considered a psalm of renunciation. Almost sorrowfully she answered:

"I begin to see that there is far more shadow than sunshine in this world; the night is longer than the day."

"You are too young to realize such solemn things, and should endeavour to catch all the dew of life that glistens within your reach; for the withering heat of the noon will come soon enough to even the most favoured. An erroneous impression has too long prevailed, that religious fervour, and a cheerful, hopeful, happy spirit are incompatible; that devoutness manifests itself in a lugubrious or at least solemn visage, and that a joyous mirthful temperament is closely allied to 'the world, the flesh, and the devil.' A more mischievous fallacy never found favour. Innocent happiness in our hearts is acceptable worship to our G.o.d, who has given us the language of joy, as He gave to birds the power of song.

In the universal canticle which nature sends up to its Creator, shall humanity, the n.o.blest of the marvellous mechanism, alone be silent?

The innocent joyousness of a pure heart is better than incense swung in the temples of the Lord."

"Mrs. Mason, I wish to consult you on a subject that has given me some anxiety. Would you approve of my attending the theatre and opera? I have never yet gone, because I think neither Mr. Hargrove nor Mr. Lindsay would have advised me to do so; and I am perplexed about the matter, for Mr. Palma says that next winter he shall insist on my seeing the best plays and operas. What ought I to do?"

"If you were a member of any church, which expressly prohibited such amus.e.m.e.nts, I should say, do not infringe the rules which you voluntarily promised to respect and obey; but as yet you have taken no ecclesiastical vows. Habitual attendance upon such scenes as you refer to is very apt, I think, to vitiate the healthful tone of one's thoughts and feelings, but an occasional visit would probably injure none but very weak minds. Your guardian is, I daresay, a prudent judicious man, and would be careful in selecting plays that could offend neither morality nor delicacy. There are many things upon the stage which are sinful, vicious, and vulgar, but there are hundreds of books quite as bad and dangerous. As we choose only the best volumes to read, so be sure to select only pure plays and operas.

'Lear' would teach you the awful results of filial disobedience; 'Merchant of Venice,' the sin of avarice; 'Julius Caesar' that of unsanctified ambition. There are threads of wisdom, patience, charity, and heroism which might be gathered from the dramatic spindle, and woven advantageously into the garment of our daily lives and thoughts. There is a marvellous pathos, fervour, sanct.i.ty, in the 'Casta Diva' of 'Norma' that appeals to my soul, as scarcely any other piece of music ever has done; and I really should be glad to hear it played on the organ every Sunday morning. Why? Because I recognize in it the spirit of prayer from a tortured erring human soul invoking celestial aid, and to me it is no longer a pagan Druid song, trilled by the popular Prima-Donna at the Academy of Music, but a hymn to the Heavenly powers, as consecrated as an _Ave Maria_, or as Rossini's 'Inflammatus.' Are we lower than the bees, who wisely discriminate between pure honey and poisonous sweets? Touching these things, Lowell has n.o.bly set us an example of

'Pleading for whatsoever touches life With upward impulse: be He nowhere else, G.o.d is in all that liberates and lifts, In all that humbles, sweetens, and consoles,'

I think that in the matters you mention, you may safely defer to your guardian's wishes, bearing always in mind this fact, that he professes no religious faith; and praying G.o.d's Holy Spirit to guide you, and keep your heart faithful and pure."

Regina longed to ask something more explicit concerning the stage, but the thought of her mother peremptorily forbade a discussion that seemed to imply censure of her profession.

"There is the bell for service. Are you not going to church this afternoon?"

"No, dear, I am not very well; and besides, I promised to stay at home, and see a poor old friend, who has no time to visit during the week, and is just now in great affliction. You are not afraid to go alone?"

"Not afraid, Mrs. Mason, still I wish you could go with me. When you answer dear Mrs. Lindsay's letter ask her not to forget me, and tell her I am trying to do right in all things, as far as I can see my way. Good-bye, Mrs. Mason."

She bent her head, so that the faded placid lips could kiss her cheek, and went out into the quiet street.

Instead of turning homeward, she hastened in an opposite direction, toward a small brick church whose bell was ringing, and whose afternoon service she had several times attended with Mrs. Mason.

Walking more slowly as she approached the building, she had not yet reached it, when steps which she had heard behind her for several minutes, paused at her side.

"Regina, is this the way home?"

"Good-evening, Mr. Palma. I am going to church."

Although he had been absent a week he did not even offer his hand, and it never occurred to her to remind him of the omission.

"Are you in the habit of coming here alone? If so, your visits to this neighbourhood cease."

"Mrs. Mason has always accompanied me until this after noon, and as she could not leave home I came alone."

"I prefer you should not attend strange churches without a companion, and now I will see you safely home."

She looked up, saw a few persons ascending the broad steps, and her soul rose in rebellion;

"What possible harm can overtake me in G.o.d's house? Don't try to stand between me and my duty."

"Do you not consider obedience to my wishes part of your duty?"

"Sometimes, sir; but not when it conflicts with my conscience."

"What is conscience?"