"Oh! I have good news that will make me happy as long as I live. I shall soon see my child; and soon, very soon, all will be clear. Just now I cannot explain; but thank G.o.d for me that these letters came safely."

She rose, put back her hair, and rapidly glanced over two other letters, then walked to and fro, pondering the contents.

"Where is Mr. Waul?"

"Reading the papers in our room."

"Ask him to come to me at once."

She went to her desk, and wrote to General Laurance that letters received after their last interview compelled her to hasten to Paris, whither she had been recalled by a summons from the manager of the Theatre. She had determined, in accordance with his own earnestly expressed wishes, that from the day when the world knew her as Mrs.

Laurance it should behold her no more upon the stage; consequently she would hasten the arrangements for the presentation of her own play "_Infelice_," and after he had witnessed her rendition of the new _role_, she would confer with him regarding the day appointed for the celebration of their marriage. Until then, she positively declined seeing him, but enclosed a tress of her golden hair, and begged to hear from him frequently; adding directions that would insure the reception of his letters. Concluding she signed: "Odille Orme, hoping by the grace of G.o.d soon to subscribe myself--Laurance."

"Mr. Waul, I have unexpectedly altered my entire programme, and, instead of going to Paestum, must start at once to Paris. This fortunately is Tuesday, and the French steamer sails for Ma.r.s.eilles at three o'clock. Go down at once and arrange for our pa.s.sage, and be careful to let no one know by what route I leave Naples. On your way call at the telegraph office and see that this despatch is forwarded promptly; and do send me a close carriage immediately. I wish to avoid an unpleasant engagement, and shall drive to Torre del Greco, returning in time to meet you at the steamer instead of at this house. See that the baggage leaves here only time enough to be put aboard by three o'clock, and I shall not fail to join you there. When General Laurance calls, Mrs. Waul will instruct the servant to hand him the note, with the information that I have gone for a farewell drive around Naples."

Hurriedly completing her preparations, she entered the carriage, and was soon borne along the incomparably beautiful road that skirts the graceful curves of the Bay of Naples. But the glory of the sky, and the legendary charms of the picturesque scenery that surrounded her, appealed in vain to senses that were wrapped in the light of other days, that listened only to the new canticle which hope long dumb was now singing through all the sunny chambers of her heart.

Returning again and again to the perusal of the letters to a.s.sure herself that no contingency could arise to defraud her of her long-delayed recognition, she felt that the galling load of half her life had suddenly slipped from her weary shoulders; and the world and the future wore that magic radiance which greeted Miriam, as singing she looked back upon the destruction escaped, and on toward the redeemed inheritance awaiting her.

Reunion with her child, and the triumphant establishment of her unsullied parentage, glowed as the silver stars in her new sky; while a baleful lurid haze surrounded the thought of that dire punishment she was enabled to inflict upon the men who had trampled her prayers beneath their iron heels.

She recalled the image of the swarthy, supercilious, be-diamonded woman who sat that memorable night in the minister's box, claiming as husband the listless handsome man at her side; and as she pictured the dismay which would follow the sudden rending of the name of Laurance from the banker's daughter, and her helpless child, Mrs.

Orme laughed aloud.

Slowly the day wore on, and General Laurance failed to call at the appointed hour to arrange the preliminaries of his marriage. His servant brought a note, which Mrs. Orme read when she reached the steamer, informing her that sudden and severe indisposition confined him to his bed, and requested an interview on the ensuing morning.

Mrs. Waul had received the note and despatched in return that given her by her mistress.

In the magical glow of that cloudless golden afternoon Mrs. Orme saw the outlines of St. Elmo fade away, Capri vanish like a purple mist, Ischia and Procida melt insensibly into the blue of the marvellous bay; and watching the spark which trembled on the distant summit of Vesuvius like the dying eye of that cruel destiny from which she fled, the rescued happy woman exulted in the belief that she was at last sailing through serene seas.

Dreaming of her child, whose pure image hovered in the mirage hope wove before her--

"She seemed all earthly matters to forget, Of all tormenting lines her face was clear, Her wide brown eyes upon the goal were set, Calm and unmoved as though no foe were near."

CHAPTER x.x.x.

Since the memorable day of Regina's visit to Central Park many weeks had elapsed, and one wild stormy evening in March she sat at the library table writing her translation of a portion of "Egmont."

The storm--now of sleet, now of snow--darkened the air, and the globes of the chandelier representing Pompeian lamps were lighted above the oval table, shedding a bright yet mellow glow over the warm quiet room.

Upon a bronze console stood a terra-cotta jar containing a white azalea in full bloom, and the fragrance of the flowers breathed like a benediction on the atmosphere; while in the tall gla.s.s beneath Mrs.

Orme's portrait two half-blown snowy camellias nestled amid a fringe of geranium leaves.

Close to the fire, with her feet upon a Persian patterned cushion, Olga reclined in the luxurious easy chair that belonged to Mr.

Palma's writing desk, and open on her lap lay a volume ent.i.tled "The Service of the Poor." The former brilliancy of her complexion seemed to have forsaken her for ever, banished by a settled sallowness; and she looked thin, feeble, dejected, pa.s.sing her fingers abstractedly through the short curling ruddy hair that cl.u.s.tered around her forehead and upon her neck.

As if weary of the thoughts suggested by her book, she turned and looked at the figure writing under the chandelier, and by degrees she realized the change in the countenance, which three months before had been pure, serene, and bright as a moonbeam.

The keen and prolonged anguish which Regina had endured left its shadow, faint, vague, but unmistakable; and in the eyes lay gloom, and around the mouth patient yet melancholy lines, which hinted of a bitter struggle in which the calm-hearted girl died, and the wiser, sadder woman was born.

Her grief had been silent but deep for the loss of the dear friend who symbolized for her all that was n.o.ble, heroic, and G.o.dly in human nature; and her suffering was not a.s.suaged by letters from Mrs.

Lindsay, furnishing the sorrowful details of the last illness of the minister, and the dying words of tender devotion to the young girl whom he believed his betrothed bride.

Over these harrowing letters she had wept long and bitterly, accusing herself continually of her unworthiness in allowing another image to usurp the throne where the missionary should have reigned supreme; and the only consolation afforded was in the reflection that Dougla.s.s had died believing her faithful, happy in the perfect trust reposed in her. He had been buried on a sunny slope of the cemetery not far from the blue waves of the Pacific, and his mother remained in San Francisco with her sister, in whose house Mr. Lindsay had quietly breathed his life away, dying as he had lived, full of hope in Christ and trust in G.o.d.

Mrs. Palma and Olga only knew that Regina had lost a dear friend whom she had not seen for years, and none but her guardian understood the nature of the sacred tie that bound them.

Day and night she was haunted by memories of the kind face never more to be seen this side of the City of Peace, and when at length she received a photograph taken after death, in which, wan and emaciated, he seemed sleeping soundly, she felt that her life could never again be quite the same, and that the grey shadowy wings of Regret drooped low over her future pathway.

Accompanying the photograph was a brief yet loving note written by Mr. Lindsay the evening before his death; and to it were appended the lines from "Jacqueline":

"Nor shall I leave thee wholly. I shall be-- An evening thought,--a morning dream to thee,-- A silence in thy life, when through the night, The bell strikes, or the sun with sinking light, Smites all the empty windows. As there sprout Daisies, and dimpling tufts of violets, out Among the gra.s.s where some corpse lies asleep, So round thy life, where I lie buried deep, A thousand little tender thoughts shall spring, A thousand gentle memories wind and cling."

As if the opal were a talisman against the revival of reflections that seemed an insult to the dead, Regina wore the ring constantly; and whenever a thrill warned her of the old madness, her right hand caressed the jewels, seeking from their touch a renewal of strength.

Studiously she manoeuvred to avoid even casual meetings with her guardian, and except at the table, and in the presence of the family, she had not seen him for several weeks. Business engagements occupied him very closely; he was called away to Albany, to Boston, and once to Philadelphia, but no farewells were exchanged with his ward, and as if conscious of her sedulous efforts to avoid him, he appeared almost to ignore her presence.

During these sad days the girl made no attempt to a.n.a.lyze the estrangement which she felt was hourly increasing between them. She presumed he disapproved of her resolution to accept Mr. Lindsay, because he was poor, and offered no brilliant worldly advantages, such as her guardian had been trained to regard as paramount inducements in the grave matter of marriage; and secluding herself as much as possible she fought her battle with grief and remorse as best she might, unaided by sympathy. If she could only escape from that house, with her secret undiscovered, she thought that in time she would crush her folly and reinstate herself in her own respect.

After several interviews with Mr. Palma, the details of which Olga communicated to no one, she had consented to hold her scheme of the "Sisterhood" in abeyance for twelve months, and to accompany her mother to Europe, whither she had formerly been eager to travel; and Mrs. Palma, in accordance with instructions from her stepson, had perfected her preparations, so as to be able to leave New York at a day's notice.

Mrs. Carew had returned to the city, and now and then Mr. Palma mentioned her name, and delivered messages from her to his stepmother; but Olga abstained from her old badinage, and Regina imagined that her forbearance sprang from a knowledge of the engagement which she supposed must exist between them. She could not hear her name without a shiver of pain, and longed to get away before the affair a.s.sumed a sufficiently decided form to compel her to notice and discuss it. To-day, after watching her for some time, Olga said:

"You are weary, and pale almost to ghastliness. Put away your books, and come talk to me."

Regina sighed, laid down her pen, and came to the fireplace.

"I thought you promised to go very early to Mrs. St. Clare's and a.s.sist Valeria in arranging her bridal veil?"

"So I did, and it will soon be time for me to dress. How I dislike to go back into the gay world, where I have frisked so recklessly and so long. Do you know I long for the hour when I shall end this masquerade, and exchange silks and lace and jewellery for coa.r.s.e blue gown, blue ap.r.o.n, and white cap?"

"Do you imagine the colour of your garments will change the complexion of your heart and mind? You remind me of Alexander's comment upon Antipater: 'Outwardly Antipater wears only white clothes, but within he is all purple.'"

"Ah! but my purple pride has been utterly dethroned, and it seems to me now that when I find rest in cloistered duties the quiet sacred seclusion will prove in some degree like the well _Zem-Zem_, in which Gabriel washed Mohammed's heart, filled it with faith, and restored it to his bosom. Until I am housed safely from the roar and gibes and mockery of the world, I shall not grow better; for here

'G.o.d sends me back my prayers, as a father Returns unoped the letters of a son Who has dishonoured him.'

"To conquer the world is n.o.bler than to shun it, and to a nature such as yours, Olga, other lines in that poem ought to appeal with peculiar force:

'If thy rich heart is like a palace shattered, Stand up amid the ruins of thy heart, And with a calm brow front the solemn stars-- A brave soul is a thing which all things serve.'"

The scheme which you are revolving now is one utterly antagonistic to the wishes of your mother, and G.o.d would not bless a step which involved the sacrifice of your duty to her."

"After a time mamma will approve; till then I shall be patient. She has consented for me to go to the Mother House at Kaiserswerth, and to some of the Deaconess establishments in Paris and Dresden, in order that I may become thoroughly acquainted with the esoteric working of the system. I am anxious also to visit the inst.i.tution for training nurses at Liverpool, and unless we sail directly for Havre, we shall soon have an opportunity of gratifying my wishes."

Regina took the book from her hand, turned over the leaves, and read: