CHAPTER XXIX.
"HOME SWEET HOME."
Edward approached the hall that afternoon with misgivings. A charge hadbeen brought against him, denied, and the denial defended with his life;but the charge was not disproved. And in this was the defect of the"code of honor." It died not because of its bloodiness but ofinadequacy. A correct aim could not be a satisfactory substitute forgood character nor good morals.
Was it his duty to furnish proof to his title to the name of gentleman?Or could he afford to look the world in the face with disdain and holdhimself above suspicion? The latter course was really his only choice.He had no proofs.
This would do for the world at large, but among intimates would itsuffice? He knew that nowhere in the world is the hearthstone moresacred than in the south, and how long would his welcome last, even atThe Hall, with his past unexplained? He would see! The first hesitancyof host or hostess, and he would be self-banished!
There was really no reason why he should remain in America; agents couldtransact what little business was his and look after Gerald's affairs.Nothing had changed within him; he was the same Edward Morgan, with thesame capacities for enjoyment.
But something had changed. He felt it with the mere thought of absence.What was it? As in answer to his mental question, there came behind himthe quick breath of a horse and turning he beheld Mary. She smiled inresponse to his bow. The next instant he had descended from his buggyand was waiting.
"May I ride with you?" Again the face of the girl lighted with pleasure.
"Of course. Get down, Jerry, and change places with Mr. Morgan." Jerrymade haste to obey. "Now, drop behind," she said to him, as Edwardseated himself by her side.
"You see I have accepted your invitation," he began, "only I did notcome as soon as I wished to, or I would have answered your kind note atonce in person. All are well, I trust?" Her face clouded.
"No. Mamma has become entirely blind--probably for all time. I have justbeen to telegraph Dr. Campbell to come to us. We will know to-morrow."He was greatly distressed.
"My visit is inopportune--I will turn back. No, I was going from TheHall to the general's; I can keep straight on."
"Indeed, you shall not, Mr. Morgan. Mamma is bearing up bravely, and youcan help so much to divert her mind if you tell her of your travels." Heassented readily. It was a novel sensation to find himself useful.
"To-morrow morning," she continued, "perhaps I can find time to go tothe general's--if you really want to go--"
"I do," he said. "My German friend, Virdow, has a theory he wishes todemonstrate and has asked me to find the dominate tones in a waterfall;I remembered the general's little cascade, and owing him a visit amgoing to discharge both duties. What a grand old man the general is!"
"Oh, indeed, yes. You do not know him, Mr. Morgan. If you could haveseen how he entered into your quarrel--" she blushed and hesitated. "Oh,what an outrage was that affair!"
"It is past, Miss Montjoy; think no more upon it. It was I who cost yourfather his seat in Congress. That is the lamentable feature."
"That is nothing," said the young girl, "compared with the mortificationand peril forced upon you. But you had friends--more than you dreamedof. The general says that the form of your note to Mr. Royson saved youa grave complication."
"You mean that I am indebted to Mr. Barksdale for that?"
"Yes. I love Mr. Barksdale; he is so manly and noble." Edward smiledupon her; he was not jealous of that kind of love.
"He is certainly a fine character--the best product of the new south, Itake it. I have neglected to thank him for his good offices. I shallcall upon him when I return."
"And," she said in a low tone, "of course you will assure the general ofyour gratitude to-morrow. You owe him more than you suspect. I would nothave you fail there."
"And why would you dislike to have me fail?" She blushed furiously whenshe realized how she had become involved, but she met his questioninggaze bravely.
"You forget that I introduced you as my friend, and one does not likefor friends to show up in a bad light."
He fell into moody silence, from which with difficulty only he couldbring himself to reply to questions as she led the way from personalgrounds. The Hall saved him from absolute disgrace.
In the darkened sitting-room was Mrs. Montjoy when the girl and theyoung man entered. She lifted her bandaged eyes to the door as she heardtheir voices in the hall.
"Mamma, here is Mr. Morgan," said Mary. The family had instinctivelyagreed upon a cheerful tone; the great oculist was coming; it was but aquestion of time when blessed sight would return again. The colonelraised himself from the lounge where he had been dozing and cameforward. Edward could not detect in his grave courtesy the slightestdeviation of manner. He welcomed him smilingly and inquired of Gerald.And then, continuing into the room, the young man took the soft hand ofthe elder woman. She placed the other on his and said with that singulardisregard of words peculiar to the blind:
"I am glad to see you Mr. Morgan. We have been so distressed about you.I spent a wretched day and night thinking of your worry and danger."
"They are all over now, madam; but it is pleasant to know that myfriends were holding me up all the time. Naturally I was somewhatlonesome," he said, forcing a smile, "until the general came to myrescue." Then recollecting himself, he added: "But those hours were asnothing to this, madam. You cannot understand how distressed I was tolearn, as I have just now, of your illness." She patted his handaffectionately, after the manner of old ladies.
"Oh, yes, I can. Mary has told us of your offer to take us to Paris onthat account. I am sure sometimes that one's misfortunes fall heaviestupon friends."
"It is not too late," he said, earnestly. "If the colonel will keephouse and trust you with me, it is not too late. Really, I am almostobliged to visit Paris soon, and if--" he turned to the colonel at aloss for words. That gentleman had passed his hand over his forehead andwas looking away.
"You are more than kind, my young friend," he said, sadly: "more thankind. We will see Campbell. If it is necessary Mrs. Montjoy will go toParis."
Mary had been a silent witness of the little scene. She turned away tohide her emotion, fearful that her voice, if she spoke, would betrayher. The Duchess came in and climbed to grandma's lap and wound her armsaround the little woman. The colonel had resumed his seat when Marybrought in from the hall the precious violin and laid it upon the piano,waiting there until the conversation lagged.
"Mamma," she said, then, "Mr. Morgan has his violin; he was on his waythrough here to the general's when I intercepted him. I know you canrely upon him to play for us."
"As much and as often as desired," said Edward heartily. "I have afriend at home, an old professor with whom I studied in Germany, who isengaged in some experiments with vibration, and he has assigned merather a novel task--that is, I am to go over to the general's anddetermine the tone of a waterfall, for everything has its tone--yourwindow glass, your walking stick, even--and these will respond to thevibrations which make that tone. Young memories are born of vibration,and old airs bring back old thoughts." He arose and took the violin ashe talked.
If the presence of the silent sufferer was not sufficient to touch hisheart, there were the brown, smiling eyes of the girl whose fingers methis as he took the instrument. He played as never before. Something wentfrom him into the ripe, resonant instrument, something that even Virdowcould not have explained, and through the simple melodies he chose,affected his hearers deeply. Was it the loneliness of the man speakingto the loneliness of the silent woman, whose bandaged forehead restedupon one blue-veined hand? Or was it a new spring opened up by thebreath, the floating hair, the smooth contour of cheeks, the meltingdepths of brown eyes, the divine sympathy of the girl who played hisaccompaniments?
All the old music of the blind woman's girlhood had been carefully boundand preserved, as should all old music be when it has become a part ofour lives; and as this man with his subtle power awoke upon thatm
arvelous instrument the older melodies he gave life to the dreams ofher girlish heart. Just so had she played them--if not so true, yetfeelingly. By her side had stood a gallant black-haired youth, lookingdown into her face, reading more in her upturned eyes than her tonguehad ever uttered; eyes then liquid and dark with the light of lovebeaming from their depths; alas, to beam now no more forever! Love mustfind another speech. She reached out her hand and in eloquent silence itwas taken.
Silence drew them all back to earth. But behind the players, an oldman's face was bent upon the smooth soft hand of the woman, and eyesthat must some day see for both of them, left their tender tribute.
Edward Morgan linked himself to others in that hour with strandsstronger than steel. Even the little Duchess felt the charm and power ofthat violin in the hands of the artist. Wondering, she came to him andstretched up her little hands. He took her upon his knee then, and,holding the instrument under her chin and her hands in his, awoke alittle lullaby that had impressed him. As he sang the words, the girlsmiled into the faces of the company.
"Look, gamma," she said gleefully; "look!" And she, lifting her face,said gently:
"Yes, dear; gamma is looking." Mary's face was quickly averted; thehands of the colonel tightened upon the hand he held.
The Duchess had learned to sing "Rockaby Baby" and now she lifted herthin, piping voice, the player readily following, and sang sweetly allthe verses she could remember. Mary took her in her arms when tired, andEdward let the strains run on slower and softer. The eyes of the littleone drooped wearily, and then as the player, his gaze fixed upon thelittle scene, drifted away into "Home, Sweet Home," they closed insleep. The blind woman still sat with her hand in her husband's, hishead bent forward until his forehead rested upon it.