Moods
"Just the age; a man should always be ten years older than his wife. A
woman of thirty-five is in the prime of life, and if she hasn't arrived
at years of discretion then, she never will. Shall I wear pearl-colored
silk and a white bonnet, or just a very handsome travelling dress?"
"Whichever you like. But, Prue, isn't he rather stout, I won't say
corpulent?"
"Sylvia, how can you! Because papa is a shadow, you call a fine, manly
person like Gam--Mr. Bliss, corpulent. I always said I would _not_ marry
an invalid, (Macgregor died of apoplexy last week, I heard, at a small
dinner party; fell forward with his head upon the cheese, and expired
without a groan,) and where can you find a more robust and healthy man
than Mr. Bliss? Not a gray hair, and gout his only complaint. So
aristocratic. You know I've loads of fine old flannel, just the thing
for him."
Sylvia commanded her countenance with difficulty, and went on with her
maternal inquiries.
"He is a personable man, and an excellent one, I believe, yet I should
rather dread the responsibility of nine small children, if I were you."
"They are my chief inducement to the match. Just think of the state
those dears must be in, with only a young governess, and half a dozen
giddy maids to see to them. I long to be among them, and named an early
day, because measles and scarlatina are coming round again, and only
Fanny, and the twins, Gus and Gam, have had either. I know all their
names and ages, dispositions, and characters, and love them like a
mother already. He perfectly adores them, and that is very charming in a
learned man like Mr. Bliss."
"If that is your feeling it will all go well I have no doubt. But,
Prue,--I don't wish to be unkind, dear,--do you quite like the idea of
being the fourth Mrs. Bliss?"
"Bless me, I never thought of that! Poor man, it only shows how much he
must need consolation, and proves how good a husband he must have been.
No, Sylvia, I don't care a particle. I never knew those estimable
ladies, and the memory of them shall not keep me from making Gamaliel
happy if I can. What he goes through now is almost beyond belief. My
child, just think!--the coachman drinks; the cook has tea-parties
whenever she likes, and supports her brother's family out of her
perquisites, as she calls her bare-faced thefts; the house maids romp
with the indoor man, and have endless followers; three old maids set
their caps at him, and that hussy, (I must use a strong expression,)
that hussy of a governess makes love to him before the children. It is
my duty to marry him; I shall do it, and put an end to this fearful
state of things."
Sylvia asked but one more question--
"Now, seriously, do you love him very much? Will he make you as happy as
my dear old girl should be?"
Prue dropped her work, and hiding her face on Sylvia's shoulder,
answered with a plaintive sniff or two, and much real feeling--
"Yes, my dear, I do. I tried to love him, and I did not fail. I shall be
happy, for I shall be busy. I am not needed here any more, and so I am
glad to go away into a home of my own, feeling sure that you can fill my
place; and Maria knows my ways too well to let things go amiss. Now,
kiss me, and smooth my collar, for papa may call me down."
The sisters embraced and cried a little, as women usually find it
necessary to do at such interesting times; then fell to planning the
wedding outfit, and deciding between the "light silk and white bonnet,"
or the "handsome travelling suit."
Miss Yule made a great sacrifice to the proprieties by relinquishing her
desire for a stately wedding, and much to Sylvia's surprise and relief,
insisted that, as the family was then situated, it was best to have no
stir or parade, but to be married quietly at church and slip
unostentatiously out of the old life into the new. Her will was law, and
as the elderly bridegroom felt that there was no time to spare, and the
measles continued to go about seeking whom they might devour, Prue did
not keep him waiting long. "Three weeks is very little time, and nothing
will be properly done, for one must have everything new when one is
married of course, and mantua-makers are but mortal women (exorbitant in
their charges this season, I assure you), so be patient, Gamaliel, and
spend the time in teaching my little ones to love me before I come."
"My dearest creature, I will." And well did the enamored gentleman
perform his promise.
Prue kept hers so punctually that she was married with the bastings in
her wedding gown and two dozen pocket-handkerchiefs still unhemmed;
facts which disturbed her even during the ceremony. A quiet time
throughout; and after a sober feast, a tearful farewell, Mrs. Gamaliel
Bliss departed, leaving a great void behind and carrying joy to the
heart of her spouse, comfort to the souls of the excited nine,
destruction to the "High Life Below Stairs," and order, peace, and
plenty to the realm over which she was to know a long and prosperous
reign.
Hardly had the excitement of this event subsided when another occurred
to keep Sylvia from melancholy and bring an added satisfaction to her
lonely days. Across the sea there came to her a little book, bearing her
name upon its title-page. Quaintly printed, and bound in some foreign
style, plain and unassuming without, but very rich within, for there she
found Warwick's Essays, and between each of these one of the poems from
Moor's Diary. Far away there in Switzerland they had devised this
pleasure for her, and done honor to the woman whom they both loved, by
dedicating to her the first fruits of their lives. "Alpen Rosen" was its
title, and none could have better suited it in Sylvia's eyes, for to her
Warwick was the Alps and Moor the roses. Each had helped the other;
Warwick's rugged prose gathered grace from Moor's poetry, and Moor's
smoothly flowing lines acquired power from Warwick's prose. Each had
given her his best, and very proud was Sylvia of the little book, over
which she pored day after day, living on and in it, eagerly collecting
all praises, resenting all censures, and thinking it the one perfect
volume in the world.
Others felt and acknowledged its worth as well, for though fashionable
libraries were not besieged by inquiries for it, and no short-lived
enthusiasm welcomed it, a place was found for it on many study tables,
where real work was done. Innocent girls sang the songs and loved the
poet, while thoughtful women, looking deeper, honored the man. Young men
received the Essays as brave protests against the evils of the times,
and old men felt their faith in honor and honesty revive. The wise saw
great promise in it, and the most critical could not deny its beauty and
its power.
Early in autumn arrived a fresh delight; and Jessie's little daughter
became peacemaker as well as idol. Mark forgave his enemies, and swore
eternal friendship with all mankind the first day of his baby's life;
and when his sister brought it to him he took both in his arms, making
atonement for many hasty words and hard thoughts by the broken whisper--
"I have two little Sylvias now."
This wonderful being absorbed both households, from grandpapa to the
deposed sovereign Tilly, whom Sylvia called her own, and kept much with
her; while Prue threatened to cause a rise in the price of stationery by
the daily and copious letters full of warning and advice which she sent,
feeling herself a mother in Israel among her tribe of nine, now safely
carried through the Red Sea of scarlatina. Happy faces made perpetual
sunshine round the little Sylvia, but to none was she so dear a boon as
to her young god-mother. Jessie became a trifle jealous of "old Sylvia,"
as she now called herself, for she almost lived in baby's nursery;
hurrying over in time to assist at its morning ablutions, hovering about
its crib when it slept, daily discovering beauties invisible even to its
mother's eyes, and working early and late on dainty garments, rich in
the embroidery which she now thanked Prue for teaching her against her
will. The touch of the baby hands seemed to heal her sore heart; the
sound of the baby voice, even when most unmusical, had a soothing effect
upon her nerves; the tender cares its helplessness demanded absorbed her
thoughts, and kept her happy in a new world whose delights she had never
known till now.
From this time a restful expression replaced the patient hopelessness
her face had worn before, and in the lullabys she sang the listeners
caught echoes of the cheerful voice they had never thought to hear
again. Gay she was not, but serene. Quiet was all she asked; and
shunning society seemed happiest to sit at home with baby and its gentle
mother, with Mark, now painting as if inspired, or with her father, who
relinquished business and devoted himself to her. A pleasant pause
seemed to have come after troublous days; a tranquil hush in which she
sat waiting for what time should bring her. But as she waited the woman
seemed to bloom more beautifully than the girl had done. Light and color
revisited her countenance clearer and deeper than of old; fine lines
ennobled features faulty in themselves; and the indescribable refinement
of a deep inward life made itself manifest in look, speech, and gesture,
giving promise of a gracious womanhood.
Mr. Yule augured well from this repose, and believed the dawning
loveliness to be a herald of returning love. He was thinking hopeful
thoughts one day as he sat writing to Moor, whose faithful correspondent
he had become, when Sylvia came in with one of the few notes she sent
her husband while away.
"Just in time. God bless me, child! what is it?"
Well might he exclaim, for in his daughter's face he saw an expression
which caused his hope to suddenly become a glad belief. Her lips smiled,
though in her eyes there lay a shadow which he could not comprehend, and
her answer did not enlighten him as she put her arm about his neck and
laid her slip of paper in his hand.
"Enclose my note, and send the letter; then, father, we will talk."
CHAPTER XX.
COME.
In a small Italian town not far from Rome, a traveller stood listening
to an account of a battle lately fought near by, in which the town had
suffered much, yet been forever honored in the eyes of its inhabitants,
by having been the headquarters of the Hero of Italy. An inquiry of the
traveller's concerning a countryman of whom he was in search, created a
sensation at the little inn, and elicited the story of the battle, one
incident of which was still the all-absorbing topic with the excited
villagers. This was the incident which one of the group related with the
dramatic effects of a language composed almost as much of gesture as of
words, and an audience as picturesque as could well be conceived.
While the fight was raging on the distant plain, a troop of marauding
Croats dashed into the town, whose defenders, although outnumbered,
contested every inch of ground, while slowly driven back toward the
convent, the despoiling of which was the object of the attack. This
convent was both hospital and refuge, for there were gathered women and
children, the sick, the wounded, and the old. To secure the safety of
these rather than of the sacred relics, the Italians were bent on
holding the town till the reinforcement for which they had sent could
come up. It was a question of time, and every moment brought nearer the
destruction of the helpless garrison, trembling behind the convent
walls. A brutal massacre was in store for them if no help came; and
remembering this the red-shirted Garibaldians fought as if they well
deserved their sobriquet of "Scarlet Demons."
Help did come, not from below, but from above. Suddenly a cannon
thundered royally, and down the narrow street rushed a deathful