Vashti Part 76

One bright balmy spring morning previous to the day appointed for Muriel's marriage, and for her guardian's departure for the fleet in Asiatic waters, where he had been a.s.signed to duty, Dr. Grey drove up the avenue of elms and maples that led to Salome's pretty villa; and as he ascended the steps, Jessie sprang into his arms, and almost smothered him with caresses.

"Oh, doctor! something so wonderful has happened,--you never could guess, and I am as happy as a bee in a woodbine. Sister will tell you."

"Where is she?"

"In the parlor, waiting for you."

The child ran off to join Stanley, who was trying a new pony in the yard, and Dr. Grey went into the cool fragrant room, which was fitted up with more taste than in earlier years he would have ascribed to its owner.

Salome sat before the open piano, and at his entrance raised her face, which had been bowed almost to the ivory keys.

"Good morning, Dr. Grey. I am glad you have come to rejoice with me, and I was just thanking G.o.d for the unexpected restoration of my voice. Once when it seemed so necessary to me. He suddenly took it from me; and now, when it is a mere luxury to own it, He as unexpectedly gives it to me once more. Verily,--strange as it may appear, my voice is really better than when Professor V---- p.r.o.nounced it the first contralto in Europe."

She had risen to greet him, and as he retained her hand in his, she stood close to him, looking earnestly into his face.

There were tears hanging like tremulous dewdrops on the long jet under-lashes,--and the bright red in her polished cheeks, and the crimson curves of her parted lips made a picture pleasant to contemplate.

"My dear child, I do indeed cordially congratulate you. G.o.d saw that your voice might possibly prove a snare and a curse, by ministering to false pride and exaggerated vanity, and in mercy and wisdom He temporarily deprived you of an instrument that threatened you with danger. Now that you are stronger, more prudent, and patient, He trusts you again with one of the choicest blessings that can be conferred on a woman. You have deserved to recover it, and I joyfully unite my thanks with yours. Let me hear your voice once more."

Trembling with excess of happiness, she sat down and sang feelingly, eloquently, her favorite "_O mon Fernand_;" and, as he listened, Dr.

Grey looked almost wonderingly at the beautiful flas.h.i.+ng face, that had never seemed half so radiant before. There was marvellous witchery in her rich round flexible tones, that wound into the holy-of-holies of the man's great heart, and elevated his thoughts above the dross and dust of earth.

When she ended, he placed his soft palm tenderly on her head, and smoothed the glossy hair.

"I thank you inexpressibly. Sometimes when sad memories oppress me, how I shall long to have you charm them away by that magical spell that bears my thoughts from this world to the next. There are some songs which you must learn for my sake."

Ah! at that moment, as she stood there robed in a soft stainless white muslin, with a cl.u.s.ter of double pomegranate flowers glowing in her silky hair, the girl was very lovely, very attractive, so full of youthful grace, so winning in her beautiful enthusiasm,--yet Ulpian Grey's heart did not wander for an instant from one who slept dreamlessly under the sculptured urn on the marble altar of the mausoleum.

"Why are the dead not dead? Who can undo What time hath done? Who can win back the wind?

Beckon lost music from a broken lute?

Renew the redness of a last year's rose?

Or dig the sunken sunset from the deep?"

"Dr. Grey, if my voice can chase away one vexing thought, one wearying care or melancholy memory, I shall feel that I have additional reason to thank G.o.d for the precious gift."

"I have not seen you look so happy for three years. Indeed, my little sister, you have much for which to be grateful, and in the midst of your blessings try to recollect those grand words of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, 'The soul is a G.o.d in exile.' My child, look to it that your expatriation ends with the sh.o.r.es of time, for--

'Yea, this is life; make this forenoon sublime, This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer, And time is conquered, and thy crown is won.'"

For some seconds Salome did not speak, for the shadow on his countenance fell upon her heart, and looking reverently up at him, she thought of Richter's mournful _dictum_,--"Great souls attract sorrows, as mountains tempests."

"Dr. Grey, want of patience is the cause of half my difficulties and defeats, and plunges me continually into the slough of distrust and rebellious questioning. I find it so hard to stand still, and let G.o.d do his will, and work in his own way."

"My dear Salome, patience is only practical faith, and the want of it causes two-thirds of the world's woes. I often find it necessary to humble my own pride, and tame my restless spirit by recurring to the last words of Schiller, 'Calmer and calmer! many difficult things are growing plain and clear to me. Let us be patient.' Child, sing me one song more, and then come out and show me where you propose to place those grape-arbors we spoke of yesterday. This is the last opportunity I shall have to direct your workmen."

An hour later Salome fastened a sprig of Grand Duke jasmine in the b.u.t.ton-hole of his coat,--shook hands with him for the day, and though she smiled in recognition of his final bow as he drove down the avenue, her thoughts were busy with the dreaded separation that awaited her on the morrow and, while her lips were mute, the cry of her heart was,--

... "O Beloved, it is plain I am not of thy worth, nor for thy place.

And yet because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love,--and yet in vain,-- To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face."

Dr. Grey spent the remainder of the day in visiting his patients, and as he rode from cottage to hovel, bidding adieu to those whose lives had so often been committed to his professional guardians.h.i.+p, he was received with tearful eyes, and trembling hands; and numerous benedictions were invoked upon his head.

Silver threads were beginning to weave an aureola in his chestnut hair, and the smooth white forehead showed incipient furrows, but the deep blue eyes were as tranquil and trusting as of yore, and full of tenderer light for the few he loved, for all in suffering and bereavement.

With a sublime and increasing faith in the overruling wisdom and mercy of G.o.d, he patiently and hopefully bore his loneliness and grievous loss,--comforting himself with the a.s.surance that, "the evening of life brings with it its lamp;" and looking eagle-eyed across the storm-drenched plain of the present to the gleaming jasper walls of the Eternal Beyond.

... "My wine has run Indeed out of my cup, and there is none To gather up the bread of my repast Scattered and trampled,--yet I find some good In earth's green herbs, and streams that bubble up, Clear from the darkling ground,--content until I sit with angels before better food.

Dear Christ! when thy new vintage fills my cup, This hand shall shake no more, nor that wine spill."

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