St. Elmo Part 36

Edna picked up the magazine which lay in one corner, and made her escape.

The gratification arising from the acceptance and prompt publication of her essay, was marred by Mr. Murray's sneering comments; but still her heart was happier than it had been for many weeks, and as she turned to the Editor's Table and read a few lines complimenting "the article of a new contributor," and promising another from the same pen for the ensuing month, her face flushed joyfully.

While she felt it difficult to realize that her writings had found favor in Mr. Manning's critical eyes, she thanked G.o.d that she was considered worthy of communicating; with her race through the medium of a magazine so influential and celebrated. She thought it probable that Mr. Manning had written her a few lines, and wondered whether at that moment a letter was not hidden in St. Elmo's pocket.

Taking the magazine, she went into Mrs. Murray's room, and found her resting on a lounge. Her face wore a troubled expression, and Edna saw traces of tears on the pillow.

"Come in, child; I was just thinking of you."

She put out her hand, drew the girl to a seat near the lounge, and sighed heavily.

"Dear Mrs. Murray, I am very, very happy, and I have come to make a confession and ask your congratulations."

She knelt down beside her, and, taking the white fingers of her benefactress, pressed her forehead against them.

"A confession, Edna! What have you done?"

Mrs. Murray started up and lifted the blus.h.i.+ng face.

"Some time ago you questioned me concerning some letters which excited your suspicion, and which I promised to explain at some future day. I dare say you will think me very presumptuous when I tell you that I have been aspiring to authors.h.i.+p; that I was corresponding with Mr. Manning on the subject of a MS. which I had sent for his examination, and now I have come to show you what I have been doing. You heard Mr. Murray read an essay this morning from the--Magazine, which he ridiculed very bitterly, but which Mr.

Manning at least thought worthy of a place in his pages. Mrs.

Murray, I wrote that article."

"Is it possible? Who a.s.sisted you--who revised it, Mr. Hammond? I did not suppose that you, my child, could ever write so elegantly, so gracefully."

"No one saw the MS. until Mr. Manning gave it to the printers. I wished to surprise Mr. Hammond, and therefore told him nothing of my ambitious scheme. I was very apprehensive that I should fail, and for that reason was unwilling to acquaint you with the precise subject of the correspondence until I was sure of success. Oh, Mrs.

Murray! I have no mother, and feeling that I owe everything to you-- that without your generous aid and protection I should never have been able to accomplish this one hope of my life, I come to you to share my triumph, for I know you will fully sympathize with me. Here is the magazine containing Mr. Manning's praise of my work, and here are the letters which I was once so reluctant to put into your hands. When I asked you to trust me, you did so n.o.bly and freely; and thanking you more than my feeble words can express, I want to show you that I was not unworthy of your confidence."

She laid magazine and letters on Mrs. Murray's lap, and in silence the proud, reserved woman wound her arms tightly around the orphan, pressing the bright young face against her shoulder, and resting her own cheek on the girl's fair forehead.

The door was partly ajar, and at that instant St. Elmo entered.

He stopped, looked at the kneeling figure locked so closely in his mother's arms, and over his stern face broke a light that transformed it into such beauty as Lucifer's might have worn before his sin and banishment, when G.o.d--

"'Lucifer'--kindly said as 'Gabriel,'

'Lucifer'--soft as 'Michael'; while serene He, standing in the glory of the lamps, Answered, 'My Father,' innocent of shame And of the sense of thunder!"

Yearningly he extended his arms toward the two, who, absorbed in their low talk, were unconscious of his presence; then the hands fell heavily to his side, the brief smile was swallowed up by scowling shadows, and he turned silently away and went to his own gloomy rooms.

CHAPTER XX.

"Mrs. Powell and her daughter to see Miss Estelle and Miss Edna."

"Why did you not say we were at dinner?" cried Mrs. Murray, impatiently, darting an angry glance at the servant.

"I did, ma'am, but they said they would wait."

As Estelle folded up her napkin and slipped it into the silver ring, she looked furtively at St. Elmo, who, holding up a bunch of purple grapes, said in an indifferent tone to his mother:

"The vineyards of Axarquia show nothing more perfect. This cl.u.s.ter might challenge comparison with those from which Red Hermitage is made, and the seeds of which are said to have been brought from Schiraz. Even on the sunny slopes of Cyprus and Naxos I found no finer grapes than these. A propos! I want a basketful this afternoon. Henry, tell old Simon to gather them immediately."

"Pray what use have you for them? I am sure the courteous idea of sending them as a present never could have forced an entrance into your mind, much less have carried the outworks of your heart!"

As his cousin spoke she came to the back of his chair and leaned over his shoulder.

"I shall go out on the terrace and renew the obsolete Dionysia, shouting 'Evoe! Eleleus!' I shall crown and pelt my marble Bacchus yonder with the grapes till his dainty sculptured limbs are bathed in their purple sacrificial blood. What other use could I possibly have for them?"

He threw his head back and added something in a lower tone, at which Estelle laughed, and put up her red, full lip.

Mrs. Murray frowned, and said sternly:

"If you intend to see those persons, I advise you to do so promptly."

Her niece moved toward the door, but glanced over her shoulder.

"I presume Gertrude expects to see Edna, as she asked for her."

The orphan had been watching Mr. Murray's face, but could detect no alteration in its expression, save a brief gleam as of triumph when the visitors were announced. Rising, she approached Mrs. Murray, whose clouded brow betokened more than ordinary displeasure, and whispered:

"Gertrude is exceedingly anxious to see the house and grounds; have I your permission to show her over the place? She is particularly anxious to see the deer."

"Of course, if she requests it; but their effrontery in coming here caps the climax of all the impudence I ever heard of. Have as little to say as possible."

Edna went to the parlor, leaving mother and son together.

Mrs. Powell had laid aside her mourning garments and wore a dress of blue muslin which heightened her beauty, and as the orphan looked from her to Gertrude she found it difficult to decide who was the loveliest. After a few desultory remarks she rose, saying:

"As you have repeatedly expressed a desire to examine the park and hothouses, I will show you the way this afternoon."

"Take care, my love, that you do not fatigue yourself," were Mrs.

Powell's low, tenderly spoken words as her daughter rose to leave the room.

Edna went first to the greenhouse, and though her companion chattered ceaselessly, she took little interest in her exclamations of delight, and was conjecturing the probable cause of Mrs. Murray's great indignation.

For some weeks she had been thrown frequently into the society of Mr. Hammond's guests, and while her distrust of Mrs. Powell, her aversion to her melting, musical voice, increased at every interview, a genuine affection for Gertrude had taken root in her heart.

They were the same age, but one was an earnest women, the other a fragile, careless, gleeful, enthusiastic child. Although the orphan found it impossible to make a companion of this beautiful, warm- hearted girl, who hated books and turned pale at the mention of study, still Edna liked to watch the lovely, radiant face, with its cheeks tinted like sea-sh.e.l.ls, its soft, childish blue eyes sparkling with joyousness; and she began to caress and to love her, as she would have petted a canary or one of the spotted fawns gamboling over the lawn.

As they stood hand in hand, admiring some goldfish in a small aquarium in the centre of the greenhouse, Gertrude exclaimed:

"The place is as fascinating as its master! Do tell me something about him; I wonder very often why you never mention him. I know I ought not to say it; but really, after he has talked to me for a few minutes, I forget every thing else, and think only of what he says for days and days after."

"You certainly do not allude to Mr. Murray?" said Edna.

"I certainly do. What makes you look so astonished?"