Chapter XXXIV: Changes

“When sorrows come,
They come not single spies but in battalions.”
SHAKSPEARE.

“An eagle with a broken wing,
A harp with many a broken string.”
SYBIL’S LEAVES.

From Lieutenant Augustus May to Mrs. Emily Buncombe.

“THE RIALTO, February 21st, 182-.

“DEAREST MOTHER:—Come to Hagar. Yes, come. Whatever you may have in
hand, put it down, pack up, and come to Hagar. You will do so when I
have told you all I have to tell you—alas! the worst you will not know
until you reach this place. I arrived at —— on the 15th of the current
month, early in the morning, and proceeded at once to The Rialto,
reached the house at about eleven o’clock, was ushered into the
drawing-room, and inquired after the health of the family. I was told
by the servant who admitted me, that Mrs. Withers had been extremely
ill for the last six weeks, but that she was now better, and able to
leave her room. I sent up to know if she could receive me—the man
returning told me that Mrs. Withers would be down in a few minutes.
Well, mother! I waited perhaps half an hour, at the end of which time
the door opened, and a figure—as Heaven hears me, mother, I did not
recognise it for Hagar! the once elegant and brilliant Hagar! a figure
shrouded in a black wrapper, with the hair all pushed back under a
sharp cornered muslin cap, that marked the outline of a countenance
never to be forgotten!—the pallid forehead was doubled in a dark fold
between the eye-brows, and above eyes strained out into such startling
and piercing brightness, that I shuddered and dropped my gaze before
them! she came on slowly, trembling, tottering, and sank into a chair,
in such utter feebleness; she attempted to speak, to greet me, but the
words died on her white lips. To see Hagar thus! our beautiful,
resplendent Hagar! our strong, proud, exultant Hagar! Mother, I have
seen death in all its phases, the soldier struck down in battle, the
criminal swung off from the yardarm, the old man give up the ghost in
his bed, and the infant fall into its last sleep in its mother’s arms,
yet I never realized DEATH; never! until I saw this high soul brought
low, this fiery soul quenched, this eagle of the sun lying wounded on
the earth, weltering in blood and dust. My proud sister Hagar! my
high-souled Hagar! would that I had suffered alone! would that I could
have died to have saved her! You do not comprehend her grief, or my
deep sympathy, mother—alas! you will understand it but too well
by-and-bye. Oh! well, I went to her, sat beside her, took her hand—I
felt that I was her brother—I pitied her, loved her, would have
soothed her, caressed her as when she was a little girl; but with a
haggard look and an adjuring gesture she repelled me, as she murmured,
in a hollow, church-yard voice, ‘I have been ill—ill.’ ‘I know it,
dearest Hagar; dearest sister, I know it all—everything—I am a fellow
sufferer, but no matter for that; what is my grief to your great
sorrow! Hagar, I am your friend—your brother for life and to death! I
will do anything you wish me to do—I am at your command—I will even
throw up my commission and come and live near you, if, by doing so, I
can be of any use to you. Yes, Hagar, I will do that, even if I have
to mend clocks for a living.’ She looked at me and faltered a reply;
but, oh! the words fell from her ashen lips unnatural and
unintelligible, like those from an automaton, and few as they were,
they seemed to have exhausted the small remnant of her strength, for
she sank back in her chair in a swoon. I flew to the bell and rung it
violently, and Mrs. Collins came in—seeing the state of Hagar, she
immediately summoned a female domestic, and bore her back to her
chamber. I followed them up stairs. I could not, would not stay away.
I followed them into her room—saw them lay her upon her bed—waited
until they had recovered her—saw her open her eyes, and then, and not
till then, I withdrew and left her to repose. She was worse the next
morning—the agitation occasioned by our interview had caused a
relapse—and, mother, that very next day, the day succeeding my
arrival, while she lay at the point of death, _an execution_ was
brought into the house, and everything swept off! all that splendid
furniture, together with the valuable library, and rare collections of
pictures, statuary, and virtue accumulated by the late General
Raymond—all went! I repurchased the furniture of her suite of private
apartments; but she shall not know that; she will naturally think, and
I shall permit her to think, that they were spared by creditors—and,
mother, if you come on here, take care that you do not undeceive her.
It seems that for the last two years, Mr. Raymond Withers—curse him!
has been living far above his income, and that as soon as his
creditors knew him to have left the country, they came down upon his
property. Hagar does not yet know the new misfortune that has fallen
upon her, as she was lying insensible when the sheriff’s officer took
the inventory of her bed-chamber, and I took the precaution that none
of its furniture should be disturbed. Mother, come quickly to Hagar.
The servants are all leaving the house, because there is no money to
pay them their wages. I have exceeded my furlough. I do not know what
will be the consequence, and cannot help it. I am cited to appear
before a court martial—cannot do it, of course. The devil himself
would not leave Hagar in her present situation. Thank God! I have got
a few thousand dollars in bank, and that will keep the wolf from
Hagar’s door for some years to come, any how! Oh, mother! do come
quickly. Hagar is still confined to her bed—she wants a lady with
her—a friend with her. Mrs. Collins, the housekeeper, and Barnes, the
nurse, leave at the first of March; that is close at hand, so do not
delay.

Your affectionate son,
“AUGUSTUS W. MAY.”

* * * * *

From Mrs. Buncombe to Lieutenant May.

“GROVE COTTAGE, March 1st, 182-.

“You are mad, unlucky boy! I have just this moment got your letter—and
I am exactly horrified to death at its contents. Gusty! is this the
way in which you repay all my care of you? Return immediately to your
post, as you value my blessing. Do you not know, wretched boy, that
you run the risk of having your commission taken from you? Do you not
know, oh! dolt of a child, that you will be scandalized to death, if
you remain a day where you are? and all the servants leaving the
house, too! Oh, Heavens, Gusty! am _I_ who never risked the chance of
a breath of calumny, am _I_ now to suffer through the imprudence of my
son? What would your blessed father say if he were here to know of
this? If you have not already left the house, leave it immediately on
the receipt of this letter. I _command_ you, Gusty! return to your
post, and write me that you have done so, as you value my blessing,
Gusty! Nay, dear Gusty, I withdraw the command; I have no right to
make it to a grown up man—and, I _entreat_, Gusty, that you will
return immediately to your post, as you value my peace, Gusty.

“As to my coming to Hagar, it is not possible just now; Buncombe has
the rheumatism, and baby is cutting her eye-teeth; besides which,
Kitty has scalded her hand so badly as to be nearly useless—so that
you see I am the sole dependence of the family.

“As for Hagar’s anguish, it is as inexplicable as your past fury was.
I can well imagine her regret at parting with her husband, but as for
the rest, it is all mystery, and you know it has been said by them of
old time, that where there is mystery it is fair to presume guilt, or
at least some grave error. This unhappy Hagar had ever possessed the
unenviable gift of drawing down upon her head the ban of society—but
she must not pull others down with her. It is all inexplicable to me—I
do not understand it in the least; but I fear all is not right. Write
to me immediately, Gusty, and tell me that you are off. I am so uneasy
that I have no appetite for my dinner.

“Your anxious and affectionate mother,
“EMILY BUNCOMBE.”

* * * * *

Mr. May to Mrs. Buncombe.

“THE RIALTO, March 7th, 182-.

“DEAR MOTHER:—I received your letter to-day. I am here yet, you see.
In all things that are right I will obey you always, if I get as big
as Goliath and old as Methuselah. But! when I forsake Hagar in her
utmost need, may God forsake me then and for ever Amen—so be it.
Selah. Hagar is still too ill to leave her room; still ignorant of the
execution. Collins, Barnes, and the rest have left the house—_all_
have left except a maid-of-all-work, whose wages _I_ have engaged to
pay. A second execution at the suit of another creditor has been
levied, and a second time I have had to redeem from confiscation, the
furniture of her rooms. As soon as Hagar is able to travel, I must get
her away from this; I cannot stay here for ever, paying that infernal
fellow’s debts, as I am now obliged to do, to keep poor Hagar from
being shocked to death.

“Well, mother! it is as you feared—I am cashiered! dismissed the
service! Well, what of it? The service has lost more than I have, by
the arrangement! The service has lost a gallant officer! a noble
fellow! a whole hearted man! _I_ say it! Moreover, they cannot cashier
my bones and muscles, my heart and brain, my faith, hope, and energy!
Besides, the blow Rosalia dealt me, has stunned, numbed me into a sort
of insensibility to all wounds inflicted upon myself. I am vulnerable
now only through Hagar.

“Well, I am cashiered! Grieve for the service, mother! not for me.

Your affectionate son,
“AUGUSTUS W. MAY.”

* * * * *

Mr. May to Mrs. Buncombe.

“THE RIALTO, March 14th.

“DEAR MOTHER:—I wrote to you a week ago, but I cannot await your
answer, as I am in great haste. In naming this homestead ‘The Rialto,’
I presume they merely had an allusion to its locality above the
river—but it is appropriate in its sadder association, too. This is,
indeed, a ‘bridge of sighs.’ The house was sold to-day for taxes. Poor
Hagar is up at last—but oh! such a wreck; her beautiful hair that I
thought concealed under her cap, has been all cut off. She bears her
new trials better than I expected. Like me, her one great sorrow has
rendered her insensible to minor griefs. She wishes to return to her
own home, Heath Hall. It is upon this matter that I write to you. Do,
mother, have it made comfortable for her reception. She has sold all
her own jewels to defray the expenses of her journey. There is a
balance to the credit of Raymond Withers—perdition catch his soul!—at
the bank, but Hagar will not draw it. Prepare to receive the stricken
one kindly, mother, I entreat you, as you value my peace, mother!

Your affectionate son,
“A. W. MAY.”