Chapter X: The Patience of Alice

Thou must endure, yet loving all the while,
Above, yet never separate from thy kind;
Meet every frailty with the gentlest smile,
Though to no possible depth of evil blind,
This is the riddle thou hast life to solve;
But in the task thou shalt not work alone,
For while the worlds about the sun revolve,
God’s heart and mind are ever with His own.
_—J. Monckton Milnes._

It is now twelve years since the marriage of Alice Chester and General Garnet, and six months since the departure of Hugh Hutton and Agnes upon their sea voyage.

General Garnet is absent on an electioneering tour, but daily expected back.

It is June, and the scene is the terrace in front of Mount Calm. There are four persons upon the terrace.

Alice occupies a rustic seat under the shadow of a locust tree. She is still a most beautiful woman, very delicate, almost sylph-like, with her fair, blond beauty and airy, white muslin wrapper. She is calmly pursuing a piece of fine, white, knitting-work—that favorite busy idleness of all Maryland ladies. At her feet is a very small basket, containing her keys and the ball of lamb’s wool yarn from which she knits. Near her stands a young mulatto hand-maid of about ten years of age.

Lower down upon a step of the terrace sits her daughter Alice, or Elsie, as she was called for distinction’s sake. Elsie is now a very beautiful child, promising to be much more beautiful than her mother had ever been. She strangely united the most beautiful features of both parents. She had the delicate, Grecian features, fair, roseate complexion, golden hair, and blue eyes of her mother, with the passionate, veiled gaze and bewildering smile of her father. She had a finer vital and sanguine temperament than either could have possessed; a more rounded form, more elastic motion, a more joyous expression, a more gladsome cadence in her speech and in her laughter. Elsie sat sketching an elm tree from nature—the tree stood before her, at some distance on the lawn. She was bending over her drawing-board, that rested on her lap, until her fair ringlets almost concealed her rosy cheeks. She, also, wore a simple white muslin dress that harmonized well with her blooming beauty. Behind her, bending over her, stood a youth of sixteen; but for height, for breadth of shoulders and depth of chest, and manly and athletic proportions generally he might have been taken for twenty years of age. He was a very handsome boy, with bright chestnut hair, waving around a massive brow and relieving and beautifying its heavy strength, gracefully as foliage shades rock. He seemed to have just returned from gunning, for he wore a dress of forest green, his cap lay at his feet, his pointers were near, and one hand rested upon a fowling-piece, while with the other he pointed alternately to the elm tree and the drawing, giving Elsie some instruction in her work. His dark gray eyes, full of thought, truth, and affection, were fixed upon her.

And while they pursued their work Alice, from her rustic seat, watched them. Alice, looking as serenely happy as though her heart had never been broken, her brain never been crazed by calamity, anguish, and despair verging upon madness; as healthful, amiable, and self-possessed as though she had never sworn in her frenzy that she could not survive the severance from Sinclair; that neither moral, intellectual, nor physical nature could stand the test—the misery of a life with Garnet.

But Divine Providence is kind, and nature is full of remedial power. We have all strength given us according to our need. If our joys are greater in anticipation than in realization, so certainly are our sorrows.

Alice, in the terrible storm of passion that had temporarily dethroned her reason, believed that she could not outlive her marriage; yet she had lived twelve years, and was comparatively happy—possibly happier than many a girl who had married for love, or its semblance.

It is true that from the hour she awoke from the strange torpor that immediately followed her marriage her religious principles had taught her to turn from the memory of Sinclair, whenever that memory recurred. She prayed against, she strove against it, wrenched her thoughts forcibly from it, and riveted them to something else. And her prayers and struggles had produced this happy effect. The image of Sinclair had faded away with the brightest visions of her girlhood. And now that that typhoon of youthful passion had long passed, and even its memory had almost faded away, her genial, affectionate, religious nature made her happy. With such a nature Alice could not live without forming attachments to those around her. He must have been a terrible brute who could not have been blessed with some portion of her affection by simply living in the house with her for twelve years. And General Garnet was not exactly a brute. He was very handsome, graceful, and accomplished and habitually polite. And now that time had long worn out his jealousy he had ceased all undignified and ungentlemanly interference with his wife’s specially feminine occupations and associations. Alice was happy with her housekeeping, her garden, her dairy, her country neighbors, her favorite Magnus, and her little daughter. Yet, had the Angel of Destiny whispered to her heart this alternative: “Your daughter! two fates await her—to die in her childhood, or live to be an unwilling bride—choose for her!” Alice would have answered with a shudder and without a moment’s hesitation: “Let her die in her childhood rather. Let her die now, rather!” And to have saved her from the misery of wedding one she could not love, Alice would have been content to lay her heart’s only treasure, her idolized child, in the grave.

But no such question of Destiny had yet called back the memory of the past, and Alice was happy as she drew out her knitting-needle and smiled at the boy and girl on the terrace.

At last the sketch was finished and Magnus pronounced it perfect, and threw his shoulders back with a yawn of relief, and brought his hands together with a ring, exclaiming, as he turned to Alice:

“Now, cousin, let me order the horses and let us ride at once to the beach. Why, here’s Goliah come from the post office—with a letter, too!”

“It is from the general, madam,” continued Magnus, receiving the letter from the boy and handing it to Alice. She opened and glanced through it. Then turning to the expectant child, she said:

“Elsie, your father will be home this evening. He will bring with him Judge Wylie, Mr. Ulysses Wylie, Mr. Hardcastle, and Mr. Lionel Hardcastle. He requests me to have supper ready for the party.”

Alice was soon superintending the preparations for supper. She had a good deal of the pride of the housekeeper and the hostess about her. Every Maryland woman has.

And that evening General Garnet entertained his friends to his heart’s content. It was a sort of little political party, at which Mrs. Garnet was not expected to appear.

After supper Lionel and Ulysses left the grave conclave of politicians to the discussion of Congress and canvas-back ducks, and came out upon the green.

Lionel was full of the new good fortune that had befallen him. The dearest wish of his life was gratified; his father had at last obtained for him a midshipman’s warrant and he was going to sea. Alice looked at the wild and willful youth with much anxiety, and wished in her heart that it might have been otherwise; that he might have been forced to stay under his father’s protection and surveillance.

Lionel also, in his frank, off-hand manner, informed his Cousin Magnus there before them all that his father had not forgotten him, either; that he had arranged with a celebrated physician of Baltimore to receive him as a student.

Magnus received this news with feelings of blended pain and pleasure—pain at the thought of leaving his dear “Cousin Alice” and her beautiful child—pleasure at the idea of the opening prospect of study, improvement, and independence.

Elsie never thought of the evil; she only thought of the good; she threw her arms around his neck and wished him joy and success.

But Alice was much more depressed than the occasion seemed to warrant. Again she caught herself wishing that young people could possibly remain at home. All partings depressed her. The idea of these saddened her.

Was the cloud on her beautiful face really sorrow at the certainty of losing her loving boy-friend, or was it the shadow of coming events? Alice sighed heavily as she watched the young people dance. And at an early hour she recalled them to the house, served them with refreshments, and, pleading great fatigue, dismissed them all to their several chambers.

She then threw herself languidly into the great easy-chair to await the breaking up of the party and the appearance of General Garnet. She had scarcely had an opportunity of speaking to him since his return.

It was not very long before she heard the gentle, cheerful bustle of the departing guests, and the ringing tones of Judge Wylie’s voice above all the rest, inviting everybody to Point Pleasant the next evening for the purpose of meeting everybody else.

When the last guest had departed General Garnet entered Alice’s parlor.

“Up yet, Mrs. Garnet! Have I been so unfortunate as to disturb your rest?”

“No—oh, no! I think you were very quiet for a party of gentlemen—not at all like the noisy parties Judge Wylie gathers. No; I had no opportunity of welcoming you home,” she said rising and offering her hand. “Have you had a pleasant journey?”

“A successful one, madam, which is better. I think that there can be no reasonable doubt that D—— will carry the majority of votes in the districts through which we traveled.”

Her next question was a housekeeper’s query:

“How did you like your supper, and were your guests pleased?”

“All was very well, Alice—and, could they be else than pleased after so triumphant a canvass?” said he, taking a seat and motioning Alice to do the same. “I have something to propose to you, Alice, in regard to our daughter.”

“Our daughter!” repeated she, with a vague fear creeping over her heart.

“Yes, our girl. I scarcely approve the loose, irregular manner in which her education is conducted at home.”

“It may appear to you so, because her occupations and amusements are so various; but, indeed, her habits—all habits, I mean, upon which health and improvement depend—are very regular; and for the rest, human nature itself—health, improvement—require some little irregularity. The rain does not fall and the sun shine upon set days. See what a bright, healthful, happy, intelligent child Elsie is! Part of that is owing to her habits. She rises very early, breakfasts early, rides with Magnus or one of the servants, returns and devotes three hours to her books.”

“Yes, all that is very well, but there should be a systematic course of study, which, I fancy, you are not quite competent to direct.”

“Try me,” said Alice. “I have not been idle all my life, nor all my life occupied exclusively with the eating, drinking, and wearing interests of our family. I have found time to cultivate my mind, for Elsie’s sake. I have read and reflected much. I expected to be Elsie’s only teacher. I have been, hitherto. And I wish, above all things, to continue to be. Then I shall feel better assured of her best good; better assured that her affections will not run to waste while her intellect is cultivated.”

“‘A little learning is a dangerous thing.’ It makes anyone conceited—especially, I think, a woman who has few opportunities of comparing her ignorance with other people’s knowledge,” muttered General Garnet to himself. Then slightly raising his voice, he said: “No, Alice, it will not do. Elsie cannot remain under your tuition. I have other and wiser plans for her.”

“I suppose,” said Alice, in a low voice, “that you are thinking of employing a private governess or tutor. Well, if you think it best——”

“No, Alice, I have no faith in governesses, and I totally disapprove of private tutors for young ladies. My intention is to send Elsie to a boarding-school for the next six or seven years.”

“To boarding-school for seven years! Elsie, my darling, my only one, away from me for so long! She!—so young!—to go among total strangers for so long! No! you cannot mean it!” exclaimed Alice, rising and wringing her hands.

“Sit down, Mrs. Garnet, and listen to me.”

Alice sank into her seat again, and listened.

“There is no female academy of the first class in this country, I am sorry to say; none, at least, at which I should like to place our only daughter.”

Alice’s hopes raised; she thought she might have misunderstood what he had said before—her mind was so confused. She hastened to say:

“Oh, then, you are thinking of some very accomplished woman, or some highly intellectual graduate of William and Mary, who, though not exactly an ordinary governess or tutor, may be induced to come and take charge of our little girl for a very liberal salary?”

General Garnet waved his hand impatiently.

“Hear me out, if you please, Mrs. Garnet. I have told you that I dislike private tutors and governesses! I dislike the idea of a stranger domesticated in the house very much. I said, besides, that there was no boarding-school in the country to which I could care to trust our daughter. I intend to send Elsie to England.”

“To England!” murmured Alice, in an inaudible voice, growing very pale and sinking back in her chair.

“Yes, to England. My friend, General A—— is going out there as minister. He takes all his family, of course. He expects to remain abroad many years. In talking over with me his prospects, among other things for which he congratulated himself was the opportunity that his residence abroad would afford giving his daughters a very superior education. While we conversed, I spoke of Alice, regretting the limited means of female education afforded by our country. Well, he proposed that I should commit my daughter to his charge, to go to England, and be put to school with his own. He pressed this favor very earnestly upon me. The opportunity was one not likely to occur again, and therefore not to be lightly thrown away. Finally I accepted his offer. It was all arranged between us. The embassy sails from Baltimore in two weeks, and before that time Elsie must be ready to join the family.”

* * * * *

In the course of the month their departure took place from the neighborhood.

Elsie Garnet, with many tears, left for her English school under the protection of the American minister to the Court of St. James.

Lionel Hardcastle sailed as midshipman aboard the United States ship _Falcon_.

And Magnus Hardcastle, taking a most affectionate leave of his beautiful friend, Alice, and promising many letters, left for Baltimore to enter upon the study of medical science in the office of a distinguished physician.