"Yes, mamma, he thanked me many times, and said he should try to make me very happy." Pauline sat down, and her eyes grew dreamy, so I left her to her meditations and went below.

CHAPTER XXXVI

"Ah me! from real happiness we stray,
By vice bewildered; vice which always leads,
However fair at first, to wilds of wo." Thomson.

Tuesday, March 4th.

Joseph came two days ago, accompanied by a young lady, Mademoiselle Vinet, or Adele, as Joseph calls her. He went directly with her to her uncle's, who lives about forty leagues from here, and then returned to this place. We were much rejoiced to see our dear cousin. He has proved all that his parents could wish. I was very glad to hear him say that he hopes to be able to return to the United States nearly as soon as we do. He longs for home.

Joseph accompanied the Doctor and myself in a walk, and communicated to us some very sad intelligence. About three months ago, a servant from one of the hotels in Paris called at his office requesting him to go and see a young woman who was sick. Wondering not a little who she could be, he went, and was shown up one flight of stairs after another until he reached a most dreary and desolate apartment, destitute of every comfort; and there, upon a miserable pallet, he beheld, to his surprise, his once beautiful cousin Fidelia Schuyler. She was anxiously expecting him, and exceedingly overcome by his presence and kindness. He wished to remove her to a more comfortable and respectable apartment, to provide her a good nurse, and to do everything in his power for her relief.

But she said, "I have only a few hours to live. Even now I am dying. All I ask is, that you will remain near me while I live."

Joseph was affected even to tears as he related the heart-rending agony of Fidelia, while she reviewed the last few years of her life. "Ever since I left your house, years ago, though I have lived a gay life, in the midst of fashion and luxury," she said, "I have never known happiness, for I have lived a life of sin. I am known here as Mrs. Arnold, having been his companion ever since my husband, incited almost to madness by my wicked conduct, abandoned me. For three weeks, William has not been near me. Leaving me only a few dollars, he deserted me; and since his departure I have been removed to this garret, and have pawned almost every article of my clothing and of jewelry to procure for myself even the necessaries of life. Do you remember," she asked, "the wicked attempt I made to stir up jealousy and strife between Frank and his young wife? Oh! how I hated her, when I saw that with his whole soul he observed her every movement and word! He worshipped the very ground on which she trod. But I have suffered the keenest remorse for my conduct. I have been constantly tortured with jealousy since I lived with William, and with fear lest he should leave me to die alone in a strange land."

Several times Joseph tried to soothe and comfort her as she lay panting for breath, and sinking farther back upon her pillows. But she could talk of nothing else. "Oh!" said she, "if I had borne with my husband as I have had to bear with William, how happy we might have been! I have been obliged to curb my temper, and to be a slave to one who has indeed proved to be a hard master."

Joseph endeavored to point her to the Saviour. At first, she was unwilling to hear a word on the subject, and begged him not to waste his breath; but at length, as he earnestly pointed her to the Lamb of God, able, willing and ready to save to the uttermost all who come unto God by him, she burst into tears, and even besought him to pray with her. He did so; and after remaining with her about three hours, he went out and obtained a good woman to take care of her so long as she lived. He supposed from her appearance that she was not so near her end as she imagined. He made his arrangements to return and to watch with her in company with her nurse during the night. After an hour he returned to her room, and was surprised at the alteration which had taken place. She was evidently dying.

Now her whole life stood out before her, and she trembled at the idea of appearing in the presence of a holy God. Joseph prayed with her repeatedly. He wept as he implored her to cast her burden of sin and fear upon the Saviour. She listened as for her life, but could only cry out "too late! —too late!!" This dreadful lament she continued until near midnight, when Joseph read to her a few passages from the Bible, on the abounding of divine mercy toward the chief of sinners, and renewed his exhortation to her to repent and believe, saying, "turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?"

"Oh! If I could live – only one hour – more!" – and as the words were on her quivering lips, her countenance changed, her eyes were fixed, her spirit departed!

CHAPTER XXXVII

"I feel death rising higher still, and higher
Within my bosom; every breath I fetch
Shuts up my life within a shorter compass:
And like the vanishing sound of bells, grows less
And less each pulse, till it be lost in air." Dryden.

"Death's but a path that must be trod,
If man would ever pass to God." Parnell.

Wednesday, March 5th.

I am really pained by Pauline's conduct toward her cousin. She shuns him as much as possible. He feels it too. He always manifested so much interest in her; but she avails herself of every excuse to walk with Eugene, and avoids seeing Joseph. I can perceive that he is grieved, but though he often gazes at her with a sad, inquiring expression, he does not speak. I have never known her to be rude; but I felt it my duty to speak with her to-day upon the subject. I am afraid I spoke too sternly, for she immediately burst into tears. She made no excuse, only saying, "I can't help it, mamma."

"Your cousin," I said, "has not deserved such treatment. He has always, since you were a baby, taken a great interest in you;" and I related his kindness in taking her to ride on horseback, and many other events, which I was surprised to find she remembered.

But still she said nothing; and only cried the more. I don't know what to make of her.

"Sometimes deep feeling hides itself in silence."

But I think she has had too much excitement of late, notwithstanding she appeared so calm. When the bell rang for tea, she begged me to excuse her from going down, and to tell Eugene, when he called, that she was not able to go with him to his father as he had proposed.

"Are you ill, my dear," I asked.

"I have a very bad head-ache, which will be well by morning."

Joseph went out this morning early for a walk, and returned just as I was called to breakfast. Pauline was in the room, and he went directly to her, expressing his pleasure at seeing her down again. He took her hand in his, and said, "I am deeply pained by seeing that you have forgotten all your former friendship for me." He then assured her, she should always have a warm friend in him.

Notwithstanding I had thought her wrong, I really pitied the poor girl's confusion. She did not once raise her eyes; but blushed painfully as she withdrew her hand when he had ceased speaking. I pitied Joseph, too. He came to me soon after breakfast, and asked me to walk with him, when he immediately entered upon the subject, saying he had never been so disappointed in a young person, so artless and frank as she used to be. He then asked if Eugene were a suitable companion for her, fearing it was his influence that had so changed her for the worse.

I assured him it was not. Then feeling that from his long friendship for us, he had a right to be treated with confidence, I told him in what relation they stood to each other. Though I could see plainly that he was displeased, I commenced at their singular introduction, and told him all that had passed between Colonel Clifford and the Doctor. He listened with the profoundest interest, but did not interrupt me until I had done.

"How did you account for the agitation of Colonel Clifford?" he asked.

"Oh! a thousand ways," I replied. "He has been an invalid for many years; and her sudden appearance would account for it in a great measure."

"Perhaps so," he answered in a doubting tone; "but he evidently supposed her to be a near friend."

"Yes," said I, "there is no accounting for the freaks of nature in these close resemblances. I should be struck any where by her resemblance to Frank; yet you know there is no connection."

"She must have a singular countenance," he replied, "I noticed yesterday a strong likeness to young Clifford. Does she know of the circumstances connected with her early history?"

"Not a word of it."

"Nor Clifford?"

"No."

"Then, my dear cousin, I tell you frankly, I think in this instance you and the Doctor have erred – certainly you have not acted with your usual frankness."

I made many excuses which had been satisfactory to my own mind. He said no more, but only shook his head.

When we received Joseph's letter, I thought him the same light-hearted, merry fellow as of old; but I find he has grown very grave. I was a little troubled at what he said, and on conversing with Frank, I find that he is of the same opinion, that we ought at least to communicate the circumstances to Colonel Clifford, if we do not choose to tell Pauline. But Frank says since talking with Mr. Percival, and finding that he had no other child, he felt relieved of all doubt in relation to their connection. But though the thought of it makes me almost sick, I intend to-morrow to do what I know will give exquisite pain to Pauline, by telling her she is my child only by adoption.

Saturday, March 8th.

If my poor head will allow, I will try to give you an account of the events of the last three days. But I have suffered so much I really shrink from recurring to the subject.

In pursuance of my resolution to make the painful disclosure to Pauline, I made necessary arrangements to be free from interruption, as I feared the dear child's feelings would overcome her; and as I was far from intending that Nelly or Frank should know it at present, I did not wish unnecessarily to excite their curiosity. If the dear child were to know it at all, I preferred she should hear it first from me; and having procured the locket and package, I called her to my room, and went through the story as if I were relating the history of another person, and as briefly as justice to my subject would allow; but my great agitation, which I could not avoid becoming apparent, must have made her suspect that I referred to herself. She looked me full in the face, her eyes more and more dilated until she turned deadly pale. I became frightened that she did not give way to her feelings, and stopped, when she said in the most heart-broken tone I ever heard, "Then I am not your Pauline, mamma?" and leaned her head heavily on her hand.

I pressed her to my heart, and told her that she never was dearer to me than at present; that she was my first, and I had almost said, my dearest child.

But this has been a dreadful shock to the poor girl, who seems now to feel that she has no claim upon us. I talked with her a long time, telling her that I had never intended she should know of this; but that her father thought it dishonorable not to tell her or Eugene; and that I felt she ought to hear it from me.

"I think it would have killed me," she replied, "to have heard it even from father." After a moment she added mournfully, "may I still call you mamma?" when her pent up feelings burst forth with such violence as I have never witnessed. She wept and sobbed until her whole frame shook with emotion.

"My love, my own Pauline, you will break my heart if you do so. Our love is the same; it can undergo no change. My affection for you has been so selfish, that it has been my only fear with regard to you, that some one would claim you as their child; or as has happened, that some one would win your love from your mother."

"Oh, mamma," said she joyfully, "I will give him up. I understood it was your wish. Indeed I told Eugene I did not wish him to consider it an engagement. We are too young."

"Dearest Pauline, I only told you to show you how strong was my affection for you."

After two hours, during which time I had but partially succeeded in calming her excited feelings, I showed her the locket, which affected her exceedingly, as also the letter from her mother to the servant. She held the tiny robe in her hand, while her tears fell hot and fast upon it. I told her that on no account would I allow Nelly and Franky to be made aware of what had passed.

"I shall tell Eugene?" she said inquiringly.

"If you think it best, love."

"Of course, I only meant whether you or I should tell him. He asked what I considered strange questions the second time I saw him. But I thought it would only pain you to hear them, so I did not repeat what he said. He asked if I had ever been abroad before. I told him "no." He then asked if I were nearly connected with this family, when I laughed and told him, 'my resemblance to father was proof of that fact.' He apologized, and said he had only asked me to satisfy his father." She took the locket, putting the chain around her neck, and bidding me good night, left me.

But it was a sleepless night to both of us. The questions of Eugene, to satisfy his father, – the doubts of Joseph were constantly recurring to me. Frank comforted me by saying I had done right in telling her what I had. After midnight I crept softly to her room, shading the lamp with my hand, and found her eyes wide open. She had thrown her arm over her sleeping sister, and had vainly tried to sleep.

"I have been trying to think who I am, mamma," said she in a sad voice.

"You are my own darling, Pauline," I said, kissing her again and again.

"She looks happy and kind," alluding to the picture, "but how could she give me up so?"

I begged her to try to sleep, and returned to my bed to make the same effort. The next morning she did not go down to breakfast, merely took a cup of coffee in her room; but begged me to let her know when Eugene came in. I did so, when she instantly came down to him equipped for a walk.

I attempted to remonstrate, fearing she was not well enough; but she said, "please, mamma," in so sad a voice, I could say no more.

It was nearly noon. Joseph had two or three times volunteered to go in search of Pauline, for whom I felt great anxiety, when a man came running, breathless with speed, begging me to go to Colonel Clifford. He was dying.

I was on my way in a moment, Joseph attending me to the door. How can I describe to you what I saw? In order to make it intelligible, I must relate what the Doctor and Pauline afterwards told me. As soon as they started on their walk, she communicated to Eugene the circumstances I had related to her; and insisted that he should, without delay, make them known to his father, saying, "perhaps he will withdraw his consent when he hears that I am a foundling."

Eugene spurned the idea, as unworthy either of him or his father, and protested that he only loved her the better. He earnestly implored her to go with him, to which she reluctantly consented. He found the Doctor by the bed side, and leaving his beloved in the next room, he went in. Having requested the Doctor to remain, he went on to tell his father briefly that Pauline was only an adopted child of Dr. Lenox, and that she would not consent to their betrothal until he were made aware of the circumstances, and had given his consent.

"Tell her, my son, that can make no difference in our feelings. Bring her to me, I will tell her so." Eugene led her in; but no sooner did he see her, than he started forward as if to take her in his arms, and then with a loud scream fell back upon the pillows.

The Doctor and Eugene sprang forward in affright to raise him, and threw water in his face, when he gasped for breath, and pointing his thin finger to where Pauline stood, tried to speak, but for a moment was unable. "Eugene," at length he gasped out, "she is your sister, Inez," and fainted.

Pauline, intensely surprised, and agitated, darted forward, and kissed the face, brow and lips of the unconscious man, crying, "Oh! father, bless me before you die."

When he opened his eyes, her sweet voice was pleading for a blessing. A heavenly smile lit up his face, as he said, "Imogen, my own Imogen, I do bless thee, sweet wife!" He thought her his lost Imogen. But he soon knew her, and called her his beloved daughter Inez, whom he now saw for the first time. She turned from him to Eugene, who sat bitterly weeping with his head buried in his dying father's pillow; and putting her arms tenderly about his neck, said, "Be comforted, dear Eugene, you have gained a sister."

The Doctor administered a cordial to the Colonel, who he saw was fast failing; and had sent for me.

When I entered the room, the dying man was passionately kissing the little miniature contained in the locket; and from that, as well as his instant recognition of the writing of his wife in the letter, there is no longer any doubt that she is his child.

He requested the Doctor to open a pocket book, and take out a blank envelope. Opening this, he showed some of the writing of Imogen, which exactly compared with the other. Again, and again blessing his long lost child, and bidding his children love each other as brother and sister, he requested to be left alone with the Doctor; when he told him where to find the packet directed to his son, to be left in his care. He expressed renewedly his thanks that these disclosures had been brought to light in season to prevent so unnatural a marriage. He gave some directions, rendered necessary by the wonderful discovery. He then said, calmly, "I have now done with earth," and requested the Doctor to call his children to see him die.

Eugene threw himself upon the bed in an agony of grief. "My soul cleaveth unto thee, my son," said the dying man. And again mistaking Pauline for his beloved wife, he made an effort to reach her, exclaiming, "I come, my Imogen – I —come!"

Scarcely had the last words ceased to echo through the room, when the spirit of Colonel Clifford joined his companion in the world above.

Thursday, March 13th.

The remains of our deceased friend have been laid by the side of her whom he so tenderly loved, to rest until the morning of the resurrection. The arrangements for keeping the sacred place from intrusion are completed, and we are only waiting the arrival of the monument, which the Doctor has ordered from Rome, before we take leave of our respected friend, Mr. Percival, and depart for Paris.

"Thither where she lies buried,
That single spot is the whole world to me."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

"I had so fixed my heart upon her,
That wheresoe'er I fram'd a scheme of life
For time to come, she was my only joy,
With which I used to sweeten future cares;
I fancy'd pleasures, none but one who loves
And doats as I did, can imagine like them." Otway.

Friday, March 14th.

To-day Joseph received a letter from Monsieur Vinet in reply to one he wrote, stating the time of our leaving for Paris. He writes that he will accompany Adele to Nice a day or two before that time, as she has a strong desire to become acquainted with persons of whom she has heard so much from her friend, Monsieur Morgan. For a few days past, I have noticed that Pauline remained more in the room when Joseph was conversing with the Doctor, and when thinking herself unnoticed, her attention became absorbed, and her eyes flashed, while the color came and went, giving her beautiful countenance a most bewitching variety of expression.

But if cousin happened to turn his eye in that direction, though the rich bloom on her cheek might assume a deeper tinge, yet the long silky fringes instantly drooped over her tell-tale eyes. I am sometimes almost vexed with Joseph. If he took half the pains to win her confidence that he did formerly, this reserve and coolness might be exchanged for the most delightful friendship. I wonder if he ever thinks of his request when she was a baby, that I would train her for him. If he does, it is only to laugh at the follies of his youth. But I suppose what Frank suspects may be true; that he is attached to Adele. She will be here shortly, and we shall see.

Tuesday, March 18th.

This morning Franky, who is full of mischief, put his hand slyly into Joseph's pocket and pulled out a letter. Cousin was busily reading, and did not notice the theft until the young rogue put on his father's glasses, and crossing the room to place himself in an elevated position, began to read aloud. Pauline, though trying to restrain her mirth, yet shook her head; but as I recognized the letter as the one from Monsieur Vinet, and Joseph had read it aloud, I thought I would not spoil Master Franky's sport. The young gentleman is by no means an expert at deciphering a fine hand, and though the letter was written in English, failed to make sense. He therefore turned to the postscript, and elevating his voice to arrest attention, began, "Beloved friend, – The time seems very long since we parted, and I know you will be pleased to hear from your friend Adele" —

At the sound of that name, Joseph started, and with a quick glance around the room, snatched the letter from Franky, saying, "didn't you know it was very improper to read letters not directed to yourself?"

"I wouldn't have read it, Joseph, if I had known 'twas a love letter."

"Pshaw," said cousin, looking very much annoyed as he saw us laughing at his expense.

Nelly, who is a great favorite, went and put her arms around her cousin's neck, saying, "They shan't laugh, Joseph, you shall have just as many letters as you please, and nobody but you and I shall read them. Dear Jo," she asked in a whisper, "Is she a darling? Shall I love her, when she is my cousin?"

Joseph started to his feet. "Who has put such nonsense into your head? Coz," he continued, turning to me, "where did Frank get hold of that letter?"

"He must answer for himself," I replied. As I looked up from my sewing, I saw that Pauline had left the room. After due confession from the delinquent, and a suitable shaking from Joseph, by way of reproof, which made the house ring with his merry laughter, cousin continued his reading for half an hour, when he started up, saying he would go and meet the Doctor, who was at Mr. Percival's.

At that instant Franky returned to the parlor, with a very dolorous expression upon his countenance. "Mamma," he exclaimed, "Pauline is crying as if her heart would break, and she won't tell me what's the matter with her, though I've asked her ever so many times."

This was so unusual an occurrence that I started to my feet to go to her, when Eugene threw down his pencil, (he was drawing a sketch of the house where his mother was born,) and said, "let me go, mamma. Please let me try my skill in soothing her grief."

I reluctantly resumed my seat. Joseph also replaced his hat in the hall, and stood looking from the window. "We must hasten our departure," said I. "Pauline is growing very nervous, which cannot be wondered at. Joseph," said I, addressing him, "I almost regret having followed your advice, to tell her she was not my own child. She grows thinner and paler every day."

For a moment, Joseph remained silent, and I was almost vexed that he was not more interested for Pauline, when he replied, in an unnatural voice, "Cora, I hardly think you are aware what you say. Would you have had her marry her brother?"

His tone conveyed such bitter reproof that my eyes filled with tears. For the first time, he turned from the window, and looked at me. I saw, with surprise, that he was very pale. He approached, holding out his hand, "forgive me, cousin; I spoke harshly; but wouldn't it be better for you to go to Pauline? She may not like to have Eugene witness her grief."

"Why?" I asked. "She is very fond of her brother."

He walked quickly across the floor. "You forget," said he in a hoarse voice, "how lately she loved him as her future husband. I have seen the struggle in her mind, to overcome such an affection, or rather to change it to the calm, though deep affection of a sister."

I looked at Joseph earnestly, as he walked back and forth across the room, with knitted brow and closely shut lips, and tried to discover the cause of his agitation. At length he stopped before me, and said, "will you go to her?"

"Yes," I replied, laying aside my work. As I went above, I heard him leave the house.

When I entered the school-room, I found Pauline sitting with her head resting on her brother's shoulder, while his arm was around her. She had ceased weeping, but still looked very sad. "Mamma," said Eugene, "I've been telling her how very naughty it is for her to feel sorrow, and not allow me to share it with her. She won't even tell me what makes her weep." Pauline put her handkerchief quickly to her face to hide the tears which were streaming unbidden down her cheeks. I motioned to him to leave her with me. He kissed her tenderly and went below. I then led the weeping girl into my own room, and having fastened the door, I sat by her side, and begged her to tell me what had afflicted her.

"There is a shadow far within your eye,
Which hath of late been deepening. You were wont
Upon the clearness of your open brow
To wear a brighter spirit, shedding round
Joy, like this southern sun. It is not well,
If some dark thought be gathering o'er your soul,
To hide it from affection. Why is this,
My Pauline, why is this?"

But after talking with her for nearly half an hour, I was no wiser than at first. I could only get from her the confession that she was very unhappy, and wished she were safely at home in Crawford. I hinted to her what I suspected, that she found it difficult to change the nature of her affection for her brother so suddenly. She looked up quickly, as she replied, "Mamma, I was deceived as to the nature of my love for him. I never could have married Eugene; but he is very dear to me as a brother."

Hearing the outer door open, she sprang upon her feet, painfully embarrassed, and was going hastily from the room, but returned, and said in a low voice, "Please, mamma, say nothing of this to any one; I will endeavor to be cheerful."

When I went below, Frank had returned, and soon Joseph came in, and seating himself near the window, commenced reading in the book which had so much interested him when Franky stole his letter. I drew my husband to a retired part of the room, and told him I wished to leave Nice as soon as possible for the sake of Pauline.

After many questions on his part, and many replies on mine, I told him what she said with regard to Eugene. "I think she speaks truly there," exclaimed Frank eagerly. "I am convinced she never loved him. I mean as a suitor. I was almost sure of it at the time. She ought to be very thankful it has turned out so well for her."

"She is so," I replied. "She says, he is a very dear brother."

Here Joseph threw down his book, and taking his hat walked away from the house as if his very life depended upon his speed. The Doctor laughed heartily, as he exclaimed, "what an odd fellow Joseph is! I wonder what started him off on such a race. See there," he continued, approaching the window, "he is almost out of sight."

Pauline begged to be excused from coming down to tea; but stole quietly in as we were sitting talking in the moonlight. I hope she will feel better in the morning.

Wednesday, March 19th.

We were seated at the breakfast table this morning, when Ruth entered, bringing an exquisite bouquet, and saying with an expressive grin, "Here, Misse Pauline, dis bunch posies for you."

"Who brought them?" was eagerly asked by several voices. Franky took a French leave of the company and rushed down the street after the boy who had left them at the door. But he could not overtake him, and returned to join in the curiosity expressed on all sides, to know the donor of so tasteful a gift.

Ruth was questioned again and again, and asked to recollect if there was no message. But she kept firmly to her original story; "He laugh and say, he told, bring dat Misse Pauline; 'pears like he mighty pleased heself."

The bouquet was passed from one to another and was much admired. Joseph said, "whoever sent it might think himself well paid if he knew what a sensation it has caused."

When Pauline came to dinner she had selected a bright scarlet verbina with a few queen leaves and twined them around her dark tresses, which gave quite a glow to her pale countenance. I saw cousin look very earnestly at her as she was seated opposite him at table. The color deepened as she met his gaze, and this greatly added to her beauty.

Nelly has just run up from the parlor for me to go below. Monsieur Vinet has come with Adele. Now we shall leave Nice in a very few days.

Thursday, March 20th.

We are all of us charmed with Adele. She said she had heard Monsieur Morgan speak of us so often, she felt as if she were acquainted with us. When her countenance is in repose, which to be sure is very seldom, there is nothing about it to attract attention. But the moment she speaks, her whole face lights up, and there is a wonderful play of the features, which are ever changing their expression. She has handsome hair and eyes. She wears her hair in quite a unique style, being parted smoothly off her brow, and after being gathered, into a knot behind is worn like a coronet around her head. She is very graceful and fascinating; and we consider her an agreeable addition to our party.

When we came down to breakfast this morning, a vase was standing by Pauline's plate filled with flowers still fresh with the dew. As I stooped over them to inhale their fragrance, I saw a card among the leaves with the words "For the lovely Pauline, with the best wishes of a friend." The penmanship was delicate, like that of a lady; but we did not recognize it.

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Cora and The Doctor: or, Revelations of A Physician's Wife

CHAPTER XXXVI

CHAPTER XXXVII

CHAPTER XXXVIII

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