Sharing Her Crime: A Novel

by May Agnes Fleming

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  THE HEIRESS OF SUNSET HALL.

  "A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warm, to comfort, and command; And yet a spirit still and bright, With something of an angel light."--WORDSWORTH.

  The darkened rooms, the hushed footfalls, the whispered words, theanxious faces, betoken the presence of sickness. Like some long, darkeffigy, Miss Hagar lies on her bed, prostrated in body and mind, andsick unto death. By her side sits Celeste, in a quiet dress of softgray, her golden hair lying in bands on her fair cheeks, pale and thinwith long days and nights of unceasing watching.

  Never had the tender love and cherishing care of the young girl been somanifested as in the sick-room of her benefactress. Night and day, likesome angel of mercy, she hovered over the couch of the invalid--ready atthe slightest motion to hold the cup to her parched lips, or bathe herburning brow. Nothing could induce her to leave her side, save, whentired Nature could watch no longer, she sought her couch to catch a fewmoments' sleep. And Miss Hagar, with the usual fretful waywardness ofillness, would have no one near her but Celeste. Gipsy had offered herservices as assistant nurse, but was most promptly rejected.

  "I want Celeste. Where is Celeste?" was ever the cry of the invalid.

  It was the second week of Miss Hagar's illness. For days she had beenraving deliriously, recognizing no one, not even Celeste. Toward theclose of the tenth day she grew worse, and the doctor pronounced thecrisis of her disease at hand.

  Evening was approaching, the evening of a bleak January day. The snowwas falling drearily without; and the cold wind wailed and moaned aroundthe lonely house. The fire, burning low in the grate, cast a red,fitful, uncertain light through the room, giving everything anunearthly, spectral appearance. Celeste sat by the window, her chinresting on her hand, her eyes fixed on the desolate prospect without,her mind and heart far away--far away. Her face was wet with tears, butshe knew it not; sobs, long and deep, that she struggled in vain torepress, swelled her bosom. Never in her life had she felt so utterlydesolate; yet a sort of awe mingled with her tears, as she felt herselfin the presence of death.

  Night fell in storm and darkness. In the deep gloom, nothing could bediscerned save the white; unearthly light of the drifting snow. Celestearose, drew the curtain, lit a small lamp, and was about to resume herseat, when she heard her name pronounced by the lips of the invalid.

  In a moment she was bending over her. Reason had returned to its throne;and for the first time in many weeks, Miss Hagar recognized her.

  "Thank God!" exclaimed Celeste, joyfully. "Dear Miss Hagar, do you notknow me?"

  "Certainly, Celeste," said the invalid, passing her hand across hereyes, as if to clear away a mist. "I have been ill, have I not?"

  "Yes; but now you will recover. I feared you would never speak to memore; but now you will get well, and we will be happy together oncemore."

  "No, child, I will never get well. Something here tells me that I amcalled," said Miss Hagar, solemnly, laying her hand on her heart. "I amsinking fast, and perhaps I may never see the morning dawn. I wish Icould see them all before I die. Send for my brother and Archie Rivers,and little Gipsy, and Minnette! Poor Minnette! I have been harsh to hersometimes, I am afraid; and I would ask her pardon before I depart. Whydon't you send for them, Celeste?"

  What should she do? What ought she to say? How could she tell her whathad happened?

  "Dear Miss Hagar," she said, gently, "neither the doctor, nor Minnette,nor Archie, are at home. But if you will see Gipsy, I will go for her."

  "All gone! all gone!" murmured the sick woman, feebly, "scattered farand wide. But you, Celeste, you have stood by me through all; you havebeen the staff and comfort of my old age. May God bless you for it!Truly has he said: 'Cast thy bread upon the waters, and it shall returnunto thee after many days.' But, child, have you never wondered who youwere; have you never wished to know who were your parents?"

  "Oh, yes, often!" replied Celeste, eagerly, "but I knew, when the propertime came, you would tell me; so I never asked."

  "Well, that time has come at last. It is but little I can tell; for Ineither know who you are, nor what is your name. The way you came undermy care is simply this:

  "One night, as I was returning home from the village, at an unusuallylate hour, a little girl came running out from a wretched hovel, andbegged me to enter with her, for her aunty, as she called her, wasdying. I went in, and found an old woman lying on a heap of rags andstraw, whose end was evidently at hand. I did what I could for her; butI saw she was sinking fast. Her whole care seemed to be for her littlegirl, who crouched at the foot of the bed, weeping bitterly. In heranxiety for her, she seemed to forget her own sufferings.

  "'What will she do when I am gone? Who will protect her and care for herin this selfish world?

  "Is she an orphan?" I asked.

  "'That I do not know. The child is a foundling, and no relation to me;but I love her as though she were my own child. Oh! what will become ofher when I am gone?

  "'And have you no clue to her birth?

  "'None. One Christmas eve, about twelve years ago, my husband was caughtin a storm coming from A----. As he was hurrying along by the shoreroad, he saw a sleigh in advance of him, and hastened on in hopes toovertake it. In his hurry his foot struck against something on theground, and he stumbled and fell. As he arose, he turned to examine it;and judge of his surprise at finding it to be a young infant, wrapped ina long shawl, and sweetly sleeping. In his astonishment he stood rootedto the ground, unable to move, and the sleigh passed on, and was soonout of sight. It was evident to him that the inmates of the sleigh hadeither left it there to perish, or it had accidentally fallen out. Ineither case, the only thing he could do was to take it home, which hedid; and handed it to me, half frozen, the next morning. Our own littlegirl was dead; and this child seemed so like a god-send to fill herplace, that I received it with joy, and resolved to adopt it, if itsparents never claimed it. For months we lived in the constant dread thatit would be taken from us; but years passed on, and no inquiry was evermade concerning it. We named her Celeste; for there was something trulycelestial in her sweet, angel-like face, and loving nature; and neverdid parents love any only child as we did her.

  "'We were in very comfortable circumstances then; but when Celeste wasabout eight years old, my husband died; and after that everything seemedagainst us. We got poorer and poorer; and I was forced to take insewing, to keep us from starving. For nearly four years I worked atthis, stitching away from daylight till dark; and then scarcely able tokeep soul and body together. Celeste assisted me nobly; but at length myhealth began to fail, and I resolved to leave the city. My husband'sfriends had formerly resided here, and I was in hopes of finding them;but when I came, I learned that they were all gone. Last night I wastaken dangerously ill; and now I feel that I am dying; and my poorCeleste will be left utterly friendless and alone. She is beautiful, asyou see; and what her fate may be, should she live to grow up, I darenot think of. My poor, poor Celeste!

  "The deep affliction of the dying woman, and the heartfelt grief of thechild, touched me deeply. I resolved that the poor orphan should not beleft to struggle alone through the world. I was not rich, but still Iwas able to provide for her. In a few brief words I told her myresolution; and never shall I forget the fervent gratitude that beamedfrom the dying eyes, as she listened.

  "'May God forever bless you!' she exclaimed, 'and may the Father of thefatherless reward you for this!

  "That night she died; and next day she was buried at the expense of theparish. I took you home; and since then you have been my sole earthlyjoy, Celeste; and now that I am dying, I leave you, as a legacy, yourhistory. Perhaps some day you may yet discover your parents, if theylive."

  Utterly exhausted, Miss Hagar's lips ceased to move. During all the timeshe had been speaking, Celeste had remained as if riveted to the spot,with an emotion unnoticed by Miss Hagar. Her pale face grew whiter andwhiter, her eyes were slowly dilating, her li
ps parted; until, when thespinster ceased, her head dropped on her hands, while she exclaimed,half aloud:

  "Can I believe my ears? Then I am that other child left to perish on thebeach that stormy Christmas Eve. Good heavens! Can it be that I am thechild of Esther Erliston? Have I discovered who I am at last?"

  "What are you saying there?" said Miss Hagar, feebly.

  "Miss Hagar!" exclaimed Celeste, starting with sudden energy to herfeet, "I am going to Sunset Hall, for Squire Erliston. You must repeatthis story to him; it concerns him more than you are aware of, and willclear up a mystery he cannot now penetrate."

  "As you please, child," said Miss Hagar, too weak to resist; "but youwill not stay long?"

  "No; I will be back in less than an hour," replied Celeste, whose cheekswere now flushed, and her eye burning with excitement, as she seized hercloak and hood, and hurried into the kitchen.

  Curly, their only servant, was dozing in her chair by the hearth.Rousing her up, Celeste sent her in to watch with her patient until herreturn.

  "Remember you must not fall asleep until my return; I will be back veryshortly," said the young mistress, as she tied on her mantle.

  "But laws! misses, you ain't a goin' out in de storm to-night!" saidCurly, opening her eyes in wonder.

  "Yes, I must, for an hour or so. Secure the door, and do not leave MissHagar until I come back," said Celeste, as she opened the door.

  A blinding drift of snow met her in the face; a fierce gust of windpierced through her wrappings, and sent the embers on the hearthwhirling redly through the room. It required all her strength to closethe door after her, but she succeeded, after two or three efforts, andstepped out into the wild wintry storm.

  At length St. Mark's was reached; and looking up, she could see thewelcome lights of Sunset Hall streaming redly and warmly on the cold,drifting snow. Elevated above the village, its windows glowing withlight, it looked the very picture of a home of ease and luxury.

  The sight imparted new energy to her drooping limbs; and hurrying stillmore rapidly forward, in five minutes more she stood before theastonished inmates of the hall, all white with falling snow.

  For a wonder Gipsy was at home. She sat gazing into the glowing fire--asad, dreamy look on her usually bright, dark face--her little handsfolded listlessly in her lap, thinking of one far away; the squire,utterly disregarding all the laws of etiquette, was smoking his pipeplacidly in his arm-chair; and Mrs. Gower sat dozing in the chimneycorner; Lizzie had been driven to her chamber by the choking fumes ofthe tobacco.

  "Good Heavens! Celeste! what has happened? What has brought you outto-night in this storm?" exclaimed Gipsy, springing in dismay to herfeet, as Celeste--her garments covered with snow-flakes--stood beforethem, like a moving frost-maiden.

  The squire, equally dismayed, had taken his pipe from his mouth, and satstaring at her in utter bewilderment; while Mrs. Gower, roused from herslumbers, arose from her seat, and drew her over to the fire.

  "No, thank you, Mrs. Gower, I cannot sit," said Celeste, hurriedly."Miss Hagar is dying, and has an important revelation to make to you,sir. It is necessary you should hear it. Will you accompany me back?"she said, turning to the squire.

  "Dying! important revelations! Lord bless me!" ejaculated the squire;"won't it do to-morrow?" he added, as a wild blast made the windowsrattle. "I don't care about venturing out in this storm."

  "You shall go, Guardy," said Gipsy, rising impetuously, "and I'll go,too. Sit down and warm yourself, Celeste--we'll be ready in fiveminutes. Aunty Gower, please ring for Jupe. Pity if you can't ventureout in the storm, when Celeste has walked here in it to tell you. Jupe,"she added, as that sable individual entered, "be off and bring round thecarriage, and don't be longer than five minutes, at your peril! Here,Totty! Totty! bring down my hood, and mantle, and furs; and yourmaster's hat, gloves, and greatcoat. Quick, there!"

  Utterly bewildered by the rapidity with which these orders were given,the squire, unable to resist, found himself enveloped in his fur-linedgreatcoat, seated in the carriage, between the two girls, ere he foundvoice to protest against such summary proceedings.

  The fierceness of the storm, which increased in violence, precluded thepossibility of entering into conversation; and the explanation was,therefore, of necessity, deferred until they stood safely within thecozy kitchen of Valley Cottage.

  In a few brief words, Celeste gave them to understand that it concernedthat "other child," left that eventful Christmas eve on the bleak stormybeach. This was sufficient to rivet their attention; and the squire, inhis anxiety and impatience, forced his way into the sick-room, and stoodby the bedside of Miss Hagar.

  "Sorry to see you so sick, Miss Hagar; 'pon my life I am. I neverexpected to see you confined to your bed. Celeste--Miss Pearl, Imean--has told me you have something of the greatest importance tocommunicate to me."

  "I do not see how it can possibly concern you, Squire Erliston," saidMiss Hagar, faintly; "but since it is Celeste's desire, I have noobjection to relate to you what I have already told her. Oh!" said thesufferer, turning over with a groan.

  "Curly, leave the room," said Gipsy, who now entered; while Celestetenderly raised the head of the invalid, and held a strengtheningdraught to her lips. Brokenly, feebly, and with many interruptions didthe dying woman repeat her tale. Wonder, incredulity, and amazement werealternately depicted on the countenances of the squire and Gipsy, asthey listened. She ceased at last; and totally exhausted, turned wearilyaside.

  "Then you, Celeste, are that child. You are the heiress of Sunset Hall!Wonderful! wonderful!" ejaculated Gipsy, pale with breathless interest.

  "And my grandchild!" said the squire, gazing upon her like onebewildered.

  "Hush!" said Celeste, in a choking voice, "she is dying."

  It was even so. The mysterious shadow of death had fallen on that grimface, softening its gaunt outline into a look of strange, deep awe. Theeyes had a far-off, mystic gaze, as if striving to behold something dimand distant.

  All had fallen on their knees, and Celeste's choking sobs alone brokethe silence.

  The sound seemed to disturb Miss Hagar. She turned her face, with atroubled look, on the grief-bowed head of the young girl.

  "Do not weep for me, Celeste, but for yourself. Who will care for youwhen I am dead?"

  "I will!" said the squire, solemnly; "she is my own flesh and blood, andall that I have is hers. She is the long-lost, the rightful heiress ofMount Sunset Hall."

  A smile of ineffable peace settled on that dying face. "Then I can go inpeace," she said; "my last care is gone. Good-bye, Celeste. God blessyou all! Tell my brother I spoke of him; and ask Minnette to forgive me.Minnette--Minnette----"

  The words died away. She spoke no more. Her long, weary pilgrimage wasover, and Miss Hagar was at rest.

  "Don't cry--don't cry," said the squire, dashing a tear from his owneyes, as he stooped over the grief-convulsed form of Celeste. "She'sgone the way of all flesh, the way we must all go some day. Everybodymust die, you know; it's only natural they should. 'In the midst ofdeath we are in life,' as Solomon says."