'Beth's promise

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ANNA HANSON DORSEY,

Author OF “Coaina,” “Ftemmings,” “Tangued Paths,* “May Brooke,” etc., etc., etc.

FIFTH THOUSAND.

JOHN MURPHY COMPANY,

BALTIMORE, MD. :

NEW YORK:

Copyright, 1887,

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

By Transfer D. C. Public Library f

WITHDRAWN

1 . 79397 <^

’Bexh’s Promisk.

Chapter 1. * Between Sunrise And Sunset

“I AM going to make a white mark for this day, mamma; it has been altogether the happiest one I ever knew! First of all, a long letter from dear papa; then, shopping with you, to buy my lovely silk dress — my first young lady’s dress, mamma; then the sky so clear and blue, and the sunshine so bright and pleasant after the storm! Oh, dearest mamma, haven’t we enjoyed ourselves, and won’t papa be glad when I write and tell him what a nice time we’ve had!” exclaimed ’Beth Morley, as she tripped up the ^marble steps to the hall door of their house, her sweet, clear voice ringing with the gladness of her young life, her cheeks dimpling with smiles.

“Yes, it has been a very happy day, ’Beth; I don’t know when I have enjoyed myself more,” answered Mrs. Morley, with a fond look at the bright, eager face smiling into hers.

“That’s because I was with you, Lady-Bird; you know it was, ’ ’ said ’ Beth, tossing back the strav golden curls that the wind was blowing

’bkth’s promise.

over her face; “and oh, mamma, did you notice in papa’s letter, all through, how proud he is of his ship, and how satisfied he is with his officers, — ‘a gentlemanly, nice, brave set of fellows,’ he says?’'

“Yes, I noticed,” said Mrs. Morley, while a shadow flitted over her face, and her mouth grew hard and stern for a moment, but only for a moment. “Ring again, ’Beth; I am very tired, and quite ready for my lunch. I hope Andrew has thought to make me a cup of tea.”

“Here he is, mamma. Now, Andy, have you got a cup of nice hot tea for mamma?” said ’Beth, as the servant man opened the door — a grave, respectable-looking person, who had been with Captain Morley on most of his cruises, and had followed him through the perils of the war, serving him with rare and affectionate fidelity under all circumstances until, owing to a hurt he had received; from a spent ball at the storming of a fort on the Mississippi, he was ordered home, and was only reconciled to the separation from his captain, by being placed by him in charge of his family, and the assurance that he should go with him on his next cruise. He did not answer ’Beth; there was a preoccupied and almost frightened look in his dusky face, as he took up the card-tray from the hall table and held it towards Mrs. Morley. There was but a single large card on it.

“The Secretary’s been here, madam,” he

'BKTH S PROMISE.

said, as she glanced at it and tossed it back in the tray, and was passing on towards the dining-room. ‘‘He came back ag’in, madam, and when he found you wasn’t in yet, he left word — and told me to be sure and tell you — he’d be here at 4 o’clock,” said Andrew, following his mistress, and placing a chair for her.

“What!” exclaimed Mrs. Morley, in a startled tone, “what could have brought him here? Did he leave no message, Andrew?”

“Nothing but what I told you, madam; he only seemed bent upon seeing you, and he looked glummer’ n he does in general.”

“Come, ’Beth, I won’t wait; I cannot wait for him a whole hour! It is so strange! I must know at once what it all means. Come — I am going straight to his house; I don’t want him to come here again — particularly if he has any ill news to tell me,” exclaimed Mrs. Morley, in an agitated tone.

“Oh, mamma, rest a little first, and get a cup of tea. I expect papa has been promoted, and he only wanted to be the first to tell you, ’ ’ said ’Beth. “Oh, Andy, you should not have worried mamma with this until she had got rested and had refreshed herself. Yes, dear mamma, I am coming,” she answered, as her mother, already in the hall, called to her.

“I was afeard there was news from the captain that she ought to know. Miss,” said Andrew, humbly; but ’Beth had left the room, and he

’bETH’S PROMISE!.

heard the front door shut after them. ‘ ‘ I know there’s bad news; something or other’s gone wrong with the captain, and I not there to stand by him!” Andrew covered his face with his hands, and a great sob burst from his lips.

The Secretary of the Navy, himself a distinguished naval officer, lived quite near; they had only a square to walk and a corner to turn to reach his elegant residence. And ’Beth growled all the way, full of indignation. “He might have known how tired you’d be, mamma, and that you would not be glad to see him ; he needn’t have come so often, taking people’s breath away with his messages! After all, I expect it’s some stupid nonsense about buoys and torpedoes and those everlasting sand-banks he’s always talking about. ’ ’

Mrs. Morley did not utter a word, but walked very fast, her previous fatigue and aching feet quite forgotten in the strange, indefinable dread that had taken possession of her. A few minutes brought them to Secretary Ashton’s door; and the porter, seeing their approach through the lace blinds that covered the vestibule glass, admitted them instantly, ushered them into one of the closed drawing-rooms, opened a shutter, and went to hand in Mrs. Morley’ s card.

“I hope he won’t make a mistake, and take my card to Mrs. Ashton.”

“They’re all in New York, mamma; Lillian Gray told me so yesterday,” said ’Beth. “But bkth’s promise.

sit dowu in this great cushioned chair, dear; you are so tired!”

“’Beth, do not talk; just let me alone, my child: I cannot, I would not sit down in this house, were I ever so weary. I am so restless, it relieves me to keep walking. Oh, I wish he would come ! ’ ’

“I think I hear him in the hall now, mamma — yes — those are his footsteps; do try to be calm, mamma. ’ ’

No need to tell her that. By the time Secretary Ashton entered the room, she was standing as still and white as marble, not even seeking to veil the scorn and dislike expressed in her sensitive face; she was only intent on concealing every trace of the agitation and dread that he had caused her by his unusual visits and his message; he should not triumph so far as to know they had in the least disturbed her. He offered her his hand, which she barely touched, and invited her to be seated. She could but observe that there was a troubled, worried look in his sallow face.

“You called twice at my house, Mr. Secretary, while I was out, and left word with my servant that you would come again at half-past four o’clock. Imagining that your business with me must be very urgent, I came directly, although I have just got home, to see what it might be, as well as to relieve you of the necessity of calling again.” She remained standing, and spoke beth’s promise.

in a calm, proud tone, which he appciared not to notice — or, if he did, he was indifferent to it.

“Sit down, my dear lady; my errand was urgent; but sit down. I can tell you nothing until you sit down,” he said, drawing forward a chair.

“Excuse me; I prefer standing, and I wish to hear at once what I have to know, ’ ’ she answered quietly.

“ But, madam — for God’s sake, sit down!”

“Admiral Ashton,” she said, fixing her eyes steadily on his, “you have news of my husband. What is it?”

“I have, madam; but sit down, I beg of you; here on the sofa — ”

“Sir, this is the merest trifling. I will not sit down under your roof, and you know the reason why. I can forgive injuries done to myself, but injustice to my husband — my brave, noble husband — never! You understand me. Now tell me your news; had it been good news, you would not, probably, have been so zealous to impart it.”

“Madam — Mrs. Morley — indeed you wrong me! I was always his friend — ”

'‘^Was! That is the way people speak of the dead. Admiral Ashton, is my husband dead?”

He was silent; he covered his face for an instant with his hand. How could he tell her here, away from her own home? By this time ’Beth was at her side, her strong arm around her, her face very pale.

“Tell me, is my husband dead?” she asked again — in that high-strung, concentrated hey always expressive of keen agony.

‘ ‘ Be composed, madam ; bear up now — ^but — but — I am pained to say, it is so. Your brave husband, the most gallant officer in the service, is dead.”

A wild shriek burst from her lips, and she dropped to the floor in a dead faint. ’Beth, in a tumult of grief and terror, half- wild at seeing her thus prostrate upon the floor, and perhaps dead, exclaimed: “What did you send him away for? What made you break your promise, and send him away from us — off* to sea again, when his time would not be up where he was for two years? Oh, you cruel, wicked man! Oh, mamma! mamma!” she screamed, throwing her arms around her mother and lifting her head to her breast; “Oh, my mamma! come back to me!” But minutes passed before she showed any sign of life. At last she opened her eyes, shuddered violently for a minute, and attempted to rise. ‘ ‘We must go — go home, ’ ’ she whispered. ‘ ‘Help me, ’Beth,”

“Yes, darling, you shall go. Lean on me; I am strong, you know,” said ’Beth, while torrents of tears drenched her cheeks.

The Secretary offered wine, and would have aided her to rise; but she would accept nothing, and shrunk from his touch as if it had given her severe physical pain.

“My carriage is at the door, madam; let me lO

’ BETH’S PROMISE.

prevail on you to use it; you are really in no condition to walk home,” he said, stung bitterly by the whole scene, yet trying to show kindness, although he felt guilty and miserable.

“No, sir. Had you kept faith with my husband, I should not now be desolate, and his child fatherless. I will ask you no questions ; his friend and mine. Captain Brandt, will hear all that you may have to tell — about — about — oh, my God!” she cried, striking her forehead — “about all that has happened. Come, my child. Oh, can it — can it be true ? ’ ’

They left the house together, the grief-stricken mother and daughter, and hastened homeward, frightening those they passed by the wild, woebegone expression of their pallid faces, and the unusually rapid haste they made. Andrew awaited them at the door, and as it closed Mrs. Morley once more fell to the floor, unconscious.

“Oh, Andy, papa is dead! Oh, help mamma! lift her up and carry her to her own room, then run and tell Captain Brandt to come,” cried the poor young creature, into whose life no sorrow had ever come before. Trembling and sobbing, his face an ashen gray, the faithful servant obeyed, muttering all the way: “If I had been there he wouldn’t ha’ died. But here I am; and he, worth ten thousand like me, gone!”

He laid Mrs. Morley upon the bed as tenderly as if she had been an infant; the sight of her still, white face, set with the anguish that had

’bkth’s promise.

II so suddenly wrung her heart, redoubled his grief; and, weeping and moaning aloud, he hastened to send the housekeeper to her assistance with restoratives, then went with the dreadful news to Captain Brandt. Poor ’Beth, nearly wild between her sorrow for her father and her dread lest her mother should never wake to life again, filled the house with her cries, and wrung her hands as she hung over her, kissing her white lips and drenching her unconscious face with the hot tears that, happily for her, nature did not refuse to give.

And so in one little hour the bright sunshine had gone out of their lives; their gladness had suffered a sudden and dark eclipse, and to that fair young girl just on the threshold of life, had come a bitter and heavy loss, the loss of a fond, affectionate father, a man whose nature was truly noble; who, with the highest courage, had the tenderness of a woman for the suffering, the weak, and the oppressed; whose record was bright with heroic acts in the service of his country, and upon whose pages not even the shadow of a stain had ever fallen.

On his way to Captain Brandt’s, Andrew had rushed into the office of the family physician, who happened to be in, and begged him to go without delay to Mrs. Morley. “If you don’t find her dead, sir, it’ll be mor’n I expect,” he said then rushed out again, before Dr. Miller found an opportunity to make a single inquiry’.

’bkth’s promise.

Knowing Andrew to be a grave, steady fellow, the doctor imagined that something extraordi** nary must have happened, to have thrown him into such a panic, and without more ado he sprang into his carriage, and in a few minutes was by Mrs. Morley’s bedside, where he learned from the housekeeper, in broken sentences, all that had happened. Moved by the deepest sympathy, and with a pang of deep distress at the loss of so old and dear a friend, he lost no time in doing all that his skill suggested for the recovery of the grief-stricken woman; finally, when he almost thought the shock had killed her, he felt her pulse faintly quiver under his finger, and then, with a shudder and a moan, life struggled back to her heart. Captain and Mrs. Brandt now came, almost speechless with agitation, for he who was dead had been the dearest and most intimate friend they had in the world. Choking back their own sorrow, they exerted every effort to soothe Mrs. Morley; to attempt to console her would be vain, they knew, for such grief must have its way, and they only ‘ ‘ uttered words of endearment’’ and the deepest sympathy, “when words of consolation availed not.” At last, when floods of tears gushed from her burning eyes, giving relief to her overwrought heart and brain, they felt comforted.

“Let her cry, let her cry; it will save her,” whispered Dr. Miller. “My God! it was a terrible blow to fall upon a sensitive heart like hers.

’beth’s promise.

Poor fellow! How did it happen, Brandt? and when? He was the bravest officer in the navy. How did it happen? was he drowned, or wrecked, or what?’’

The doctor and Captain Brandt were on their way down stairs, and stood together for a moment in the hall.

have heard no particulars. The first word I heard of it was a half hour ago, when Andrew came to my house with the news. I am going now to see the Secretary — who, I suppose, received the telegram — to ask the particulars. I have a faint hope that there may be a mistake somewhere. Morley was my best friend on earth; I loved him more than if he were a brother!” said the old officer, over whose bronzed cheeks fell heavy tears.

“Don’t go. Miller, until I get back; you may be needed upstairs. That poor little girl! did you notice how brave she is trying to be for her mother’s sake, and how much she looks like her father? I’ll be back presently.”

Captain Brandt went to the Secretary’s, sent in his card, and was admitted. He found the functionary wrapped in a fur cloak, lying upon a lounge beside a wood fire, completely unnerved by the scene he had passed through, and toning himself up with frequent draughts of hot whisky punch.

Captain Brandt’s hope was vain. There was no mistake; the news was strictly official, and

’bkth’s tromisk.

came by telegraph. A violent hurricane had swept the Gulf, and every ship and vessel in its track had been nearly or quite wrecked, except the “Portland,” Captain Morley’s, which he had by almost superhuman exertions finally saved, by running her out to sea in the teeth of such a wind as was scarcely ever known before. A night and day, aided by officers and crew, he battled with wind and waves, never for one instant relaxing his personal vigilance, or sparing the use of his own arms at the ropes or elsewhere, if need be, until at last, when, drenched and exhausted, his ship was safe, he threw himself upon his cot, and fell asleep. His servant passing through, saw him lying there in his wet clothes, spread his heavy cloak over him, and was careful not to awake him, knowing that sailors laugh at the idea of salt water ever giving any one a cold. But when Captain Morley awoke out of his ten hours’ sleep, he had congestion of the lungs, and was in a high fever. All that human skill suggested was done by the ship’s surgeon for his relief; he did not leave the captain’s bedside for a moment, administered every remedy himself, and when one failed, had another at hand; but all to no avail; the brave sailor bieathed his last just as the ship dropped her anchors at Key West.

That was the substance of what Captain Brandt gathered from the telegram, and he rose to go.

“Please offer my sympathy to Mrs. Morley,”

’beth’s promise.

IS said tlie Secretary, shaking hands. ‘^She blames me, I know, for sending poor Morley to sea, but she doesn’t understand how it was. Any way, Brandt, assure her that I am at her service, and that I particularly wish — when the remains come — the funeral to be of the most imposing character the service allows, to show honor to the memory of a brave, heroic man.”

“When Mrs. Morley is more composed. Admiral” — so the older officers, forgetting his new rank, sometimes called him — “I will deliver your message. Good day, sir.” Captain Brandt marched out, giving vent to his bitter indignation, when he got on the pavement, by one or two imprecations in the emphatic vernacular of the sea, which sailors declare mean no harm, and are as necessary to their relief when under high pressure as “blowing” is to a whale. When he got back to Mrs. Morley’ s, the doctor was waiting for him, eager to hear if there might be a faint hope gleaned from the telegram: but, as he soon learned, there was not; the sad news was too briefly and distinctly told to be misunderstood.

“I will say nothing to her about it to-night,” added Captain Brandt. “To-morrow I shall undoubtedly get a letter from Commander Brooke, the executive officer of the ‘Portland,’ who knows all about the old friendship between Morley and myself. I’m sure he’ll write. But how is she, doctor?”

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BETH’S PROMISE.

“Apparently calm; but every nerve is stiung^ and every emotion suppressed as by a will of iron: unnatural, all of it. I thought she’d goon crying and moaning as other women do, but her tears didn’t last long. It seems as if there were a sense of wrong mingled with her grief. God help her!”

“So there is!” growled the captain, his gray eyes scintillating wrathful sparkles.

“I am sorry to hear it; her loss is bitter enough without any other sting. I tried to get her to swallow a composing draught, but she said: ‘It would only make my awakening more bitter; it will be best for me to look my sorrow in the face, doctor,’ so piteously that I did not insist upon it; and I don’t know but she is right.”

The doctor went away, and Captain Brandt was about going upstairs, when, in the dusky hall, for it was twilight and the hall lamp not yet lighted, he felt some one touch his arm, and heard a hoarse whisper. “Tell me ’bout it, Cap’n; for God’s sake, sir, tell me how it happened.” It was poor Andrew, bowed and trembling, his old heart broken for the friend he had lost.

“Andrew, my poor fellow,” said Captain Brandt, wringing his hand, while his eyes were for the moment blinded with tears, “I’ll tell you all I know. But come into the dining-room; she might hear us, and I don’t want her to be troubled any more to-night”

’beth’s promise.

“Oh, didn’t I say so! didn’t I know it!” exclaimed the old negro, wringing his hands; “didn’t I say if I had been there it wouldn’t ha’ happened! Do yo think I’d ha’ let him lay there in his wet clothes? No: I’d ha’ waked him up an’ made him put on dry ones, an’ made him drink hot coffee, if he had pitched me overboard for it. He wouldn’t ha’ died if I had bin there to take care of him. Captain, please to shoot me right through my head; I can’t live, sir, artei this; I can’t, indeed, sir!”

“See here, Andy, confound you! stop such foolishness, or I’ll break your head instead of putting a ball into it. Is that the way to show your love for your captain — wanting to put yourself out of the way, when you’ve got his wife and child to serve and watch over for his sake? Cry, old fellow; cry your eyes out, if it will do you any good — the Lord knows we’ve all got enough to make us cry; but no more such foolishness as that.”

“Aye, master, you’re right. I’ll try. I’ll try to do what he would ’spect me to do; yes, sir, he’s my cap’n yet, if he is dead. Oh, sir, if you’d seen them two, how happy they was over his letter this morning, and heard them talking and laughing over it, and calling me to hear his messages, and all ’bout his ship, that he seemed so proud of, and if you only knowed how pretty and how glad they both looked when they c omed home in the sunshine to-day, up to the

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’ BETH’S PROMISE.

minute I told her that Sec’taiy Ashton had been here twice! — oh, I^ord! what grief to come between sunrise and sunset!”

“Sit down there, Andy,” said Captain Brandt, deeply touched, pushing Andy into a corner of the sofa; “sit there and cry it out, old fellow; only keep as quiet as you can, for the sake of those upstairs; and, mind you! no more of that foolishness you spoke of just now.” And there, when Captain Brandt had left the room, closing the door after him, the poor old soul sobbed himself to sleep.

’BETH’S PROMISE.

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