“Sappha is doing nothing of the kind. Sappha is perfectly happy.”
“Oh, I am so glad to hear it! Sappha is perfectly happy! Why did she go away? I really meant nothing unkind. If she had only remained, I was going to tell her about Aglae Davezac, Mrs. Livingston’s lovely sister. I dare say she consoles Leonard very well. She is not handsome, but she has a beautiful figure, and is very witty.”
“Annette, if you will believe me, we are neither of us interested in either Mrs. Livingston or her lovely sister. There are things nearer home. When did you call on your grandmother? She was complaining of your neglect lately.”
“I am just going to see her.”
“I hope you will tell her exactly what you have said here.”
“No, we shall talk about Jonaca and the new house. Good-morning, aunt!”
Annette’s visits had fallen into this kind of veiled unfriendliness. She would have ceased coming to the Bowling Green at all if Achille’s pointed inquiries had not forced her into a semblance of civility, for she blamed Sappha, not only for her removal to the Mowatt house, but also for many a passage of words between Achille and herself that were less agreeable than they ought to have been, or would have been if Sappha had not formed the subject of discussion. And from Annette’s point of view, perhaps there was cause for some irritation. For a few hasty words which Sappha refused to ignore, there had been many hasty ones between herself and Achille; and, moreover, she did not feel the Mowatt house any equivalent for the roomy, aristocratic dwelling she had been compelled to abandon. Every annoyance that came up regarding this removal she blamed Sappha for; and though she affected to be pleased with the change, it had not only been a bitter mortification to her, but also brought other unpleasant consequences in its train. For it had been just the very kind of thing necessary to rouse Achille to a sense of small household tyranny that he had tolerated because he preferred toleration to assertion. But having once affirmed and exerted his right he had not again relinquished the authority of master.
“I submitted too easily,” said Annette, when discussing the subject with her grandmother; “and now Achille just says ‘madame will do this,’ or ‘madame will go there,’ or ‘madame will say so-and-so,’ and I seem to have no power to say madame will not. Oh, grandmother, just for a few words! It is too much punishment! I was so happy, and now I am not happy at all. I sometimes wish that I could die.”
“Annette, my dear one, thou must not make more of trouble than there is. Often I have told thee not to complain; after complaint there is no oblivion. If Achille can be polite, cannot thou be silent? With silence, one may plague the devil; but as for spoken words, no sponge wipes them out.”
Thus and so events were progressing, as the spring of 1815 waxed to June and roses again. There was at this time some probability that the judge might be requested to go to England as legal adviser to agents sent by the government to arrange some question of boundary not very clearly stated; and if so, he proposed to take his wife and daughter with him.
Sappha heard of this arrangement with dismay, and it was hard for her to enter into her mother’s little flurry of anticipation. She did not wish to leave New York at all, for she felt certain that Leonard would return as soon as he was able, if only to look after his large interests in property and real estate. For in the short time intervening between the advent of peace and the advent of summer the whole aspect of New York had been changed. Stores and warehouses long closed were open, houses of all kinds had found ready tenants, the streets were crowded with vehicles, the shipyards literally alive, and vessels coming and going constantly from and to every quarter of the globe. There was not a branch of industry nor a corner of the city where New York’s citizens were not proving their liberal views, their broad intelligence, and their energetic activity. How could Leonard Murray stay away from his own city when it was offering him such advantages for new investments and such excellent opportunities for those he already possessed?
She did not include herself among the reasons for his return. She had no hope that she could influence it in any way. If Leonard had not quite forgotten her, he had at least resolved not to renew their acquaintance in any degree. If this were not the case, he would have written to her, sent her some message, some token, if it were only a flower. And at this point she always felt anew the pang of despair; for Leonard would never give her another flower. She had no reason to expect it, she did not deserve it. Here reflection stopped. It could go no further, the memory of that scattered rose was a barrier that no love could put aside or win over.
She made one effort to remain at home; she went to her grandmother and entreated that she would interfere for her. “If you desired me to stay with you, dear grandmother,” she said, “my father would permit it; I am sure he would.”
“So then, dear one, I must not ask him. Thy mother, what of her? Very much disappointed she would be. To see the wonderful sights of London alone, what pleasure would she find in that? And the shopping, and the visiting without thee, would not be the same. Oh, no, it is in thy delight the good mother will find delight; and in the admiration thou wilt receive will be her honour. Very much alone she will be without thee, for, as to thy father, the affairs of his commission will occupy him. Shall I tell thee thy duty? It is to put away all regret from thy thoughts; to give thyself to the honour and pleasure of thy good parents; to add thy smiles, thy hopes, thy glad young spirits to theirs. This is a great honour for thy father, a great pleasure for thy mother, and if Sapphira Bloommaert I know, I think she will not make it less. No, she will smile, and then ten times greater it will be.”
And at these words Sappha smiled, and promised to go willingly and do all she could to increase the joy of those with her.
“And that will not only be right, but wise,” answered the old lady; “for in the way of duty it is that we meet blessing and happiness.”
From this interview Sappha went home determined to lift cheerfully the burden in her way; and lo! it became lighter than a grasshopper. She found that as soon as she put herself out of consideration she caught the spirit of the change; she became interested in all the details of their journey, and finally almost enthusiastic. Then her father’s pride and happy anticipations were hers, as were also her mother’s manifold little plans for her own desires and her promises for the desires of others. They lingered over their meals, and they sat hours later at night, talking about the places they were to visit, the people they were to see, and the beautiful things they were to purchase. They had long lists of china, and silk, and lace, to which they were constantly adding; for all their relatives and friends and acquaintances had commissions for them to fill.
In these busy, happy days Sappha won back all the gladsomeness she had lost. She put Leonard, with a loving thought, into the background of her hopes. She gave herself without one grudging thought to the joy set before her. And with this happy spirit came back the radiancy of her beauty; her step regained its elasticity, her cheeks their brilliant colour, her eyes their tender glow, her smiles their love-making persuasion. And every one but madame said it was because she was going to Europe and expected to be presented at Court. Even the judge smiled a little sarcastically, and said to himself, “Leonard Murray has been forgotten.” Mrs. Bloommaert did not err quite so far; but realising the charm of all the new expectations before her, she gave them the credit of changing Sappha’s dejection to cheerfulness. It was only madame who knew the secret of the happy transition; she understood how the noblest feelings had crushed down the selfish ones and restored the almost despairing girl, by showing her life with a larger horizon than her own personality.
So affairs went on in the Bowling Green house until only ten days remained for the last preparations. And these days were expected to be full of visits and farewell hospitalities; for a voyage to Europe was at that time an undertaking surrounded by uncertainty, and even danger, and people went to the Bloommaerts to bid them good-bye, and then as they spoke of the subject shook doubtful heads and wondered if they would ever see them again.
One day about a week before they were to leave Sappha put on her hat to go to Nassau Street. There had been many callers, and she was excited and a little weary, but Mrs. Bloommaert was still more so; and Sappha entreated her to try and sleep until she returned. Having darkened the room she went away, a little depressed by the shutting out of the sunlight, the uncovered stairway, and general air of the dismantled home. But she was so beautiful that any one might have wondered what mystic elements had been combined to produce that air of pleased serenity and thoughtful happiness, which gave to her youth and loveliness a charm that mere form and colour could not impart. She was thinking of Leonard. As she went slowly from step to step she was thinking of Leonard. That day Mrs. Livingston had called, and she had talked enthusiastically about him, of his bravery in action, and his cheerfulness when suffering; and, moreover, of his return to New York. “His wound had been worse than at first appeared likely,” she said, “but her sister-in-law believed he would be able to leave New Orleans before the yellow fever season. A thing very desirable,” she added, “for there are fears of a severe epidemic this year.”