CHAPTER I

TO THE ISLAND

On the cliff-bounded stream! When it is summer noon, And all the land is still, But on the water’s face The merry breeze is playing, Whitening a ripple here and there. H. ALFORD.

The pretty _White Dove_ lay rocking at its moorings. It was gray on the outside and white within, and as clean and nice as any little boat need be.

Old ’Sias handed his young passenger into it, and made her very comfortable on a seat in the stern.

Then he loosened the chain of the boat, spread the snowy sail to the breeze, took the tiller in his hand and steered for the island.

They had a beautiful run down the river.

The clear bosom of the water, reflecting the brilliant morning sky with its sunlit clouds, displayed all the blending rainbow hues of rose, violet, azure, gold and green.

The shore on the right hand was a wide range of high, undulating, wooded hills, rising one behind the other until their outlines were melted amid the vapors of the distant western horizon.

The shore on the left hand was a wall of lofty, rugged, moss-studded cliffs, whose tops were lost among the clouds.

Before them, down the river, lay the lovely isle, with its girdle of green trees, from the midst of which arose its velvety green hill, crowned with its airy palace, whose high, white walls and many crystal windows flashed and sparkled in the sunshine.

“Oh, how heavenly the country is!” exclaimed Em. “I always thought it was beautiful, but I never dreamed it was so divine!”

“You come from the city, honey?” inquired the old man.

“Yes, but I never want to go back to it,” answered Em.

“Ay, ay! I never was in a city in my life. Dey say how ‘De Lord made de country and man made de town.’ Do yer think dat is true, honey?” asked ’Sias.

“Yes, I _do_,” said Em., decidedly. “And if you could see a town you’d think so, too.”

“Well, honey, I has libbed in dis yer sublunatic speer a hundred and fifty years, more or _less_, and nebber sot eyes on a city, nor likewise a town. But I libs in hopes to see one, or both, ’fore ebber I ’parts for de glory land,” said old ’Sias.

Em. did not reply; indeed she scarcely heard his words, as her whole attention was fixed upon the lovely isle, to whose shore they were now approaching so near that the velvety green hill, crowned with its glittering white mansion, was slowly sinking out of sight behind the beautiful girdle of silver maple trees that encircled it like a halo of soft light.

“Here we is, honey,” said old ’Sias, as he drew down the little sail, and, taking an oar, pushed the boat up among a shoal of white water-lilies that surrounded the shores.

Then ’Sias moved the _White Dove_ to a water-post, and got out and offered his hand to his passenger, saying:

“Jump for it, honey, so as to clear de wet sand and light wid dry feet on de rock here.”

Em. followed his direction and landed dry-shod.

Then they picked their way over a bank of violets and pansies, snow-drops and other wild flowers, and then through a thicket of eglantines, sweet-briers, and wild roses, and honeysuckles, and next through a grove of acacias or flowering locusts, and finally through the belt of silver maples and then up the verdant hill, that was beautifully laid off in groves of fragrant, flowering trees, adorned with statues, arbors and fountains; in parterres of the most brilliant and odoriferous shrubs and flowers; and in green terraces, rising one above another, and reached by white stone steps and leading quite up to the colonnaded porch of the glistening white mansion, with its many sparkling, crystal windows and its balconies, verandas and porches. Around the white columns that supported the piazzas were twined the most beautiful and fragrant rose-vines and climbing plants.

It was a place of more than ideal beauty; it was a home of paradisiacal loveliness.

It was no dreamy solitude now, however. On the highest terrace in front of the house were seated about seventy persons, of both sexes and all ages, colors and conditions—a very small congregation, but making up in devout attention for what they lacked in numbers, as they listened silently, with upturned, intent faces, to the preacher, who was concealed from the newcomers by an intervening, rose-wreathed column.

“I am afraid we are late,” whispered Em.

“Yes, honey, we is. The sermon is begun. We sha’n’t hear de tex’ ’less he repeats it, which he may; but what we will hear will be wort’ comin’ for, I tell yer. Hush, honey; come ’long here. Here’s a good seat, and right good view ob de preacher, too.”

Em. took the seat indicated on the broad pedestal of a group of statuary, representing Faith, Hope and Charity, that stood on the second terrace. Her position was a little below the crowd, but gave her a plenty of space and a good view of the preacher.

And that preacher! How shall I be able to present him vividly before my readers—that blind orator of the wilderness, who labored among the few—the poor and the ignorant—but who ought to have had a world-wide field and fame.

He stood on the highest step of the stairs leading up to the colonnaded piazza in front of the house, so facing his audience. He was a man of colossal stature, with the shoulders of Hercules and the beauty of Apollo. His face was of the pure Grecian type, and his countenance was full of intellect, majesty and tenderness. The top of his head was high, spherical and perfectly bald, but a fringe of golden hair at the back of his neck came around and almost touched the flow of golden beard that fell from chin to bosom. His eyes were blue, large, full, clear and wonderfully brilliant and mobile! He was dressed in a white linen coat and white duck trousers, and wore white morocco slippers on his feet. He stood by a great white marble vase, from which an almond tree grew, and he rested his left hand upon the vase. That was the only support he had.

With parted lips, suspended breath and rapt attention Em. gazed on the stranger. She had never seen so god-like a man. That the magnificent form should have been struck with paralysis seemed incredible; that those splendid, radiant, soaring eyes, with their flying glances and rapt gaze, should be blind seemed impossible.

Em. could scarcely believe it.

“I should think they had light enough _within_ them to see in the dark; that they would never need the sun as we do,” she whispered in awe-struck tones.

“That’s what we all say, honey. He has the light _inside_ of his eyes. But he is stone blind for all that, honey.”

“Hush! hush! Let me hear _him_,” said Em., as she bent her whole attention upon the preacher.

He had evidently got well on in his sermon before the late arrival of these last comers. They had not heard his text, but they soon comprehended his subject. It was threefold—

Faith, Love, Works.

I shall not risk spoiling the blind preacher’s sermon by attempting any report of it here. I will only say that in simple, eloquent words, which went directly to every heart, he explained to them—

How Faith without Love was cold, and either, or both, without Works, dead. How Faith and Love must go forth in good uses; must go forth, through brain, heart and hand in good thoughts, good feelings and good deeds to all.

He told them it was not enough we should cease to _do_ ill to our neighbor, but we should cease to _speak_ ill, or even to _think_ ill of him. We should do good to him or do nothing; speak well of him or be silent; think the best of him or not at all; that thus, by the Lord’s help, we should come into the life of Faith, Hope and Charity—the life of love to the Lord and the neighbor, in which all men should live in this world, and in which all should wish to enter the world beyond.

He told them the vast significance of this word “neighbor”; how it had reached from the highest created being to the lowest; how he who “needlessly set foot upon a worm,” sinned in the same manner, if not in the same degree, as he who tortured or sacrificed a hero or a martyr.

He begged them to take this truth home with them that all might be the better and the happier for it.

The sermon was followed by a fervent prayer, an inspiring hymn, in which nearly all the congregation joined, and lastly, by the benediction.

Em. saw the blind preacher raise his radiant face toward heaven to invoke the blessing, and she reverently bowed her head until he had ceased to speak.

When she lifted it to look at him again he had disappeared and his hearers were dispersing.

Em. turned inquiring eyes upon old Josias.

“He’s only dropped down in his chair, behind the rose-vines, honey. Dat’s allers de way. ’Pears like arter de benediction he gibs right out,” the old man explained.

“And you tell me that man is blind? ’Sias, I cannot realize it! Blind! Why, ’Sias, how _could_ he be blind when, at several places in his sermon that suited my case, he looked me right straight in the eyes as if he pointed his words directly to me? How could he know I sat there unless he could see me? How could he see me unless he had sight, and very excellent sight, too?”

“Honey, I don’t know. Dat’s what ’stonishes us all; for dat’s de way he looks at us all, right in our eyes, right into our hearts, too. I dunno how it is. He is stone blind, dat is sartain sure, and yet he talks to yer wid his eyes as plain as anybody can speak. Maybe, honey, _his soul’s eyes sees your soul_; for he told us in one of his sermons how we was all souls that had bodies to live in; and not bodies that had souls; and how our souls were ourselves, and our bodies only our houses of flesh, our clothing, our instrument, that we were always using up and wearing out and having to repair by eating and drinking and breathing; but how we ourselves never did wear out.”

“I should like to have heard that,” said Em., with a hungry look in her eyes.

“’Nother time, honey, what do yer think he said? It was a hard sayin’ for us poor sinners, now I tell yer! He said the hardest resurrection was the resurrection of our souls out of de death of selfishness.”

While the two had sat talking all the rest of the rural congregation had separated and gone down by the various paths leading from the hill to the shores of the island, all around which, at various landings, their boats were moored.

At length the old man arose and put on his hat, saying:

“Come, honey.”

“Oh, Uncle ’Sias, don’t you think we might walk up these steps and walk around the beautiful rose-wreathed piazza and see the lovely oriel windows and balconies?” inquired Em. in a coaxing voice.

“Sartin sure, honey! Come along!” replied the good-natured old fellow, leading the way.

Up they went to the elegant porch with its rows of white stone pillars, wreathed around with climbing red and white roses, all in full bloom, on the outer side, and adorned with rows of crystal windows on the inner side. These windows had white shutters that closed within the house.

Em. looked at these closed shutters with the curiosity and longing of Blue Beard’s wife when the latter contemplated the closed chamber.

“Would you like to see inside de house, honey?” demanded the old man.

“Oh! would I not?” exclaimed Em.

“Well, den you can, honey. De lady as owns it is the most free-hearted lady as ebber you seed. She lets anybody walk ober and ober de island, and t’rough and t’rough de house—less she dere herse’f, honey—den, to be sure, she ’serves her private rooms. You sit down here, honey, at de front door and wait for me, and I’ll go round to de housekeeper’s room, which I knows her, and she’ll let you see de house if she can at my recommend.”

“Oh, thank you, dear Uncle ’Sias. I will wait here joyfully until you come back,” eagerly exclaimed Emolyn, as she seated herself on the threshold of the front door.

The old man went down the front and around to the rear of the premises, while Em., sitting on the threshold of this fairy palace, let her delighted eyes rove around over rose-wreathed pillars, vine-clad balconies, oriel windows, trellised terraces, flowery lawns, fountains, statues, lakelets, groves and sparkling rivulets running down to the river.

After a short absence the old man returned with a single key in his hand, saying, as he twirled it in his fingers:

“I can show you de hall and de grand saloon, honey, and de drawing-rooms and library, which are all on dis floor at dis front ob de house; but all de oder rooms are closed and can’t be shown.”

“Is the lady at home, then?” inquired Em.

“No, honey.”

“Then why may we not see the whole of the house?”

“I dunno, chile; I didn’t ax her,” replied ’Sias, who was not so much interested in the mystery as was the young questioner.

By this time he had slowly unlocked and opened the front door, admitting them into the hall.

This hall was circular in shape, spacious in size and lofty in height, reaching from the inlaid white marble floor to the crystal dome that formed the roof and lighted the whole scene. Around the polished white walls of this fair circle were doorways, hung with curtains of blue silk and white lace, leading into many lovely rooms.

The old guide beckoned Em. to follow him, and pulling aside the blue and white curtains of a doorway on his left, led the way into an oval-shaped saloon, with an oval window in front and a semi-circular mirror exactly opposite in the rear. This mirror was so artistically contrived that it reflected all the varied island scenery from the oriel window, and gave the saloon the appearance of being open and illimitable in length. This beautiful room was furnished entirely in white and blue—the walls being of polished white panels that shone like porcelain and having cornices of blue; the side windows and doorways draped with blue silk and white lace; the carpet white velvet bordered with blue; the chairs and sofas covered with white velvet trimmed with blue; the stands and tables of pure white marble tops, supported on blue-veined marble pedestals; the statues and statuettes, both in groups and single pieces, all of Parian marble; the jars and vases of blue Sèvres china. And what was still more unique in its harmony, the pictures that filled up all the spaces between the side doors and windows were framed in frosted silver plate, and the subjects were all of a bright, aerial, happy type—“Spring,” “Morning,” “Hope,” “Youth.”

Em., “embarrassed with the riches” of these beauties, gazed in delight upon the whole room, and then began to examine the pictures, pausing in a rapture of admiration before each.

But suddenly in her progress she started, uttered a slight cry and stood perfectly still before a picture that hung between two lofty windows on the side of the saloon opposite to the door leading into the hall.

It was the full-length portrait of a lady, tall, elegantly formed, gracefully posed and clothed in white from head to foot; a white satin robe that fell from her rounded bust to her feet and drifted about them in soft white clouds; white satin hanging sleeves, open from the shoulders and half revealing the shapely arms; and over all, head, bust and waist, a large, flowing silver gauze veil that fell to her feet, half concealing, half revealing the resplendant beauty of the head and face with the bright, sun-gilded, auburn hair; with the perfect, chiseled Grecian features, the snowwhite complexion and large, mournful blue eyes half hidden under their snowy, drooping lids. The background of this form was a deep, cloudless, twilight sky. There was nothing else, nothing to divert attention from the beautiful, spiritual, mysterious form of the lady.

Em. gazed upon it with breathless attention. It was not the spiritual beauty and mystery of this veiled figure alone that fixed her gaze—it was the “counterfeit presentment” of the moonlight apparition she had seen in the old hall.

“Whose portrait is this?” she demanded in low, breathless tones of the old man, who had come to her side.

“I dunno, honey, ’less it’s de White Spirit’s. Seems like it might be, from all accounts of her,” replied ’Sias.

Em. said no more, but remained gazing fixedly at the picture, as she would not have dared to gaze at the apparition.

Yes, it was the very same form! the very same features! the same sunlit, auburn tresses! the same pure, clear-cut, alabaster profile! the same large, drooping blue eyes—even the same flowing silver gauze veil and white satin robe!

Em. shivered, half in terror, half in admiration, and felt for the moment as if she should lose her reason.

Old ’Sias waited with exemplary patience, but as minute after minute passed and the young girl stood there as motionless as if she had “taken root,” the old man thought proper at last to break the spell by saying:

“Come, honey, it’s getting on to two o’clock. If yer want to see de drawing-rooms and de library and de boody we’d better be a-movin’.”

“No, I will not look at anything else this morning,” said Em., with her eyes still fixed upon the picture.

In his surprise old ’Sias stared at the spellbound girl, and then suddenly uttered a loud exclamation that startled even her.

“Why, what is the matter, Uncle ’Sias?” she inquired, turning sharply around.

“Oh, my law, honey!” cried the old man, staring first at her and then at the picture.

“What is it, then?” she repeated.

“Oh, honey, de _likeness_! _de ’strornary likeness!_” exclaimed the amazed old man.

“What likeness, Uncle ’Sias?” inquired Em.

“’Twixt you and de picter, honey!—’twixt you and de picter! Let alone de diffunce in de clo’s, de picter is de image ob yer, honey! de same face, de same eyes, de same hair! Well, law, I nebber did see such a likeness ’twixt two in all de days ob my life!”

“_Is_ the picture so much like me? How strange,” said Em. in perplexity as she gazed at the portrait and tried to remember how her own face looked in the glass; but could not do so.

“_Like_ yer, honey? Well, chile, I has libbed in dis yer sublunatic speer for a hund’ed and fifty year, more or less, honey, more or less, an’ I nebber see no sech a likeness before, dere!” solemnly replied the old negro.

“It is very wonderful! but everything about the picture and—the lady, too—is wonderful,” said Em., as her mind reverted to the apparition of the night previous.

“Come, honey, I d’want to hurry yer; but de time is gettin’ on, an’ Sereny—I promised of her to get back to dinner at two o’clock, honey, an’ Sereny do have sich a wiolent temper!” said old ’Sias uneasily.

“Sereny?” questioned Em.

“Yes, honey, Sereny; that’s my wife, my second one, chile, not my fust one, as has passed away to de gloryland long ago, dough she wasn’t nuffin nigh as old as I was; no, honey, Sereny is my young wife as I took las’ year to keep me warm in my ole age—accordin’ to King David and Abishey, honey, and true nuff, she _do_ keep me warm—wid her temper and her tongue, let alone de broomstick and de hoe-helve, honey! An’ ef I don’t get home by two o’clock, chile, I shall get hoe-helve ’stead of hoe-cake for dinner, mine I tell you!” said the old man, sighing.

“Oh, let us hurry, then, and get back. I would not bring you into trouble for anything in this world! But why do you let a young woman treat a man of your venerable age so disrespectfully and cruelly?” exclaimed Em., as she turned to follow her conductor from the saloon.

“Well, dare’s jes’ where it is! It’s _’cause_ ob my wenerable ole age! I’m de weakest—in de body, honey! in de body! not in de mine! And she’s de strongest—in de body, honey! in de body! not in de mine! and so she gets de better ob me! And serb me right, too, come to think ob it! I had no business to take Sereny! I wa’n’t no King David! And she had no business to take me, which she did ’sake ob libbin’ in de purty gate-lodge, so much purtier dan de log cabins de odder colored folks lib in. But she keeps me warm—dat’s so—wid de broomstick and de hoe-helve! But, patience! it can’t las’ forebber, and some ob dese days I shall go to sleep down here an’ wake up in de glory land, where my _own_ ole ’oman is waitin’ for me,” concluded ’Sias as he carefully locked the outside door; and then he went slowly down the steps and around to the rear of the premises to restore the key to the housekeeper.

Em. remained standing where he had left her, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, in a deep reverie, which continued unbroken until the return of the old man, saying as he came up: “Now, den, honey, for de boat.”

Em. followed him down through the terraced grounds, with their arbors, statues, fountains, parterres of flowers, groves and ponds, and then through the wood of silver maples, and the fragrant, blooming wood of acacias, to the sandy shore, where sat the little _White Dove_ brooding on the waters.

Em. entered the boat and seated herself in the stern.

The old man followed her, hoisted the sail, and took the tiller in his hand.

Leaving the lovely island behind he headed up stream and steered for the Valley of the Wilderness. Now their course lay half way between the river shores, having the lofty, rugged, gray, rocky precipices on their right hand, and the beautiful, undulating green and wooded hills on their left.

Their progress was a little slower up stream than it had been down, and so it was near three o’clock when at length they landed at the foot of the little dilapidated pier belonging to the old boat-house of the Wilderness.

Old ’Sias secured his boat and followed Em., who was hurrying along the woodland walk that led from the landing through the forest to the park gate.

“Yes, honey, it is late. Sereny’ll be wiolent, I tell yer!” said ’Sias as he came up quite breathlessly.

Em. heard him, and wondered how she might save the poor old man from suffering at the hands of his Xantippe.

At length, without stopping in her hurried walk, she unpinned a pretty new neck-tie that she wore on her white dress, smoothed out the folds and rolled it up, saying to herself:

“Bright blue ribbons must be rare luxuries of dress in this Wilderness, and if it does not mollify the temper of Madame Sereny, I do not know what will!”

They reached the park gate at last and passed through.

And there, sure enough, at the door of the lodge stood the tall, handsome mulatto woman called, or rather miscalled, Serena.

A heavy thunder-cloud was on her brow.

Her little, old, black dwarf of a husband shrank behind Em., who walked smilingly up to the woman, saying frankly:

“See what I have brought you, as a testimonial of my gratitude to your husband for taking me to the island to hear the blind preacher.”

And with these words she placed the bright blue scarf in the woman’s hand.

Serena smiled, showing all her large, white, regular ivories, and said:

“Thanky, Miss. How purty! Dere ain’t sich a scaff in de whole county as dis! ’Deed, I’m ebber so much obleeged to yer! Won’t yer come in an’ res’?”

“No, I thank you. I have to hurry home to my father and mother,” said Em.

“Yes, honey, dat’s right, too! Be dutiful to yer parients. Thanky agin, Miss! And if ebber, so be, yer want my ’Sias to take yer a rowin’ or a sailin’, he’ll _do_ it, or I’ll know the reason why he _don’t_. Come in, ’Sias, honey, yer dinner’s all ready for yer,” concluded Sereny in a tone of such good will that the old man smilingly followed her into the lodge, while Em. hurried home feeling that all was well.