CHAPTER XXVI

A FAIRY BOWER

Marble walled and crystal windowed, Vailed with silken drapery, Dressed with ornaments of silver, Interlaid with gems and gold; Filled with carvings from cathedrals, Rescued in the times of old; Eloquent with books and pictures, All that luxury can afford; Warm with statues that Pygmalion Might have fashioned and adored, In the island’s groves and grottoes, Lovely are the light and gloom, Fountains sparkle in the grotto, And exotics breathe perfume. MACKAY.

“Come, my darling, I wish to show you something,” said the Lady of Edengarden, as she took the hand of Emolyn Palmer and led her out of the front door and down the marble steps to the first terrace, which was still green and fresh, though all around was touched with frost. Then she turned her around, and they stood facing the beautiful windows glistening in the morning sun like alabaster and rainbows.

“Look,” said the lady, pointing to one high, airy white tower with many windows, whose summit seemed to be almost up among the clouds.

“Oh, I have often gazed at that tower, dear lady! How elegant it is!” exclaimed Em.

“Look at the top,” said the lady.

“Oh, how lovely, with its crystal windows shaded with rose-colored silk and opening upon marble balconies. It is like a chamber in Paradise surely. I have often gazed at it while on my solitary visits to the island, and thought it was too beautiful, aerial and ideal ever to be used, and often wondered if any one ever lived in it! The white tower is the most elegant part of the palace, and that aerial chamber in the clouds the most beautiful part of the tower.”

“It has never been occupied. It is a virgin bower. But come in and I will take you at once to your apartment,” murmured Emolyn, as she drew her young companion’s arm within her own and conducted her into the hall and up the fairy flight of stairs leading to the upper floors.

“I think I know your taste in lodgings. You have a cat-like love of garrets,” said the lady, smiling.

“Oh, yes, indeed I have; but I wonder how you know it, madam?” exclaimed the girl in open-eyed astonishment.

“I think I should have known it by intuition even if your mother had not told me, as she did,” said the lady, as she passed the second landing and led her companion still higher.

They went up to the attic hall, with a floor inlaid of maple and black walnut; with broad, stained glass windows at each end, which threw a cathedral light over all, and doors on each side leading into closed rooms; and, lastly, with one tall and narrow door in the corner, toward which the lady led her guest.

They passed through it and up a narrow but very pretty flight of stairs that led them to an upper door, which the lady opened.

Em. made an exclamation of surprise and delight.

“This is your apartment, my little love,” said Emolyn.

The simple maiden gazed around her in a perfect ecstasy of admiration.

The sudden transit from the staircase to this radiant scene was almost like the work of enchantment.

Now I wish my readers to see this beautiful room in their mind’s eye as clearly as I saw it.

It was at the top of the highest tower of the Edengarden Villa. It was a large, lofty, octagon-shaped room, whose eight sides were filled with high, broad mirrors and windows, alternating with each other, and all alike draped with rose-colored silk and white lace curtains to give uniformity. The floor was covered with a carpet which, from its hue and softness, seemed formed of blush roses and water lilies. Elegant cabinets, stands and tables of white satinwood, inlaid with flowers formed of malachite, mother-of-pearl, coral and turquoise, stood near the silver-gilded pillars between the windows and the mirrors.

Sofas, divans and luxurious chairs of white satinwood, upholstered in rose-colored velvet and white chenille fringe, sat about in convenient places, inviting repose. Statuettes of Parian marble—miniature copies of the great masterpieces of sculpture, and vases of rare Sèvres china, Bohemian glass, or alabaster, loaded with choice exotics, adorned the brackets which were attached around the walls.

The ceiling was a cupola, painted in fresco, of opal-tinted clouds on a pale blue morning sky. But the central summit of this cupola was a skylight composed of one solid sheet of thick, clear plate-glass, through which the heavens could be seen by day or night.

Em. gazed around on this fairy chamber, too much lost in admiration even to ask herself whether it were not too rare and costly, too dainty and delicate for daily use.

“This is your boudoir, my bird. It is the topmost room in the high tower. But this tower, as you may have observed from seeing it on the outside, is flanked by four turrets, each with its row of long, narrow windows.”

“Oh, yes, madam, I have seen them all, and this chamber lifted up among the clouds, as it seemed to be.”

“Well, my dear, now look here. First, these four windows give you a wide view of the country toward the four points of the compass. Then these four mirrors between the windows are on hinges, and behind their silken curtains open into turret chambers belonging to your suite of apartments. See here!” she said, gently pushing one of the mirrors outward and revealing an alcove of pure white silk and lace in which stood a fairy bed of soft white draperies.

“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed the delighted girl.

“Now look here,” the lady said, opening a second mirror and revealing a dressing-room fitted with marble bath, basins, ewers, bureaus, presses and all conveniences for the toilet.

“Here is everything that even a princess might desire!” exclaimed Em.

“And here!” continued the lady, turning in a third mirror, showing a little room fitted up as an oratory, library or study.

The floor was covered with a carpet of shaded green, like forest leaves; the walls were lined with white satinwood shelves, filled with choice books; in the middle of the room stood an elegant rosewood writing-table, covered with a richly-embroidered green cloth. Near the table stood an ebony-backed reading chair, cushioned with green and gold; under the window, which was draped with green and gold fringe velvet, stood a lounge in the same colors.

“Oh, this is like the inside of an elegant casket!” exclaimed Em. with enthusiasm.

“Yes, it is a casket, and there are the jewels,” said the lady, pointing to the books. “And now let me show you the fourth turret room,” she continued, leading Em. to the only remaining mirror. Turning it inward, she revealed the fairy-like, spiral staircase by which they had ascended to this floor, and by which she now proposed that they should mount still higher to the observatory.

Em. followed her conductress up an aerial flight of steps and through a stained glass window, which the lady slid aside, and thence out upon the top of the tower.

It was round. The center was formed of the clear glass crystal that gave light to the chamber below. Around this crystal was a slender ring of white marble balustrades; around that a marble walk; outside the walk a row of white benches, and around the edge of the tower a circular colonnade so massive as to insure the safety even of a sleepwalker, if such should venture upon the giddy height.

But the grand view, north, east, south, west, from that high and central point! There was the island immediately beneath, with its lovely grounds; the river all around; the wooded banks; the distant mountains!

“Em.,” exclaimed Mrs. Lynn, “you can see The Breezes, Commodore Bruce’s place, and the Wilderness Manor-house, and even the spire of Gray Rock church from this point.”

“Oh, it is grand! It is glorious!” exclaimed Em. in delight.

“When you wish to leave the world far below you, you can come up here to meditate, read, sew, sketch, dream, do as you please.”

“It is like a place in a vision!” murmured Em.

“And now, dear, we will go down,” said Mrs. Lynn, leading the way.

When they had reached the beautiful octagon chamber, Em. said:

“The season is late autumn, and the weather seems cold outside, yet the temperature in here is that of summer, although I see no means of heating this charming place.”

“Do you not?” inquired the lady, smiling.

“No, indeed.”

“What do you take this to be?” she asked, pointing to a piece of furniture that looked like a large pedestal and vase of alabaster and Bohemian glass and stood near the center of the room.

“That? Why, an elegant flower stand, to be sure!” said Em., wondering.

“Why, so it is in summer; but in autumn and winter we put it to a different use. Lay your hand on it—lightly, Em.”

The girl placed her hand on the pedestal and quickly withdrew it, exclaiming:

“It is hot!”

“Yes, and it heats the room. It is one of those porcelain stoves, such as those with which the Russian palaces are partly heated. And see, dear, the vase on top is kept full of rose-water, which diffuses both moisture and perfume throughout the atmosphere.”

“Oh, how perfect! I could not have conceived of a place so perfect, if indeed it is not all a dream!” breathed Em.

“And now, love, I will leave you to make your toilet for dinner. There, in those drawers and wardrobes of your dressing-room, you will find an outfit, such as I wish you to wear. Youth should always dress in white while in the house, Em. At least I think so, even at this time of the year. And you may do so with impunity, for, as you say, although the season is autumn, the atmosphere is summer. It is _always_ summer at Edengarden,” the lady added with a smile as she pressed a kiss upon the lips of Em. and left the room.

Em. stood for a moment looking about herself, still dazzled and bewildered by the novelty and beauty of her surroundings, and then, child like, she went to each rosesilk and lace-draped window and in turn opened it and stepped out upon the marble balcony. There were four of these, be it remembered, each affording strict privacy and commanding a magnificent view. While she was still standing on the balcony outside of the east window she was startled by a voice in the room calling out:

“Miss Em.! Where is yer, honey? Come out here, honey.”

“I _am_ ‘out here,’ Pony,” laughed the girl, “but I will step _in_, if you want me.”

“Oh, I t’ought you was in your bedroom, maybe. My mist’ess has sent me up here to help yer to dress, chile.”

“Thank you, aunty,” said Em. as she came into the room.

Pony herself went into the dressing-closet and began to overhaul the fresh wardrobe, saying:

“There’s your nice gauze flannels in this bottom drawer, honey, and yer cambric skirts in this, and yer dresses in the wardrobe, and yer——”

“Pony,” interrupted Em., “I have not known your dear and lovely mistress for a week, and here she has a complete outfit for me. How on earth could she have got it?”

“Oh, chile, maybe she may tell you herself some o’ dese days. _I_ ain’t at liberty to explain, Miss Em. Only this I’ll say, dat dis wardrobe wasn’t got for _you_, nor was dese rooms prepared for _you_, nor was——”

“For whom, then, were the rooms fitted up and the wardrobe selected?” inquired the wondering girl.

“I can’t tell you, Miss Em. It ain’t my secret, but de madam’s. ’Haps, as she has taken sich a fancy to you, she may tell you herself.”

Em. looked so puzzled, and even distressed, that Pony hastened to say:

“But you have got the beautiful rooms and the beautiful dresses all to yourself now, honey, with no one to dispute them with you.”

“I am afraid, though, that my gain is somebody else’s——”

“No, indeed, Miss Em.! There you are very much mistaken, for I can tell you this much——” eagerly interrupted the woman; and then she suddenly paused.

Em. waited for her to go on, grew impatient, and then demanded:

“What, Pony?”

“_These beautiful rooms and most beautiful raiment was never designed for no mortal girl!_”

“Pony! WHAT do you mean?” breathlessly exclaimed Em. as a mental vision of the radiant White Lady of the Wilderness Manor-hall sent an electric thrill through her veins.

“I daren’t tell you, honey, what I mean. ’Haps _she’ll_ tell you some ob dese days, since she’s took sich a liking to you, which I hopes, honey, you’ll be a blessing to her and win her away from de solitary life as I think has all but turned her brain. I has hopes of you, honey, ’cause you’s de berry first person she has ever bided to make a companion of for dese seventeen years or more. Your folks is de berry first people in all dese many days as she has ever ’vited to her house.”

“Oh, how lonely must such a life have been!” sighed the girl.

“Yes, honey, but it was her own choosing. Why, dere was even Dr. Willet, her ’ticklerest old friend! When he came here t’other day she _seed_ him, to be sure, but she didn’t ax him to stay to dinner!”

“Oh, I am _so_ glad she let me come!” said Em.

“Yes, so am I. My hopes is all in you, Miss Em. My hopes for my dear mist’ess is all in you! Why, honey, she is so _young_ to shet herself up from deciety! She ain’t more’n thirty-two years old, and she don’t look nigh _that_ even. She don’t look so much older’n you, Miss Em. And if she would go out she might marry happy! She might, indeed, for dere’s many and many an unmarried single young lady of her age what passed theirselves off _well_ for a miss in her ’teens! And nobody know to de contrary!”

“Oh, if I could only do anything to make her happy! To make her forget the past, whatever it is! To win her back to her fellow-beings!” sighed Em., clasping her hands prayerfully.

“I ’pends on you for to do dat, Miss Em. And now, my honey-bee, come dress yerself as pretty as ever you can, for my lady loves to look at pretty things. So dress yerself pretty, Miss Em.”

“In the ghost’s clothes?” inquired Em., half jestingly, half shudderingly.

“No, honey, not de ghost’s! Don’t be afeard—dere’s no ghost. In de _angel’s_ clothes, more like.”

“What_ever_ do you mean, Pony?”

“I daren’t say no more’n dis, honey—what I said afore—as dese things, dese lovely rooms and lovely raiments, was never prepared for _you_, _nor for no mortal lady_, dough you has got dem now! So, my honey, don’t ax me no more questions, ’cause you wouldn’t have me ’tray my mist’ess’ trust, would you?” seriously inquired Pony.

“Oh, no, no, no!” earnestly exclaimed Em., who had not considered the subject in that light before.

“Well, den, honey, don’t ax me no more questions on dat subject, ’cause talking is my weakness, anyhow; but, come, now and dress yerself pretty as a fairy, to go down and sit wid my mist’ess.”

Em. looked over her simple and elegant wardrobe and selected a costume of embroidered white India muslin, lightly trimmed with pale blue ribbons.

When she was ready she followed Pony down to the presence of her mistress, whom she found in a little boudoir connected with the long saloon on one end and a small, elegant dining-room on the other.

The lady had changed her own dress, and wore a silver-gray silk with point lace falls, and no jewelry.

“We dine early here, my dear girl,” said Mrs. Lynn as she touched the bell.

No one answered it, for the signal at that hour was understood, and in about five minutes dinner was announced.

No more need be said of this than that it was a dainty little dinner for two, elegantly served in the small but sumptuous dining-room.

After dinner Mrs. Lynn took Emolyn into the library, where they spent a few pleasant hours seated in luxurious chairs at a table covered with books of engravings after the old masters.

When tired of this amusement at the lady’s suggestion they drew their chairs to the fire and fell into a confidential chat.

The lady drew Em. out to speak of her childhood, of Laundry Lane, of her journey to the mountains, and of her first impressions of the new home.

In the course of her narrative Em. spoke of the radiant vision she had seen in the moonlit hall on the first night of her stay at the old manor-house.

“Life is full of mysteries,” muttered the lady thoughtfully—then, seeing Em. watching breathlessly, she added—“But your vision was probably a dream, inspired by the stories you had heard about the so-called ‘haunted hall.’”

“But I never heard any stories, dear lady. To be sure, old ’Sias, the gatekeeper, startled mother by hinting that no one who knew the house could be induced to go into it. But he absolutely refused to explain his words, so we heard no story,” said Em.

“What? Why should you have dreamed of the bride’s ghost if you never had heard the story?”

“Dear lady, I did not dream. I _saw_ the radiant spirit.”

“You think you did, my dear, at all events, and it is very strange that your dream should have corresponded so well with the legend you never heard.”

“No, but please tell it to me, dear lady,” said Em., who had all a child’s eagerness to hear a story.

“It is very old; but one of my remote ancestors was a terrible domestic tyrant, and had, among many sons, only one beautiful daughter. She loved a poor young man, but was ordered by her father to marry an old one. Parents did not trifle in those days. Ethelinde was to be forced to obey. She was locked in her room and guarded till the wedding night.

“The time came. The guests were assembled, the feast was spread. The bridegroom and his attendants waited in the hall, the bishop and the rector were ready in the drawing-room. The bride was dressed in splendid bridal array; but every once noticed how pale she looked, even to her lips.

“At length the summons came and she went down, followed by her bridesmaids.

“From the lower end of the hall her aged bridegroom came to meet her. He was bowing and smiling and holding out his hand.

“But as he touched her she fell at his feet—DEAD!

“The overtaxed heart had broken. There, those are the facts, Em.! The fiction is that on every anniversary of that fatal day the bride goes through her death march again, sometimes followed by a faithful attendant, sometimes alone. You _must_ have heard the story and forgotten it, else why should you have dreamed the dream?”

“It was no dream, dear lady. Yours is a veritable ghost story, and I have seen a veritable ghost,” said Em. in a voice of awe.

“Come, let us go to bed and sleep off such morbid fancies,” said Mrs. Lynn as she arose and rang for bedroom lights.