CHAPTER XIV.

GUSTY.

“Thine was the shout! the song! the burst of joy! Which sweet from childhood’s rosy lips resoundeth, Thine was the eager spirit naught could cloy, And the glad heart from which all grief reboundeth.” MRS. NORTON

There she sat motionless. The only sounds were the beating of the rain against the windows, and the racing of the rats through the cuddies. At last the noise of footsteps tearing up the stairs, and a voice shouting a sea-song startled the wild girl—she looked up just as Gusty Wilde burst into the room, and running up to her, caught her around the neck, and gave her a boisterous salute, exclaiming breathlessly,

“I just got home last night, Hagar! and have been wanting to run over and see you so much, but mother detained me this morning, and I couldn’t, but you see as soon as the storm subsided a little I ran over here, ’specially as mother gives me a tea-party this evening in honor of my coming home. She has baked a plum cake, and I have brought you home a monkey; so, Hagar, you must return with me. I came on purpose to fetch you; _you_ won’t be afraid to cross the swollen river.”

He was a fine, noble looking boy, stoutly built, with a full face, rosy complexion, clear merry blue eyes, and an abundance of soft yellow curls clustering thick around a brow of almost feminine whiteness. He wore a sailor’s blue jacket, white trousers, and tarpaulin hat. He looked at Hagar for her answer. Observing now for the first time the girl’s disconsolate air, he sat down beside her, pulled off his tarpaulin hat, and placing it between his knees, put his arm quietly around the neck of the child, and kissing her dark brow gently, inquired,

“Hagar, what is the matter?”

She did not reply, but remained in her first posture with her elbows on her knees, her chin propped up by her hands, and her black elf locks streaming down each side of her face. He gently put her hair back from her face, and tucking it behind her ears, asked kindly,

“Where is Rosalia, Hagar, and why are you up here in this cold, damp room alone?”

“How did you know that I was here?”

“I met Tarquinius in the entry as I came in the house, and inquiring for you the first one, he told me you were here—then I ran in, upset Father Withers in my haste, kissed Sophie, and breaking away ran up here to find you. But where is Rosalia? I expected to find her with you?”

“Rosalia is in old Cumbo’s lap warming herself before the kitchen fire, and eating biscuits—and I—am I not always alone—when storms and floods drive me to the house; but _they_,” added she, “shall not send me in again; the wild beasts bear their raging, and so will I.”

“Why don’t you stay in the parlor?”

“In the parlor?” laughed the girl, bitterly; “Mr. Withers’s mastiffs and bulldogs stay in the parlor, the old tabby cat reposes on the rug before the parlor fire, and Aunt Sophie’s pet rabbit has its cushion in the corner, but I, I am a parlor ornament, ain’t I?”

“Oh! Hagar, don’t do so! it is so very ugly in a little girl to act that way, laughing and jibing and jeering with so much scorn and bitterness. Now tell me why you are banished from the parlor, if you _are_ banished.”

“Look at me! this is the best suit of clothes I have in the world; do you think Mr. Withers is going to let me stay in the parlor looking like _this_, strict as _he_ is?”

Gusty glanced down at her torn and rusty calico dress—and at her, and at her little feet protruding through her old stockings and shoes. Then he said seriously, as he looked at her,

“Lord, Hagar, I don’t know now how I shall take you in that trim. But why, child, did you not stay at the kitchen fire with Rose? That would have been far more comfortable than this wet, cold garret.”

“I was driven from the kitchen, Gusty—driven from the kitchen because I paid Tarquin well for hurting Rosalia—and only think, Gusty, _just_ think, Rosalia, who should have stuck to me, remained with the old woman who drove me off for protecting _her_,” and the girl turned her eyes flashing with scorn and bitterness towards the boy, who remarked—

“Rose did that, Hagar? It was not like Rose to do that. I shall not love Rose if she becomes mean and selfish; but it can’t be so; something remains to be explained.”

“Oh, yes,” laughed the wild child, “something remains to be explained—she was hungry and cold—and Cumbo offered to feed and warm her.”

How unusual and how frightful is a sneer on a child’s countenance, and oh! what a tale of perverted nature it tells! After a while her countenance relapsed into its serious cast, and she said,

“Since you left, Gusty, I have been quite alone; everybody has fallen away from me and gone to Rosalia. Every one dislikes or forgets me, and every one loves Rosalia.”

“I have not fallen away from you, Hagar.”

“No dear Gusty, _you_ have not—perhaps you _will_, though, when you see more of Rose—” added she, sadly and doubtingly.

There was springing in her bosom the germ of that doubt of all things and all persons that in after life became a distinguishing and fatal trait in her character. Children are born with trust. The confidingness of childhood is proverbial, but like all other childish instincts, it is young and delicate, and easily crushed to death. Children _feel_ before they can _reason_, and the impressions of childhood being well nigh ineffaceable, the deceived and betrayed child is often parent to the sceptical and scoffing man or woman.

“I will _never_ fall away from you, Hagar, nor can I see how Rosalia can draw me away. Can’t I love you _both_? And now, little Hagar, you must let me comb your hair and take you over to mother’s to tea. I should like to take Rose, too, but she is too tender to brave the weather this evening.”

And in all simplicity he took from his pocket a little comb, and began to comb out Hagar’s elf locks. With wondrous skill he smoothed and arranged her long hair into a simple knot behind her head, and passing his hands two or three times over the surface of her hair, said cheerfully,

“There, now, you little thing, why don’t you take pains with yourself? You look so much prettier, now that your hair is shining like blue-black satin, so that I can see my face in it. And, oh, Hagar! how I wish that they would let you come and live with my mother; mother wants a little girl so much, especially if I get my midshipman’s warrant and go to sea again. Oh, if you were only with mother, how good and happy she would make you—and you would grow pretty, too, for good girls always grow pretty. There, you are smiling! do you happen to know that you have the most beautiful smile in the world, Hagar?”

“I know that Rosalia has, for everybody says so.”

“Yes, Rose has a sweet, soft smile, like summer sunbeams on flowers; pretty enough, and common enough; but _your_ smile, Hagar—I’ll tell you what your smile is like. I have been at sea, near a wild coast full of frightful breakers, shelving rocks, dark cliffs, and murky caverns, with a stormy sea, a blackened sky, the whole landscape dark, gloomy, and terrible, until suddenly out breaks the sun, lighting up the scene which then becomes wild, grand, sublime! Such is your face, and such your smile, Hagar. I gaze breathless at the wild beauty of both.”

Just at this moment, into the room broke Rosalia, and running up to Hagar threw her arms about her neck, exclaiming, breathlessly, while she thrust a biscuit into her hands,

“Here, here, Hagar! I only just waited till she gave me the biscuit she promised, and then I came away and brought it to you! Here, here, take it, Hagar! I ain’t hungry—no, not a bit.”

Thus would the sweet child’s native goodness sometimes break through the shell of selfishness that was crusting over it. Hagar, with one of her quick revulsions of feeling, burst into tears, and pressed the little one to her bosom, and Gusty, snatching her up in his arms, gleefully exclaimed while he ran around the room with her,

“There, there, there! Hurrah! I knew it. I could have sworn my soul away upon the soundness of my little Rosebud! I knew there was not a really selfish drop of blood in little Rose’s tender heart!”

Then returning and setting her down, he said, “Come, the rain has quite ceased, the sun is setting in golden glory, mother’s cake is done, and her tea is ready, and she is waiting for me, I know. Come, Rose shall go, too. I will carry her in my arms. And Hagar, you little savage, you can trip on before, and when I have got you both safe at the cottage, I can send word to Sophie, and keep you all night.” So saying he led the children from the attic.

* * * * *

Emily May was seated in the sober glory of her neat parlor, awaiting the return of Gusty. The round tea-table was covered with a white damask cloth, and graced by a little silver tea service. The plum cake stood in the centre. It was with surprise and pain that she received the children. Ignorant of the cause of Sophie’s neglect of them, she blamed her in her heart for it, and determined upon the next day to ride over, and use an old friend’s privilege of speaking to her upon the subject. The next day that visit was made, and Emily saw the wasted, sorrowing, patient look of her friend, the truth was partly guessed, and she proposed to take the children, and especially Hagar, under her own surveillance. To this proposition, Sophie tearfully and gratefully acceded. Encouraged by having gained this point, and incited by her love of children, she went a step further and proposed that both the children should be sent to the cottage as pupils, and share with Gusty the instructions of the young curate, her boarder. This plan was submitted to the decision of Mr. Withers, and having received his acquiescence, was immediately carried into effect. Soon the most favorable change was apparent in the children. Rosalia’s beauty bloomed like her type, the rose, refreshed by showers and sunbeams. Hagar’s black hair no longer hung rusty with exposure, in tangled elf locks over her shoulders, but was banded in satin-like folds. Their characters also seemed to undergo modification. Hagar retained all her individuality, her brave, free, wild spirit, her rather amazonian tastes, but lost the harshness and bitterness that made no part of it. Rosalia retained all her delicacy, her tenderness, yes, and sensuality, but lost the selfishness not native to her gentle character, or at least these things _seemed_ so. The evils growing in the children’s hearts were _cut down_; whether they were _uprooted_ or not is doubtful. Seeds of evil once taking root in children’s hearts are almost ineradicable. Years pass away.

* * * * *

There are times when the current of existence frets and boils along the rocky channel of anxiety, among the rugged crags of care, grief, and wrong; there are times when it dashes thundering over the precipice of some awful crime or calamity—times when it stagnates in the fœtid marshes of indolence and despair—times when it winds on between the verdant banks of peace and amid the blooming isles of pleasure—and times when, scarce marked by ragged crag or verdant isle, it flows on without joy or sorrow, straight towards the ocean of eternity. Even thus calmly flowed the lifestream of Sophie. Relieved from gnawing anxiety upon the children’s account, she was able to give a more cheerful attention to her husband, and soon the more happy effects were apparent. The gloom into which he had fallen was dissipated by the sunshine of her smiles. She now became conscious of a calm, pure, and holy affection for him, such as angels may be supposed to feel for sorrowing man—such as we feel for objects we have nursed and cherished. This sentiment deepened into tenderness as she saw—what she could not fail to see—that as the rays of intellect emanated clearer and clearer from his brain, they but served to reveal the blackness of the shadow of death gathering thick and thicker around him. And it was beautiful yet sorrowful to see how as the sun of reason shone forth, all those clouds and fogs of selfishness and suspicion vanished from his mind. This is not strange or even unusual in the history of mental disease. It is a well known fact that insanity frequently entirely reverses the natural character; thus, under its influence the disinterested grow selfish and exacting, while the selfish become generous, the timid bold, and the bold timid, and most frequently the gentle and sensitive grow harsh and violent. His gloom softened into sadness, into seriousness, into resignation, which soon brightened into gentle cheerfulness, which but one thing in the world could ruffle, the sight of Rosalia Aguilar; then indeed the tide of memory, laden with bitterness, would flow over his soul filling it with sorrow. Upon this account Rosalia became a permanent inmate of Grove Cottage; while Hagar, no longer repulsed by the caprices of his disease, became his most assiduous, and next to Sophie his best beloved nurse and companion. Thus they “brightened the links of love, of sympathy;” _and this returning confidence and affection of her uncle, gave Hagar the antidote for the poison of her soul_. Thenceforth in Hagar’s vision “anger, hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness,” were greater or less degrees of moral insanity.