CHAPTER XXV.

THE RIALTO.

“Amongst the hills, Seest thou not where the villa stands? The moonbeam Strikes on the granite column, and mountains Rise sheltering round it.” LADY FLORA HASTINGS.

The sun was setting on the evening of the third day from their departure from New York, as Mr. and Mrs. Withers stood upon the deck of the steamboat Venture, and watched the approach of a village on the eastern bank of the Hudson. It was a village of considerable importance as to size, and of great beauty of locality. Nearly all the houses were painted white, and nestled in and out among the trees and hills. Many of their windows faced the river, and flashed back the golden fire of the setting sun. While Hagar watched the distant, but fast approaching village, Raymond called her attention to a mansion-house on the same side of the river, and which being some quarter of a mile below the village, was now quite opposite to them. Hagar turned and gazed with all a rustic’s admiration, at the splendid mansion. Let me describe it as she then saw it. It stood half way up a forest-covered hill, which formed a background to the oblong square front of white freestone, with its eight upper windows and four lower windows separated by the handsome marble portico, and blazing in the sunbeams, presented to the view.

“That is an elegant villa!” exclaimed Hagar.

“And it is beautiful on a nearer view,” replied her husband.

“I wonder whose it is?”

“It is called ‘The Rialto,’ and belongs to a gentleman who is now travelling.”

“Then it is unoccupied.”

“It has been shut up a long time, and left in the care of a porter who lives at the gate, _but_ at the time I was last in this neighborhood, which, Hagar, was when I was returning, recalled by you, the house was undergoing repairs, cleaning, painting, &c., preparing for the reception of the owner, who was about to be married and bring home his young bride. I suppose by this time the coverings are all removed from the furniture, pictures, &c., that everything is in perfect readiness for the reception of the master.”

While he spoke the sun sank below the horizon, and the blaze faded from the long windows of the villa just as the boat shot past. In ten more minutes she had reached the village of W——.

Mr. Withers conducted his wife to the nearest hotel, and leaving her there, returned to attend to his baggage.

Hagar sought a bed-chamber with a view of arranging her dress and smoothing her hair, that had been ruffled by the river breeze.

What were Hagar’s feelings now that she was launched alone with her husband, out into a strange new scene? With one who was to be her constant companion for perhaps fifty or sixty years—for Hagar was but eighteen, and Raymond twenty-eight. High spirited, but forgiving, her fiery anger had expended itself long since, and her pride was quiet, as nothing new occurred to alarm it. But another feeling was alarmed and aroused—her latent and deep-seated jealousy—in a silent but deadly fear of losing value in his estimation by comparison with the beautiful and gentle Rosalia, she had lost something of her proud self-confidence. Besides, severed from the home and friends of her childhood, from all early habits and associations; in a new and untried scene, a stranger and alone with him, she felt her dependence upon him—all this, and the deep, strong, and exclusive love she bore him, conspired with _another_ circumstance to soften the fierceness of her spirit, and tame the wildness of her manners. Hagar arranged her travelling dress, and smoothed her glossy ringlets, and sat down by the window to watch the coming of Raymond. Could you have seen her then you would have loved her for the new and strange tenderness shining softly in her eyes, and blushing faintly through her cheeks and lips as she leaned her face upon her hand, while her elbow rested on the window-sill. At last the quick light step of Raymond was heard upon the stairs, and he entered, saying—

“Come, love! are you ready?”

She arose and tied her bonnet.

“Yes, and impatient to see our little home, dear Raymond—for a sweet _little_ home I suppose it will be, to accord with your salary.”

He smiled and drew her arm in his, led her down stairs, and through the principal entrance to where a carriage stood before the door. A coachman sat upon the box; a footman in livery stood holding the door open; Raymond handed her in, followed her, and took a seat by her side. The footman put up the steps, closed the door, and sprang up behind. The carriage was driven off. It rolled through the village, and leaving its lights behind, entered a broad but dark forest road.

“Where are we going?” inquired Hagar.

“_Home_, my love!”

“I thought that we were to reside in the village?”

“Did you?”

“Why, yes, certainly I did.”

He drew her head down upon his bosom, and smoothing back her hair, kissed her forehead and then her lips; he seemed more inclined to caress than to converse, so she asked him no more questions then. He seemed to love her so tenderly and truly now, that she no longer defied him. And she was sinking into a sort of luxurious repose—which, we hope, may last. The carriage had been winding up a wooded hill, where the branches of the tall trees met overhead, so that Hagar, looking out, could scarcely see the stars glimmer through the foliage; at last it emerged from the woods and stopped; the steps were let down, the door opened. Raymond sprang out and held his hand to assist Hagar; then conducted her through a wide gate. It was dark, and she could see only trees, with glimpses of sward between them; and off to her left flitting in and out glimpses of a white house, whose size and shape it was impossible to detect. Their path formed a half circle and ascended; presently emerging from it, they stood before a large and elegant mansion, whose appearance corresponded with that of the villa she had so much admired on her way up the river. He led her up the broad marble stairs that led to the front door—opened the door, from which a flood of light poured, letting go her hand, stepped in before her, turned, opened his arms, and said, in a voice of deep emotion,

“Come, dear Hagar! Let me welcome you to your long, future home—welcome! welcome! dear wife, to arms, and bosom, and home.”

Hagar threw herself into his embrace, and then he led her through a door opening from the left into a superb drawing-room, furnished in the old, gorgeous style, with a rich Turkey carpet “that stole all noises from the feet,” with crimson velvet, gold fringed curtains hanging from the windows, and opposite from the lofty arch that divided the front from the back room; with heavy chairs and sofas, whose crimson coverings harmonized with the curtains; with crystal mirrors reaching from ceiling to floor; with rare paintings from the old masters; with costly and curious lamps, whose light glowing through the stained glass shades upon the crimson appointments of the room, diffused a rich, subdued refulgence through the scene. Raymond led Hagar to one of the deep arm-chairs, and seating her, pulled the bell-rope. The door opened, and the footman who had attended them, stood a step within the room.

“Request Mrs. Collins to come to us.”

The man bowed and withdrew. Soon the door again opened, and a small, elderly woman, in a black silk dress and a neat cap, made her appearance.

“My dear Hagar, this is our housekeeper—the excellent Mrs. Collins—she will show you your dressing-room; you will find your trunks all there, or near at hand, and will have ample time to change your travelling dress before supper, and we have still a long evening before us. To-morrow I will take you over the house,” said he, in a low voice, as Mrs. Collins approached them—then, “Be so good as to show Mrs. Withers to her rooms, Mrs. Collins,” he said aloud, and the nice little woman smiled, withdrew, reappeared with a lamp, and conducted our Hagar, silently wondering, through the passage and up the broad staircase to a front room immediately over the drawing-room. It was a large, light, airy room, with two tall front windows curtained with white dimity, between which stood a dressing-table with a tall, swinging mirror. At the opposite end of the room was a mahogany door leading into her bed-chamber, and on each side of the door stood two large, tall mahogany wardrobes; the coverings of the lounge, easy chair, &c., were white, and the walls were covered with paper of a white ground, over which ran a vine of green leaves, with here and there a small, scarlet flower. The carpet on the floor was of the same cheerful pattern; the room had an inexpressibly clean, pure, and fragrant character. Placing her keys in the hands of Mrs. Collins, Hagar requested her to unpack, and arrange her wardrobe, and then proceeded to make her toilet. And Hagar resolving to look her best, to do honor to the first evening passed with her husband in their own home, arranged her beautiful ringlets in their most becoming fall, arrayed herself in rich amber-colored satin, and clasped topaz bracelets on her arms—rubies and topazes were the only jewels Hagar owned—the only ones in fact that her Egypt complexion would bear. Her present dress and ornaments harmonized beautifully with her dark complexion, while her jetty brows, black eyes and eye-lashes, and long, black, glittering ringlets, relieved the amber-hued complexion and dress from sameness. She descended to the drawing-room, at the door of which Raymond received her, led her smiling to the sofa, and took a seat beside her, just as the crimson curtains were drawn each side from the centre of the arch, exposing a small, but elegant supper-table, with covers for two. Raymond arose, and offering his arm again with a smile, said—

“You see I have to do all the honors of reception and introduction, dear Hagar;” and passing to the other room, placed her at the head of the table, before a glittering tea service of elegantly-chased silver, and of Sevres porcelain. “I see that you are wondering, Hagar, to find me in possession of a comfortable home; suspend your curiosity, dearest, until after supper, when I will make the very simple explanation.”

And after supper, when they were seated together in the drawing-room, he said—

“I am not wealthy, which is the second mistake which you have made about me; neither am I poor, as you supposed when you married me, dear girl. This house, just as it is, was the country-seat of my grandfather, General Raymond, who, holding a high office under the Government, was in the receipt of an ample income that enabled him to keep up this style of living. This income of course died with him. This house, with its grounds of about twenty-five acres, and a small amount of bank stock, was left to me. That money was withdrawn and profitably invested, and its proceeds bring me an annual amount equal to the salary I receive for conducting the Newton School. It is true that it will take every cent of my salary to support this style. And if you ask me, Hagar, why I, a young professor, choose to live in a princely house, with a complete establishment of servants, I tell you that it is not from ostentation—you know me to be too really proud for that—but from a constitutional love and necessity of luxury. I told you before that my senses were keen and delicate—I had almost said intellectual—not strong, or gross. Forms and colors must be agreeably contrasted, or harmoniously blended and grouped for my eye; sounds must be music, or those that are not must come subdued through the hushings of soft carpets and velvet curtains; all scents, but the scent of fresh and growing flowers, must be kept far from the rooms I occupy; my table must be supplied with food delicate and nutritious; and lastly, nothing but soft or elastic substances must come in contact with my touch—at least in my home.”

“But how, with your delicate tastes, can you bear your school-room?” asked Hagar.

“My school-room, lecture rooms, hall, &c., among which I pass just five hours a day, are each large, airy, clean, and _bare_; that is, bare of every article of furniture not strictly necessary; so that if there is nothing to _delight_, there is nothing to _offend_—for the rest, you know that teaching is my vocation, my passion. I give myself fully up to it during the hours of instruction, and when they are over, I return with revived relish for the luxuries of home—enjoyments that would pall upon the taste if they were not relieved by their absence during the hours of intellectual labor, which goes on in another place, and which is itself another keen enjoyment of a different and higher order; as it is, each relieves and enhances the other.”

“But why,” asked Hagar, “keep so many and such expensive servants, to wait on two young people who are not rich?”

“For many reasons, Hagar; for one thing it requires all of them, each in his or her appropriate place, to keep the house in the perfect order we wish, and in the second, I like to receive the services and veneration—not of Colonel A, B, and C, or Judge D, E, or F, but of people who live with me—by the way, remember that, love.”

“But then,” persisted Hagar, “why keep Mrs. Collins, whose salary must be large?”

“To oversee the others, and keep everything upon velvet, of course.”

“I could do that, dear Raymond.”

“But you shall not, dear Hagar. You are the lady of the mansion; but forget the house. I could not bear to see your brow corrugated by the thousand and one cares of housekeeping, or to have you come near me with the odor of pantries or stove-rooms hanging about you, for I should be sure to detect it through any disguise of perfume; and that is the great reason why I keep Mrs. Collins. You have nothing to do with the house, love. Cultivate your beauty, Hagar; refine it; you have nothing else to do, except to take lessons on the harp, which lessons and practice will help to fill up the hours of my _absence_, Hagar; for indeed, love, I think it would give me a brain fever to hear your unpractised fingers strumming discord in my ears.”

“Will you permit me to inquire,” asked Hagar, “why, with your sensitive, delicate, and luxurious tastes, you could fancy”—

“Such a wild, dark little savage as yourself?”

“Yes.”

He raised her from the sofa, and turning around, faced the full length mirror that occupied the space between the two windows behind it.

“Look at your reflection, Hagar,” her eyes and _color_ raised at the same moment. “You are a little dark, sparkling creature, your effect is exhilarating. A languishing beauty in these languishing rooms would have been softness to flatness. Are not the perfumes more piquant when conveyed through the medium of spirits of wine? You are just _l’esprit_ that gives life to all this soft luxury; and look again, Hagar—survey yourself—see, this amber dress and amber complexion suit well together; and this is harmony. Suppose your hair was of the same hue, then the _tout ensemble_ would be dull, flat, wearisome. But your ringlets fall black and glittering upon the amber-hued neck and bosom, and this is contrast. Thus contrast and harmony form the perfection of your toilet.”

“I am sure I never thought of that,” said Hagar, “when wishing to do honor to your fine house I put on a fine dress: but now I suppose—though I do not care to have my mind skewered down to such trifles—I must think a little more of it, as I suspect that in this grand house you receive grand company sometimes.”

“_Never_, Hagar; how do you suppose I could afford it? for if I received grand company I should be invited to grand dinners, and have to give them in return, and that would disturb the luxurious repose of our house and life—no, Hagar, I am too self-indulgent to be ostentatious, or even hospitable. I like everything upon velvet, all downy, reposing, silent, or breathing low music”—

“Except me.”

“Not _always_ excepting you—I like your spirit tempered a little—thus—look again into the mirror, Hagar; I said your glittering blue-black ringlets, smoothed and gemmed as they are, form an agreeable contrast to the harmony of your dress; but now suppose that black hair hung in the wild elf locks of the little savage of the heath, as I first knew her—would that be agreeable any way?—no—well! govern—as it were, smoothe and gem your piquancy; in a word, use your wildness as you do your hair,” and they turned and reseated themselves.

The next morning, after breakfast, Raymond took her all over the house; there were two floors besides the basement and attic—on each floor four large rooms handsomely furnished. Through the middle of each floor ran a hall, from front to back, dividing the rooms in pairs; on the lower floor on the left hand side of the hall were the drawing-room and dining-room we have seen them use on the first evening of their arrival; on the right hand side was a large saloon, once used for balls, but now closed as useless. He took her through the grounds, all handsomely laid out; a vineyard on the right, a kitchen garden in the middle, and an orchard on the left, occupying the ground behind the house, and further behind ascended the wooded hills. A smooth lawn descending the hill towards the river, was dotted here and there with trees, which were now dropping their leaves. The orchard was laden with the finest fruit—apples, peaches, pears, &c., under the highest cultivation; the vineyard rich in clustering grapes, brought to the nearest possible state of perfection. This was Wednesday; on the following Monday Raymond resumed his professional labors, and Hagar wandered up and down the fine house, with every part of which she was now quite familiar, very weary and lonesome. She felt confined, restrained, and oppressed by her new state. True, she was still in the country, but not on her wild heath, with her horse and dogs. _This_ country was thickly settled, well cultivated, and closely studded with gentlemen’s seats.