Mara; or, The Earth Trembled.

Evening Star, Issue 7403, 24 December 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

Mara; or, The Earth Trembled.

A STORY 01' THE CHARLESTON EARTHQUAKE. [By E. P. Roe.] CHAPTER IV.—Continued. Mara Wallingford's troubles and anxieties had indeed been culminating of late. Almost her sole inheritance had been sadness, trouble, and enmity. Not only had her unhappy mother's history been kept fresh in memory by her great-aunt, Mrs Hunter, but the very blood that coursed in her veins and the soul that looked out from her dark melancholy eyes had received from that mother characteristics which it is not of the province of this story to reveal. To poor Mary Wallingford the death of her father and of her husband had been the unspeakable tragedy and wrong which had destroyed her life; and the long agony of the mother had deprived her offspring of the natural and joyous impulses of childhood and youth. If Mara had been left to the care of a judicious guardian —one who had sought by all wholesome means to counteract inherited tendencies—a more cheerful life would have been developed, but in this respect the girl had been most unfortunate. The mind grows by what it feeds upon, and Mrs Hunter's spirit had become so embittered by dwelling upon her woes and losses that she was incapable of thinking or speaking of much else. She had never been a woman of warm, quick sympathies. She had seen little of the world, and, in a measure, was incapable of seeing it whatever advantages she might have had. This would have been true of her no matter where her lot had been cast, for she was a born conservative. What she had been brought up to believe would always be true; what she had been familiar with by early custom would always be right, and anything different would be viewed with disapproval or intoleration. Too little allowance) is often made for characters of this kind. We may regret rigidity and narrowness all we pleaso, but there should bo some respect for downright sincerity m& tho inability to see both sides of a question. It often happens that if natures aro narrow they arc correspondingly intense, and this was true of Mrs Hunter. She idolised her husband dead, more perhaps than if he had been living. Her brother and nephew were household martyrs, and little Mara had been taught to revere their memories as a devout Catholic pays homage to a patron saint. Between the widow and all that savored of the North, the author ot her woes, there was a great gulf, and the changes wrought by the passing years had made no impression, for she would not change. She grew cold toward those who yielded to the kindly influences of peace and the healing balm of time; she had bitter scorn for such as were led by their interests to fraternise with the North and the Northern people. In her indiscrimination and prejudice they were all typified by the unscrupulous adventurers who had made a farce of government and legally robbed the South when prostrated and bleeding after the war. She and her niece had been taxed out of their home to sustain a rule they loathed. Not a few women in Boston, in like circumstances, would be equally bitter and equally incapable of taking the broad views of a historian. The influence of such a concentrated mind, warped almost to the point of _ monomania, upon a child like Mara, predisposed I frombirth to share in a similar Bpfrit, can

bo readily estimated. Peace and time, moreover, had not brought the ameliorating tendencies of prosperity, but rather a continuous and hopeless pressure of poverty.

Mrs Hunter had been incapable of doing more than save what she could out of the wreck of their fortunes. There were no near relations, and those remaining, with most of their friends and acquaintances who had not been alienated, were struggling like themselves in straitened circumstances. Yet out of this poverty many open, generous hands would have been stretched to the widow and her ward had they permitted their want to be known; but they felt that they would rather starve than do this, for they belonged to that class which suffers in proud silence. Although they had practiced an economy that was so severe as to be detrimental to both health and character, their principal had melted away, and their jewellery and plate, with the exception of heirlooms that could not be sold without a sense of sacrilege, had been disposed of. The end of their resources was near, and they knew not what to do. Mara had tried to eke out their means by fancy work; but she had no great aptitude for such tasks, and her education was too defective and oldfashioned for the equipment of a modern teacher. She was well read, especially in the classics ; yet during the troubled years of her brief life she had not been given the opportunity to acquire the solid, practical knowledge which would enable her to instruct others. The exclusiveness and seclusion so congenial to her aunt had been against her, and now reticence and a disposition to shrink from the world had become a characteristic of her own.

She felt, however, that her heart, if not her will, was weak toward Owen Clancy. In him had once centred the hope of her life, and from him she now feared a wound that could never heal. She underrated his affection as he did hers. He felt that Bhe should throw off the incubus of the past for his sake; she believed that any depth of love on hia part should render impossible all intercourse with the North beyond what was strictly necessary for the transaction of business. In order to soften her prejudice he had told her of his social experience in New York, and as a result, had seen her face harden against him. . . . She had no words of bitter scorn such as her aunt had indulged in when learning of the fact. She had only thought in sorrow that since he was "capable of accepting hoppitalHy*——■ me people who had murdered her kindred and blighted the South, that there was an impassable gulf between them." Now, however, the imperative questions of bread and shelter were uppermost. She believed that Clancy could and would solve these quostions at once if permitted, and it was characteristic of her pride and what she regarded as her loyalty that she never once allowed herself to think of this alternative. Yet what could she and her aunt do ? They were in the pathetic position of gentlewomen compelled to face the world with unskilled hands. This is bad enough at best, but far worse when hands are half paralyzed by pride and timidity as well as ignorance. The desperate truth, however, stared them in the face. Do something they must, and that speedily. They were contemplating the future in a hopeless sort of dread and perplexity on the evening when Aunt Sheba and young Clancy's thoughts were drawn towards them in such deep solicitude, This fact involves no mystery. The warm-hearted colored woman had seen and heard little things which suggested the truth, and the sympathetic lover had seen the face of the young girl when she was off her guard. Its expression had haunted him and impelled him to see her &t once, although she had chilled his hopes of late. When compelled to leave the old home Mrs Hunter bad taken the second floor of a small brick house located on a side street. In spite of herself Mara's heart fluttered wildly for a moment when the woman who occupied the first story brought up Clancy's card.

" You can't see him to-night," said her aunt, frowning. Mara hesitated a moment and then said, firmly: " Yes, I will see him. Please ask him to come up." When they were alone she added in a low voice: " I shall see him once more, probably for the last time, socially. We cannot know what changes are in store for us." " Well, I won't seehim," said Mrs Hunter, rigidly, and she left the room. CHAPTER V. PAST AND FUTUBE.

Under the impulses of his solitude and affection, Clancy entered quickly and took Mara's hand in Buch a strong, warm grasp that the color would come into her pale face. In spite of her peculiarities and seeming coldness, she was a girlwho could easily awaken a passionate love in a warm, generous-hearted man like the one who looked into her eyes with something like entreaty in Mb own. She had a beauty peculiar to herself, and now a strange loveliness which touched his very Boul. The quick flush upon her cheeks inspired hope, and a deep emotion, which she could not wholly suppress, found momentary expression. Even in that brief instant she was transfigured, for the woman within her was revealed. As if conscious of her weakness which seemed to her almost criminal, her face became rigid, and she said formally: " Please be seated, Mr Clancy." " You must not speak to me -in that way and in that tone," he began impetuously, and then paused, for he was chilled by her cold, questioning gaze. Her will was so strong and found such powerful expression in her dark, sad eyes that for a moment he was dumb and embarrassed. Then his own high spirits rallied, and a purpose grew strong that she should hear him and hear the truth also. His grey eyes, that had wavered for a moment, grew steady in their encounter with hers.

Seating himself on the opposite side of the table he said quietly : " You think I have no right to speak to you in such a way ?" " I fear we think differently on many subjects, Mr Clanoy." •' Admitting that, would you like a man to be a weak echo of yourself ?" "A man should not be weak in any respect. Ido not think it necessary, however, to raise the question of my likes and dislikes."

«I must differ with yon, Mara," he replied, gravely. "I agree with you now, fully, Mr Clancy. We differ. Had we not better change the subject ?" " No, not unless you would be unfair. I am at a disadvantage,• lam in your home. You are a lady, and therefore can compel me to leave unsaid what I am bent on saying. We have been friends, have we not?'

She bowed her acquiescence. " Well," he continued a little bitterly.

" I have one Southern trait left—frankness. You know I would speak in a different character if permitted, if I received one particle of encouragement." Then, with a sudden flush, he said firmly: " I will speak as I feel. I only pay homage in telling you what you must already know. I love you and would make you my wife."

Her face became very pale as she averted it, and replied briefly: "You are mistaken, Mr Clancy." " Mara, lam not mistaken. Will you be fair enough to listen to me ? We agree that we differ. Can we not also agree that we differ conscientiously ? You cannot think me false even though you say I am mistaken. Hitherto you have opposed to me a dead wall of silence. Though you will not listen to me as a lover, you might both listen and speak to me as a friend. That word would be hollow indeed if estrangement could result from honest difference of opinion." "It is far more than the difference of opinion." "Let the difference be what it may, Mara," he answered gently, resolving not to be baffled; "if you are sure .you are right, you should at least be willing to accord to one whom you once regarded as a friend the privilege of pleading his cause. Truth and right do not entrench themselves in repelling silence. That is the refuge of prejudice. If you will hear my side of the question, I will listen with the deepest interest to yours, and believe me you have a powerful ally in my heart." " Four head has gained such ascendancy over your heart, Mr Clancy, that you cannot understand me. In some women the strongest reasons for or against a thing proceed From the latter organ." "Is yours, then,so cold toward me ?" he asked sadly. " It is not cold toward the memory of my murdered parents," she replied with an ominous flush in her eyes. Clancy looked at her in momentary surprise, then said firmly: "My father eventually died from injuries received in the war, but he was not murdered. He was wounded in fair battle, in which he struck as well as received blows."

Again there was a quick flush upon her pale face, but now it was one of imagination, as she said bitterly: "Fair battle! So you call it fair battle when men are overpowered in defending their homes. If armed robbers broke into your house and youjavo Wow» r would you not be murdered if it so happened that you were killed ? Why should wo speak of these subjects further ?" and there was not a trace Of scorn in her tone.

His pride was touched, and he was all the more determined that he would be heard. " I can give you good reason why we should apeak further," he answered resolutely, yet quietly. "However strong your feeling may be, I havo too much respect for your intelligence and too much confidence in your courage to believe that you will weakly shrink from hearing one who is as conscientious as yourself. I cannot accept your illustration, and do not thinkthe instance you give is parallel. In the differences between the North and South an appeal was made to the sword. If I had been old enough I would have fought at my father's side. But the question is now settled. No matter how we feel about it, the North and South must live together, and it is not my nature to live in hate. Suppose I could—suppose it were possible for all Southern men to feel as you do and act in accordance with such bitter enmity, what would be the result? It would be suicide. Our land would become a desert; capital and commerce would leave our cities because there would be no security among a people implacably hostile. Such a course would be more destructive than invading armies. My business, the business of the city, is largely with the North. If native Southern men tried to transact it in a cold, relentless spirit we should lose the chance to live, much less to do anything for our land. We have suffered too much from this course already, and have allowed strangers, who care nothing for us, to take much that might have been ours." " I love the South too well to advocate a •ourse which would prove so fatal. What is more, I cannot think it would be right. The North of your imagination does not exist. I cannot hate people who have no hate for me, but on the contrary abound in honest, kindly feeling." She had listened quietly with her face turned from him, and now met his eyes with an inscrutable expression in hers. " Have I not listened ?" she asked. " But you have not answered," he urged; "you have not even tried to show me wherein I am wrong."

The eyes whose sombre blackness had been like a veil now flamed with the anger she had long repressed. " How little you understand me," Bhe said passionately, " when you think I can argue questions like these! You are virtually asking what to me is sacrilege. I have listened to you patiently, at what cost to my feelings you are incapable of knowing. Do you think that I can forget that my grandfather was mangled to death, and that his last words were: • I was only trying to defend my home ?' Do you think that I can forget that my father was trampled into the very earth by our Northern friends with whom you must fraternise as well as trade? I will not speak of my martyred mother; her name and agony are too sacred to be named in a political argument," and she uttered these last words with intense bitterness. Then, rising to end the interview, she continued coldly in biting sarcasm: "Mr Clancy, I have no relations with the North. 1 do not deal in cotton, and none of its fibre has found its way into my nature." At these words he flushed hotly, sprung up, but by an evident and powerful effort controlled himself and sat down again. "How could you even imagine," she added, "that words, arguments, political and financial considerations would tempt me to be disloyal to the memory of my dead kindred?" "You are disloyal to them," he said frankly. "What?"

" Mara, I am indeed proving myself a friend, because I am such and more, and because you so greatly need a friend. Your kindred had hearts in their breasts. Would they doom you to the life upon which you are entering ? Can you not see that you are passing deeper and deeper into the shadow of the past ? What good can it do them ? Could they speak, would they say ' We wish our sorrows to blight your life? j You are not happy; you cannot be. It is contrary to the law of God, it is impossible to human nature that happiness and bitter unrelenting enmity should exist in the same heart. You are not only unhappy, but you are in trouble of some kind. I saw that from your face to-day, before you saw me and could mask from a friend its expression of deep anxiety. You shall hear the truth from me, which I fear you hear from no other, and

your harsh words shall not deter me from . my resolute purpose to be kind, to rescue' you virtually from a condition of mind tort is so morbid, so unhealthful, that \it will blight your life. I cannot so wrong your , father and mother as even to imagine fhtCt 11 could be their wish to see your beautiful n young life grow more and more shadowed,. |( , to see you struggling under burdens which strong, loving hands would lift from yoto.."Vj Can you believe that they, happy in Heaven, " can wish you no happiness on earth !" , ; - There was a grave, convincing earnestness in his tone and a truth in his words hard to resist. What she considered loyalty to her kindred had been like her religion, and be had charged her with disloyalty; yes, add . while he spoke the thought would assert itself that her course might be a wretched mistake. Although intrenched in prejudice and fortified against his words by the . thought and feeling of her life, she had ;.• been made to doubt her position and feel that she might be a self-elected martyr. The assertion that she was doing what would be contrary to the wishes of hiw' dead kindred pierced the very citadel of-hto .. opposition and tended to remove the one belief which had been the snstainfag rock beneath her feet. She knew she' had been severe with him, and she was touched.by ; his forbearance, his resolute purpose to befriend her. She remembered her poverty, the almost desperate extremity in which she was, and her heart upbraided her for refusing the hand held out so loyally and \ persistently to her help. She became confused, torn and overwhelmed by conflicting emotions; her lip quivered, and, bowing her head in her hands, she sobbed: "Yon .' are breaking my heart." In an instant he was on one knee at her \' side. "Mara," he began gently, rt if I wound, it is only that I may heal. Truly, no girl in this city needs a friend as you do. For some reason I feel this to be true in my very soul. Who in God's universe would forbid you a loyal friend ?" and he tried to take her hand. "Iforbid you to be her friend," said a stern voice. Springing up, Clancy encountered the , gaze of a gaunt white-haired woman with implacable enmity stamped upon her thin „. visage. The young man's eyes darkened M . they steadily met those of Mrs Hunter, and it was evident that the forbearance he had manifested toward the girl he loved would not be extendedJto her guardian. Still be"l controlled himself, and waited till she should ' speak again. "Mr Clancy," she resumed after" » moment, "Miss Wallingford is my ward;' I received her from her dying mother, and . ( so have rights which you must respect*, T v forbid you seeing or speaking to her again,",, K " Mrs Hunter," he replied "permit me to '.[ tell you, with the utmost courtesy, itjjsjifc I shall not obey you. Only Mara berselr can ,; forbid me from seeing her or speaking to; her." ,'''.■'■',:

“ What right have yon, sir——” ' ,4 " The best of rights, Mrs Hunter; I love the girl; you do not. As remorselessly as a graven image you would sacrifice her oil the . altar of your hate.” "Mr Clancy, yon must not speak to my. . aunt in that way. She has beto devoted to '. me from my infancy.” "On the contrary, she has devoted,you from infancy to sadness, gloom, and bitter f memories. She is developing withiq yog . the very q nalities most foreign to a woman’s heart, instead of teaching you to enshfifte ‘ the memory of your kindred in tender, loving . ' remembrance, she is forging timt'mhmp&j-i into a chain to restrain you from Ml toat.hl . natural to your years. She is .teaoljiheyhQ, toj wreck your life in fruitless oppoanpn f to ; j. the healing influences that have peace. Madam, answer me—the dfimim ‘ is plain and fair—what can yon hdpe to . accomplish by yourenmityto meandtoV the principles of hope and progress wbidfa in this instance, I represent, but the bllgh|y ( , ing of this girl whom I love?” "You are insolent, sir,!" cried t Mrt r Hunter, trembling with rage. ' r ,i “No, madam,! am honest } andbewie ~ result to me what it may, you shaD both hear the truth to-night.” , “Thisis our home,” was the r ,hM»k f re- ‘ sponse, "and you are not a gentleman If yon do hot leave it instantly.” , . .1,; ■,* “I shall certainly do so. Mara, am Ito see you and speak to you no more?” “ She bad sunk into a chair buned her face in her hands. - c He waited a moment, but she gave no ~ sign. Then with his eyes fixed oh he,sadly and slowly left the apartment. / | iAt last she sprang up with the faint cn, J “Owen!”but her ajmt stood betweenh«'.',; an<bshe door, and he was gone. J . ;^ (To to continued.) , ; ' 'n.i