The semi-weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1882-1886, 1885-10-28
MY LADY's CHAMBER.
PART l.

The streets OF the old Georgian city are
wide and shady. In early April one bre;sthes
fragrance Of roses and ~carnations' n
the exquisite flush OF the azailiaslpiease the
EYE as poignant delight, while every the
w~istaria vines are bursting into their royal
over the succeed house fronts. !
Back OF the river, in the pine woods, be-
yond the red clay hills, the glory OF the vel
low Jasmine is fading. The rose leaves ne
along the paths Of the cemetery. IL
ia on a side street, and Il lazy stream OF
black and white faces and ancient vehicles
drifts past it daily. Ten years ago my
cousin, Grace Adams, and | knew the Gem
etery we'll. Coming up from FLORIDA We
spent a month in the town.
Our Georgian cemetery has not the sunlp-
foliage OF the far South, nor does the
Southern moss drape it's oaks into ghostiy
sentinels each as those, beautiful and SOM
bre, guarding the graves OF Charleston ana
Savannah: vet it has it's own PLACID ana
modest charm, with it's wild paths edged
with japonicas and dwarf m%asnolias and
the luxriance OF roses which Softens the out
lines of it's rudest tombstones. 1t is an Ola
cemetery, and it's streets hold a queer
blending of the present and the nilidewed
pomp Of the past. Often generations oithe
same blood lie together under the rose
trees.
1DeTc WAS Olc " thCoo
dead which interested us particularly. The
family cenotaph stood in the center OF the
ward. Two corpulent angels in Impossible
drapery wept over the family name-As-
bury. All about were grouped the graves
of the dead Asburys. We came to know,
them by heart; the Gordons, Raphaels ana
Washingtons, colonies, gene ais or Judges
palpably mighty men in their way, owhUo
the Confederate colonel and his two sons.
the Bethis, Honorias and Saliles, ti,eir
wives; and the ''infant children OF the
above" who died too soon to help or iiiio-
er the worlds march or, happy innocents,
to know it's griefs. Last of all was IL new
name above a short and narrow mount:
'.Raoul Moultrie Ravenal, beloved son Oh
Raoul and Aurora Honoria Asbury
Ravenal." This little fellow was only
5 wears old when he was "accldenta'iy
drowned" in 1864. We observed that TINS
grave was never without flowers, so ioVeiy
that we would often pause to look at them.
The first time that WI thus paused is iIkelv
to abide in our memory. II WAS fa'iiei
more than q week after our coming TO the
town. While we were reading the names
our attention was attracted by Il iadv VINO
came down the path and stopped before
the iron railing g bout the yard. She had a
slim and graceful figure, clad in deep mourn,
ing, and ungloved white hands. We noticed
her hands first, then that she was walking
rapidly, a circumstance to excite curiosity
in the South. Apparently quite careless or
ignorant Of our presence, she threw PACK
her long Grape veil. We saw an. oval face,
pale and careworn, but retaining the traces
OF a vivid beauty. The black hair was
brushed smoothly from her forenead ana
the eyes, which seemed to search the tonnage
for some one, either in lear or IN ANXIOUS
| hope, were very dark and very SAD. FOR d
moment she leaned against the iron gate
! nosts. her hand on her heart, with the o o
| and gesture OF one unused to exertion who
| has walked too rapidly, then Strengthening
herself. she walked through the gate to the
grave with the new name. She knelt down
before it and drew her veil over her pale
face. but under it's shadow we could see fel
| clasp and wiring her hands.
"Come, Freddy" my cousin whispered
let us CO." =,
Before we could turn a man broke through
the shrubbery to the right and strobe pas
us. He was u man whom we knew, poafu'
ing in the same house. The northern Wis
itor sees men Of his typein every Southern
citv. thin. elderly men, erect of bearing
though they may limp a little, with thell
threadbare frock coats buttoned snngly
about them and their gray locks curlln'
under their old-fashioned hat brims. On
acquaintance limped and his decent biact
coat was shiny at the seams from counties:
brushings. His face must have been hand
SOM before care and time had chipped 81
m nHAqi,I lines iY it: Now it looked grin II;
%oustache afd brows knitted teogethhss
over his Roman nose, He was IN sue
haste that he did not see us, but went b,
with great strides.
"..-,~Sv -n- -parvas nr!s.~1a -vcu' de,r' t3a
tance we perceived that she was tren
bling exceedingly. She laid her hand on hi
arm,
"You promised the man began.
"Forgive me, Raoul,' she answered. 9
couldn't bear it in the house any longe
and l only came here-straight here"
Her voice was shaken like all the rest {
her, by some strong emotion, but it wa
wonderfully sweet.
The man gave a swift glance about hin
OF course he saw us. He took Off his ha
and bowed gravely, then drawing the We
mans arm within his own, he caused he
o turn away. Feeling a tacit rebuke /
the action Though, truly, | think that Oh
was %intended) We, too, turned and hurrie
out of the cemetery.
There is a curve in the road where Icoul
not resist stealing another picture OF til
pair. The woman was again k%neeling, a
most crouching over the grave, wecpit
bitterly, while the man stood Il little apart
his arms folded, gloomily regarding her.
Grace and | said not Il word until we wei
beyond the cemetery walls. She spck
first. "Freddy, that was DR.. Ravanel, an
can that lady be his wife?"
81 daresay,' said [; he could hardly b
so brutal to any other
II don't understand it, said Grace
"Certainly DIR. Ravenel isn't a bruts
man."
Grace liked the doctor; for that matte
I liked him myself. He was as polite a
Don Quixote and almost as solemn T
women his manner was a happy blending
Difference and protection; indeed, What o
us most was his gentieness to all ieebler crea
lures. He had a little daughter whom i.
visibly adored, a dainty little maid OF 1C
whose cloud OF shining hair was~continuallj
fingingitself over his shabby black shoulder
Grace had a fancy that it seemed to illu
mine a gloom which hung about the man
making him seem older than he was, hebe
ing really only As, though he might hav'
passed for 60. Notwithstanding the gloon
he was not unsocial. In Il se1ate way HI
seemed to enjoy conversation and wa
accustomed to embroider his own discours
with flowers OF poetry, English and
Latin, which latter he always kindly trans
lated "for the ladies' Judging from hi
coat. his practice could not he very large
but he was highly praised as a physician
and he saved Grace, cleverly, from all at
tack OF pneumonia. The pneumonia wa:
our introduction. By a weeks end we wer'
SO familiar that he was addressing Grace a.
Miss Grace" and me AS Fredrjca (mynam'
is Winnifred), and using quite q fatherls
benignity t o us both. And now to have to
make over this amiable being .intoa domes
tic tyrant-it was almost distastefll, We
both felt out Of spirits when we reached ou,
boarding house. Ten years ago, Miss Sally
Ashbury's house. stood IN the main street in
a prim and spacious garden which looked
like nothing SO much as the towery demon
stration OF a geometrical problem, with its
broad paths Of shining white sane defining
| the triangles and squares and circles Of
geraniums, gillyfowers and pansies. The
house itself was a fine old succeed man
sion with a Grecian portico. Inside the
rooms were big enough for a ball, and each
room had a royal fireplace, where the
"~lightwood" OF the region made a mighty
| crackle and blaze. Age had softened
! gaudy carpets and wall paper to a har-
monious dinginess. 1t was an altogether
| delightful house, and Miss Sa!ly-so every
| one called her in the kindly Southern
| fashion-was a delightful land-lady. She
was a comely ~sentlewoman OF about 40
what MATTER on Which side of the linep Her