The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-12-08

| Heart-sick and faint. Zulima drew
back. The letter to her husband la,
upon the table and near il the taper
fared, throwing JET of fame over the
delicate writing.
Pale and trembling, for the fall oi
that old magnolia had terrified her like
a prophecy, Zulima folded the paper
and directed it. But how her hand
shook the name of her husband was
blurred as she wrote it, and with a deer
sigh she took up the sealing wax and
| held it in the half-extinguished light.
| Her hand was very unsteady, and 8
drop or two of the hot wax feel upon
| her palm and wrist, burning into the
delicate flesh ike s blood-spot
Still, in her sad preoocupation, Zulima
felt nothing of the pain, but sealed her
| letter just as her light fared out, and
sat down in the gloom to wait for morn
ing.
Two weary hours she spent in that
dark stiffness, for the hurricane having
done its work, passed of as suddenly as
1t had arisen, leaving the night hushed
aud still, like giant lying down to resi-
after hard fight.
| When the morning came, with its
sweet breath and rosy light, Zulima
arose. Hastily binding up her hair, and
| changing her dress, she took up her let
ter and left the house All around the
old mansion was Uttered with vestiges
of the storm.
She was obliged to make her way
/ through branches heavy with drenehed
blossoms and young fruit; fragments of
| lusty vines that had cast their grateful
shade around the dwelling but day be
| fore; oak boughs wrenched away from
the neighboring groves, and masses OF
torn foliage that lay heaped upon the
doorstep and along the walk, she was
compelled TO traverse on her passage to
the highway.
Scarcely needing the ruin around her,
Zulima walked on toward the city; her
| delicate slippers were speedily saturated
with wet, and at another time, that ten
derly nurtured frame must have yielded
TO the discomforture and fatigue of her
| unusual exertion.
But she had an object to attain-an
| object which depended wholly upon her
self and when a woman's heart and soul
Is in an effort, when was her strength
known to give way?
The old cathedral clock was striking
six when Zulima entered New Orleans /;
few negroes we're abroad, goirg to or
| from the markets, and around the
wharves arose a confused sound as of a
hive of bees preparing to swarm. At
| another time Zulima might have been
startled at finding herself the only white
female abroad in a great city, but now
she only drew the folds of black lace
more closely over her bonnet and walked
on.
With her own hands she mailed the
letter which conveyed, as it were, her
soul to the husband who seemed to have
forgotten her. A sigh broke up from
her heart as the folded paper slid from
her hand into the yawning mailbag,
and then, with a feeling of relief
born of her own exertions, she turned
| away.
IL have trusted no one he will get my
letter now" she muImured over aud
over again during her rapid walk home,
and with that vivid reaction so common
to imaginative natures, she became al
most happy in the sweet hopes that this
reflection aroused to life again. Oh, it
is so difficult for the young to feel
absolute despair or absolute resigna-
ton; both are the fruit of good or evil
old age.
Unmolested, as she had left it, Zulima
stole back to her chamber. Weary,
and yet with heart more free than it
had been for weeks, she flung off her
damp garments, and lying down, slept
sweetly for an hour.
Zulima dreamed that she was sitting
with her husband beneath the great
magnolia tree; her babe lay upon the
turf laughing gleefully, and, with its
little hands in the air, grasping after
the summer insects as they flashed
overhead. All at once whirlwind
rushed out, as it were, from the depths
of the sky, overwhelming her with its
violence.
She strove to reach Der child, but fell
upon her face TO the earth, shrieking
wildly to her husband to save her and it.
Then fell upon her one of those dark,
fantastic clouds that make our dreams
SO fragmentary.
She felt the magnolia upheave under
her, and scatter down the fresh earth
from its roots till she was half buried
Husband and child both were gone,
leaving her PROSTATE and almost dead,
to battle her way. through the storm
alone-alcnel Zulima awoke with these
words upon her lips.
Ii was but dream. Louisa had en-
tered the chamber and was examining
the wet garments that her mistress
had flung off, muttering suspiciously
to herself as she saw the soiled slip
pers and other evidences of an early
walk
"N' hat am de meaning OBJ all dis?
What can de missus be aboutW she
muttered, casting down the raiment
that had excited her distrust. The can
die almost burned out, the drops Of wax
on the table, torn fragments of paper on
the floor, were new objects of comment.
The torn paper was all written upon,
and had been gathered up in a grasp
and wrenched asunder The pieces
were large, and might be easily COM
bined.
The negress could not read, but, with
the quick cunning of her race, she saw
that something unusual had happened,
with which these fragments were con
| nected, so gathering the papers in her
1,
whose spy she was.
1t was the noise that Louisa made go
| ing out which aroused Zulima from her
wretched vision. The young creature
started up, thanking God that it was
but a dream. In moving about the
| room, she approached window opening
upon the garden Just in time to see Ross
| follow her woman, Louisa, into the little
slave-dwelling which we described in
our last chapter.
Zulima fingered by the window. 1t
was half an hour before Ross came
forth again; he was followed by the
slave woman, and stood conversing with
her some time in one of the retired
walks.
Soon after, the young man who had
| been Ross companion from the city the
previous day came up, and Louisa seem
ed to be dismissed. Still the two men
conversed earnestly together, and, after
a time, slowly retired into the slave
dwelling.
Since the previous day Zulima had
grown suspicious, and she noticed all
these movements with keen interest.
Well she might, for that day and hour
in the low slave-dwelling, was written a
| letter destined to cast black trouble upon
her whole life.
/ There, two fiends, fashioned like men
sat down and concocted a foul slander
against that innocent young woman
| which was to cling around her for years
and which her full strength might strug
/ gle against in vain.