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Page 61
Balder's attack at length yielded, and a drowsy consciousness
returned, memory and reason being still partly in abeyance. His heavy,
half-closed eyes rested on darkness. A crooning sound was in his
ear,--a nursery lullaby, wordless but soothing. Where was he? Had he
been ill? Was he in his cradle at home? Was Salome sitting by to watch
him and give him his medicine? Yes, very ill he was, but would be
better in the morning; and meanwhile he would be a good boy, and not
cry and make a fuss and trouble Salome.
"Nurse,--Sal!--I say, Sal!"
Salome bent over him as of old.
"Had such a funny dream, Sal! dreamt I was grown up, and--killed a
man! What makes you shake so, Sal? it wasn't true, you know! And I'm
going to be a good boy and go to sleep. Good night! give a kiss from
me--to--my--little--"
So sinks he into slumber, profound as ever wooed his childhood; his
head pillowed in Salome's lap, his funny dream forgotten.
XXI.
WE PICK UP ANOTHER THREAD.
Darkness and silence reigned in the conservatory; the group of the
sleeping man and attendant woman was lost in the warm gloom, and
scarcely a motion--the low drawing of a breath--told of their
presence.
A great gray owl, which had passed the daylight in some obscure
corner, launched darkling forth on the air and winged hither and
thither,--once or twice fanning the sleeper's face with silent
pinions. The crocodile lazily edged off the stone, plumped quietly
into the water, and clambered up the hither margin of the pool, there
coming to another long pause. A snail, making a night-journey across
the floor, found in its path a diamond, sparkling with a light of its
own. The snail extended a cool cautious tentacle,--recoiled it
fastidiously and shaped a new course. A broad petal from a tall
flowering-shrub dropped wavering down, and seemed about to light on
Balder's forehead; but, swerving at the last moment, came to rest on
the scaly head of the crocodile. The night waited and listened, as
though for something to happen,--for some one to appear! Salome, too,
was waiting for some one;--was it for the dead?
Meantime, pictures from the past glimmered through her memory. When,
in our magic mirror, we saw her struck down by the hand of her lover,
she was far from being the repulsive object she is now. Indeed, but
for that chance word let fall yesterday, about her having been badly
burnt, we might be at a loss to justify our recognition of her.
After Manetho's rude dismissal of her, she fled--not knowing whither
better--to Thor Helwyse, who was living widowed in his Brooklyn house,
with his infant son and daughter. Because she had been Helen's
attendant, she besought Helen's husband to give her a home. She was in
sore trouble, but said no more than this; and Thor, suspecting nothing
of her connection with Manetho, gladly received her as nurse to his
children.
But past sins and imprudences would find out Salome no less than
others. At the critical moment for herself and her fortunes, the house
took fire. She risked her life to save Thor's daughter, was herself
burned past recognition, and (one misfortune treading on another's
heels) balanced on death's verge for a month or two. She got well, in
part; but the faculty of speech had left her, and beauty of face and
figure was forever gone.
In her manifold wretchedness, and after such devotion shown, it was
not in Thor's warm heart to part with her; so, losing much, she gained
something. She remained with her benefactor, whose manly courtesy ever
forbore to probe the secret of her woman's heart, over which as over
her face she always wore a veil. The world saw Salome no more. She sat
in the nursery, watching year by year the dark-eyed little maiden
playing with the fair-haired boy. Broad-shouldered Thor would come in,
with his grand, kindly face and royal beard; would kiss the little
girl and tussle with the boy, mightily laughing the while at the
former's solicitude for her playmate; would throw himself on the
groaning sofa, and exclaim in his deep voice,--
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