"Yes; and you promised that you would see things just as they are after leaving it."
"I can't help seeing things just as they seem to me. Perhaps I do see them just as they are."
"Oh, no! To a matter-of-fact person like myself, you are clearly very fanciful. If you don't improve in this respect, you'll have to take a course in mathematics before returning to your work or you will mislead your readers."
"No, I'm going to take a course of weeding in the garden, and you were to invite me into the arbor as soon as I had done enough to earn my salt."
"I fear you will pull up the vegetables."
"You can at least show me which are the potatoes."
In spite of a restraint that she tried to disguise, she broke out into a low laugh at this reminiscence, and said: "After that revelation of ignorance you will never trust me again."
"I will trust you in regard to everything except kitchen vegetables," I replied, more in earnest than in jest. "A most important exception," she responded, her old troubled look coming back. "But you are talking far too much. Your face is slightly flushed. I fear you are growing feverish. I will call Mrs. Yocomb now."
"Please do not. I never felt better in my life. You are doing me good every moment, and it's so desperately stupid lying helplessly here."
"Well, I suppose I must humor you a few moments longer," she laughed. "People, when ill, are so arbitrary. By the way, your editorial friends must think a great deal of you, or else you are valuable to them, for your chief writes to Mr. Yocomb every day about you; so do some others; and they've sent enough fruit and delicacies to be the death of an ostrich."
"I'm glad to hear that; it rather increases one's faith in human nature. I didn't know whether they or any one would care much if I died."
"Mr. Morton!" she said reproachfully.
"Oh, I remember my promise to you. If, like a cat, I had lost my ninth life, I would live after your words. Indeed I imagine that you were the only reason I did live. It was your will that saved me, for I hadn't enough sense or spirit left to do more than flicker out."
"Do you think so?" she asked eagerly, and a rich glow of pleasure overspread her face.
"I do indeed. You have had a subtle power over me from the first, whichI cannot resist, and don't wish to."
"I must go now," she said hastily.
"Please wait," I entreated. "I've a message for Mrs. Yocomb."
She stood irresolutely near the door.
"I wish you to tell her—why is it getting dark so suddenly?"
"I fear we're going to have a shower," and she glanced apprehensively toward the window.
"When have I seen that look on your face before?" I asked quickly.
"You had a message for Mrs. Yocomb?"
"Yes. I wish you would make her realize a little of my unbounded gratitude, which every day increases. In fact, I can't understand the kindness of this family, it is so hearty, so genuine. Why, I was an entire stranger the other day. Then Adah and—pardon me—you also used expressions which puzzle me very much. I can't understand how I became ill so suddenly. I was feeling superbly that Sunday evening, and then everything became a blank. Mrs. Yocomb, from a fear of disquieting me, won't say much about it. The impression that a storm or something occurred that I can't recall, haunts me. You are one that couldn't deceive if you tried."
"You needn't think I've anything to tell when Mrs. Yocomb hasn't," she answered, with a gay laugh.
"Miss Warren," I said gravely, "that laugh isn't natural. I never heard you laugh so before. Somethingdidhappen."
A flash of lightning gleamed across the window, and the girl gave an involuntary and apprehensive start.
Almost as instantaneously the events I had forgotten passed through my mind. In strong and momentary excitement I rose on my elbow, and looked for their confirmation in her troubled face.
"Oh, forget—forget it all!" she exclaimed, in a low, distressed voice, and she came and stood before me with clasped hands.
"Would to God I had died!" I said, despairingly, and I sank back faint and crushed. "I had no right to speak—to think of you as I did. Good-by."
"Mr. Morton—"
"Please leave me now. I'm too weak to be a man, and I would not lose your esteem."
"But you will get well—you promised me that."
"Well!" I said, in a low, bitter tone. "When can I ever be well?Good-by."
"Mr. Morton, would you blight my life?" she asked, almost indignantly."Am I to blame for this?"
"Nor am I to blame. It was inevitable. Curses on a world in which one can err so fatally."
"Can you not be a brave, generous man? If this should go against you—if you will not get well—you promised me to live."
"I will exist; but can one whose heart is stone, and hope dead,live?I'll do my best. No, yon are not to blame—not in the least. Take the whole comfort of that truth. Nor was I either. That Sundaywasthe day of my fate, since for me to see you was to love you by every instinct and law of my being. But I trust, as you said, you will find me too honorable to seek that which belongs to another."
"Mr. Morton," she said, in tones of deep distress, "you saved this home; you saved Mrs. Yocomb's life; you—you saved mine. Will you embitter it?"
"Would to God I had died!" I groaned. "All would then have been well. I had fulfilled my mission."
She wrung her hands as she stood beside me. "I can't—oh, I can't endure this!" she murmured, and there was anguish in her voice.
I rallied sufficiently to take her hand as I said: "Emily Warren, I understand your crystal truth too well not to know that there is no hope for me. I'll bear my hard fate as well as I can; but you must not expect too much. And remember this: I shall be like a planet hereafter. The little happiness I have will be but a pale reflection of yours. If you are unhappy, I shall be so inevitably. Not a shadow of blame rests on you—the first fair woman was not truer than you. I'll do my best—I'll get up again—soon, I trust, now. If you ever need a friend—but you would not so wrong me as to go to another—I won't be weak and lackadaisical. Don't make any change; let this episode in your life be between ourselves only. Good-by."
"Oh, you look so ill—so changed—what can I say—?"
Helpless tears rushed into her eyes. "You saved my life," she breathed softly; but as she turned hastily to depart she met our hostess.
"Oh, Mrs. Yocomb," she sobbed, "he knows all."
"Thee surely could not have told him—"
"Indeed I did not—it came to him like a flash."
"Mrs. Yocomb, by all that's sacred, Miss Warren is not to blame for anything—only myself. Please keep my secret; it shall not trouble any one;" and I turned my face to the wall.
"Richard Morton."
"Dear Mrs. Yocomb, give me time. I'm too sorely wounded to speak to any one."
"A man should try to do what is right under all circumstances," she said, firmly, "and it is your first and sacred duty to get well. It is time for your medicine."
I turned and said desperately, "Give me stimulants—give me anything that will make me strong, so that I may keep my word; for if ever a man was mortally weak in body and soul, I am."
"I'll do my best for thee," she said, gently, "for I feel for thee and with thee, as if thee were my own son. But I wish thee to remember now and always that the only true strength comes from Heaven."
Soul and body are too nearly related for one to suffer without the other's sympathy. Mrs. Yocomb mercifully shielded me that evening, merely saying that I had seen enough company for one day. My sleep that night resulted from opiates instead of nature's impulses, and so was unrefreshing, and the doctor was surprised to find a change for the worse the following morning. For two or three days the scale wavered, and I scarcely held what I had gained. Mrs. Yocomb rarely left me, and I believe that I owe my life not only to her excellent nursing, but even more to her strong moral support—her gentle but unspoken sympathy. I knew she understood me, and that her mercy was infinite for my almost mortal weakness; for now that the inexplicable buoyancy which that chief of earthly hopes imparts was gone, I sank into an abyss of despondency from which I feared I could never escape. Her wisdom and intuitive delicacy led her to select Reuben as her chief assistant. I found his presence very restful; for, so far from suspecting, he could not understand a wound often more real and painful than any received on battlefields. I now could not have endured Adah's intent and curious scrutiny, and yet I deeply appreciated her kindness, for she kept my table laden with delicate fruits and flowers.
The dainty little vase was replenished daily also with clusters of roses—roses only—and I soon recognized rare and perfect buds that at this late season only a florist could supply. The pleasure they gave was almost counterbalanced by the pain. Their exquisite color and fragrance suggested a character whose perfection daily made my disappointment more intolerable. At last Mrs. Yocomb said:
"Richard Morton, is thee doing thy best to get well? Thee's incurring a grave responsibility if thee is not. Emily Warren is quite alone in the world and she came to me as to a mother when thee was taken ill, and told me of thy unfortunate attachment. As thee said, she is not to blame, and yet such is her kindly and sensitive nature that she suffers quite as much as if she were wholly to blame. Her life almost depends on thine. She is growing pale and ill. She eats next to nothing, and I fear she sleeps but little. She is just waiting in miserable suspense to see if thee will keep thy word and live. I believe theecanlive, and grow strong and good and noble, if thee will."
"Oh, Mrs. Yocomb, how you must despise me! If you but knew how I loathe myself."
"No, I'm sorry for thee from the depths of my heart. If thee's doing thy best, I've not a word to say; but thee should know the truth. As Emily said, thee has the power either to embitter her life or to add very much to its happiness."
"Well," I said, "if I have not the strength to overcome this unmanly, contemptible weakness, I ought to die, and the sooner the better. If I'm worth life, I shall live."
If ever a weak, nerveless body yielded to an imperious will, mine did. From that hour, as far as possible, I gave my whole thought to recovery, and was as solicitous as I before had been apathetic. No captain could have been more so in regard to his ship, which he fears may not outride a storm.
I appealed to Dr. Bates to rack his brains in the preparation of the most effective tonics, I took my food with scrupulous regularity; and in the effort to oxygenize my thin pale blood, drew long respirations of the pure summer air. Mrs. Yocomb daily smiled a warmer and more hearty encouragement.
Under the impetus of a resolute purpose the wheels of life began to move steadily and at last rapidly toward the goal of health. I soon was able to sit up part of the day.
As I rallied, I could not help recognizing the richer coloring that came into the life at the farmhouse, and the fact touched me deeply.
"What is my suffering compared with the happiness of this home?" I thought. "It would have been brutally selfish to have died."
I now had my letters brought to me. My paper—my first love—was daily read, and my old interest in its welfare kindled slowly.
"Work," I said, "is the best of antidotes. It shall be my remedy. Men are respected only as they stand on their feet and work, and I shall win her respect to the utmost."
Reuben and Adah read to me. The presence of the former, like that of his father and mother, was very restful; but Adah began to puzzle me. At first I ascribed her manner to an extravagant sense of gratitude, and the romantic interest which a young girl might naturally take in one who had passed with her through peril, and who seemingly had been dangerously ill in consequence; but I was compelled at last to see that her regard was not open, frank, and friendly, but shy, absorbing, and jealous. It gave her unmingled satisfaction that I did not ask for Miss Warren, and she rarely spoke of her. When she did she watched me keenly, as if seeking to read my thoughts. Reuben, on the contrary, spoke freely of her; but, from some restraint placed upon him by his mother probably, did not ask her to relieve him in his care of me again.
After I began to sit up, Miss Warren would not infrequently come to my door, when others were present, and smilingly express her gladness that I was improving daily. Indeed there would often be quite gay repartee between us, and I think that even Adah was so blinded by our manner that her suspicions were allayed. It evidently puzzled her, and Reuben also, that I had apparently lost my interest in one who had such great attractions for me at first. But Adah was not one to seek long and deeply for subtle and hidden causes of action. She had a quick eye, however, for what was apparent, and scanned surfaces narrowly. I fear I perplexed her as sorely as she did me.
In spite of every effort to remain blind to the truth, I began to fear that she was inclined to give me a regard which I had not sought, and which would embarrass me beyond measure.
That a man can exult over a passion in a woman which he cannot requite is marvellous. That he can look curiously, critically, and complacently on this most sacred mystery of a woman's soul, that he can care no more for her delicate incense than would a grim idol, is proof that his heart is akin to the stony idol in material, and his nature like that of the gross, cruel divinity represented. The vanity that can feed on such food has a more depraved appetite than the South Sea Islander, who is content with human flesh merely. It would seem that there are those who can smile to see a woman waste the richest treasures of her spiritual life which were designed to last and sustain through the long journey of life—ay, and even boast of her immeasurable loss, of which they, wittingly or unwittingly, have been the cause.
The oddest part of it all is that women can love such men instead of regarding them as spider-like monsters that, were the doctrine of transmigration true, would become spiders again as soon as compelled to drop their human disguise.
But women usually idealize the men they love into something very different from what they are. Heaven knows that I was not a saint; but I am glad that it caused me pain, and pain only, as I saw Adah shyly and almost unconsciously bending on me glances laden with a priceless gift, which, nevertheless, I could not receive.
Her nature was too simple and direct for disguises, and when she attempted them they were often so apparent as to be comically pathetic. And yet she did attempt them. There was nothing bold and unmaidenly in her manner, and as I look back upon those days I thank God that I was never so graceless and brutal as to show or feel anything like contempt for her gentle, childlike preference. Very possibly also my own unfortunate experience made me more considerate, and it was my policy to treat her with the same frank, undisguised affection that I manifested toward Zillah, with, of course, the differences required by their different ages.
Adah was no longer repulsive to me. The events of that memorable night of storm and danger, and the experiences that followed, had apparently awakened her better nature, which, although having a narrow compass, was gentle and womanly. Her old flippancy was gone. My undisguised preference for Miss Warren after I had actually made her acquaintance, and my persistent blindness to everything verging toward sentiment, had perhaps done something toward dispelling her belief that beauty and dress were irresistible. Thus she may have been led honestly to compare herself with Emily Warren, who was not only richly endowed but highly cultivated; at any rate her small vanity had vanished also, and she was in contrast as self-distrustful and hesitating in manner as she formerly had been abrupt and self-asserting. Moreover she had either lost her interest in her neighbor's petty affairs, or else had been made to feel that a tendency to gossip was not a captivating trait, and we heard no more about what this one said or that one wore on her return from meeting. While her regard was undoubtedly sincere, I felt and hoped that it was merely a sentiment attendant on her wakening and fuller spiritual life, rather than an abiding and deep attachment; and I believed that it would soon be replaced by other interests after my departure. For my own sake as well as hers I had decided to leave the farmhouse as speedily as possible, but I soon began to entertain the theory that I could dispel her dreams better by remaining a little longer, and by proving that she held the same place in my thoughts as Zillah, and could possess no other. There would then be no vain imaginings after I had gone.
I rather wanted to stay until I had fully recovered my health, for I was beginning to take pride in my self-mastery. If I could regain my footing, and stand erect in such quiet, manly strength as to change Miss Warren's sympathy into respect only, I felt that I would achieve a victory that would be a source of satisfaction for the rest of life. That I could do this I honestly doubted, for seemingly she had enthralled my whole being, and her power over me was wellnigh irresistible.
I knew that she understood Adah even better than I did, and it seemed her wish to afford the girl every opportunity, for she never came to ask how I was when Adah was present; and the latter was honest enough to tell me that it was Miss Warren who had suggested some of the simple yet interesting stories with which my long hours of convalescence were beguiled; but in her latent jealousy she could not help adding:
"Since Emily Warren selected them, thee cannot help liking them."
"I certainly ought to like them doubly," I had quietly replied, looking directly into her eyes, "since I am indebted for them to two friends instead of one."
"There's a great difference in friends," she said significantly.
"Yes, indeed," I replied, smiling as frankly as if I had been talking to Zillah; "and your mother is the best friend I have or ever expect to have."
Adah had sighed deeply, and had gone on with her reading in a girlish, plaintive voice that was quite different from her ordinary tones.
Unconsciously she had imbibed the idea—probably from what she often heard at meeting—that anything read or spoken consecutively must be in a tone different from that used in ordinary conversation, and she always lifted up her voice into an odd, plaintive little monotone, that was peculiar, but not at all disagreeable. It would not have been natural in another, but was perfectly so to her, and harmonized with her unique character. The long words even in the simple stories were often formidable obstacles, and she would look up apprehensively, and color for fear I might be laughing at her; but I took pains to gaze quietly through the window in serene unconsciousness. She also stumbled because her thoughts evidently were often far away from her book, but at my cordial thanks when finishing the story her face would glow with pleasure. And yet she missed something in my thanks, or else saw, in the quiet manner with which I turned to my letters or paper, that which was unsatisfactory, and she would sigh as she left the room. Her gentle, patient efforts to please me, which oddly combined maidenly shyness and childlike simplicity, often touched the depths of my heart, and the thought came more than once, "If this is more than a girlish fancy, and time proves that I am essential to her happiness—which is extremely doubtful—perhaps I can give her enough affection to content a nature like hers."
But one glimpse of Emily Warren would banish this thought, for it seemed as if my very soul were already wedded to her. "The thought of another is impossible," I would mutter. "She was my fate."
Four or five of the days during which I had been sufficiently strong to sit up had passed away, and I was able to give more of my time to my mail and paper, and thus to seem preoccupied when Adah came to read. I found Zillah also a useful though unconscious ally, and I lured her into my room by innumerable stories. Reuben and Mr. Yocomb were now very busy in their harvest, and I saw them chiefly in the evening, but they were too tired to stay long. Time often hung wofully heavy on my hands, and I longed to be out of doors again; but Mrs. Yocomb was prudently inexorable. I am sure that she restrained Adah a great deal, for she grew less and less demonstrative in manner, and I was left more to myself.
Thus a week passed. It was Saturday morning, and between the harvest without and preparations for Sunday within, all the inmates of the farmhouse were very busy. The forenoon had wellnigh passed. I had exhausted every expedient to kill time, and was looking on the landscape shimmering in the fierce sunlight with an apathy that was dull and leaden in contrast, when a low knock caused me to look up; but instead of Adah, as I expected, Miss Warren stood in the doorway.
"They are all so busy to-day," she said hesitatingly, "that I thought I might help you pass an hour or two. It seems too bad that you should be left to yourself so long."
To my disgust, I—who had resolved to be so strong and self-poised in her presence—felt that every drop of blood in my body had rushed into my face. It certainly must have been very apparent, for her color became vivid also.
"I fear I was having a stupid time," I began awkwardly. "I don't want to make trouble. Perhaps Mrs. Yocomb needs your help."
"No," she said, smiling, "you can't banish me on that ground. I've been helping Mrs. Yocomb all the morning. She's teaching me how to cook. I've succeeded in proving that the family would have a fit of indigestion that might prove fatal were it wholly dependent on my performances."
"Tell me what you made?" I said eagerly. "Am I to have any of it for my dinner?"
"Indeed you are not. Dr. Bates would have me indicted."
She looked at me with solicitude, for although I had laughed with her I felt ill and faint. Despairingly, I thought, "I cannot see her and live. I must indeed go away."
"So you are coming downstairs to-morrow?" she began. "We shall give yon a welcome that ought to make any man proud. Mrs. Yocomb is all aglow with her preparations."
"I wish they wouldn't do so," I said, in a pained tone. "I'd much rather slip quietly into my old place as if nothing had happened."
"I imagined you would feel so, Mr. Morton," she said gently; "but so much has happened that you must let them express their abounding gratitude in their own way. It will do them good, and they will be the happier for it."
"Indeed, Miss Warren, that very word gratitude oppresses me. There is no occasion for their feeling so. Why, Hiram, their man, could not have done less. I merely happened to be here. It's all the other way now. If ever a man was overwhelmed with kindness, I have been. How can I ever repay Mrs. Yocomb?"
"I am equally helpless in that respect; but I'm glad to think that between some of our friends the question of repaying may be forgotten. I never expect to repay Mrs. Yocomb."
"Has she done so much for you, also?"
"Yes, more than I can tell you."
"Well," I said, trying to laugh, "if I ever write another paragraph it will be due to her good nursing."
"That is my chief cause for gratitude," she said hurriedly, the color deepening again in her cheeks. "If you hadn't—if—I know of your brave effort to get well, too—she told me."
"Yes, Miss Warren," I said quietly, "I am now doing my best."
"And you are doing nobly—so nobly that I am tempted to give you a strong proof of friendship; to tell you what I have not told any one except Mrs. Yocomb. I feel as if I had rather you heard it from me than casually from others. It will show how—how I trust you."
My very heart seemed to stand still, and I think my pallor alarmed her; but feeling that she had gone too far, she continued hurriedly, taking a letter from her pocket:
"I expect my friend to-night. He's been absent, and now writes that he will—"
I shrank involuntarily as if from a blow, and with her face full of distress she stopped abruptly.
Summoning the whole strength of my manhood, I rallied sufficiently to say, in a voice that I knew was unnatural from the stress I was under:
"I congratulate you. I trust you may be very happy."
"I had hoped—" she began. "I would be if I saw that you were happy."
"You are always hoping," I replied, trying to laugh, "that I may become sane and rational. Haven't you given that up yet? I shall be very happy to-morrow, and will drink to the health of you both."
She looked at me very dubiously, and the trouble in her face did not pass away. "Let me read to you," she said abruptly. "I brought with me Hawthorne's 'Mosses from an Old Manse.' They are not too familiar, I trust?"
"I cannot hear them too often," I said, nerving myself as if for torture.
She began to read that exquisite little character study, "The Great Stone Face." Her voice was sweet and flexible, and varied with the thought as if the words had been set to music. At first I listened with delight to hear my favorite author so perfectly interpreted; but soon, too soon, every syllable added to my sense of unutterable loss.
Possibly she intuitively felt my distress, possibly she saw it as I tried to look as stoical as an Indian chief who is tortured on every side with burning brands. At any rate she stopped, and said hesitatingly:
"You—you do not enjoy my reading."
With a rather grim smile I replied: "Nothing but the truth will answer with you. I must admit I do not."
"Would—would you like to hear something else?" she asked, in evident embarrassment.
"Nothing is better than Hawthorne," I said. "I—I fear I'm not yet strong enough." Then, after a second's hesitation, I spoke out despairingly: "Miss Warren, I may as well recognize the truth at once, I never shall be strong enough. I've overrated myself. Good-by."
She trembled; tears came into her eyes, and she silently left the room.So abrupt was her departure that it seemed like a flight.
After she had gone I tottered to my feet, with an imprecation on my weakness, and I took an amount of stimulant that Dr. Bates would never have prescribed; but it had little effect. In stony, sullen protest at my fate, I sat down again, and the hours passed like eternities.
Adah brought me up my dinner, and I at once noted that she was in a flutter of unusual excitement. Her mother had undoubtedly prepared her for the arrival of the expected guest, and made known also his relations to one of whom she had been somewhat jealous, and it would seem that the simple-hearted girl could not disguise her elation.
I was in too bitter a mood to endure a word, and yet did not wish to hurt her feelings; therefore she found me more absorbed in my paper and preoccupied than ever before.
"Thank you, Miss Adah," I said, cordially but briefly. "Editors are wretched company; their paper is everything to them, and I've something on my mind just now that's very absorbing."
"Thee isn't strong enough to work yet," she said sympathetically.
"Oh, yes," I replied, laughing bitterly; "I'm a small edition of Samson. Besides, I'm as poor as Job's impoverished turkey, and must get to work again as soon as possible."
"There is no need of thee feeling that way; we—" and then she stopped and blushed.
"I know all about 'we,'" I laughed; "your hearts are as large as this wide valley, but then I must keep my self-respect, you know. You have no idea how happy you ought to be in such a home as yours."
"I like the city better," she replied, blushing, and she hastily left the room.
My greed for work departed as abruptly. "Poor child!" I muttered. "'Life is a tangle,' as Miss Warren said, and a wretched one, too, for many of us."
Mrs. Yocomb soon after came in, and looked with solicitude at my almost untasted dinner.
"Why, Richard," she said, "thy appetite flags strangely. Isn't thy dinner to thy taste?"
"The fault is wholly in me," I replied.
"Thee doesn't look so well—nothing like so well. Has Adah said anything to trouble thee?" she asked apprehensively.
"No, indeed; Adah is just as good and kind as she can be. She's becoming as good as she is beautiful. Every day increases my respect for her;" and I spoke earnestly and honestly.
A faint color stole into the matron's cheek, and she seemed pleased and relieved, but she remarked quietly:
"Adah's young and inexperienced." Then she added, with a touch of motherly pride and solicitude, "She's good at heart, and I think is trying to do right."
"She will make a noble woman, Mrs. Yocomb—one that you may well be proud of, or I'm no judge of character," I said, with quiet emphasis. "She and Zillah have both been so kind to me that they already seem like sisters. At any rate, after my treatment in this home I shall always feel that I owe to them a brother's duty."
The color deepened in the old lady's face, that was still so fair and comely, and tears stood in her eyes.
"I understand thee, Richard," she said quietly. "I thought I loved thee for saving our lives and our home, but I love thee more now. Still thee cannot understand a mother's heart. Thee's a true gentleman."
"Dear Mrs. Yocomb, you must learn to understand me better or I shall have to run away in self-defence. When you talk in that style I feel like an arrant hypocrite. I give you my word that I've been swearing this very forenoon."
"Who was thee swearing at?" she asked, in much surprise.
"Myself, and with good reason."
"There is never good reason for such wickedness," she said gravely, but regarding me with deep solicitude. Presently she added, "Thee has had some great provocation?"
"No; I've been honored with unmerited kindness and trust, which I have ill requited." "Emily Warren has been to see thee?"
"Yes."
"Did she tell thee?"
"Yes; and I feel that I could throttle that man. Now you know what a heathen savage I am."
"Yes," she said dryly, "thee has considerable untamed human nature." Then added, smiling, "I'll trust him with thee, nevertheless. I'm inclined to think that for her sake thee'd do more for him than for any man living. Now wouldn't thee?"
"Oh, Satan take him! Yes!" I groaned. "Forgive me, Mrs. Yocomb. I'm so unmanned, so desperate from trouble, that I'm not fit for decent society, much less your company. You believe in a Providence: why was this woman permitted to enslave my very soul when it was of no use?"
"Richard Morton," she said reproachfully, "thee is indeed unmanned. Thee's wholly unjust and unreasonable. This gentleman has been Emily Warren's devoted friend for years. He has taken care of her little property, and done everything for her that her independent spirit would permit. He might have sought an alliance among the wealthiest, but he has sued long and patiently for her hand—"
"Well he might," I interrupted irritably. "Emily Warren is the peer of any man in New York."
"Thee knows New York and the world in general well enough to be aware that wealthy bankers do not often seek wives from the class to which Emily belongs, though in my estimation, as well as in thine, no other class is more respectable. But I'm not blinded by prejudice, and I think it speaks well for him that he is able to recognize and honor worth wherever he finds it. Still, he knew her family. The Warrens were quite wealthy, too, at one time."
"What is his name?" I asked sullenly.
"Gilbert Hearn." "What, Hearn the banker, who resides on Fifth Avenue?"
"The same."
"I know him—that is, I know who he is—well." Then I added bitterly, "It's just like him; he has always had the good things of this world, and always will. He'll surely marry her."
"Has thee anything against him?"
"Yes, infinitely much against him: I feel as if he were seeking to marry my wife."
"That's what thee said when out of thy mind," she exclaimed apprehensively. "I hope thee is not becoming feverish?" "Oh, no, Mrs. Yocomb, I've nothing against him at all. He is pre-eminently respectable, as the world goes. He is shrewd, wonderfully shrewd, and always makes a ten-strike in Wall Street; but his securing Miss Warren was a masterstroke. There, I'm talking slang, and disgracing myself generally." But my bitter spirit broke out again in the words, "Never fear; Gilbert Hearn will have the best in the city; nothing less will serve him."
"Thee is prejudiced and unjust. I hope thee'll be in a better mood to-morrow," and she left my room looking hurt and grieved.
I sank back in my chair in wretched, reckless apathy, and from the depths of my heart wished I had died.
After a little time Mrs. Yocomb came hastily in, looking half ashamed of her weakness, and in her hands was a bowl of delicious broth.
"My heart relents toward thee," she said, with moist eyes. "I ought to have made more allowance for one whose mother left him much too early. Take this, every drop, and remember thy pledge to get well and be a generous man. I'll trust thee to keep thy word," and she departed before I could speak.
"Well, I should be a devil incarnate if I didn't become a man after her kindness," I muttered, and I gulped down the broth and my evil mood at the same time.
At the end of an hour I could almost have shaken hands with GilbertHearn, who prospered in all that he touched.
As the sun declined I heard the rustle of a silk on the stairway. A moment later Miss Warren mounted the horseblock and stood waiting for Reuben, who soon appeared in the family rockaway.
I thought the maiden looked a trifle pale in contrast with her light silk, but perhaps it was the shadow of the tree she stood under; but I muttered, "Even his critical taste can find no fault with that form and face; she'll grace his princely home, and none will recognize the truth more clearly than he."
She hesitatingly lifted her eyes toward my window, and I started back, forgetting that I was hidden by the half-closed blind; but my face suffused with pleasure as I said to myself:
"Heaven bless her! she does not forget me wholly, even on the threshold of her happiness."
At that moment Old Plod, passing through the yard in his early Saturday release from toil, gave a loud whinny of recognition. The young girl started visibly, sprang lightly down from the block and caressed her great heavy-footed pet, and then, without another glance at my window, entered the rockaway, and was driven rapidly toward the distant depot at which she would welcome the most fortunate man in the world.
I now felt sure that I had guessed her associations with the old plow-horse, and, sore-hearted as I was, I laughed long and silently over the quaint fancy.
"Truly," I muttered, "the courtly and elegant banker would not feel flattered if he knew about it. How in the world did she ever come to unite the two in her mind?"
But as I thought it all over I was led to conclude that it was natural enough. The lonely girl had no doubt found that even in the best society of a Christian city she must ever be warily on her guard. She was beautiful, and yet poor and apparently friendless; and, as she had intimated, she had found many of the young and gay ready to flatter, and with anything but sincere motives. The banker, considerably her senior, had undoubtedly proved himself a quiet, steadfast friend. He was not the fool to neglect her as did those stupid horses, for any oats the world could offer, and she always found him, like Old Plod, ready to drop everything for her, and well he might. "No matter how devoted he has been, he can never plume himself on any magnanimity," I said to myself. "She probably finds him a trifle formal and sedate, and rather lacking in ideality, just as Old Plod is very stolid till she appears; but then he is safe and strong, and very kind to a friendless girl, who might well shrink from the vicissitudes of her lot, and would naturally be attracted by the protection and position which he could offer. In spite of the disparity of years, a woman might easily love a man who could do so much for her, and the banker is still well preserved and handsome. Of course Emily Warren does love him: all the wealth of Wall Street could not buy her. Yes, in a world full of lightning flashes she has made a thrifty and excellent choice. I may as well own it, in spite of every motive to prejudice. Gilbert Hearn is not my ideal man by any means. Good things are essential to him. He would feel personally aggrieved if the weather was bad for two days in succession. He is very charitable and public-spirited, and he likes our paper to recognize the fact: I have proof of that too. Alms given in the dark are not exactly wasted—but I'm thinking scandal. He so likes to let his 'light so shine.' He's respectability personified, and the toil-worn girl will be taken into an ark of safety.
"I suppose I ought to be magnanimous enough to think that it's all for the best, since he can do infinitely more for her than I ever could. She will be the millionaire's wife, and I'll go back to my dingy little office and write paragraphs heavy enough to sink a cork ship. Thus will end my June idyll; but should I live a century I will always feel that Gilbert Hearn married my wife."
For nearly an hour I sat listlessly in my chair and watched the shadows lengthen across the valley. Suddenly an impulse seized me, and I resolved to obey it.
"If I can go downstairs to-morrow, I can go just as well to-night," I said, "and go I will. She shall not have a shadow on her first evening with her lover, and she's too good-hearted to enjoy it wholly if she thinks I'm moping and sighing in my room. Moreover, I shall not let my shadows make a background for the banker's general prosperity. Stately and patronizing he cannot help being, and Miss Warren may lead him to think that he is under some obligation to me—I wish he might never hear of it—but, by Vulcan and his sledge! he shall have no cause to pity me while he unctuously rubs his hands in self-felicitation."
As far as my strength permitted, I made a careful toilet, and sat down to wait. As the sun sank below the horizon, the banker appeared. "Very appropriate," I muttered; "but his presence would make it dark at midday."
Miss Warren was talking with animation, and pointing out the surrounding objects of interest, and he was listening with a wonderfully complacent smile on his smooth, full face.
"How prosperous he looks!" I muttered. "The idea of anything going contrary to his will or wishes!"
Then I saw that a little girl sat on the front seat with Reuben, and that he was letting her drive, but with his hand hovering near the reins.
Mr. and Mrs. Yocomb came out and greeted Mr. Hearn cordially, and he in return was very benign, for it was evident that, in their place and station, he found them agreeable people, and quite to his mind.
"Why doesn't he take off his hat to Mrs. Yocomb as if she were a duchess?" I growled. "That trunk that fills half the rockaway doesn't look as if he had come to spend Sunday only. Perhaps we are destined to make a happy family. I wonder who the little girl is?".
The banker was given what was known as the parlor bedroom, on the ground floor, and I heard Adah taking the little girl to her room.
Miss Warren did not glance at my window on her return. "She would have been happy enough had I remained here and sighed like a furnace," I muttered grimly. "Well, idiot! why shouldn't she be?"
She had evidently lingered to say something to Mrs. Yocomb, but I soon heard her light step pass up to her room.
"Now's my chance," I thought. "Mrs. Yocomb is preparing for supper, and all the rest are out of the way," and I slipped down the stairs with noiseless and rather unsteady tread. Excitement, however, lent me a transient strength, and I felt as if the presence of the banker would give me sinews of steel. I entered the parlor unobserved, and taking my old seat, from which I had watched the approach of the memorable storm, I waited events.
The first one to appear was the banker, rubbing his hands in a way that suggested a habit of complacency and self-felicitation. He started slightly on seeing me, and then said graciously:
"Mr. Morton, I presume?"
"You are correct, Mr. Hearn. I congratulate you on your safe arrival."
"Thanks. I've travelled considerably, and have never met with an accident. Glad to see you able to be down, for from what I heard I feared you had not sufficiently recovered."
"I'm much better to-day, sir," I replied, briefly.
"Well, this air, these scenes ought to impart health and content. I'm greatly pleased already, and congratulate myself on finding so pleasant a place of summer sojourn. It will form a delightful contrast to great hotels and jostling crowds." I now saw Miss Warren, through the half-open door, talking to Mrs. Yocomb. They evidently thought the banker was conversing with Mr. Yocomb.
Instead of youthful ardor and bubbling happiness, the girl's face had a grave, sedate aspect that comported well with her coming dignities. Then she looked distressed. Was Mrs. Yocomb telling her of my profane and awful mood? I lent an inattentive ear to Mr. Hearn's excellent reasons for satisfaction with his present abode, and in the depths of my soul I thought, "If she's worrying about me now, how good-hearted she is!"
"I already foresee," Mr. Hearn proceeded, in his full-orbed tones, "that it will also be just the place for my little girl—safe and quiet, with very nice people to associate with."
"Yes," I said emphatically, "they are nice people—the best I ever knew."
Miss Warren started violently, took a step toward the door, then paused, and Mrs. Yocomb entered first.
"Why, Richard Morton!" she exclaimed, "what does thee mean by this imprudence?"
"I mean to eat a supper that will astonish you," I replied, laughing.
"But I didn't give thee leave to come down."
"You said I could come to-morrow, so I haven't disobeyed in spirit."
Miss Warren still stood in the hall, but seeing that I had recognized her, she came forward and gave me her hand as she said:
"No one is more glad than I that you are able to come down."
Her words were very quiet, but the pressure of her hand was so warm as to surprise me, and I also noted that what must have been a vivid color was fading from her usually pale face. I saw, too, that Mr. Hearn was watching us keenly.
"Oh, but you are shrewd!" I thought. "I wish you had cause to suspect."
I returned her greeting with great apparent frankness and cordiality asI replied, "Oh, I'm much better to-night, and as jolly as Mark Tapley."
"Well," ejaculated Mrs. Yocomb, "theehasstolen a march on us, butI'm afraid thee'll be the worse for it."
"Ah, Mrs. Yocomb," I laughed, "your captive has escaped. I'm going to meeting with you to-morrow."
"No, thee isn't. I feel as if I ought to take thee right back to thy room."
"Mr. Yocomb," I cried to the old gentleman, who now stood staring at me in the doorway, "I appeal to you. Can't I stay down to supper?"
"How's this! how's this!" he exclaimed. "We were going to give thee a grand ovation to-morrow, and mother had planned a dinner that might content an alderman."
"Or a banker," I thought, as I glanced at Mr. Hearn's ample waistcoat; but I leaned back in my chair and laughed heartily as I said:
"You cannot get me back to my room, Mrs. Yocomb, now that I know I've escaped an ovation. I'd rather have a toothache."
"But does thee really feel strong enough?"
"Oh, yes; I never felt better in my life."
"I don't know what to make of thee," she said, with a puzzled look.
"No," I replied; "you little knew what a case I was when you took me in hand."
"I'll stand up for thee, Friend Morton. Thee shall stay down to supper, and have what thee pleases. Thee may as well give in, mother; he's out from under thy thumb."
"My dear sir, you talk as if you were out, too. I fear our mutiny may go too far. To-morrow is Sunday, Mrs. Yocomb, and I'll be as good as I know how all day, which, after all, is not promising much."
"It must be very delightful to you to have secured such good friends," began Mr. Hearn, who perhaps felt that he had stood too long in the background. "I congratulate you. At the same time, Mr. and Mrs. Yocomb," with a courtly bend toward them, "I do not wonder at your feelings, for Emily has told me that Mr. Morton behaved very handsomely during that occasion of peril."
"Did I?" I remarked, with a wry face. "I was under the impression that I looked very ridiculous," and I turned a quick, mischievous glance toward Miss Warren, who seemed well content to remain in the background.
"Yes," she said, laughing, "your appearance did not comport with your deeds."
"I'm not so sure about that," I replied, dryly. "At any rate, I much prefer the present to reminiscences."
"I trust that you will permit me, as one of the most interested parties, to thank you also," began Mr. Hearn, impressively.
"No, indeed, sir," I exclaimed, a little brusquely. "Thanks do not agree with my constitution at all."
"Hurrah!" cried Reuben, looking in at the parlor window.
"Yes, here's the man to thank," I resumed. "Even after being struck by lightning he was equal to the emergency."
"No, thee don't, Richard," laughed Reuben. "Thee needn't think thee's going to palm that thing off on me. We've all come to our senses now."
For some reason Miss Warren laughed heartily, and then said to me, "You look so well and genial to-night that I do begin to think it was some other tramp."
"I fear I'm the same old tramp; for, as Reuben says, we have all come to our senses."
"Thee didn't lose thy senses, Richard, till after thee was sick. 'Twas mighty lucky thee wasn't struck," explained the matter-of-fact Reuben.
"You must permit me to echo the young lad's sentiment," said Mr. Hearn, feelingly. "It was really a providence that you escaped, and kept such a cool, clear head."
I fear I made another very wry face as I looked out of the window. Reuben evidently had not liked the term "young lad," but as he saw my expression he burst out laughing as he said:
"What's the matter, Richard? I guess thee thinks thee had the worst of it after all."
"So thee has," broke out Mr. Yocomb. "Thee didn't know what an awful scrape I was getting thee into when I brought thee home from meeting. Never was a stranger so taken in before. I don't believe thee'll ever go to Friends' meeting again," and the old gentleman laughed heartily, but tears stood in his eyes.
In spite of myself my color was rising, and I saw that Mrs. Yocomb and Miss Warren looked uncomfortably conscious of what must be in my mind; but I joined in his laugh as I replied:
"You are mistaken. Had I a prophet's eye, I would have come home with you. The kindness received in this home has repaid me a thousand times. With a sick bear on their hands, Mrs. Yocomb and Miss Adah were in a worse scrape than I."
"Well, thee hasn't growled as much as I expected," laughed Mrs. Yocomb; "and now thee's a very amiable bear indeed, and shall have thy supper at once," and she turned to depart, smiling to herself, but met in the doorway Adah and the little stranger—a girl of about the same age as Zillah, with large, vivid black eyes, and long dark hair. Zillah was following her timidly, with a face full of intense interest in her new companion; but the moment she saw me she ran and sprang into my arms, and, forgetful of all others, cried gladly:
"Oh, I'm so glad—I'm so glad thee's well!"
The impulse must have been strong to make so shy a child forget the presence of strangers.
I whispered in her ear, "I told you that your kiss would make me well."
"Yes; but thee said Emily Warren's roses too," protested the little girl.
"Did I?" I replied, laughing. "Well, there's no escaping the truth in this house."
I dared not look at Miss Warren, but saw that Mr. Hearn's eyes were on her.
"Confound him!" I thought. "Can he be fool enough to be jealous?"
Adah still stood hesitatingly in the doorway, as if she dared not trust herself to enter. I put Zillah down, and crossing the room in a free, frank manner, I took her hand cordially as I said:
"Miss Adah, I must thank you next to Mrs. Yocomb that I am able to be down this evening, and that I am getting well so fast. You have been the best of nurses, and just as kind and considerate as a sister. I'm going to have the honor of taking you out to supper." I placed her hand on my arm, and its thrill and tremble touched my very soul. In my thoughts I said, "It's all a wretched muddle, and, as the banker said, mysterious enough to be a providence"; but at that moment the ways of Providence seemed very bright to the young girl, and she saw Mr. Hearn escorting Miss Warren with undisguised complacency.
As the latter took her seat I ventured to look at her, and if ever a woman's eyes were eloquent with warm, approving friendliness, hers were. I seemingly had done the very thing she would have wished me to do. As we bowed our heads in grace, I was graceless enough to growl, under my breath, "My attentions to Adah are evidently very satisfactory. Can she imagine for a moment—does she take me for a weather-vane?"
When grace was over, I glanced toward her again, a trifle indignantly; but her face now was quiet and pale, and I was compelled to believe that for the rest of the evening she avoided my eyes and all references to the past.
"Why, mother!" exclaimed Mr. Yocomb from the head of the table, "thy cheeks are as red—why, thee looks like a young girl."
"Thee knows I'm very much pleased to-night," she said. "Does thee remember, Richard, when thee first sat down to supper with us?"
"Indeed I do. Never shall I forget my trepidation lest Mr. Yocomb should discover whom, in his unsuspecting hospitality, he was harboring."
"Well, I've discovered," laughed the old gentleman. "Good is always coming out of Nazareth."
"It seems to me that we've met before," remarked Mr. Hearn, graciously and reflectively.
"Yes, sir," I explained. "As a reporter I called on you once or twice for information."
"Ah, now it comes back to me. Yes, yes, I remember; and I also remember that you did not extract the information as if it had been a tooth. Your manner was not that of a professional interviewer. You must meet with disagreeable experiences in your calling."
"Yes, sir; but perhaps that is true of all callings."
"Yes, no doubt, no doubt; but it has seemed to me that a reporter's lot must frequently bring him in contact with much that is disagreeable."
"Mr. Morton is not a reporter," said Adah, a trifle indignantly; "he's the editor of a first-class paper."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Hearn, growing much more benign; "why, Emily, you did not tell me that."
"No, I only spoke of Mr. Morton as a gentleman."
"I imagine that Miss Warren thinks that I have mistaken my calling, and that I ought to be a gardener."
"That's an odd impression. Mr. Yocomb would not even trust you to weed," she retorted quickly.
"I have a fellow feeling for weeds; they grow so easily and naturally. But I must correct your impressions, Miss Adah. I'm not the dignitary you imagine-onlyaneditor, and an obscure night one at that."
"Your night work on one occasion bears the light very well. I hope it may be the earnest of the future," said Mr. Hearn impressively.
I felt that he had a covert meaning, for he had glanced more than once at Miss Warren when I spoke, and I imagined him a little anxious as to our mutual impressions.
"I feel it my duty to set you right also, Mr. Hearn," I replied, with quiet emphasis, for I wished to end all further reference to that occasion. "Through Mr. and Mrs. Yocomb's kindness, I happened to be an inmate of the farmhouse that night. I merely did what any man would have done, and could have done just as well. My action involved no personal peril, and no hardship worth naming. My illness resulted from my own folly. I'd been overworking or overworked, as so many in my calling are. Conscious that I am not in the least heroic, I do not wish to be imagined a hero. Mrs. Yocomb knows what a bear I've been," I concluded, with a humorous nod toward her.
"Yes, I know, Richard," she said, quietly smiling.
"After this statement in prose, Mr. Hearn, you will not be led to expect more from me than from any ordinary mortal."
"Indeed, sir, I like your modesty, your self-depreciation."
"I beg your pardon," I interrupted a little decisively; "I hope you do not think my words had any leaning toward affectation. I wished to state the actual truth. My friends here have become too kind and partial to give a correct impression."
Mr. Hearn waved his hand very benignly, and his smile was graciousness itself as he said:
"I think I understand you, sir, and respect your sincerity. I've been led to believe that you cherish a high and scrupulous sense of honor, and that trait counts with me far more than all others."
I understood him well. "Oh, youareshrewd!" I thought; "but I'd like to know what obligations I'm under to you?" I merely bowed a trifle coldly to this tribute and suggestive statement, and turned the conversation. As I swept my eyes around the table a little later, I thought Miss Warren looked paler than usual.
"Does she understand his precautionary measures?" I thought. "He'd better beware—she would not endure distrust."
The excitement that had sustained me was passing away, and I felt myself growing miserably weak and depressed. The remainder of the meal was a desperate battle, in which I think I succeeded fairly. I talked that it might not be noticed that I was eating very little; joked with Mr. Yocomb till the old gentleman was ruddy and tremulous with laughter, and made Reuben happy by applauding one of Dapple's exploits, the history of which was easily drawn from him.
I spoke often to both Adah and Zillah, and tried to be as frank and unconscious in one case as the other. I even made the acquaintance of Mr. Hearn's little girl—indeed, her father formally presented her to me as his daughter Adela. I knew nothing of his domestic history, and gained no clew as to the length of the widowhood which he now proposed to end as speedily as possible.
I was amused by his not infrequent glances at Adah. He evidently had a keen eye for beauty as for every other good thing of this world, and he was not so desperately enamored but that he could stealthily and critically compare the diverse charms of the two girls, and I imagined I saw a slight accession to his complacency as his judgment gave its verdict for the one toward whom he manifested proprietorship by a manner that was courtly, deferential, but quite pronounced. A stranger present could never have doubted their relationship.
A brief discussion arose as to taste, in which Mr. Hearn assumed the ground that nothing could take the place of much observation and comparison, by means of which effects in color could be accurately learned and valued. In reply I said:
"Theories and facts do not always harmonize any more than colors. Miss Adah's youth and rural life have not given her much opportunity for observation and comparison, and yet few ladies on your Avenue have truer eyes for harmony in color than she."
"Mr. Morton being the judge," said the banker, with a profound and smiling bow. "Permit me to add that Miss Adah has at this moment only to glance in a mirror to obtain an idea of perfect harmony in color," and his eyes lingered admiringly on her face.
I was worsted in this encounter, and I saw the old gleam of mirthfulness in Miss Warren's eyes. How well I remembered when I first saw that evanescent illumination—the quick flash of a bright, genial spirit. "She delights in her lover's keen thrusts," was now my thought, "and is pleased to think I'm no match for him. She should remember that it's a poor time for a man to tilt when he can scarcely sit erect." But Adah's pleasure was unalloyed. She had received two decided compliments, and she found herself associated with me in the new-comer's mind, and by my own actions.
"I frankly admit," I said, "that I'm a partial judge, and perhaps a very incompetent one." Then I was stupid enough to add: "But newspaper men are prone to have opinions. Mr. Yocomb was so sarcastic as to say that there was nothing under heaven that an editor did not know."
"Oh, if you judge by her father's authority, you are on safe ground, and I yield at once."
He had now gone too far, and I flushed angrily as we rose from the table. I saw, too, that Mr. and Mrs. Yocomb did not like it either, and that Adah was blushing painfully. It was one of those attempted witticisms that must be simply ignored.
My anxiety now was to get back to my room as speedily as possible. Again I had overrated myself. The excitement of the effort was gone, and my heart was like lead. I, too, would no longer permit my eyes to rest even a moment on one whose ever-present image was only too vivid in spite of my constant effort to think of something else; for so complete was my enthrallment that it was intolerable pain to see her the object of another's man's preferred attentions. I knew it was all right; I was not jealous in the ordinary sense of the word; I merely found myself unable longer, in my weak condition, to endure in her presence the consequences of my fatal blunder. Therefore I saw with pleasure that I might in a few moments have a chance to slip back to my refuge as quietly as I had left it. Mrs. Yocomb was summoned to the kitchen; a farm laborer was inquiring for her husband, and he and Reuben went out toward the barn. Adah would have lingered, but the two children pulled her away to the swing.
Mr. Hearn and Miss Warren stood by me a moment or two as I sat on the lounge in the hall, and then the former said: "Emily, this is just the time for a twilight walk. Come, and show me the old garden;" and he took her away, with an air of proprietorship at which I sickened, to that place consecrated by my first conscious vision of the woman that I hoped would be my fair Eve.
The moment they were off the porch I tottered to the stairway, and managed to reach the turn of the landing, and there my strength failed, and I held on to the railing for support, feeling ill and faint. A light step came quickly through the hall and up the stairway.
"Why, Mr. Morton!" exclaimed Miss Warren, "you are not going up so soon?"
"Yes, thank you," I managed to say cheerily. "Invalids must be prudent.I'm only resting on the landing a little."
"I found it rather cool and damp, and so came back for a shawl," she explained, and passed on up to her room, for she seemed a little embarrassed at meeting me on the stairs. In her absence I made a desperate effort to go on, but found that I would fall. I must wait till she returned, and then crawl up the best I could.
"You see I'm prudence personified," I laughed, as she came back. "I'm taking it so leisurely that I have even sat down about it."
"Are you not overtaxing yourself?" she asked gently. "I fear—"
"Oh, no, indeed—will sleep all the better for a change. Mr. Hearn is waiting for you, and the twilight isn't. Don't worry; I'll surpass Samson in a week."
She looked at me keenly, and hesitatingly passed down the dusky stairway. Then I turned and tried to crawl on, eager to gain my room without revealing my condition; but when I reached the topmost stair it seemed that I could not go any further if my life depended on it. With an irritable imprecation on my weakness, I sank down on the topmost step.
"Mr. Morton," said a low voice, "why did you try to deceive me? You have gone far beyond your strength."
"You here—you of all others," I broke out, in tones of exasperation. "I meant that your first evening should be without a shadow, and have failed, as I now fail in everything. Call Reuben."
"Let me help you?" she pleaded, in the same hurried voice.
"No," I replied harshly, and I leaned heavily against the wall. She held out her hand to aid me, but I would not take it.
"I've no right even to look at you—I who have been doubly enjoined to cherish such a 'scrupulous sense of honor.' I'd better have died a thousand times. Call Reuben."
"How can I leave you so ill and unhappy!" and she made a gesture of protest and distress whose strong effect was only intensified by the obscurity. "I had hoped—you led me to think to-night—"
"That I was a weather-vane. Thank you."
Steps were heard entering the hall.
"Oh! oh!" she exclaimed, in bitter protest.
"Emily," called the banker's voice, "are you not very long?"
I seized her hand to detain her, and said, in a fierce whisper: "Never so humiliate me as to let him know. Go at once; some one will find me."
"Your hand is like ice," she breathed.
I ignored her presence, leaned back, and closed my eyes.
She paused a single instant longer, and then, with a firm, decisive bearing, turned and passed quietly down the stairway.
"What in the world has kept you?" Mr. Hearn asked, a trifle impatiently.
"Can you tell me where Reuben is?" she answered, in a clear, firm voice, that she knew I must hear.
"What does thee want, Emily?" cried Reuben from the piazza.
"Mr. Morton wishes to see you," she replied, in the same tone that she would have used had my name been Mrs. Yocomb's, and then she passed out with her affianced.
Reuben almost ran over me as he came bounding up the stairs.
"Hold on, old fellow," I whispered, and I pulled him down beside me. "Can you keep a secret? I'm played out—Reuben—to speak elegantly—and I don't wish a soul to know it. I'm sitting very—comfortably on this step—you see—that's the way it looks—but I'm stuck—hard aground—you'll have to tow me off. But not a word, remember. Lift me up—let me get my arm around your neck—there. Lucky I'm not heavy—slow and easy now—that's it. Ah, thank the Lord! I'm in my refuge again. I felt like a scotched snake that couldn't wriggle back to its hole. Hand me that brandy there—like a good fellow. Now I won't kelp you—any longer. If you care—for me—never speak of this."
"Please let me tell mother?"
"No, indeed."
"But doesn't Emily Warren know?"
"She knows I wanted to see you."
"Please let me do something or get thee something."
"No; just leave me to myself a little while, and I'll be all right. Go at once, that's a good fellow."
"Oh, Richard, thee shouldn't have come down. Thee looks so pale and sick that I'm afraid thee'll die yet; if thee does, thee'll break all our hearts," and the warm-hearted boy burst out crying, and ran and locked himself in his room.