CHAPTER LXI.GODFREY AND GERTIE.
“Howard, come here, I wish to speak to you,” Miss Rossiter said, in the quick, decided way she had assumed since so much had been depending upon her, and she had been drawn out of herself. “Howard, what do you mean to do with Gertie? Will you make her really one of your children, and have her share equally with them?”
“Really, Christine, I have not thought; it’s a little too soon for that. Why, yes, I rather think—she will share with them,—yes, if Godfrey marries Alice, there would then be more reason why Gertie should share equally, as Godfrey would not need so much, and you know I have had some heavy losses.”
“Howard, don’t be a fool. Godfrey will never marry Alice, nor anybody else except Gertie Westbrooke, and you know that, or ought to know it. I learned it those days I took care of him when Gertie was with me, and I got to liking her in spite of myself. I am not a deceitful woman, Howard, and I will not say that I am altogether satisfied with Edith. It is not in my nature to feel that people of her rank in life are fully my equals, but I shall always treat her well for Gertie’s sake and Godfrey’s. I cannot understand it, but that child has grown strangely into my heart since she has been sick here in my house. They say we always love what has cost us trouble and made us forget ourselves, and I think I love her better than I have loved anything since Charlie died, and I intend to make her myheir, and if she only would stay with me I’d keep her so gladly. I have told you this, Howard, so thatmoneyneed notstand between you and your consent for Godfrey to make Gertie his wife.”
Colonel Schuyler was astonished, and could hardly believe that it was Christine Rossiter speaking to him, as this woman spoke, and actually pleading Gertie’s cause, and advising him to accept her as the wife of his son. In spite of Miss Rossiter’s talk of adoption and heirship, he felt a pang of regret when he remembered the Creighton line of ancestry, almost as pure as his own, and thought of Jenny Nesbitt, who seemed destined to be connected with him in so many ways through Edith and Emma and Godfrey. But there was no help for it. The star of the Lyles was in the ascendant, and when, that afternoon, Godfrey went up to see Gertie for the first time since her return to consciousness, he had his father’s full consent to claim her for his wife.
The colonel himself had told Godfrey the story of Gertie’s birth, and Godfrey hadhurrahedfor very joy, feeling that in some way Gertie was thus brought nearer to him. He knew of her coming alone to him in his illness and braving the world because she thought herself his sister. He had faint reminiscences, too, of soft hands which cooled his burning brow, of loving words breathed into his ear, and of firm, though gentle remonstrances and threats of leaving him, when the vessel plunged so fearfully and he was plunging with it. Gertie had saved his life, and even when he did not know she was in the room she had been constantly in his mind, and was with him in his desperate voyage over the stormy sea, where he had so nearly been lost. Always, when the waves were doing their worst, there was a thought in his heart ofLa Sœur, and he wondered how she was coming through, and if the window was open in her dingy little stateroom. Hers was the first name upon his lips when he awoke to consciousness; and before he was really able he left his room and went to Miss Rossiter’s, to be near his darling and see her when he chose. But she had never known him when he bent over her with fond words and loving caresses; and she talked of him to his face, and mourned sadly that he was lost, and she was left to sail alone over the troubled waters.
“I am here, Gertie. I shall never leave you again,” he hadsaid to her once, when she could not understand his meaning, and now he was going to say it again, with every obstacle cleared from his path, and nothing to impede his love.
Gertie was sitting up and expecting him, but she was not prepared for the impetuosity with which he gathered her in his arms, and hugging her so close that her breath came in quick gasps, carried her to the mirror, and laying her white, thin face beside his own, which, if possible, was whiter and thinner, bade her see what a “pair of picked chickens they were.”
“But we weathered it, Gertie,” he said, “and now we’ve nothing to do but grow strong and well again, and you will be more beautiful than ever, while I,—well, Gertie, I never was so happy in my life as at this moment when I hold you thus and kiss you, so—and so!”
He emphasized his words by kisses, which took Gertie’s breath away, and when she could speak she said imploringly, “Please, Godfrey, put me down. You tire, you hurt me.”
Then he placed her in her chair, and kneeling at her side, held her hands in his, and looking anxiously into her face, said, “Forgive me, darling, I did not think how weak you were, and I am so happy, for I have father’s consent for you to tell me yes. I really have, and you are my own forever. ‘Tell Gertie,’ father said, ‘that I release her from her promise and welcome her as my daughter.’ Will you kiss me now, Gertie, even if I amnota perfect gentleman?”
“You are not deceiving me, Godfrey?” Gertie said, her lips quivering as she thought how terrible it would be to have this new cup of joy dashed from her lips just as she was ready to drink it.
“Deceiving you! No. Fatherdidsay so, and Allie knows it, too; and fickle, like all her sex, will not break her heart for me, who, she says, look like a fright with my shaved head, and high cheek-bones, and loose clothes. You see the fever has not left me very good-looking, and Marks, the rector at Hampstead, is down at Uncle Calvert’s, and rode with Allie yesterday; and I should not be surprised if she were yet to make aprons for Mrs. Van’s babies, and carry soup to the old lady. She’ll be a splendid wife for a minister, if she makes up her mind to it.”
He had rattled on thus volubly for the sake of giving Gertie time in which to recover herself, and when he saw that her breath came more naturally and the color was dying away from her cheeks, he returned to the matter in question.
“Kiss me, Gertie, gentleman or not, and I shall know you are my wife.”
He held his face close to hers, and Gertie put her arms around his neck, and so they were betrothed at last; and when, half an hour later, Edith came in, she found Gertie with her head resting on Godfrey’s arm and an expression of perfect peace upon her face, while he talked to her in tones which no one who had ever known experimentally the meaning of love could mistake.
“Ah, mother!” he said, as Edith came up to him. “You are really my mother now, for Gertie is mine, and the Lyles are pretty well mixed with the Schuylers, I think.”
How happy he was, and how he hovered around Gertie, seeming almost to devour her with his eyes when his lips were not meeting hers, and when he told Miss Rossiter the good news, he kissed her, too, and swung her round as if she had been a top, and wanted to kiss his father, and did kiss Julia and Alice both when he went to call upon them that evening, and told them he was as good as a married man.
Alice had given him up since the day Miss Rossiter drove down to see her, and talked so affectionately of Gertie, and said nothing would please her better than to see her Godfrey’s wife. There had been a few tears in private, a wrench or two in her heart, and then it was all over; for Allie’s love had never been very strong, and but little more than her pride was wounded when Gertie was preferred to herself. Alice had one good trait,—she did not long harbor malice or resentment; and she received Godfrey cordially, and said she hoped he would be happy, and blushed rather prettily when he joked her about the parson, and said she might possibly be his neighbor in Hampstead.
Two weeks from that day the doors and windows at Schuyler Hill were opened wide, and Mrs. Tiffe, in a wild state of excitement and expectancy, was giving the most contradictory orders to the servants, and flitting from room to room to seethat all was in readiness for the family, who were coming home and would be there to dinner. Everybody in Hampstead knew the story now, and none liked Edith the less, but rather the more, I think; while the fact that Gertie was to marry Godfrey filled every one with joy, except Tom Barton, who came to the Hill the day we were expecting her, and, handing me a bunch of pansies and English violets, said:
“They are for her room. I always associate her with English violets. She is just as sweet as they are, Heaven bless her!”
There was a tremor in his voice and his hand shook as he gave me the flowers. He was taking it hard, and I pitied him so much when he said:
“There is nothing in the wide world for me to live for now; but I shallnotgo back to my cups. She helped make me a man, and I’ll keep so for her sake; but I tell you, Ettie, it is pretty tough sledding, and there is a lump in my heart as big as a bass drum. I wish I were dead; I do, upon my word.”
How sweet the perfume of those violets was, and how eagerly Gertie inhaled it when she came at last, and I took her to her room.
“Tom brought them. He says they are like you,” I said, while a shadow flitted over Gertie’s face, for she knew just how much Tom Barton loved her, and felt in part the burden weighing him down so heavily.
It was curious to watch Edith as she came back to her home, with something of humility and fear in her manner, as if she dreaded the meeting of her old acquaintance now that they knew of the deception which had been practised so long, and it was equally curious to see how the colonel sustained and upheld her, and stood by her, and treated her with a consideration and increased deference and tenderness which would have precluded anything like coolness or indifference on the part of his friends toward his wife had they felt disposed to manifest it, which they were not. Edith was too popular; too much a favorite with all classes at Hampstead for anything except positive wrong to make a difference now; and the very first evening of her return many of her old acquaintances came to see her and offer their congratulations for the finding of her daughter, and that daughter Gertie.
How happy we were that night when Edith and Gertie sat together upon the sofa, the daughter’s head resting upon the mother’s shoulder, and the colonel and Godfrey standing behind and bending protectingly over them. Even Julia, who had come with the party, was unusually gracious, and told me confidentially that though she would have advised secrecy with regard to Gertie’s father, she was tolerably well satisfied with matters as they were, especially as Major Camden did not care, and she should soon be away from it all.
The next day was Sunday, and Mr. Marks had no cause to complain of empty pews, for every place was filled long before the bell sounded its last note and the Schuyler carriage drew up before the door. It did not matter that the villagers had seen Edith and Gertie and Godfrey hundreds of times, there was about them now a new element of interest, and the people came from other churches to see the wonderful sight. But they were in part doomed to disappointment, for Gertie was still too weak to venture out, while Godfrey would not go without her, and so, only Edith was there, her beautiful head drooping a little, and her eyes cast timidly down as she walked to her accustomed place and dropped upon her knees, where she remained a long, long time, while all through the church there was a solemn hush as the people watched her, many with tearful eyes, and all with a feeling that they knew the nature of her prayers and sympathized with her.