CHAPTER XXII.THE BIRTHDAY.
Mrs. Gordon’s breakfast bell rang several times next morning ere the young men made their appearance, for, as a natural consequence, the late hours of the previous night had been followed by protracted slumbers. As they were making their hasty toilet, Frederic said to Will:
“This is Marian’s twentieth birthday.”
“Is it possible?” returned Will. “It seems but yesterday since I saw her, a little girl in pantalets, with long curls streaming down her back. I liked her very much, she seemed so kind, so considerate of every one’s comfort; and I remember telling you once that she would be a handsome woman, while you said—‘Never, with that hair!’”
“Neither can she,” rejoined Frederic. “She may be rather pretty. Yes, I am sure she is pretty, for the face which bent over my pillow was not an ugly one; but I still insist that a woman with red hair cannot be handsome.”
“Tastes differ,” returned Will. “Now, I’ll venture to say Miss Grey’s hair was red when she was a child. It is not very far from it now, in the sunlight; and everybody speaks of her hair as her crowning beauty.”
“I wish I could see her,” said Frederic; “for, as she will not be your wife, I suppose she will be Alice’s governess. And it is quite proper that I should have an interview with her, and talk the matter over. Will you call with me this evening?”
“Certainly,” returned Will; “for, though it will afford me more pain than pleasure to meet her, I will not be so foolish as to avoid her.”
Breakfast being over, the young men started for a walk down town, going by Mrs. Sheldon’s house, of course, although it was entirely out of their way. But neither thought of this, and they passed it on the opposite side of the street; so that Will could, unobserved, point out Marian’s room to Frederic.
“That’s it,” he said—“the one with the blinds thrown open. There she has often sat, I suppose, thinking of the villain who stands between me and happiness. The rascal! I tell you, Fred, I wish I had him as near to me as you are!” and Will Gordon fancied how, in such a case, he would treat a man who did not love Marian Grey!
Frederic made no answer, for his eyes were fixed intently upon the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of one who was fast becoming an object of interest even to him. But he looked in vain, for Marian had not yet risen. Pale, weary and weak, she reclined among her pillows, her fair hair falling about her face in beautiful disorder, and her eyes turned also toward the window, not because she knew that Frederic was looking in that direction, but because the morning sun was shining there, and she was watching it as it danced upon the curtain of bright crimson.
“I have seen the suns of twenty years,” she thought, “and I am growing old so fast. I wonder if Frederic would know me now.”
At this moment, Mrs. Sheldon came in, and advancing toward the window, looked down into the street. Catching a view of her brother and his friend, she exclaimed:
“Frederic Raymond! I wonder when he came?”
“What? Where? Who is it?” Marian asked, quickly, at the same time raising herself upon her elbow, and looking wistfully in the direction Frederic had gone.
“Mr. Raymond, Will’s friend, from Kentucky,” returned Mrs. Sheldon. “He must have come last night?” and as little Fred just then called to her from without, she left the room.
When she was alone, Marian buried her face in the bed-clothes, and murmured:
“Oh, if I could only see him! I long so to test his powers of recognition, and see if he would know me.”
She almost hoped he would, and claim her for his wife, as this, she fancied, might cure Will Gordon sooner than aught else which could be done. She was sure they would talk of her, for Frederic had bidden Will propose, and he would naturally ask the result of that proposal. Will would say she had refused him because she loved another, and would not something whisper to her husband that “the other” was himself—that Marian Grey was his Marian—the Marian of Redstone Hall—and he would come to her that very day, perhaps, and all the morning she waited anxiously for a step she was certain she would know, though it might not be as elastic and bounding as of old, ere she had trammeled it with a heavy weight. She listened nervously for its full, rich tones, asking for her, in the parlor below. But she listened in vain and the restless excitement brought on a severe headache, which rendered it impossible for her to leave the room, even if he came. This Mrs. Sheldon greatly lamented, for she had invited the young men to tea, and while accepting her invitation, Will had asked if Miss Grey would not be able to spend a part of the evening with them.
“She is to be Fred’s governess, you know,” he said, “and he naturally wishes to make her acquaintance.”
This request Mrs. Sheldon made known to Marian, who asked, eagerly, if “to-morrow would not do as well?”
“It might,” returned Mrs. Sheldon, “were it not that he leaves on the early train.”
Marian sighed deeply, and turning upon her pillowtried to sleep, hoping thus to lose the throbbing pain in her head—but it would not be lost; and when, as it was growing dark, she heard the sound of feet upon the gravelled walk, and knew whose feet they were, it ached as it had not done before during the entire day. She heard them as they entered the lower hall, and fancied she saw Frederic place his hat and shawl upon the stand, and pass his fingers through his hair ere he entered the parlor, which was directly beneath her room. She knew when he was there, for she heard his well-remembered voice speaking to the children, and covering her face with her hands she wept aloud to think she should not see him.
Meantime, in the parlor below, little Fred had climbed into his uncle’s lap and commenced a rather embarrassing conversation. Somehow Will reminded him of Marian, for the two were associated together in his mind; and he said, rather as a piece of news: “Miss Day is sick—up stairs she is; and when I told her you was comin’ shevomuckedand cried so hard!”
Frederic could not help laughing, and, emboldened by this proof of appreciation, the child continued: “What made her cry, Uncle Will? I asked her didn’t she want you to come, and she say yes. Don’t she like you?”
“I guess not,” said Will, trying himself to laugh, while Frederic, pitying his embarrassment, strove to divert the little fellow’s mind by asking about the sled he saw upon the steps as he came in.
This had the desired effect, for a sled was of more consequence to Fred than Miss Grey’s tears, and he prattled on about it until his nurse came to take him from the room. After he was gone Mr. Raymond spoke of Miss Grey, asking if he should not have the pleasure of seeing her.
“She is suffering from a nervous headache,” returned Mrs. Sheldon, “and cannot come down, for which I am very sorry, as I wish you to hear her play.”
“I do not care so much for that,” returned Frederic, “as for seeing her, so as to carry back a good account to Alice. Do tell me, Mrs. Sheldon, is she really as beautiful, and fascinating, and accomplished as report would make her out to be?”
“I should say she would fully warrant any praise you may have heard of her,” returned Mrs. Sheldon, “although her beauty is not of the brilliant style. She is very modest and gentle in her appearance, and there is in her eyes and in her smile something so very sad and plaintive, that I often feel like crying when I look at her, for I know she must have suffered some great trouble, young as she is.”
Involuntarily Frederic and William glanced at each other, for they knew what that trouble was, and the latter felt as if he would like to take vengeance on the man who could be indifferent to love like that of Marian Grey!
After a moment, Mrs. Sheldon continued:
“There has been something said, I believe, about her going to you next September, but I warn you now that I shall use every possible effort to keep her. We sail for Europe in August, you know, and she will be of invaluable service to me then, as she speaks French and German so readily. The tour, too, will do her good, and you must not be surprised to hear that she cannot come to Riverside.”
Mr. Raymond was too polite to oppose Mrs. Sheldon openly, but he had become too deeply interested in Marian Grey to give her up without a struggle, and when alone again with Will, in the chamber of the latter, he broached the subject, asking his companion if he thought there was any probability of Miss Grey’s disappointing him.
“I mean to write her a note,” he said, and sitting down by Will’s writing desk he took up a sheet of gilt edged paper and commenced, “My dear Marian.”
“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, “what am I thinking about?” and tearing up the sheet he threw it into thegrate and commenced again, addressing her this time as “Miss Grey.”
He considered her services engaged to himself, he said, and should expect her at Riverside early in September. She could come sooner if she liked, for Mrs. Jones was to leave the first of August.
“That European trip may tempt her,” he thought, and he added, “I am glad to learn from Mrs. Sheldon that you are such a proficient in German and French, for I have serious thoughts of visiting the Old World myself ere long, and as Alice, of course, will go with me, we shall prize your company all the more on account of these accomplishments.”
This note he gave to Will, who said, “Perhaps I shall try again, and if I succeed, I suppose you will give her up to me.”
“Yes,” answered Frederic, “I’ll give way for Will Gordon’s wife, but for no one else,” and there the conversation ceased concerning Marian Grey; nor was it resumed again, for early the next morning he started for New York, as he intended stopping at Riverside ere he returned to Kentucky.
True to his trust, Will gave the note to Marian the first time that he met her, after she was well enough to come down stairs as usual.
“It is from Mr. Raymond,” he said, and Marian’s face was scarlet as she took it and looked into his eye with an eager, searching glance, to see if he knew her secret.
But he did not, and with spirits which began to ebb, she broke the seal and read the few brief lines, half smiling as she thought how very formal and businesslike they were. But it was Frederic’s handwriting, and when sure Will did not see her she pressed it to her lips.
“What you do that for?” asked little Fred whose sharp eyes saw everything not intended for them to see.
“Sh—sh,” said Marian; but the child persisted. “Say, what youtissthat letter for?”
Will Gordon was standing with his back to her, but, at this strange question, he turned quickly and fastened his eyes on Marian’s face, as if he would fathom her inmost soul.
“There’s something there,” she said, passing the note again over her lips as if she would brush the “something” away.
This explanation was wholly satisfactory to Fred, who, with childish simplicity, asked, “Did you get it?”
But Will was not quite certain, and for several days he puzzled his brain with wondering whether “Marian Grey really did kiss Frederic Raymond’s note or not.” If so, why did she? She could not be in love with a man she had never seen. She was not weak enough for that, and at last rejecting it as an impossibility and accepting the troublesome “something” as a reality, his mind became at rest upon that subject.