CHAPTER XV.THE SUN SHINING THROUGH THE CLOUD.
The dreary winter had passed away, the warm April sun shone brightly upon the college walls, and stealing through the muslin-shaded window looked smilingly into the room where two young men were sitting, one handsome, manly and tall, the other deformed, effeminate and slight, but with a face which showed that the suffering endured so long and patiently had purified the heart within and made it tenfold better than it might otherwise have been. The latter was Oliver Hawkins, and he sat talking with Lawrence Thornton, who had landed in New York the previous day, and had surprised him half an hour before by coming suddenly into his room when he supposed him far away.
During the entire period of his absence Lawrence had heard nothing of Mildred, for in his letters he had never mentioned her name, and it was to seek some informationof her that he had turned out of his way and called on Oliver. After the first words of greeting were over, he said:
“You hear from Beechwood, I suppose?”
“Occasionally,” returned Oliver. “Mildred does not write as often as she used to do.”
“Then she’s there yet?” and Lawrence waited anxiously for the answer.
“There! of course she is. Where did you suppose she was?”
Lawrence had in his mind a handsome dwelling looking out on Boston Common, with “T. Hudson,” engraved upon its silver plate, and he fancied Mildred might bethere, but he did not say so; and to Oliver’s question, he rather abruptly replied:
“Clubs, I’ve come home to be married!”
“To be married!” and in Oliver’s blue eyes there was a startled look. “Married to whom! Surely not to Lilian Veille? You would not marry her?”
“Why not?” Lawrence asked, and before Oliver could answer, he continued: “I must talk to some one, Clubs, and I may as well make you my father confessor. You know I proposed to Mildred Howell? You know that she refused me?”
Oliver bowed his head, and Lawrence continued:
“She gave me no reason for her refusal, neither did she deign to answer either of the three letters I sent to her,begging of her to think again, or at least to tell me why I was rejected.”
“Three letters,—she never told me of that. There is surely a mistake,” said Oliver, more to himself than to Lawrence, who rejoined:
“There could be no mistake. She must have received some one of them, but she answered none, and in despair I went away, believing, as I now do, that we were all deceived and she loved another. Wait,—listen,” he said, as he saw Oliver about to interrupt him. “Father and Geraldine always wished me to marry Lilian, and until I learned how much I loved Mildred Howell, I thought it very likely I should do so.”
There was a hard, defiant expression on his face as he said this, and, as if anxious to have the story off his mind, he hastened on:
“Mildred refused me, and now, though I have not said positively that I would marry Lilian, I have given Geraldine encouragement to think I would, and have made up my mind that I shall do so. She is a gentle, amiable creature, and though not quite as intellectual as I could wish, she will make me a faithful, loving wife. Poor little thing. Do you know Geraldine thinks that her mind has been somewhat affected by my proposing to Mildred, and then going away?”
Had it been Judge Howell listening, instead of Oliver, he would undoubtedly have said:
“Thornton, you’re a fool!” but as it was, Oliver mildly interposed:
“If I remember right, her mind was never very sound.”
Lawrence did not seem at all angry, but replied:
“I know she is not brilliant, but something certainly has affected her within the past few months. She used to write such splendid letters as to astonish me, but since I’ve been in Europe there’s a very perceptible difference. Indeed, the change was so great that I could not reconcile it until Geraldine suggested that her ill health and shattered nerves were probably the cause, and then I pitied her so much. There’s not a very wide step between pity and love, you know.”
Lawrence paused, and sat intently watching the sunlight on the floor, while Oliver was communing with himself.
“Shall I undeceive him, or shall I suffer him to rush on blindfolded, as it were? No, I will not. I saved him once for Mildred, and I’ll save him for her again.”
Thus deciding, Oliver moved his chair nearer to Lawrence’s side, and said:
“Did it ever occur to you that another than Lilian wrote her letters,—her old letters I mean, when she was in Charlestown, and at school at Beechwood?”
“Clubs!” and Lawrence looked him fixedly in the face. “Who should write Lilian’s letters but herself? What would you insinuate?”
“Nothing but what I know to be true,” returned Oliver. “Mildred Howell always wrote Lilian’s letters for her,—always. Lilian copied them, ’tis true, but the words were Mildred’s.”
“Deceived me again,” Lawrence hoarsely whispered. “I forgave the first as a sudden impulse, but this systematic, long-continued deception, never. Oh, is there no faith in women?”
“Yes, Lawrence. There is faith and truth in Mildred Howell;” and Oliver’s voice trembled as he said it, for he knew that of his own free will he was putting from him that which for the last few months had made the world seem brighter, had kindled a glow of ambition in his heart, and brought the semblance of health to his pale cheek.
Mildred free was a source of greater happiness to him than Mildred married would be,—but not for this did he waver, and lest his resolution should give way, he told rapidly all that he knew of Lilian’s intercourse with Mildred,—all that he knew of Mr. Thornton’s visit to Beechwood,—of the promise wrung from Mildred by cruel insults, and by working upon her love for Lilian,—of Mildred’s hopeless anguish at first,—of her watching day by day for some word from Lawrence, until her starry eyes were dim with tears, which washed the roses from her cheek, and the hope from out her heart,—of her noble interference to save Mr. Thornton from ruin,—of herdesolate condition now, and of the agony it would cause her to hear of Lawrence’s marrying another.
For several minutes Lawrence seemed like one in a dream. It had come upon him so suddenly as to suspend his power to move, and he sat staring blankly at Oliver, who at last brought him back to reality by saying:
“You will go to Beechwood at once?”
“Yes, yes,” he answered; “this very day, if possible. Clubs, I owe you more than I can ever repay. You saved me once from a watery grave, and now you have made me the happiest of men. I can understand much which seemed mysterious in father’s manner. I always knew he was ambitious, but I did not think him equal to this cowardly act. Marry Lilian! Why, I wouldn’t marry her were there no other girl in the wide, wide world! God bless you, Clubs, as you deserve! I hear the whistle, and if I would see Mildred before I sleep, I must be off. Good-by!” and wringing Oliver’s hand, he hurried away.
The night train for Albany had just gone from the Mayfield depot, and Judge Howell, who had come down to see a friend, was buttoning his overcoat preparatory to returning home, when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a familiar voice called his name.
“Lawrence Thornton! Thunder, boy!” he exclaimed. “Where did you drop from?” And remembering howhe had set his heart against theboy, as he called him, he tried to frown.
But it was all lost on Lawrence, who was too supremely happy to think of an old man’s expression. Mildred alone was uppermost in his thoughts, and following the Judge to his carriage, he whispered:
“I’ve seen Clubs; I know the whole of father’s dastardly act, and I’m going home with you to see Mildred. I shall marry her, too. A thousand fathers can’t hinder me now!”
“Pluck!” exclaimed the Judge, disarmed at once of all prejudice by Lawrence’s fearless manner of speaking. “Boy, there’s nothing pleases me like pluck! Give us your hand!” and in that hearty squeeze by-gones were forgotten and Lawrence fully restored to favor. “Now, drive home like lightning!” he said to Finn, as they entered the carriage; and as far as possible, Finn complied with his master’s orders.
But during that rapid ride there was sufficient time for questions and explanations, and before Beechwood was reached the Judge had confessed to the letters withheld and his reason for withholding them.
“But I made amends,” said he; “I docked the missionaries five thousand at one time, ten at another, and five at another. If you don’t believe it I can show you the codicils, witnessed and acknowledged, so there’ll be no mistake.”
But Lawrence had no wish to discredit it. Indeed, he scarcely heard what the Judge was saying, for the Beechwood windows were in view, and from one a light was shining, showing him where Mildred sat, thinking of him, perhaps, but not dreaming how near he was to her.
“You let me manage,” said the Judge, as they ran up the steps. “If Milly’s sitting with her back to the door, I’ll go in first, while you follow me on tiptoe. Then I’ll break it to her as gently as possible, and when she screeches, as women always do, I’ll be off; for you know an old dud like me would only be in the way.”
Mildredwassitting with her back to the door, and gazing fixedly into the fire. She was thinking of Lawrence, too, and was so absorbed in her own thoughts as not to hear the Judge until he had a hand on either shoulder and called her by name.
“Did I scare you, Gipsy?” he asked, as she started suddenly. “I reckon I did a little for your heart beats like a trip-hammer; but never mind, I’ve brought you something that’s warranted to cure the heart disorder. What do you guess it is?”
Mildred did not know and the Judge continued:
“It’s a heap nicer than diamonds; and I shouldn’t wonder if it hugged you tighter thanfurs. It stands six feet in its boots and has raised a pair of the confoundedest whiskers——”
He did not need to tell her more, for directly oppositeand over the marble mantel a mirror was hanging, and glancing upward, Mildred saw what it was that would “hug her tighter than fur,” and the screech the Judge had predicted burst forth in a wild, joyous cry of “Lawrence, Lawrence,—’tis Lawrence!”
In an instant the Judge disappeared, just as he said he would, leaving Lawrence and Mildred alone, and free to tell each other of the long, long dreary days and nights which had intervened since they sat together before, just as they were sitting now. Much Lawrence blamed her for having yielded to his father in a matter which so nearly concerned her own life’s happiness, and at the mention of Mr. Thornton, Mildred lifted up her head from its natural resting-place, and parting Lawrence’s dark hair, said:
“But won’t it be wicked for me to be your wife. Didn’t my letter mean that I would never marry you?”
“No, it didn’t,” answered Lawrence, kissing the little fingers which came down from his hair. “You said you would refuse me and you did, but you never promised not to make up.Ithink the making up issplendid, don’t you, darling?”
Whether she thought so or not, she took it very quietly, and whenever the Judge looked in, as he did more than once, he whispered to himself:
“Guy, don’t he snug up to her good, and don’t she act as if she liked it!”
Ten, eleven, twelve, and even one the clock struck before that blissful interview was ended, and Lawrence had completed the arrangements, which he next morning submitted to the Judge for his approval. He would go to Boston that day, and would tell his father that Mildred was to be his wife on the 20th of June, that being his birthday. After their bridal tour they would return to Beechwood, and remain with the Judge until he consented to part with Mildred,—then they would go to Boston and settle down into the happiest couple in the whole world. To all this the Judge assented, thinking the while that it would be some time before he would be willing to part with Mildred.
Breakfast being over, he gave Mildred the letters so long withheld, but she did not care to read them then. She preferred joining Lawrence in the parlor, where there was another whispered conference, which ended in her looking very red in the face, and running away upstairs, to avoid the quizzical glance of the Judge, who, nevertheless, called after her, asking “what that wet spot was on her cheek.”
“You are a happy dog,” he said to Lawrence, as he went with him to the carriage, adding as he bade him good-by, “Give my regrets to Bobum, and tell him that what I said to him last fall are my sentiments still.”
Lawrence promised compliance, and glancing up at the window, from which a bright face had just disappeared,he said good-by again, and was driven to the depot.
Contrary to Lawrence’s expectation, his father seemed neither surprised nor offended when told what he had done.
“Miss Howell was a nice girl,” he said, “and he had more than once been on the point of confessing to his son how he had influenced her decision.”
The will had wrought a great change in Mr. Thornton’s opinion, and even the beggar who was some day to claim Mildred as her daughter, did not seem very formidable when viewed through a golden setting. Geraldine, on the contrary, was terribly disappointed, and when alone fairly gnashed her teeth with rage, while Lilian abandoned herself again to tears and hysterics. Not long, however, did Geraldine give way. She knew that Lawrence did not suspect her of having anything to do with Mildred’s refusal, further than to ask her for Lilian’s sake to give him up, and as it was for her interest to keep him wholly blinded, she affected to congratulate him a second time, saying, laughingly, “The Fates have decreed that you should marry Mildred, so I may as well give it up and act like a sensible woman.” But when alone with Mr. Thornton she assumed a new phase of character, fiercely demanding of him if he intended to sit quietly down and see Lawrence throw himself away. Mr. Thornton had never told her of the will, neither did he do sonow, but he answered her that it was useless further to oppose Lawrence,—that he was sorry for Lilian, but hoped her disappointment would in time wear off. “Lawrence will marry Miss Howell, of course,” he said, in conclusion, “and won’t it be better for us to make the best of it, and treat her with a show of friendship at least.”
“Perhaps it will,” returned Geraldine, whose thoughts no one could fathom. “I was indignant at first that he should treat Lilian so shamefully, but I will try to feel kindly toward this girl who is to be my cousin, and by way of making a commencement, I will write her a letter of congratulation.”
Mr. Thornton was deceived, so was Lawrence, and so, indeed, was Mildred, when two days after Lawrence’s departure, she received a letter from Geraldine Veille, couched in the kindest of terms and written apparently in all sincerity:
“I was much vexed with you once, I’ll confess,” the wily woman wrote, “for I had so set my heart upon Lawrence’s marrying Lilian that it was hard to give it up. But I have considered the matter soberly, and concluded that whether I am willing or not, Lawrence will do as he pleases, so pray forgive me, dear cousin that is to be, for anything you may heretofore have disliked in my conduct toward you. We shall, I know, be the best of friends, and I anticipate much pleasure in having you with us. I shall coax Lawrence to let me superintend the fitting-up your rooms, and here let me offer you my services in selecting any part of your bridal trousseau. Don’t be afraid to trouble me, for do what I may, I shall consider it merelyas atoning for the ill-natured feelings I have cherished toward you. If you like, I will come out to Beechwood a few weeks before the wedding. I have given quite a number of large parties, and may be of some use to you. In short, call upon me as much as you please, and whatever you may have thought of me before, please consider me now as
Your sincere friend,Geraldine Veille.”
Your sincere friend,Geraldine Veille.”
Your sincere friend,Geraldine Veille.”
Your sincere friend,
Geraldine Veille.”
“She is a good woman after all,” thought Mildred, as she carried the letter to the Judge, who read it over twice and then handed it back, saying, “There’s bedevilment behind all that. Mark my words. I don’t like those Veilles. I knew their father,—as sneaky a dog as ever drew breath.”
But Mildred thought he was prejudiced, and after answering Lawrence’s letter of twelve pages, she wrote a note to Geraldine, thanking her for her kind offers, and saying that very likely she might wish for her services in the matter of selecting dresses, as Boston furnished so much greater variety than Mayfield.
Swimmingly now the matters progressed. Every week found Lawrence at Mayfield, while there seemed no end to the thick letters which passed between himself and Mildred, when he was not with her. Lilian, by some most unaccountable means, had been quieted, and wrote to Mildred as of old. Geraldine, too, was all amiability, and having been deputed to select the bridal dress, and having failed to find anything in Boston worth looking at, wentall the way alone toNew York, remaining there several days, and returning home at last perfectly elated with her success! Such a splendid piece of satin as she had found at Stewart’s,—such a love of a veil and wreath as she had purchased elsewhere, and such an exquisite point-lace collar as she had bought for herselfat cost, having enlisted in her behalf one of the firm of Blank & Co., who had written for her notes of introduction to clerks of different houses, and had sometimes gone with her himself to see that she wasn’t cheated!
Flowers