And now above them pours a wondrous voice,(Such as Greek reapers heard in Sicily),With wounding rapture in it, like love's arrows.George Eliot.
The next day, the first of my visit, was a very sultry one, and the rest of the party thought it was, no doubt, a very dull one.
Kilian and Mr. Eugene Whitney went away in the early train, not to return, alas, till the evening of the following day. Miss Leighton was languid, and yawned incessantly, though she tried to appear interested in things, and was very attentive to me. Charlotte Benson and Henrietta laid strong-minded plans for the day, and carried them out faithfully. First, they played a game of croquet, under umbrellas, for the sun was blazing on the ground: that was for exercise; then, for mental discipline, they read history for an hour in the library; and then, for relaxation, under veils and sunhats, read Ruskin for two hours by the river.
I cannot think Henrietta understood Ruskin, but I have no doubt she thought she did, and tried to share in her friend's enthusiasm. Sophie had a little headache, and spent much of the morning in her room. The boys were away with their tutor in the farm-house where they had their school-room, and the house seemed deserted and delightful. I wandered about at ease, chose my book, and sat for hours in the boat-house by the river, not reading Ruskin, nor even my poor little novel, but gazing and dreaming and wondering. It can be imagined what the country seemed to me, in beautiful summer weather, after the dreary years I had spent in a city-street.
It is quite impossible to describe all that seemed starting into life within me, all at once--- so many new forces, so much new life.
My home-sickness had passed away, and I was inclined to be very happy, particularly in the liberty that seemed to promise. Dinner was very quiet, and every one seemed dull, even Charlotte Benson, who ordinarily had life enough for all. The boys were there, but their tutor had gone away on a long walk and would not be back till evening. "A la bonne heure," cried Madame, with a little yawn; "freedom of the halls, and deshabille, for one afternoon."
So we spent the afternoon with our doors open, and with books, or without books, on the bed.
Nobody came into my room, except Mrs. Hollenbeck for a few moments, looking very pretty in a white peignoir, and rather sleepy at the same time; hoping I was comfortable and had found something to amuse me in the library.
It seemed to be thought a great bore to dress, to judge from the exclamations of ennui which I heard in the hall, as six o'clock approached, and the young ladies wandered into each other's room and bewailed the necessity. I think Miss Leighton would have been very glad to have stayed on the bed, and tried to sleep away the hours that presented no amusement; but Charlotte Benson laughed at her so cruelly, that she began to dress at once, and said, she had not intended what she said, of course.
I was the first to be ready, and went down to the piazza. The heat of the day was over and there was a soft, pleasant breeze. We were to have tea at seven o'clock, and while I sat there, the bell rang. The tutor came in from under the trees where he had been reading, looking rather pale after his long walk.
He bowed slightly as he passed me, and waited at the other end of the piazza, reading as he stood, till the others came down to the dining-room. As we were seating ourselves he came in and took his place, with a bow to me and the others. Mrs. Hollenbeck asked him a little about his expedition, and paid him a little more attention than usual, being the only man.
He had a most fortunate way of saying just the right thing and then being silent; never speaking unless addressed, and then conveying exactly the impression he desired. I think he must have appeared in a more interesting light that usual at this meal, for as we went out from the dining room Mary Leighton put her arm through mine and whispered "Poor fellow! How lonely he must be! Let's ask him to go and walk with us this evening."
Before I could remonstrate or detach myself from her, she had twisted herself about, in a peculiarly supple and child-like manner that she had, and had made the suggestion to him.
He was immeasurably surprised, no doubt, but he gave no sign of it. After a silence of two or three instants, during which, I think, he was occupied in trying to find a way to decline, he assented very sedately.
Charlotte Benson and her friend, who were behind us, were enraged at this proceeding. During the week they had all been in the house together, they had never gone beyond speaking terms with the tutor, and this they had agreed was the best way to keep things, and it seemed to be his wish no less than theirs. Here was this saucy girl, in want of amusement, upsetting all their plans. They shortly declined to go to walk with us: and so Mary Leighton, Mr. Langenau, and I started alone toward the river.
It must be confessed, Miss Leighton was not rewarded for her effort, for a stiffer and more uncomfortable companion could not be imagined. He entirely declined to respond to her coquetry, and she very soon found she must abandon this role; but she was nothing if not coquettish, and the conversation flagged uncomfortably. Before we reached home she was quite impatient, and ran up the steps, when we got there, as if it were a great relief. The tutor raised his hat when he left us at the door, turned back, and disappeared for the rest of the evening.
The next morning, coming down-stairs half an hour before breakfast, I went into the library (a little room at the right of the front door), for a book I had left there. I threw myself into an easy-chair, and opened it, when I caught sight of the tutor, reading at the window. I half started to my feet, and then sank back again in confusion; for what was there to go away for?
He rose and bowed, and resumed his seat and his book.
The room was quite small, and we were very near each other. How I could possibly have missed seeing him as I entered, now surprised me. I longed to go away, but did not dare do anything that would seem rude. He appeared very much engrossed with his book, but I, for my part, could not read a word, and was only thinking how I could get away. Possibly he guessed at my embarrassment, for after about ten minutes he arose, and coming up to the table by which I sat, he took up a card, and placed it in his book for a mark, and shut it up, then made some remark to me about the day.
The color was coming and going in my face.
He must have felt sorry or curious, for he did not go directly away, and continued to talk of things that did not require me to answer him.
I do not know what it was about his voice that was so different from the ordinary voices of people. There was a quality in it that I had never heard in any other. But perhaps it was in the ear that listened, as well as the voice that spoke. And apart from the tones, the words I never could forget. The most trivial things that he ever said to me, I can remember to this day.
I believe that this was not of my imagination, but that others felt it in some degree as I did. It was this that made him such an invaluable teacher; he impressed upon those flesh-and-blood boys, in that one summer, more than they would have learned in whole years from ordinary persons. It was not very strange, then, that I was smitten with the strangest interest in all he said and did, and that his words made the deepest impression on me.
No doubt it is pleasant to be listened to by one whose face tells you you are understood; and the tutor was not in a hurry to go away. He had got up from the window, I know, with the intention of going out of the room, but he continued standing, looking down at me and talking, for half an hour at least.
The soft morning wind came in at the open door and window, with a scent of rose and honeysuckle: the pretty little room was full of the early sunshine in which there is no glare: I can see it all now, and I can hear, as ever, his low voice.
He talked of the book I held in my hand, of the views on the river, of the pleasantness of country life. I fancy I did not say much, though I never am able to remember what I said when talking to him. Whatever I said was a mere involuntary accord with him. I never recollect to have felt that I did not agree with and admire every word he uttered.
How different his manner from last night when he had talked with Mary Leighton; all the stiffness, the half-concealed repelling tone was gone. I had not heard him speak to any one, except perhaps once to Benny, as he spoke now. I was quite sure that he liked me, and that he did not class me with the others in the house. But when the breakfast-bell rang, he gave a slight start, and his voice changed; and such a frown came over his face! He looked at his watch, said something about the hour, and quickly left the room. I bent my head over my book and sat still, till I heard them all come down and go into the breakfast-room. I trusted they would not know he had been talking to me, and there was little danger, unless they guessed it from my cheeks being so aflame.
At breakfast he was more silent than ever, and his brow had not quite got over that sudden frown. At dinner he was away again, as the day before.
The day passed much as yesterday had done. About four o'clock there came a telegram from Kilian to his sister. He had been delayed, and Mr. Whitney would wait for him, and they would come the next evening by the boat. I think Mary Leighton could have cried if she had not been ashamed. Her pretty blue organdie was on the bed ready to put on. It went back into the wardrobe very quickly, and she came down to tea in a gray barége that was a little shabby.
A rain had come on about six o'clock. At tea the candles were lit, and the windows closed. Every one looked moped and dull; the evening promised to be insufferable. Mrs. Hollenbeck saw the necessity of rousing herself and providing us some amusement. When Mr. Langenau entered, she met his bow with one of her best smiles: how the change must have struck him; for she had been very mechanical and polite to him before. Now she spoke to him with the charming manner that brought every one to her feet.
And what was the cause of this sudden kindness? It is very easy for me to see now, though then I had not a suspicion. Alas! I am afraid that the cheeks aflame at breakfast-time were the immediate cause of the change. Mrs. Hollenbeck would not have made so marked a movement for an evening's entertainment: it seemed to suit her very well that I should talk to the tutor in the library before breakfast, and she meant to give me opportunities for talking to him in the parlor too.
"A dreary evening, is it not?" she began. "What shall we all do? Charlotte, can't you think of something?"
Charlotte, who had her own plans for a quiet evening by the lamp with a new book, of course could not think of anything.
"Henrietta, at least you shall give us some music, and Mr. Langenau, I am sure you will be good enough to help us; I will send over to the school-room for that flute and those piles of music that I've seen upon a shelf, and you will be charitable enough to play for us."
"I must beg you will not take that trouble."
"Oh, Mr. Langenau, that is selfish now."
Mrs. Hollenbeck did not press the subject then, but made herself thoroughly delightful during tea, and as we rose from the table renewed the request in a low tone to Mr. Langenau: and the result was, a little after eight o'clock he came into the parlor where we sat. A place was made for him at the table around which we were sitting, and Mrs. Hollenbeck began the process of putting him at his ease. There was no need. The tutor was quite as much at ease as any one, and, in a little while, imperceptibly became the person to whom we were all listening.
Charlotte Benson at last gave up her book, and took her work-box instead. We were no longer moping and dull around the table. And bye and bye Henrietta, much alarmed, was sent to the piano, and her poor little music certainly sounded very meagre when Mr. Langenau touched the keys.
I think he consented to play not to appear rude, but with the firm intention of not being the instrument of our entertainment, and not being made use of out of his own accepted calling. But happily for us, he soon forgot all about us, and played on, absorbed in himself and in his music. We listened breathlessly, the others quite as much engrossed as I, because they all knew much more of music than I did. Suddenly, after playing for a long while, he started from the piano, and came back to the table. He was evidently agitated. Before the others could say a word of thanks or wonder, I cried, in a fear of the cessation of what gave me such intense pleasure,
"Oh, sing something; can't you sing?"
"Yes, I can sing," he said, looking down at me with those dangerous eyes. "Will it give you pleasure if I sing for you?"
He did not wait for an answer, but turned back to the piano.
He had said "if I sing for you," and I knew that for me he was singing. I do not know what it was for others, but for me, it was the only true music that I had ever heard, the only music that I could have begged might never cease, but flood over all the present and the future, satisfying every sense. Other voices had roused and thrilled, this filled me. I asked no more, and could have died with that sound in my ears.
"Why, Pauline! child! what is it?" cried Mrs. Hollenbeck, as the music ceased and Mr. Langenau. again came back to the circle round the table. Every one looked: I was choking with sobs.
"Oh, don't, I don't want you to speak to me," I cried, putting away her hand and darting from the room. I was not ashamed of myself, even when I was alone in my room. The powerful magic lasted still, through the silence and darkness, till I was aroused by the voices of the others coming up to bed.
Mrs. Hollenbeck knocked at my door with her bedroom candle in her hand, and, as she stood talking to me, the others strayed in to join her and to satisfy their curiosity.
"You are very sensitive to music, are you not?" said Charlotte Benson, contemplatively. She had tried me on Mompssen, and the "Seven Lamps," and found me wanting, and now perhaps hoped to find some other point less faulty.
"I do not know," I said, honestly. "I seem to have been very sensitive to-night."
"But you are not always?" asked Henrietta Palmer. "You do not always cry when people sing?"
"Why, no," I said with great contempt. "But I never heard any one sing like that before."
"He does sing well," said Mrs. Hollenbeck, thoughtfully.
"Immense expression and a fine voice," added Charlotte Benson.
"He has been educated for the stage, you may be sure," said Mary Leighton, with a little spite. "As Miss d'Estrée says, I never heard anyone sing like that, out of the chorus of an opera."
"Well, I think," returned Charlotte Benson, "if there were many voices like that in ordinary choruses, one would be glad to dispense with the solos and duets."
"Oh, you would not find his voice so wonderful, if you heard it out of a parlor. It is very well, but it would not fill a concert hall, much less an opera house. No; you may be sure he has been educated for some of those German choruses; you know they are very fine musicians."
"Well, I don't know that it is anything to us what he was educated for," said Charlotte Benson, sharply. "He has given us a very delightful evening, and I, for one, am much obliged to him."
"Et moi aussi"murmured Henrietta, wreathing her large beautiful arms about her friend, and the two sauntered away.
Mary Leighton, in general ill-humor, and still remembering the walk of the last evening, desired to fire a parting-shot, and exclaimed, as she went out, "Well, I think it is something to us; I like to have gentlemen about me."
"You need not be uneasy," said Mrs. Hollenbeck, a little stiffly. "I think Mr. Langenau is a gentleman."
But at this moment his step was heard in the hall below, and there was an end put to the conversation.
Last night, when some one spoke his name,From my swift blood that went and cameA thousand little shafts of flameWere shivered in my narrow frame.Tennyson.
The next morning was brilliant and cool, the earth and heavens shining after the rain of the past night. I was dressed long, long before breakfast: it would be so tiresome to wait in my room till the bell rang; yet if I went down-stairs, would it not look as if I wanted to see Mr. Langenau again? I need not go to the library, of course, but I could scarcely avoid being seen from the library if I went out. But why suppose that he would be down again so early? It was very improbable, and so, affectionately deceived, I put on a hat and walking-jacket and stole down the stairs. I saw by the clock in the lower hall that it was half an hour earlier than I had come down the morning before; at which I was secretly chagrined, for now there was no danger,aliashope, of seeing Mr. Langenau.
But probably he had forgotten all about the foolish half-hour that had given me so much to think about. I glanced into the library, which was empty, and hurried out of the hall-door, secretly disappointed.
I took the path that led over the hill to the river. It passed through the garden, under the long arbors of grapevines, over the hill, and through a grove of maples, ending at the river where the boat-house stood. The brightness of the morning was not lost on me, and before I reached the maple-grove I was buoyant and happy. At the entrance of the grove (which was traversed by several paths, the principal coming up directly from the river) I came suddenly upon the tutor, walking rapidly, with a pair of oars over his shoulder. He started, and for a moment we both stood still and did not speak. I could only think with confusion of my emotion when he sang.
"You are always early," he said, with his slight, very slight, foreign accent, "earlier than yesterday by half an hour," he added, looking at his watch. My heart gave a great bound of pleasure. Then he had not forgotten! How he must have seen all this.
He stood and talked with me for some moments, and then desperately I made a movement to go on. I do not believe, at least I am not sure, that at first he had any intention of going with me. But it was not in human nature to withstand the flattery of such emotion as his presence seemed always to inspire in me; and then, I have no doubt, he had a certain pleasure in talking to me outside of that; and then the morning was so lovely and he had so much of books.
He proposed to show me a walk I had not taken. There was a little hesitation in his manner, but he was reassured by my look of pleasure, and throwing down the oars under a tree, he turned and walked beside me. No doubt he said to himself, "America! This paradise of girlhood;--there can be no objection." It was heavenly sweet, that walk--the birds, the sky, the dewiness and freshness of all nature and all life. It seemed the unstained beginning of all things to me.
The woods were wet; we could not go through them, and so we went a longer way, along the river and back by the road.
This time he did not do all the talking, but made me talk, and listened carefully to all I said; and I was so happy, talking was not any effort.
At last he made some allusion to the music of last night; that he was so glad to see that I loved music as I did. "But I don't particularly," I said in confusion, with a great fear of being dishonest, "at least I never thought I did before, and I am so ignorant. I don't want you to think I know anything about it, for you would be disappointed." He was silent, and, I felt sure, because he was already disappointed; in fear of which I went on to say--
"I never heard any one sing like that before; I am very sorry that it gave any one an impression that I had a knowledge of music, when I hadn't. I don't care about it generally, except in church, and I can't understand what made me feel so yesterday."
"Perhaps it is because you were in the mood for it," he said. "It is often so, one time music gives us pleasure, another time it does not."
"That may be so; but your voice, in speaking, even, seems to me different from any other. It is almost as good as music when you speak; only the music fills me with such feelings."
"You must let me sing for you again," he said, rather low, as we walked slowly on.
"Ah; if you only will," I answered, with a deep sigh of satisfaction.
We walked on in silence till we reached the gate: he opened it for me and then said, "Now I must leave you, and go back for the oars."
I was secretly glad of this; since the walk had reached its natural limit and its end must be accepted, it was a relief to approach the house alone and not be the subject of any observation.
Breakfast had began: no one seemed to feel much interest in my entrance, though flaming with red roses and red cheeks.
They were of the sex that do not notice such things naturally, with much interest or admiration. They had hardly "shaken off drowsy-hed," and had no pleasure in anything but their breakfast, and not much in that.
"How do you manage to get yourself up and dressed at such inhuman hours?" said Mary Leighton, querulously.
"You are a reproach to the household, and we will not suffer it," said Charlotte Benson.
"I never could understand this thing of getting up before you are obliged to," added Henrietta plaintively.
But Sophie seemed well satisfied, particularly when Mr. Langenau came in and I looked down into my cup of tea, instead of saying good-morning to him. He did not say very much, though there was a good deal of babble among the others, principally about his music.
It was becoming the fashion to be very attentive to him. He was made to promise to play in the evening; to bring down his books of music for the benefit of Miss Henrietta, who wanted to practice, Heaven knows what of his. His advice was asked about styles of playing and modes of instruction; he was deferred to as an authority. But very little he seemed to care about it all, I thought.
Qui va à la chasse perd sa place.De la main à la bouche se perd souvent la soupe.Distance all value enhances!When a man's busy, why, leisureStrikes him as wonderful pleasure.Faith! and at leisure once is he,Straightway he wants to be busy.R. Browning.
Two weeks more passed: two weeks that seem to me so many years when I look back upon them. Many more walks, early and late, many evenings of music, many accidents of meeting. It is all like a dream. At seventeen it is so easy to dream! It does not take two weeks for a girl to fall in love and make her whole life different.
It was Saturday evening, and Richard was expected; Richard and Kilian and Mr. Eugene Whitney. Ah, Richard was coming just three weeks too late.
We were all waiting on the piazza for them, in pretty toilettes and excellent tempers. It was a lovely evening; the sunset was filling the sky with splendor, and Charlotte and Henrietta had gone to the corner of the piazza whence the river could be seen, and were murmuring fragments of verses to each other. They were not so much absorbed, however, but that they heard the first sound of the wheels inside the gate, and hurried back to join us by the steps.
Mary Leighton looked absolutely lovely. The blue organdie had seen the day at last, and she was in such a flutter of delight at the coming of the gentlemen that she could scarcely be recognized as the pale, flimsy young person who had moped so unblushingly all the week.
"They are all three there," she exclaimed with suppressed rapture, as the carriage turned the angle of the road that brought them into sight. Mrs. Hollenbeck, quite beaming with pleasure, ran down the steps (for Richard had been away almost two months), and Mary Leighton was at her side, of course. Charlotte Benson and Henrietta went half-way down the steps, and I stood on the piazza by the pillar near the door.
I was a little excited by their coming, too, but not nearly as much so as I might have been three weeks ago. A subject of much greater interest occupied my mind that very moment, and related to the chances of the tutor's getting home in time for tea, from one of those long walks that were so tiresome. I felt as if I hardly needed Richard now. Still, dear old Richard! It was very nice to see him once again.
The gentlemen all sprang out of the carriage, and a Babel of welcomes and questions and exclamations arose. Richard kissed his sister, and answered some of her many questions, then shook hands with the young ladies, but I could see that his eye was searching for me. I can't tell why, certainly not because I felt at all shy, I had stepped back, a little behind the pillar and the vines. In an instant he saw me, and came quickly up the steps, and stood by me and grasped my hand, and looked exactly as if he meant to kiss me. I hoped that nobody saw his look, and I drew back, a little frightened. Of course, I know that he had not the least intention of kissing me, but his look was so eager and so unusual,
"It is two months, Pauline," he said; "and are you well?" And though I only said that I was well and was very glad to see him, I am sure his sister Sophie thought that it was something more, for she had followed him up the steps and stood in the doorway looking at us.
The others came up there, and Kilian, as soon as he could get out of the meshes of the blue organdie, came to me, and tried to out-devotion Richard.
That is the way with men. He had not taken any trouble to get away from Mary Leighton till Richard came.
A young woman only needs one lover very much in earnest, to bring about her several others, not so much, perhaps, in earnest, but very amusing and instructive. Richard went away very quickly, for I am sure he did not like that sort of thing.
It was soon necessary for Mr. Kilian to suspend his devotion and go to his room to get ready for tea.
When we all assembled again, at the table, I found that he had placed himself beside me, next his sister, little Benny having gone to bed.
"Of course, the head of the table belongs to Richard; I never interfere there, and as everybody else is placed, this is the only seat that I can take, following the rose and thorn principle."
"But that principle is not followed strictly," cried Charlotte Benson, who sat by Mary Leighton. "Here are two roses and no thorn."
"Ah! What a strange oversight," he exclaimed, seating himself nevertheless. "The only way to remedy it will be to put the tutor in your place, Miss Benson, and you come opposite Miss Pauline. Quick; before he comes and refuses to move his Teutonic bones an inch." Charlotte Benson changed her seat and the vacant one was left between her and Mary Leighton.
This is the order of our seats, for that and many following happy nights and days:
Richard,Mary Leighton,Henrietta,The Tutor,Mr. Eugene Whitney,Charlotte Benson,Myself,Charley,Kilian,Sophie.
Mary Leighton looked furious and could hardly speak a word all through the meal. It was particularly hard upon her, as the tutor did not come, and the chair was empty, and a glaring insult to her all the time.
Kilian had done his part so innocently and so simply that it was hard to suspect him of any intention to pique her and annoy Richard, but I am sure he did it with just those two intentions. He was as thorough a flirt as any woman, and withal very fond of change, and I think my pink grenadine quite dazzled him as I stood on the piazza. Then came the brotherly and quite natural desire to outshine Richard and put things out a little. I liked it all very much, and was charmed to be of so much consequence, for I saw all this quite plainly. I laughed and talked a good deal with Kilian; he was delightful to laugh and talk with. Even Eugene Whitney found me more worth his weak attention than the beautiful and placid Henrietta.
The amusement was chiefly at our end of the table. But amidst it, I did not fail to glance often at the door and wonder, uncomfortably, why the tutor did not come.
As we left the table and lingered for a few moments in the hall, Richard came up to me and said, as he prepared to light his cigar, "Will you not come out and walk up and down the path here with me while I smoke?"
I began to make some excuse, for I wanted to do nothing just then but watch the stairway to see if Mr. Langenau did not come down even then and go into the dining-room.
But I reflected how ungracious it would seem to refuse this, when he had just come home, and I followed him out into the path.
There was no moon, but the stars were very bright, and the air was sweet with the flower-beds in the grass along the path we walked.
The house looked gay and pleasant as we walked up and down before it, with its many lighted windows, and people with bright dresses moving about on the piazza. Richard lit his cigar, and said, after a silence of a few moments, with a sigh, "It is good to be at home again."
"But you've had a pleasant journey?"
"No; the most tiresome that I ever made, and this last detention wore my patience out. It seemed the longest fortnight. I could not bear to think of you all here, and I away in such a dismal hole."
"I suppose Uncle Leonard had no pity on you, as long as there was a penny to be made by staying there."
"No; I spent a great deal of money in telegraphing to him for orders to come home, but he would not give up."
"And how is Uncle Leonard; did you go to Varick-street?"
"No, indeed; I did not waste any time in town. I only reached there yesterday."
"I wonder Uncle Leonard let you off so soon."
"He growled a good deal, but I did not stay to listen."
"That's always the best way."
"And now, Pauline, tell me how you like the place."
"Like it! Oh, Richard, I think it is a Paradise," and I clasped my hands in a young sort of ecstacy.
He was silent, which was a sign that he was satisfied. I went on after a moment, "I don't wonder that you all love it. I never saw anything half so beautiful. The dear old house is prettier than any new one that could be built, and the trees are so grand! And oh, Richard, I think the garden lying on the hillside there in the beautiful warm sun, with such royal flowers and fruit, is worth all the grape-houses and conservatories in the neighborhood. Your sister took us to three or four of the neighboring places a week or two ago. But I like this a hundred times the best. I should think you would be sorry every moment that you have to spend away from it."
"I hope one of these days to live here altogether," he said in a low tone.
It was so difficult for Richard to be unreserved that it is very likely this was the first time in his life that he had ever expressed this, the brightest hope he had.
I could fancy all these few words implied--a wife, children, a happy home in manhood where he had been a happy child.
"It belongs to Kilian and me, but it is understood I have the right to it when I am ready for it."
"And your sister--it does not belong at all to her?"
"No, she only keeps house for us. It would make a great change for Sophie if either of us married. But then I know that it would give her pleasure, for I am sure that she would not be selfish."
I was not so sure, but, of course, I did not say so. At this moment, while Richard smoked and I walked silently beside him, a dark figure struck directly across the path before us. The apparition was so sudden that I sprang and screamed, and caught Richard by the arm.
"I beg your pardon," said the tutor, with a quick look of surprise at me and then at Richard, and bowing, strode on into the house.
"That's the German Sophie has taken for the boys, is it?" said Richard, knitting his brows, and looking after him, with no great approbation. "I don't half like the idea of his being here: I told Sophie so at starting. A governess would do as well for two years yet. What kind of a person does he seem to be?"
"I don't know--that is--I can't tell exactly. I don't know him well enough," I answered in confusion, which Richard did not see.
"No, of course not. You would not be likely to see him except at the table. But it is awkward having him here,--so much of the week, no man about; and one never knows anything about these Germans."
"I thought--your sister said--you knew all about him," I said, in rather a low voice.
"As much as one needs to know about a mere teacher. But the person you have in your house all the time is different."
"But he is a gentleman," I put in more firmly.
"I hope he is. He had letters to some friends of ours. But what are letters? People give them when they're asked for them, and half the time know nothing of the person for whom they do the favor, besides his name and general standing. Hardly that, sometimes." Then, as if to put away a tiresome and unwelcome subject, he began again to talk about the place.
But I had lost my interest in the subject, and thought only of returning to the house.
"Don't," I said, playfully putting out my hand as he took out another cigar to light. "You have smoked enough to-night. Do you know, you smoke a great deal more than is good for you."
"Well, I will not smoke any more to-night if you say so. Only don't go in the house."
"Oh, yes, you know we only came out to smoke."
He stood in front of the path that led to the piazza and said, in an affectionate, gentle way, "Stay and walk a little longer. I have not told you half how glad I am that you are here at last."
"Oh, as for that, you've got a good many weeks to tell me in. Besides, it's getting chilly," and I gave a little shiver.
"If you're cold, of course," he said, letting me pass and following me, and added, with a shade of anxiety, "Why didn't you tell me before? I never thought of it, and you have no shawl."
I felt ashamed of myself as I led the way up the piazza steps.
In the hall, which was quite light, they were all standing, and Mr. Langenau was in the group. They were petitioning him for music.
"Oh, he has promised that he will sing," said Sophie; "but remember he has not had his tea. I have ordered it for you, Mr. Langenau; it will be ready in a moment."
Mr. Langenau bowed and turned to go up the stairs. His eye met mine, as I came into the light, dazzled a little by it.
He went up the stairs; the others after a few moments, went into the parlor. I sat down on a sofa beside Mrs. Hollenbeck. Richard was called away by a person on business. There was a shaded lamp on a bracket above the sofa where we sat; Mrs. Hollenbeck was reading some letters she had just received, and I took up the evening paper, reading over and over an advertisement of books. Presently the servant came to Mrs. Hollenbeck and said that Mr. Langenau's tea was ready. She was sent up to tell him so, and in a few moments he came down. When he reached the hall, Sophie looked up with her most lovely smile.
"You must be famished, Mr. Langenau; pray go immediately to the dining-room. I am sorry not to make your tea myself, but I hear Benny waking and must go to him. Will you mind taking my place, Pauline, and pouring out tea for Mr. Langenau?"
I was bending over the paper; my face turned suddenly from red to pale. I said something inaudible in reply, and got up and went into the dining-room, followed by the tutor.
It was several minutes before I looked at him. The servants had not favored us with much light: there was a branch of wax candles in the middle of the table. Mr. Langenau's plate was placed just at one side of the tray, at which I had seated myself. He looked pale, even to his lips. I began to think of the terrible walks in which he seemed to hunt himself down, and to wonder what was the motive, though I had often wondered that before. He took the cup of tea I offered him without speaking. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, then I said, rather irresolutely, "I am sure you tire yourself by these long walks."
"Do you think so? No: they rest me."
No doubt I felt more coquettish, and had more confidence than usual, from the successes of that evening, and from the knowledge that Richard and Kilian and Eugene Whitney, even, were so delighted to talk to me; otherwise I could never have said what I said then, by a sudden impulse, and with a half-laughing voice, "Do not go away again so long; it makes it so dull and tiresome."
He looked at me and said, "It does not seem to me you miss me very much." But such a gleam of those dark, dangerous eyes! I looked down, but my breath came quickly and my face must have shown the agitation that I felt.
At this moment Richard, released from his engagement in the library, came through the hall and stopped at the dining-room door. He paused for a moment at the door, walked away again, then came back and into the room, with rather a quicker step than usual.
"Pauline," he said, and I started visibly, "They seem to be waiting for you in the parlor for a game of cards."
His voice indicated anything but satisfaction. I half rose, then sank back, and said, hesitatingly, "Can I pour you some more tea, Mr. Langenau?"
"If it is not troubling you too much," he said in a voice that a moment's time had hardened into sharpness.
Oh, the misery of that cup of tea, with Richard looking at me on one side flushed and angry, and Mr. Langenau on the other, pale and cynical. My hands shook so that I could not lift the teakettle, and Richard angrily leaned down and moved it for me. The alcohol in the lamp flamed up and scorched my arm.
"Oh Richard, you have burned me," I cried, dropping the cup and wrapping my handkerchief around my arm. In an instant he was all softness and kindness, and, I have no doubt, repentance.
"I am very sorry," he said; "Does it hurt you very much? Come with me, and I will get Sophie to put something on it."
But Mr. Langenau did not move or show any interest in my sufferings. I was half-crying, but I sat still and tried with the other hand to replace the cup and fill it. Seeing that I did not make much headway, and that Richard had stepped back, Mr. Langenau said, "Allow me," and held the cup while I managed to pour the tea into it. He thanked me stiffly, and without looking at either of them I got up and went out of the room, Richard following me.
"Will you wait here while I call Sophie to get something for you?" he said a little coldly.
"No, I do not want anything; I wish you would not say anything more about it; it only hurt me for a moment."
"Will you go into the parlor, then?"
"No--yes, that is," I said, and capriciously went, alone, for he did not follow me.
I was wanted for cards, but I would not play, and sat down by one of the windows, a little out of the light. This window opened upon the piazza. After a little while Richard, walking up and down the piazza, stopped by it, and said to me: "I hope you won't think it unreasonable in me to ask, Pauline; but how in the world did you happen to be making tea for that--that man in there?"
"I happened to make tea for Mr. Langenau because your sister asked me to," I said angrily; "you had better speak to her about it."
"You may be sure I shall," he said, walking away from the window.
Presently the tutor came in from the hall by the door near the piano, and sat down by it without being asked, and began to play softly, as if not to interrupt the game of cards. I could not help thinking in what good taste this was, since he had promised not to wait for any more importunities. The game at cards soon languished, for Charlotte Benson really had an enthusiasm for music, and was not happy till she was at liberty to give her whole attention to it. As soon as the players were released, Kilian came over and sat beside me. He rather wearied me, for I wanted to listen to the music, but he was determined not to see that, and chattered so that more than once Charlotte Benson turned impatiently and begged us not to talk. Once Mr. Langenau himself turned and looked at us, but Kilian only paused, and then went on again.
Mary Leighton had fled to the piano and was gazing at the keys in a rapt manner, hoping, no doubt, to rouse Kilian to jealousy of the tutor.
"Please go away," I said at last, "this is making me seem rude."
"Do not tell me," he exclaimed, "that you are helping Mary Leighton and Sophie to spoil this German fellow. I really did not look for it in you. I--"
"I can't stay here and be talked to," I said, getting up in despair.
"Then come on the piazza," he exclaimed, and we were there almost before I knew what I was doing.
I suppose every one in the room saw us go out: I was in terror when I thought what an insult it would seem to Mr. Langenau. We walked about the piazza for some time; I am afraid Mr. Kilian found me rather dull, for I could only listen to what was going on inside. At last he was called away by a man from the stable, who brought some alarming account of his beloved Tom or Jerry. If I had been his bride at the altar, I am sure he would have left me; being only a new and very faintly-lighted flame, he hurried off with scarcely an apology.
I sat down in a piazza-chair, just outside the window at which we had been sitting. I looked in at the window, but no one could see me, from the position of my chair.
Presently Mr. Langenau left the piano, and Mary Leighton, talking to him with effusion, walked across the room beside him, and took her seat at this very window. He did not sit down, but stood before her with his hat in his hand, as if he only awaited a favorable pause to go away.
"Ah, where did Pauline go?" she said, glancing around. "But I suppose we must excuse her, for to-night at least, as he has just come home. I imagine the engagement was no surprise to you?"
"Of what engagement do you speak?" he said.
"Why! Pauline and Richard Vandermarck; you know it is quite a settled thing. And very good for her, I think. He seems to me just the sort of man to keep her steady and--well, improve her character, you know. She seems such a heedless sort of girl. They say her mother ran away and made some horrid marriage, and, I believe, her uncle has had to keep her very strict. He is very much pleased, I am told, with marrying her to Richard, and she herself seems very much in love with him."
All this time he had stood very still and looked at her, but his face had changed slowly as she spoke. I knew then that what she had said had not pleased him. She went on in her babbling, soft voice:
"His sister Sophie isn't pleased, of course, so there is nothing said about it here. Itisrather hard for her, for the place belongs to Richard, and besides, Richard has been very generous to her always. And then to see him marry just such a sort of person--you know--so young--"
"Yes--so young," said Mr. Langenau, between his teeth, "and of such charming innocence."
"Oh, as to that," said Mary Leighton, piqued beyond prudence, "we all have our own views as to that."
The largess due the bearer of good news was not by right the meed of Mary Leighton. He looked at her as if he hated her.
"Mr. Richard Yandermarck is a fortunate man," he said. "She has rare beauty, if he has a taste for beauty."
"Men sometimes tire of that; if indeed she has it. Her coloring is her strong point, and that may not last forever;" and Mary's voice was no longer silvery.
"You think so?" he said. "I think her grace is her strong point, 'la grâce encore plus belle que la beauté,' and longer-lived beside. Few women move as she does, making it a pleasure to follow her with the eyes. And her height and suppleness: at twenty-five she will be regal."
"Then, Mr. Langenau," she cried, with sudden spitefulness, "youdoadmire her very much yourself! Do you know, I thought perhaps you did. How you must envy Mr. Vandermarck!"
A slight shrug of the shoulders and a slight low laugh; after which, he said, "No, I think not. I have not the courage that is necessary."
"The courage! why, what do you mean by that?"
"I mean that a man who ventures to love a woman in whom he cannot trust, has need for courage and for patience; perhaps Mr. Richard Vandermarck has them both abundantly. For me, I think the pretty Miss Pauline would be safer as an hour's amusement than as a life's companion."
The words stabbed, killed me. With an ejaculation that could scarcely have escaped their ears, I sprang up and ran through the hall and up the stairs. Before I reached the landing-place, I knew that some one was behind me. I did not look or pause, but flew on through the hall till I reached my own door. My own door was just at the foot of the third-floor stairway. I glanced back, and saw that it was Mr. Langenau who was behind me. I pushed open my door and went half-way in the room; then with a vehement and sudden impulse came back into the hall and pulled it shut again and stood with my hand upon the latch, and waited for him to pass. In an instant more he was near me, but not as if he saw me; he could not reach the stairway without passing so near me that he must touch my dress. I waited till he was so near, and said, "Mr. Langenau."
He raised his eyes steadily to mine and bowed low. I almost choked for one instant, and then I found voice and rushed on vehemently. "What she has told you is false; every word of it is false. I am not engaged to Richard Vandermarck; I never thought of such a thing till I came here, and found they talked about it. They ought to be ashamed, and I will go away to-morrow. And what she said about my mother is a wicked lie as well, at least in the way she meant it; and I shall hate her all my life. I have been motherless and lonely always, but God has cared for me, and I never knew before what evil thoughts and ways there were. I am not ashamed that I listened, though I didn't mean to stay at first. I'm glad I heard it all and know what kind of friends I have. And those last cruel words you said--I never will forgive you, never--never--never till I die."
He had put his hand out toward me as if in conciliation, at least I understood it so. I pushed it passionately away, rushed into my room, bolted the door, and flung myself upon the bed with a frightful burst of sobs. I heard his hand upon the latch of the door, and he said my name several times in a low voice. Then he went slowly up the stairs. And I think his room must have been directly over mine, for, for hours I heard some one walking there; indeed, it was the last sound I heard, when, having cried all my tears and vowed all my vows, I fell asleep and forgot that I was wretched.