CHAPTER IXA PROMISE FOR THE FUTUREThat night, when the boys had gone to sleep, Dicey came to the side of Natalia's bed, and sat down, holding the little girl's hand close to her tear-stained face. They were to be separated the next day, for the first time in their companionship of twelve years. The morrow's boat was to take Natalia on her long journey to the North."Mammy, he is not coming out here any more," Natalia said, her wide open eyes staring into the old slave's face."No,—honey-chile,—he ain' comin' heah no mo'.""And I won't see him to-morrow before I go?""No, sugar—ole Miss ain' gwine let him speak ter yer. She done said dat pintedly, so dar ain' no use stedyin' 'bout hit no mo'."Natalia glanced at the clock, its face shining bright in the light of a solitary candle. The hands were at nine."Mammy," she crept over to the side of the bed where Dicey's ear was most convenient. "Mammy, you love me very, very much—don't you?"Dicey scented danger. In a moment her ears were keen."Sho' I does, honey-chile, you knows dat.""And you would do anything I asked you, wouldn't you, Mammy?""Mebbe so—whut yer wants now?"Natalia sat up and clasped her hands about her knees."I want to go to see him to-night, Mammy. Will you take me?"Dicey leaned over the bed and pulled the quilt tight about the little figure."Lay down, honey," she said soothingly, "and go ter sleep. All dis heah 'citement bout goin' way done addled yer. Co'se yer cyant go see Massa Sargent ternight. Who ebber heerd tell ob sich a thing? Go ter sleep now—I'se gwine sing ter yer bout Moses—""I don't want to hear about Moses, Mammy." Natalia threw off the quilt and sprang out of bed. "I want to see him, Mammy, before he goes. I want to tell him good-bye. Please take me."Dicey shook her head knowingly, and stood up."Come on back to bed, honey, yer gwine ketch yer death ob col' standin' dar in de night ar. Co'se yer cyant go out ter-night."Natalia tossed the hair out of her eyes and faced Dicey angrily."If you won't take me, I'll get Zebby to. I know he'll do it.""I knows whut I'se gwine do." Dicey walked to the door and turned the key in the lock, removed it and placed it in her apron pocket. "Now you'se got ter be managed. I'se gwine put yer in dat bed and you'se got ter stay dar." She ended by turning towards Natalia and stopping suddenly.It was the first time the child had ever been thwarted by the old slave, and seeing the wrath on her face that she had never seen there before, she at first trembled a little, and then suddenly flared into a passionate anger. It was then that Dicey stopped and stared at her."Don't you come near me, Mammy. Don't you try to put me in bed. I won't go—I won't—I won't." She stamped her foot in rage. "And you'll be very sorry you did me this way when I go away and leave you—you'll be mighty sorry!"Then came the storm of tears and Dicey had her in her soothing embrace once more."You won't have to tell anybody, Mammy," came the words between sobs. "Not a soul will know. You get Zebby to hook up the chaise and take me into town. We can go to Aunt Maria's and she'll tell us where he is. You see we could do it! Oh, you will, Mammy, you will—won't you?"Natalia was skipping about the floor in wild delight, for already she had seen the glimmer of consent in Dicey's eyes."Sh-h! Sh-h! Keep still," the old woman whispered. "You'll wake 'em all up. Jes' yer stay right heah tell I see ef I kin fin' Zebby."So it was that a half hour later they were jogging along the highway towards the town, the starlight so brilliant that the lanterns were not needed."Oh! look, Mammy, there's a shooting star!" cried Natalia."Humph! I ain' studyin' bout no shootin' stahs. I'm mighty worr'd bout whut ole Miss gwine say when she kotch up wid me," grunted Dicey. "Ef she done tek er notion she sell me, leaf's not.""But she can't, Mammy, because you belong to me. You and Zebby both."When they had reached Judge Houston's house, the front door was wide open, and the sound of many voices, and the sight of many lights within, made Natalia hesitate; then she made Dicey go in and ask for Mrs. Houston.In a moment the old lady was standing in the doorway, talking to Dicey, and then hurrying down the steps."Natalia! What in the world are you doing here?" she exclaimed."I've come to tell him good-bye. Is he in there?""He—who?""The schoolmaster."Mrs. Houston put out her arms and gathered the little girl to her, carrying her into the yard."Yes—he's here—you little rascal," half crying, half laughing at Natalia's anxious expression. "They are having a big meeting to-night—a whole lot of the townspeople who want Sargent to run for the Legislature."Natalia drew back in disappointment, her lips trembling."Then I can't see him—and I did so want to tell him good-bye!""You wait a moment—go over there in the summer house and I'll see if he cannot come out here for a little while."Mrs. Houston entered the house, and pausing before the dining room door, she waited a moment to attract some one's attention. About the long mahogany table were seated twenty men. At one end sat Judge Houston, at the other Sargent Everett. Between them were great heaps of papers, filled with the proposed platform they were formulating, and at that moment an old gentleman was standing and voicing his ideas on the subject. In the midst of his speech, he caught Mrs. Houston's eye, and stopped abruptly."Pardon me, gentlemen," she said as they all rose with one accord, "but a lady has just called, and insists upon seeing one of you."A general laugh and some uncertain flushes passed over the assembly."She would not give his name," Mrs. Houston continued, smiling with a deep enjoyment upon the most confused faces, "but she referred to him as the 'schoolmaster.' Do any of you answer to that name?"Sargent was beside her in a moment."Is it Natalia?" he exclaimed softly."Yes. She is in the summer house."Sargent found her sitting on the coping of the fish pond, staring down at the gold fish showing distinctly in the strangely brilliant starlight."I am going away to-morrow and you did not even tell me good-bye, when you ran away from us!" she said, her dark eyes staring up at Sargent reproachfully."But I could not, Natalia, everything was crowding upon me so—the duel—the—""The duel!" she exclaimed."Sh-h-h! Don't talk so loud about it. The Judge does not want Mrs. Houston to know." Sargent picked her up in his arms and carried her to a bench on the far side of the summer house. She was very warm and throbbing as he held her close to him, and even beneath the folds of the cashmere shawl he could feel her excited little heart beating."Now—tell me about it," she whispered, when he sat down, still holding her. "Tell me about the duel—was it a real one?""Yes, I suppose so." Sargent could not keep from smiling."How beautiful! I wish I had seen it! Who was it with?""Mr. Jervais.""Oh—goody! Did you kill him?""No—neither of us was hurt."She sighed disappointedly, and went silent, her head nestling in the hollow of his shoulder."Do you have to hurry back to those old lawyers?"Sargent shook his head."No. They've told me all there was to tell."Natalia smiled up at him, her silent, sweet little smile. She did not make any motion to move or say anything, but lay against him contentedly gazing up at the sky."I've seen three shooting stars to-night—Oh! look! There's the fourth!" she exclaimed, lifting her face to follow the flashing light. "And the heavens—aren't they beautiful to-night? I wonder what it means. I never saw the stars so bright before."Again a short silence fell between them,—the quiet that unconsciously comes to people when they feel a long separation is near; when the short time left them should be crowded with words, and yet, a time when words seem so worthless.Sargent looked down into the pensive little face so close to his own. In the night glow the two long braids of hair shone very soft and glossy. His hand sunk into them unconsciously and its delicacy and softness he found delicious to the touch."What makes your hair so beautiful?" he said impulsively, his hand still upon it."Oh, my! is it?" Natalia sighed. "It ought to be, though, for Mammy brushes it so—so long every morning and every night. Sometimes I wish I didn't have any, until she tells me I'd be ugly without it. And she says people won't love me when I'm grown up if I'm not pretty. Do you believe that?" with sudden intensity."No." Sargent laughed easily. "That's a bad theory of Mammy Dicey's. I'll have to tell her she's mistaken.""And she says that a pretty child makes an ugly grown up person. Do you believe that?""Sometimes it may prove true,—but I know of one where it is not going to be the case."Natalia's eyes beamed, and she edged up closer to Sargent, looking searchingly into his face."Do you believe I'm going to be pretty when I am grown up?"Sargent looked down at her a long time before he answered lightly, "Why, of course. You are going to be the most beautiful woman in the world."Natalia slid off his knee and stood facing him, both of her hands clasped in his."I'm so—so glad. Because now I'm going away," she hurried on, "and I'm going to be gone a long time, for I'm going to Boston and I'm going to Europe, and later on Mamma Brandon says I can make the Grand Tour, and when I come back—all grown up and educated and a real young lady and beautiful—you will remember me—won't you? Mammy says gentlemen never forget very beautiful ladies."Sargent drew her radiant face, all flushed and intense, close to his."I'm going to remind you of this some day, Natalia, don't forget. So you are coming back grown up and you are going to let me still love you like I do now?""I don't want you to love me like you do now," with a toss of her head."No? Why?" and Sargent puzzled over her meaning."I want you to love me like I see young gentlemen loving young ladies. Sending them pretty nosegays and going to church with them Sundays and taking them to balls. That's the way I want you to do!"Sargent's face contracted with sudden pain. He knew so well that he could never fill the role that Natalia had already planned for her lover."Nosegays, church going, dances," he repeated after her. "Well," with a sigh, "I might do the first two, anyhow." Then seriously, "Natalia, I want you to remember this." For a moment he stopped and looked directly into her eyes. "You are a child now but you will soon be a woman—a beautiful young lady, as you say. You are going far away from me and it is only natural that you should forget all about me; but don't forget this—I shall always love you, more and more as the years go along. Don't forget that—nor this—that the greatest joy in my life will be to be of some help to you some day, to save you some suffering, to help you to some great happiness. I am starting out to-night on my life work; the path has come to me through suffering, the deepest suffering and despair, but the road is very clear to me now. I see my mission and my work!" He stopped suddenly, his eyes glowing with the radiance of his new found happiness. Then turning slowly back to the little girl, he put his arms about her and lifted her from the ground."You couldn't remember all that, dear little Natalia, could you?" He smiled on her yearningly. "But you can remember that when I look down that beautiful road of life I shall always see you standing at the end—the embodiment of all its happiness."Then he kissed her and carried her quickly toward the gate, Dicey meeting them on the walk."Jedgment day! ef hit ain' time you wuz er comin'. Keepin' yer ole mammy up all hours—waitin' fer yer to tell de Perfesser gemman good-bye. Come on heah, honey-chile, and let's jog erlong home. Good-bye, Massa Sargent. We sho' is gwine miss yer out ter de big house. Good night, Massa."Sargent leaned on the gate, and listened until the sound of the chaise had died away. Then brushing his hands across his eyes and squaring his shoulders resolutely, he walked back to the house and into the room in which the first move of his great political career was being originated.BOOK IIITHE LOVERCHAPTER IAFTER SEVEN YEARSIt was the proudest moment in Captain Mentdrop's long career. He was bringing his new boat, theSouthern Belle, up the river from New Orleans on her maiden trip. The stories of this new boat had preceded her, arousing the curiosity of the country people until every one was enthusiastically impatient to see for himself this boat with a cabin so wide that eight horses could stand abreast in it; with wonderful stalactites of white and gold that hung from the ceiling, and swayed with the motion of the boat; and real kerosene lamps all along the sides of the dining saloon; and a water cooler at one end that was made of solid silver and held twenty gallons of iced water,—indeed, there had never been anything on the Mississippi River to equal this floating palace.The Captain had let no opportunity pass, by which he could make this initial journey of his new boat one of glory and importance. He paced the deck night and day, too excited to take a moment's rest. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets and a mammoth Havana between his lips—the pipe had disappeared with so much prosperity—he beamed down upon the crowds gathered along the shore, always landing when the number of sightseers justified the loss of time; and welcomed them on board with a hospitality that was made lavish by a corps of Creole cooks and a brass band.To add to the interest of the voyage there were several brides and grooms who had chosen this trip for the wedding journey, as was the fashion of that day; and a party from Boston that had come down by sea to New Orleans."Gee Whillikens!" laughed the Captain, when the stage planks had been drawn up and a plantation landing left behind. "It does my old, dried-up heart good to see all these folks so tickled over this boat. It's giving 'em more downright satisfaction than anything they've seen or done for a mighty long time. I tell you I'm glad I had a chance to show 'em what was a sho' enough boat—a boat what is a boat! Now, sir, you're from Boston, so I've been told, and I wants you to tell me, honest injun now—did you ever see anything like this boat of mine, up yonder?" He turned abruptly toward his companion, his twinkling eyes searching the face before him."No, Captain, I must confess I never saw anything like your boat in my part of the country; but then, we only have ships and sea-going vessels, and even on the Hudson the boats are not half as large as this."Captain Mentdrop turned back, evidently relieved. "I'm powerful glad to hear it from one who's been up thar and knows. Are you down in these parts for long?""No, not very long. In fact, Captain, to be perfectly frank with you, I've come down here to be married."The old Captain turned and inspected his companion more closely. Leaning easily against the railing, one arm thrust carelessly into an embroidered waistcoat, a suit of dark green broadcloth ornamented with large pearl buttons, and a bell crowned beaver, each detail of his costume proclaiming him a man of fashion—the stranger made a strikingly handsome picture. Apart from his well-chosen clothes, his handsome face—fair, with honest blue eyes and bright, blond hair—impressed one with a certain freshness and charm. He was a man evidently used to the niceties and refinements of life, one to whom difficulties and hardships had never come."So you've come way down here to get you a bride, have you?" the Captain commented, evidently satisfied with his inspection. "Something of a long trip, it strikes me. She must be a powerful exception to her kind, to draw a young blood all over this much travelling to get her."The stranger laughed good-humouredly, his face beaming with a boyishness that was winning. "She is an exception!" he answered, "and sufficiently fascinating to make one travel any distance to win her; but, in my case, I am not going to find her—she is already with me. She has been spending several years with my family in Boston, and when we decided to be married, she wanted to come down here to have the wedding in the old home of her ancestors.""And you come all this way—just to be married!" the Captain commented with a shrug. "But I reckon when a feller gets way off yonder, he kinder has a hankering after old places he used to know. I reckon that was the way with your gal—just had to come back and see it once more!"The stranger was silent a moment, viewing with evident interest the stretch of wooded hills crowned by a rambling town, which was becoming visible."Yes, I suppose you are right," he said, reflectively. "It was the memories of her home and all the associations of childhood which had become dear to her—now that she knows how delightful they were. But after six or seven years it seems she would have forgotten all about it—particularly as she was a little girl when she left."The Captain shook his head, knowingly. "There you're wrong, young man. It takes a youngster to remember things. I'll wager, sir, she can tell you every one of the changes that's taken place since she left here. And if you're going to Natchez, and I believe you said you were,—well, sir, she'll find enough changes there. Whew! but it makes me feel kinder like it's time for me to be turning in my checks when I look around the old town and see the difference."With a shake of his rugged frame, he went nearer the railing to better scan the shore. Already they could see the line of carriages and the brilliant colours of the crowd assembled to meet the boat. Some smaller craft had left the town landing and gone forward to salute the new boat, waving colours and blowing their whistles with royal welcome."All of them seem to know you, Captain," the stranger remarked, when the Captain had called greetings to some men in a small boat."Yes, siree, they know me! Well, they ought to. I've been plying up and down here among 'em for many a year, and I know pretty nearly every blamed man between St. Louis and New 'leans; and every house, too," he added, his eyes resting humourously upon an old two story building very near the shore. "Yes, sir, nearly every one of these places has something to say to me about what's gone afore. You see that shanty? Well, sir, that used to be the biggest gambling den in the whole of this country. The fellows were run out of town and they built this place just outside the limits, and once, when I was a-takin' a crowd of gentlemen down here from St. Louis on a round trip, we stopped off at the town for a day, and will you believe me, sir, every blamed one of them gentlemen went and got drunk and got mixed up wit them gamblers, and when they come back to the boat damned if they had a cent—not a one of 'em. That lot of scoundrels had just fleeced 'em. Well, sir, I just made up my mind that I wasn't goin' to put up with such tom-foolery, even if them town folks was bluffed out by the gang, and I set to work to think how I could get back the money my passengers had dropped. So I lets my boat drift down from the landing till I gets afore that very shanty there, sir; then I stops her and hollers for somebody to come out and talk to me—but they had no intention of comin' out in broad daylight. Finally I lets off a load of buckshot against one of them windows, and that brought one of the damn rascals to the door. Says I, 'I want the money you stole from my passengers, you dirty scoundrel!' Says he—'Why don't you come off that dugout and get it?' and slams the door. 'Well,' says I to myself, 'I reckon I'll show him a thing or two!' So I makes two niggers swim ashore with a coil of rope and tells 'em to run clear round the house with it and bring both ends back to the boat. You see that made a circle of the buildin', with me a-holdin' both ends. I gets the line fastened tight, and then calls down to the engineer to back off easy-like—just enough to make the rope taut. Then I stops. Says I, callin' ashore—'I've got the deadwood on you now. Will you come to time?' But they wasn't a-thinkin' that way, so I backs off a little more, and then the old shanty begins to creak. Just a little more and the whole damn house would a-tumbled over. It brought 'em to life, though! The whole gang jumped out of the windows and doors and everywhere, and one of 'em called out that he'd give me the money back if I'd hold up. Well, sir," he nodded toward the building, "you see she's still a-standin' there."The stranger joined the Captain in his hearty, infectious laughter. "It's a great old country you have down here," he commented a few minutes later. "The more I hear of it, the more I wonder how in the world Sargent Everett ever made his way, in such surroundings."Captain Mentdrop wheeled suddenly, his wrinkled old features showing a new interest."D'you know Sargent Everett?""I should think I did! We went to college together."The old Captain extended his hand. "Let's shake," he said. "I think more of that youngster than anybody else in the world. If you're his friend, I'm yours.""I'm very glad to hear it. Do you know," the stranger answered, meeting the Captain's look with a keener interest, "I haven't seen him since we parted at college. I hardly think that I would know him now—and particularly since he has grown so famous.""Famous! Well, I reckon! Why, sir, you ought to have been here a month ago when he come back from a speech-makin' trip. It would 'a' done your heart good to see how the people turned out to give him a welcome. They had a torch-light procession that night and fired a cannon, and had an all 'round jollification! I was sure proud for him. It showed up plainer that day how everybody felt about him. That was a grand speech he made at Jackson! Did you hear anything about it, up in your country?""No. But I hope I'll have an opportunity to hear him speak while I'm down here. You have heard him often, I suppose?""Not half as often as I'd like to," the old Captain answered. "I heard him make his first speech, and 'pon my word, it's a wonder—the way he gets under your skin and makes you feel what he's a-sayin'. It ain't so much his words you hear when you're listening to him—it's more the sound of his voice and the look of his face. He jest takes all a feller's idees away from him and makes him think jest like he does. But I reckon you won't get a chance to hear him if you're only here for a week or two." The old fellow gave a gesture of disappointment. "He's running for Congress now. I'm kinder sorry, too, cause I ain't much on politics—I can't look at things but one way myself, and that's straight at 'em, and politicians seem to me to spend all their time a-beatin' 'round the bush. But I reckon Sargent'll show 'em a new way. He knows how—you can bet your bottom dollar on that!""I should like for Natalia to hear you talk about him. I believe I'll go find her," the young man said, turning away with the decision. "He used to be her tutor when she lived down here.""It ain't no use," the Captain raised a detaining hand. "It won't do her a bit of good to hear about him. He don't give a snap of his fingers about the lady folks. I heard some of 'em call him a woman-hater—of course that ain't so," he added, laughing easily to himself, "but jest because he don't spend his time a-flyin' 'round with 'em, they're bound to resent it.""And he has never married," the other added."Married! Well, I reckon not! He lives all by himself in a mighty fine house that he's built up there on the hill, and if you want to be entertained in real style, you must take a meal with him, for he's got the finest cook in the town. But as for women—" Captain Mentdrop lowered his voice confidentially and drew closer to the stranger. "You know it kinder worries me, but I can't make it out. Some say he's jest timid, and absorbed in his work, and then we all know he's mighty touchy about his bad leg, but for the sakes of me, I don't see why he thinks limpin' makes him objectionable to the ladies. I heard one gal say she thought it made him lots more picture-like, and made her think of Lord Byron, and you know he was a lady-killer, right!""And he is wealthy, too, I understand.""Well, I reckon! He made dead oodles of money out of a lawsuit that him and Judge Houston had together. See that ridge south of the town?" He waved his hand in the direction. "There was a whole lot of property there, that was left to a number of heirs, and it seems the whole crowd could never be got together to sign the deeds, so half of 'em signed for the other half and sold the property, and when the other half turned up you can see what the mix-up was. Well, sir, Sargent and old man Houston took the case for the heirs that hadn't signed, with the arrangement that they was to get half. And they did. That put the youngster way up in the pictures. He had money to burn, but I never seen him do any of them blamed tricks you hear tell about down here. He never lit a cigar with a ten dollar bill like I've seen some dern fools do. He's got too much sense. Do you know, I believe he's got more learnin' crammed in his head than any other man I ever seen.""He was that way at Bowdoin College. The rest of his class did not have a chance.""And I'm mightily afeard it's goin' to be the death of him yet. He over-does things. And after every big case, you can hear tell about the crazy things he does. Of course I know how 'tis, for he once told me that when he got through a case and making a big speech, he couldn't rest one minute—that everything was flyin' round in his head like fire, and it takes him a day or two to get quieted down again. It went mighty hard with him at first, he took things so serious-like, and I just found out one day that the thing he needed worst in the world, was to take every blamed situation in life with a pinch of humour. Well, sir," the old fellow slapped his sides and let out a gust of laughter, "I soon found out he had it in him and didn't know it. Since then he's been makin' people laugh till the tears roll down their cheeks; and then, by Jingo, before he's through they're cryin' sure enough. I thought I'd split my sides the other night, when a feller was tellin' about his experience with him in a country tavern, away off in the backwoods."The Captain spread his legs apart and rammed his hands deep into his pockets. When a fresh Havana was between his lips he was completely at his ease. "Seems like Sargent had a big case down there, wherever it was," he continued, "and after it was all over, he had to spend the night in a room with another feller—the tavern was so crowded. Well, sir, in the middle of the night, it seems that his bed-feller was mightily put out by a gallaniper peckin' at him. He raised such a racket about it that Sargent told him to shut up and let him go to sleep—that the thing wouldn't bite him if it wan't for his good. Mighty poor comfort to the other feller, I says. Anyhow the feller got up and caught it, and showed it to Sargent. Then, bless you, both of 'em got up and argued whether it was good or bad for gallanipers to be in the world. Nothin' would suit Sargent but that they settle the question by law. So they went all over the tavern at three o'clock in the mornin', mind you, and waked up everybody until they got twelve men to come to their room, and sit like a jury while they argued the case. It must 'a' been rich!" The old fellow stopped, overcome by laughter, while the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Can't you see 'em? Twelve sleepy men, all sittin' in a row in their night-shirts, while two lunatic lawyers went into vigorous harangues. It must 'a' been side-splittin'. They say Sargent placed a table before the jury, put the gallaniper under a tumbler on the table, and made everybody take a look at it. Then his companion began the prosecution, while he spoke in defence. They tell me that by that time the whole tavern had adjourned to that room, and they kept up the argument till broad daylight.""So Sargent has developed a talent for humour?" laughed the newcomer."Humour—well, I reckon! He's got a-plenty of it. In fact, and this is strictly between you and me—it's his humour that makes him so popular. That's what brings him close to the people; and if he didn't have it, he'd be too far away and above all the rest of us common, ordinary folks." The old fellow's face softened suddenly. "Sometimes when I've talked to him a while," he continued in a quiet voice, "I go back to my boat and stay out on her all by myself at night, wondering if just knowing him hasn't done me a powerful lot o' good." The Captain's eyes grew almost wistful, even the steely twinkle growing gentle and kindly. "Jest to show you," he went on, "I told him I was goin' to leave him every cent I had, and d'you know, he said not to do that—that he had enough, and there was a world of people that needed it. So, together, we've fixed it to go to an orphan asylum in New 'leans. That's the first man it's been my luck to meet that ever refused to take a red cent. Whoa! there."In a second the whole aspect of the Captain changed, as he strode forward to the front of the deck and called out directions for the landing of the boat.In the interest of his discussion the boat had gone many feet beyond the landing, and in the chagrin of his preoccupation, the old fellow made the air about him resound with a splendid outburst of oaths."It jest goes to prove," he said to himself, when the ropes had been swung over the piles and the boat was settling easily against the wharf. "It jest goes to prove that I'm gettin' old and played out—standin' up here a-talkin' about a blamed lawyer, and lettin' my boat slide clean past the landin'. Shucks!"CHAPTER IITHE VOICE OF THE PASTJudge Houston was in the crowd that day that lined the wharf, impatient to board the new boat. No one was in more gala attire than he, with a fresh ribbon on his queue, wearing a suit of fine blue linen, so stiffly starched that the tails of his long coat stood far out on each side of him, and in his lapel, to give a finishing touch to his Colonial appearance, Mrs. Houston had placed, with characteristic precision, a pink japonica.It was a great day to both of them, and often, as the boat drew nearer, the old gentleman would smile sweetly toward his wife, who was waiting by his side. Seven years had passed over them lightly, the touches of age showing more like caresses than cares; leaving snow-white hair instead of flecked grey; touching their features with many fine lines, so full of character and accomplishment, that, as they came, one wondered over all they meant. Only, perhaps, in the stoop of the shoulders, in the sometimes trembling hand, and the heavy stick upon which he always rested, did the old gentleman's friends see the encroachments of age. It was only in that, however, for his eyes were as clear and blue as they had always been, shedding about him even more sympathy and benignity. His wife, the one who had stood beside him from the first days of their pioneer voyage, had grown along with him into the realm of approaching shadows, not lagging behind nor rushing before, but beside him hand in hand as they had always been.A little distance from the wharf, seated in a high-swung chariot of modish trappings, sat Lemuel Jervais and his wife.Mrs. Jervais watched the approaching boat with mingled pride and apprehension. Her thoughts were travelling backward over the years that had passed since she had sent the little girl so far away. They had never loved each other; Mrs. Jervais seeing in Natalia too many of the characteristics of her husband's first wife, to be drawn to the child, and Natalia realizing this and shrinking from it. "But she had done her duty," Mrs. Jervais sighed contentedly as she viewed the approaching boat. "She had seen that the plantations brought Natalia an income that left no wish unsatisfied. But now," she mused, "Natalia was no longer a child, she was coming back a woman, and a woman who seemed to have suddenly become imbued with the memories of her childhood and a desire to visit her old home again."For several years Natalia's letters had dwindled, until recently they had become merely notes of thanks in reference to the management of the estate and a few lines about her plans. Then, quite without warning, a letter had come to Mrs. Jervais from her, in which she had told of her approaching marriage, and of her wish to return to her home for that occasion. "Probably you will think it strange," the letter read, "when I tell you I want to be married in my old home. It does seem a long journey to make for such a short visit, especially as Morgan and I shall make Boston our home; but in thinking about the dear, old place that has come down to me from my Spanish ancestors, the idea has taken possession of me that I would like my marriage to be solemnized amid those surroundings. Uncle Felix would call it quixotic in me, I know, and at the same time, understand; I feel sure that you appreciate my sentiment in regard to the old place, too, and that will explain better than words what I am going to ask of you."I want you to help me in arranging the wedding. You wrote that the house had been closed ever since your marriage to Mr. Jervais, so do not go to much trouble in fixing it up. Left to my own wishes, the wedding would be simple, but Morgan insists that it be elaborate, as it will be my only wedding—he hopes. Perhaps it is only right that I should ask all our old friends, indeed, I want them about me at that time. It is a time in a girl's life when such things count most, and I feel that it will start me out on my new life happier for carrying away as many dear memories as possible; so ask every one we used to know."Of course I need not mention that I want you and Mr. Jervais to be the hosts for me, and stay at the old home until the wedding—after that I shall not keep you, for it is my idea to spend our honeymoon there, Morgan and I alone in the sweet old place. I am writing Aunt Maria also, and I know she will be glad to help you all she can. Be sure to insist upon her making the wedding cake—one of those wonderful, tall affairs which I remember so well. In reading over what I have written, I can not help wondering if I have asked too much of you; but then, you must remember, there is no one else except the boys, and they are much too interested in college even to go down there with me. I could go on indefinitely with plans—but I shall wait until we meet, to tell you everything."The letter had caused no end of consternation in the town. Mrs. Jervais had driven, the day it came, to Mrs. Houston, finding the old lady holding a similar letter in her lap and weeping copiously over the news it contained. Together they had driven out to the old house and opened it once more to the golden warmth of the June sun. A corps of slaves was brought from the cotton fields, back to their former quarters, and in so short a time it seemed like magic, the old home of the Spaniards shone resplendent again. The garden was put in trim shape and the broad drive to the gate was cleared of the weeds that had so long grown in neglected luxuriance.Invitations were sent out broadcast, and for many days garrets were being ransacked, and old brocades and laces that had lain idle for a generation or more were again brought to life to do duty for such a grand occasion. It was an exceptional time for the gossips and when the report spread over the town that all the refreshments were coming from a distance, and that it was actually a fact that the fiddlers were to be brought up from New Orleans, the whole place thrilled with expectancy.At last the day of the arrival came. As the boat eased itself against the wharf and the great ropes were thrown ashore and made fast, Judge Houston stepped forward and shaded his eyes with his hand. At last his face lighted up with a smile as he saw the face of the little girl peering out of the crowd of passengers. She was just as he had remembered her—yet strangely different, too. There were the same beautiful grey eyes, grown darker with the years, still full of a sympathy that had deepened through the wide outlook of travel and experience; there was still the delicate oval of the face; the rich, creamy complexion, as smooth and flawless as in childhood; the hair, if possible, blacker, and worn parted and brought back over the ears and coiled low on the neck. The sprite-like look of the child still clung to her, for even in the voluminous folds of her fashionable frock, her figure showed fragile and lithe and gracefully poised; and as she walked down the stage plank, her face bent forward intently searching for a familiar face, the old man knew that the little girl had come back dearer to them than ever before.Natalia rushed into his arms, when she had seen him, her eyes searching his face and lingering on every feature as the memories crowded about her thick and overflowing. Neither of them had said a word."Natalia! Natalia!" the old gentleman finally spoke, holding her a little way from him. "I believe you are the same little girl. Changed? Not one bit!""Yes, Uncle Felix," Natalia answered, smiling through tear-dimmed eyes, "the same little girl—but changed—a great deal. Oh!" and she broke away to embrace Mrs. Houston. "And Morgan, where are you? This is Uncle Felix and Aunt Maria; and this is Millicent Talbot, Aunt Maria—and Morgan's brother, Joel. Aren't we a large family party? And where are the Jervais? Oh, I see them coming."Mrs. Jervais came forward with outstretched arms. Evidently the past was bringing her and Natalia closer than they had ever expected. Then came Lemuel Jervais a portly man of forty, handsome and more affably haughty than ever."And there's the old carriage! How good of you to bring it out!" Natalia cried, with a grateful glance at Mrs. Jervais. "And bless my heart—if it isn't old Zebby on the box! Zebby! Zebby!" she called aloud, pushing her way through the crowd and running towards the carriage. "Zebby! Zebby! Isn't it wonderful? Hasn't it been a long time?" She clasped both his hands as the old negro almost fell from the box to reach her. "And Mammy Dicey, Zebby where is she? Why didn't she come to meet me? The mean old thing! I wouldn't treatherthis way."Zebediah's face fell at the mention of Dicey's name, and he made a great fuss at opening the carriage door.There were three carriages to carry them, and Mrs. Jervais insisted that Natalia should ride in her new smart one, but Natalia had already urged Judge Houston and his wife and Morgan into the old one Zebediah commanded, into which she quickly followed."Now, Zebby," she cried breathlessly, sinking back into the seat. "Drive very, very slowly, and let me see everything."So they started up the hill, the other carriages following and a procession of wagons which were to bring the trunks and all the wonderful wedding delicacies that had come on the same boat.Natalia was exclaiming, laughing, and often tears were standing in her eyes, as they drove along. Pointing out familiar old buildings to Talbot and asking Mrs. Houston and the Judge a thousand questions, they passed through the town where many curious glances were cast towards the bride.Not until the town was left behind and the river was showing now and then through the rifts in the trees, did Natalia grow calmer. Where the road to the house met the highway, she suddenly called to Zebediah to stop."I want to get out and walk to the house, Aunt Maria," she explained. "It will come back to me gradually then; I don't want to hurry or miss anything. Come with me, Morgan?" Talbot helped her out and in a few moments they stood alone in the road, the other carriages having passed on. "I love this place very, very dearly, Morgan," Natalia said, slipping her hand through his arm and walking slowly. "It is where my father and mother were very happy. It is where I was the most unhappy—and the happiest of little girls, and now—it is where my perfect happiness will come to me. I have felt all through my life that this old place would mean everything to me, one day—that all that was worth while would happen to me here. And it will," she ended, smiling up at him, "for we are to spend our honeymoon here."Morgan Talbot looked before him intently, curious to see what manner of place it was that held his sweetheart's love so deeply. And as he looked through the dense shade of the trees to the wide open gate and beyond to the gleaming columns, he felt the charm of the old world surroundings creep over him. Turning finally towards Natalia and meeting her look, anxious for his approval, he saw with a sudden flash of insight, that the girl before him—intense, passionate, and oddly beautiful—was the culmination of the old house and all that had gone before."It is beautiful, Natalia," he said softly, drawing her closer to him. "It is more than you told me.""And you will love it with me, Morgan?""I shall love it because it is a part of you."They were directly before the iron gate now. Everything was very still in the glowing warmth of the sunshine. Natalia leaned against the gate, and drank in the view like a thirsty traveller. It spoke eloquently of the coming in and going out of the many who had gone before her, and of her own days, too; and as she gazed at it, little incidents of her childhood—long forgotten but safely stored away, came forward and made their bows and claimed her attention. The scene suddenly became peopled to her. Everything was significant. The depths of the magnolia grove were filled with mysterious ghosts of the past, and the red tiles of the roof, gleaming just above the dark line of the trees, called to her with the cry of familiar voices. The present slipped entirely from her under the rush of the pent-up memories crowding about on all sides."Shall we walk on now?"The voice of her lover startled her. She looked up at him and smiled vaguely."Isn't it beautiful, Morgan? I wish you could see it as I do. Everything means so much to me that it can never mean for you. It makes me sad, dear, that you did not know it with me."Talbot laughed down into her intense eyes. "It is happiness enough for me to know you now—why bother about what has gone before?"Natalia did not answer for a moment. "Perhaps you do not understand, Morgan, or perhaps the old characteristics of my childhood are coming back to me. Do you know, they used to call me 'peculiar'? I wasn't like other children.""I know—you were so much more beautiful.""That reminds me," Natalia laughed, with a sudden change of mood, "of how dreadfully afraid I was that I would not be good-looking when I grew up. There was only one person who really comforted me about it, and he always insisted that my claim to a goodly appearance would not disappear with age.""That was a man who knew the standards of beauty. I should like to meet him. What was his name?""You will laugh when I tell you. It was Sargent Everett.""Dear old Sargent!" Talbot exclaimed, his face lighting up with pleasure. "I wonder if he got my letter. The Captain on the boat is a great friend of Sargent's. He told me a great deal about him, but he said he was not here now. Wouldn't it be unfortunate if he were not at our wedding? Did you ask any one if he would be here?""No—I didn't ask," Natalia answered slowly. "It's very odd—I haven't thought of him for a long time; not since you said you were going to write him about our wedding. Did you receive an answer?""No—I did not have time. I didn't expect one until I saw him here.""I wonder if he has forgotten me," Natalia murmured, sinking on the bench near the gate, and motioning Talbot to the seat beside her. "Let's sit down here for a while. You don't mind my dreaming aloud to you, do you?"His arm slipped about her until her head rested against his shoulder, and her eyes closed for a moment as if she had suddenly grown weary."No, indeed, dear, dream all you want, and tell me about your old school days with Sargent. Aren't you proud that your tutor has become so celebrated?""I knew he would be, some day, for even when I knew him he was a wonderful speaker. I never heard him make but one speech—it was beautiful and awful—all in one. I cried for weeks afterwards whenever I thought of it. And now, Morgan, I am going to make you terribly jealous. I'm going to tell you something that will surprise you very much."She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing with the quaint habit of childhood."You are not my first love."She straightened up and faced him, finally breaking into her soft, merry laugh. "I was desperately in love with Sargent Everett once.""Seven years ago," Talbot answered lightly. "I can hear about it calmly—now.""But it was very serious," Natalia insisted. "I really was in earnest, and after he left our house and fought a duel, he became a real hero to me. It was terrible when we had to part. I just made up my mind to die. But you see—I didn't," sighing happily. "And the night before I went away I made my old Mammy take me to him so I could say good-bye. I made him swear not to forget me, for I was coming back a beautiful woman some day and would expect him to marry me. You can imagine how terribly smitten I was!""And at twelve! Did he promise?""Indeed he did, and said I could not come back more beautiful than I was at that moment. Then I kissed him, Morgan, and he said I must send for him, even if it were to the ends of the earth, if I ever needed him. So we plighted our troth and parted. It was all just like a fairy book, and it seems hundreds of years ago. We used to walk right along here together. You see his mother was a long way off, up in Maine, and mine was gone for ever, and that drew us very close together. Seriously, Morgan, I loved him very dearly. The day I went away I sent him a miniature of myself, all in a locket with a chain, and told Mammy to tell him to keep it before him always. It was only when I became so occupied in school, and growing up, that I finally forgot all about him. Then, since I've known you, the past seems to have counted for very little with me—until to-day." Her words ended softly, and for a moment silence fell between them."I believe I shall get jealous if you go on talking much more about old Sargent." Talbot leaned over and looked into her face, smiling. "Really, did you think that you loved Sargent? I can't get used to the idea," he laughed. "And to think of Sargent Everett being in love with anybody! He was always too deep in books when I knew him. It would be very easy to realize that people would love him—all of us did at school. But somehow, I always felt that people did not mean much to him."At his words, Natalia drew herself away in mock hauteur. "Am I to infer, sir, that you understand why I should have loved him, but not how he could have loved me?"Morgan drew her hands into his, laughing all the time. "Yes, Natalia, I'll wager if it came to a point, that you were very much more in love with him than he was with you.""Perhaps you are right, Morgan," Natalia answered his laugh happily. "But I did love him—I assure you.""And it makes me wonder all the more that you fell in love with me after loving Sargent. We are not a bit alike. But then I suppose you are variable—indeed I know you are. But it's to be hoped that you will not be any more. It's a wonderful thing—how people do change their loves, isn't it?"Natalia's eyes narrowed for a moment as she looked beyond the gate."Don't try to analyze love," she replied. "I tried once and it did no good. I always came back to the point that I loved you and nothing else mattered. How did I fall in love with you?" She repeated the words after him, taking hold of his hand and counting his fingers as she narrated her reasons. "Well—first, it must have been your frank admiration that touched me—I am always very sensitive to admiration. Then, you look upon life with so bright an eye, so smilingly, that it makes me feel safe and contented to know that my own too sensitive nature will bloom under your brightness. It's the contrast, Morgan, that's it. You give me what I have not. You meet a demand of my nature. It is that which makes the perfect love."Talbot looked at her a moment, his face grown serious and almost sad. "It is not my own happiness that I ever think of—there is only one thing that could ruin that for me—losing you," he said, Natalia's hand still clasped in his own. "But when I think of the great difference between us, I wonder if it is possible for me to make you happy. I love gaiety and the world, and people, and deep down in your heart, I don't believe you do. And I can't help thinking that you do many things for my sake, isn't it so?"Natalia shook her head slowly, and smiled. "No, I'm not doing a thing for you, Morgan, that doesn't give me pleasure. Don't try to find flaws in our love, or search for some hidden reason for unhappiness. It's too perfect as it is, and I love you better, Morgan dear, when you are not attempting an analytical state of mind." She laughed at him gayly. "You're the old-fashioned lover who brings nosegays to his lady-love, and writes her billet-doux, and is always telling her how beautiful she is—that is why I love you so, Morgan. That has always been my ideal of a lover since I was a little girl. Be that way always, please. Now shall we walk on towards the house? Oh, look, the magnolias have put on their wedding garments to do us honour. They are in full bloom!"They passed through the gate and into the shadow of the grove where the trees were filled with gorgeous white velvety blossoms, and where in the dream shadows they lingered awhile.They came finally upon the others grouped in the shade of the deep veranda, where Lemuel Jervais was playing the part of host by mixing them his famous sangaree, and Mrs. Houston was insisting that every one should have at least three slices of her equally famous jelly cake.Morgan and Natalia looked at them from the protection of a column until Millicent Talbot spied them. "Well—you'd better hurry or you'll miss the party," she called to them. "We thought you were lost. I was sure Natalia had forgotten the way.""No, I was only dreaming aloud to Morgan, over the old days. He was very kind and listened, for all the world as if he were not bored. I'll not do it often, though, for fear it might get monotonous. You don't know how beautiful everything looks," Natalia continued, putting her arm about Mrs. Jervais' waist. "How good of you to do it all for me." Suddenly she stopped and looked about the group, then made a step towards the open hall door. "Do you know," she said, with a catch in her voice, that showed her fear, "I have let all this time go by, and haven't seen Mammy Dicey yet. Poor old soul—is she very feeble? Whereisshe? I know she is anxiously waiting for me."For a few minutes silence fell upon every one, while Natalia searched each face for an answer. At last when her eyes began to fill with tears over the certainty that she was never to see her old nurse again, Mrs. Houston rose, and casting a swift glance at Mrs. Jervais, led Natalia a little way from the others. When they had reached the front door, quite beyond hearing of the others, Natalia stopped and faced Mrs. Houston."Is she dead?" she exclaimed in a low voice. "I shall never forgive myself for not writing to her more. Poor old Mammy!""No, she is not dead," Mrs. Houston answered, hesitating a moment over the information, "but she is not here any more."Natalia's brows wrinkled in bewilderment. "Not here! But she belonged to me! Surely she is not hired to any one?""You are mistaken, Natalia. She did not belong to you, as we all thought. She was included in the property your father left his wife. Felix looked up the matter and found it that way. When you were sent away—""Yes?" Natalia asked, breathlessly."Mrs. Jervais sold her. You know she never liked her, and as soon as the opportunity was propitious I suppose she thought it would be better for them to separate. Of course she never had an idea you would care one way or the other."Natalia lifted her head suddenly, while the colour mounted to her cheeks; her eyes flashed and her lips trembled in quick anger. "She did belong to me! I know it! My father told me so when he was dying. It was a trick she played to get Mammy away from me."Mrs. Houston stared into the passionate face before her, startled as the resemblance to the little girl of earlier days became so vivid. If Natalia had only stamped her foot, as of old, the likeness would have been identical."My dear child," the old lady expostulated in a lowered voice. "Please don't take it that way. I'm sure you misjudge her. Even if it is true, don't say anything now,—not until after the wedding. She has really done a great deal for you."Natalia leaned forward and kissed the old lady. "Of course I'll behave, dear Aunt Maria," her voice controlled, but tears still in her eyes. "But I loved Mammy so. To have anything happen to her, or for her to suffer hurts me like it would myself." Then eagerly, "But I can buy her back. Do you know who owns her?"Mrs. Houston looked away, smiling vaguely. "Some one who has found her too valuable to part with, I'm thinking.""Who?" Natalia murmured, her eagerness disappearing in her greater disappointment.The keen old lady watched the vivid face before her, searching it with a sudden earnestness when she answered, "Sargent Everett owns her now."
CHAPTER IX
A PROMISE FOR THE FUTURE
That night, when the boys had gone to sleep, Dicey came to the side of Natalia's bed, and sat down, holding the little girl's hand close to her tear-stained face. They were to be separated the next day, for the first time in their companionship of twelve years. The morrow's boat was to take Natalia on her long journey to the North.
"Mammy, he is not coming out here any more," Natalia said, her wide open eyes staring into the old slave's face.
"No,—honey-chile,—he ain' comin' heah no mo'."
"And I won't see him to-morrow before I go?"
"No, sugar—ole Miss ain' gwine let him speak ter yer. She done said dat pintedly, so dar ain' no use stedyin' 'bout hit no mo'."
Natalia glanced at the clock, its face shining bright in the light of a solitary candle. The hands were at nine.
"Mammy," she crept over to the side of the bed where Dicey's ear was most convenient. "Mammy, you love me very, very much—don't you?"
Dicey scented danger. In a moment her ears were keen.
"Sho' I does, honey-chile, you knows dat."
"And you would do anything I asked you, wouldn't you, Mammy?"
"Mebbe so—whut yer wants now?"
Natalia sat up and clasped her hands about her knees.
"I want to go to see him to-night, Mammy. Will you take me?"
Dicey leaned over the bed and pulled the quilt tight about the little figure.
"Lay down, honey," she said soothingly, "and go ter sleep. All dis heah 'citement bout goin' way done addled yer. Co'se yer cyant go see Massa Sargent ternight. Who ebber heerd tell ob sich a thing? Go ter sleep now—I'se gwine sing ter yer bout Moses—"
"I don't want to hear about Moses, Mammy." Natalia threw off the quilt and sprang out of bed. "I want to see him, Mammy, before he goes. I want to tell him good-bye. Please take me."
Dicey shook her head knowingly, and stood up.
"Come on back to bed, honey, yer gwine ketch yer death ob col' standin' dar in de night ar. Co'se yer cyant go out ter-night."
Natalia tossed the hair out of her eyes and faced Dicey angrily.
"If you won't take me, I'll get Zebby to. I know he'll do it."
"I knows whut I'se gwine do." Dicey walked to the door and turned the key in the lock, removed it and placed it in her apron pocket. "Now you'se got ter be managed. I'se gwine put yer in dat bed and you'se got ter stay dar." She ended by turning towards Natalia and stopping suddenly.
It was the first time the child had ever been thwarted by the old slave, and seeing the wrath on her face that she had never seen there before, she at first trembled a little, and then suddenly flared into a passionate anger. It was then that Dicey stopped and stared at her.
"Don't you come near me, Mammy. Don't you try to put me in bed. I won't go—I won't—I won't." She stamped her foot in rage. "And you'll be very sorry you did me this way when I go away and leave you—you'll be mighty sorry!"
Then came the storm of tears and Dicey had her in her soothing embrace once more.
"You won't have to tell anybody, Mammy," came the words between sobs. "Not a soul will know. You get Zebby to hook up the chaise and take me into town. We can go to Aunt Maria's and she'll tell us where he is. You see we could do it! Oh, you will, Mammy, you will—won't you?"
Natalia was skipping about the floor in wild delight, for already she had seen the glimmer of consent in Dicey's eyes.
"Sh-h! Sh-h! Keep still," the old woman whispered. "You'll wake 'em all up. Jes' yer stay right heah tell I see ef I kin fin' Zebby."
So it was that a half hour later they were jogging along the highway towards the town, the starlight so brilliant that the lanterns were not needed.
"Oh! look, Mammy, there's a shooting star!" cried Natalia.
"Humph! I ain' studyin' bout no shootin' stahs. I'm mighty worr'd bout whut ole Miss gwine say when she kotch up wid me," grunted Dicey. "Ef she done tek er notion she sell me, leaf's not."
"But she can't, Mammy, because you belong to me. You and Zebby both."
When they had reached Judge Houston's house, the front door was wide open, and the sound of many voices, and the sight of many lights within, made Natalia hesitate; then she made Dicey go in and ask for Mrs. Houston.
In a moment the old lady was standing in the doorway, talking to Dicey, and then hurrying down the steps.
"Natalia! What in the world are you doing here?" she exclaimed.
"I've come to tell him good-bye. Is he in there?"
"He—who?"
"The schoolmaster."
Mrs. Houston put out her arms and gathered the little girl to her, carrying her into the yard.
"Yes—he's here—you little rascal," half crying, half laughing at Natalia's anxious expression. "They are having a big meeting to-night—a whole lot of the townspeople who want Sargent to run for the Legislature."
Natalia drew back in disappointment, her lips trembling.
"Then I can't see him—and I did so want to tell him good-bye!"
"You wait a moment—go over there in the summer house and I'll see if he cannot come out here for a little while."
Mrs. Houston entered the house, and pausing before the dining room door, she waited a moment to attract some one's attention. About the long mahogany table were seated twenty men. At one end sat Judge Houston, at the other Sargent Everett. Between them were great heaps of papers, filled with the proposed platform they were formulating, and at that moment an old gentleman was standing and voicing his ideas on the subject. In the midst of his speech, he caught Mrs. Houston's eye, and stopped abruptly.
"Pardon me, gentlemen," she said as they all rose with one accord, "but a lady has just called, and insists upon seeing one of you."
A general laugh and some uncertain flushes passed over the assembly.
"She would not give his name," Mrs. Houston continued, smiling with a deep enjoyment upon the most confused faces, "but she referred to him as the 'schoolmaster.' Do any of you answer to that name?"
Sargent was beside her in a moment.
"Is it Natalia?" he exclaimed softly.
"Yes. She is in the summer house."
Sargent found her sitting on the coping of the fish pond, staring down at the gold fish showing distinctly in the strangely brilliant starlight.
"I am going away to-morrow and you did not even tell me good-bye, when you ran away from us!" she said, her dark eyes staring up at Sargent reproachfully.
"But I could not, Natalia, everything was crowding upon me so—the duel—the—"
"The duel!" she exclaimed.
"Sh-h-h! Don't talk so loud about it. The Judge does not want Mrs. Houston to know." Sargent picked her up in his arms and carried her to a bench on the far side of the summer house. She was very warm and throbbing as he held her close to him, and even beneath the folds of the cashmere shawl he could feel her excited little heart beating.
"Now—tell me about it," she whispered, when he sat down, still holding her. "Tell me about the duel—was it a real one?"
"Yes, I suppose so." Sargent could not keep from smiling.
"How beautiful! I wish I had seen it! Who was it with?"
"Mr. Jervais."
"Oh—goody! Did you kill him?"
"No—neither of us was hurt."
She sighed disappointedly, and went silent, her head nestling in the hollow of his shoulder.
"Do you have to hurry back to those old lawyers?"
Sargent shook his head.
"No. They've told me all there was to tell."
Natalia smiled up at him, her silent, sweet little smile. She did not make any motion to move or say anything, but lay against him contentedly gazing up at the sky.
"I've seen three shooting stars to-night—Oh! look! There's the fourth!" she exclaimed, lifting her face to follow the flashing light. "And the heavens—aren't they beautiful to-night? I wonder what it means. I never saw the stars so bright before."
Again a short silence fell between them,—the quiet that unconsciously comes to people when they feel a long separation is near; when the short time left them should be crowded with words, and yet, a time when words seem so worthless.
Sargent looked down into the pensive little face so close to his own. In the night glow the two long braids of hair shone very soft and glossy. His hand sunk into them unconsciously and its delicacy and softness he found delicious to the touch.
"What makes your hair so beautiful?" he said impulsively, his hand still upon it.
"Oh, my! is it?" Natalia sighed. "It ought to be, though, for Mammy brushes it so—so long every morning and every night. Sometimes I wish I didn't have any, until she tells me I'd be ugly without it. And she says people won't love me when I'm grown up if I'm not pretty. Do you believe that?" with sudden intensity.
"No." Sargent laughed easily. "That's a bad theory of Mammy Dicey's. I'll have to tell her she's mistaken."
"And she says that a pretty child makes an ugly grown up person. Do you believe that?"
"Sometimes it may prove true,—but I know of one where it is not going to be the case."
Natalia's eyes beamed, and she edged up closer to Sargent, looking searchingly into his face.
"Do you believe I'm going to be pretty when I am grown up?"
Sargent looked down at her a long time before he answered lightly, "Why, of course. You are going to be the most beautiful woman in the world."
Natalia slid off his knee and stood facing him, both of her hands clasped in his.
"I'm so—so glad. Because now I'm going away," she hurried on, "and I'm going to be gone a long time, for I'm going to Boston and I'm going to Europe, and later on Mamma Brandon says I can make the Grand Tour, and when I come back—all grown up and educated and a real young lady and beautiful—you will remember me—won't you? Mammy says gentlemen never forget very beautiful ladies."
Sargent drew her radiant face, all flushed and intense, close to his.
"I'm going to remind you of this some day, Natalia, don't forget. So you are coming back grown up and you are going to let me still love you like I do now?"
"I don't want you to love me like you do now," with a toss of her head.
"No? Why?" and Sargent puzzled over her meaning.
"I want you to love me like I see young gentlemen loving young ladies. Sending them pretty nosegays and going to church with them Sundays and taking them to balls. That's the way I want you to do!"
Sargent's face contracted with sudden pain. He knew so well that he could never fill the role that Natalia had already planned for her lover.
"Nosegays, church going, dances," he repeated after her. "Well," with a sigh, "I might do the first two, anyhow." Then seriously, "Natalia, I want you to remember this." For a moment he stopped and looked directly into her eyes. "You are a child now but you will soon be a woman—a beautiful young lady, as you say. You are going far away from me and it is only natural that you should forget all about me; but don't forget this—I shall always love you, more and more as the years go along. Don't forget that—nor this—that the greatest joy in my life will be to be of some help to you some day, to save you some suffering, to help you to some great happiness. I am starting out to-night on my life work; the path has come to me through suffering, the deepest suffering and despair, but the road is very clear to me now. I see my mission and my work!" He stopped suddenly, his eyes glowing with the radiance of his new found happiness. Then turning slowly back to the little girl, he put his arms about her and lifted her from the ground.
"You couldn't remember all that, dear little Natalia, could you?" He smiled on her yearningly. "But you can remember that when I look down that beautiful road of life I shall always see you standing at the end—the embodiment of all its happiness."
Then he kissed her and carried her quickly toward the gate, Dicey meeting them on the walk.
"Jedgment day! ef hit ain' time you wuz er comin'. Keepin' yer ole mammy up all hours—waitin' fer yer to tell de Perfesser gemman good-bye. Come on heah, honey-chile, and let's jog erlong home. Good-bye, Massa Sargent. We sho' is gwine miss yer out ter de big house. Good night, Massa."
Sargent leaned on the gate, and listened until the sound of the chaise had died away. Then brushing his hands across his eyes and squaring his shoulders resolutely, he walked back to the house and into the room in which the first move of his great political career was being originated.
BOOK III
THE LOVER
CHAPTER I
AFTER SEVEN YEARS
It was the proudest moment in Captain Mentdrop's long career. He was bringing his new boat, theSouthern Belle, up the river from New Orleans on her maiden trip. The stories of this new boat had preceded her, arousing the curiosity of the country people until every one was enthusiastically impatient to see for himself this boat with a cabin so wide that eight horses could stand abreast in it; with wonderful stalactites of white and gold that hung from the ceiling, and swayed with the motion of the boat; and real kerosene lamps all along the sides of the dining saloon; and a water cooler at one end that was made of solid silver and held twenty gallons of iced water,—indeed, there had never been anything on the Mississippi River to equal this floating palace.
The Captain had let no opportunity pass, by which he could make this initial journey of his new boat one of glory and importance. He paced the deck night and day, too excited to take a moment's rest. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets and a mammoth Havana between his lips—the pipe had disappeared with so much prosperity—he beamed down upon the crowds gathered along the shore, always landing when the number of sightseers justified the loss of time; and welcomed them on board with a hospitality that was made lavish by a corps of Creole cooks and a brass band.
To add to the interest of the voyage there were several brides and grooms who had chosen this trip for the wedding journey, as was the fashion of that day; and a party from Boston that had come down by sea to New Orleans.
"Gee Whillikens!" laughed the Captain, when the stage planks had been drawn up and a plantation landing left behind. "It does my old, dried-up heart good to see all these folks so tickled over this boat. It's giving 'em more downright satisfaction than anything they've seen or done for a mighty long time. I tell you I'm glad I had a chance to show 'em what was a sho' enough boat—a boat what is a boat! Now, sir, you're from Boston, so I've been told, and I wants you to tell me, honest injun now—did you ever see anything like this boat of mine, up yonder?" He turned abruptly toward his companion, his twinkling eyes searching the face before him.
"No, Captain, I must confess I never saw anything like your boat in my part of the country; but then, we only have ships and sea-going vessels, and even on the Hudson the boats are not half as large as this."
Captain Mentdrop turned back, evidently relieved. "I'm powerful glad to hear it from one who's been up thar and knows. Are you down in these parts for long?"
"No, not very long. In fact, Captain, to be perfectly frank with you, I've come down here to be married."
The old Captain turned and inspected his companion more closely. Leaning easily against the railing, one arm thrust carelessly into an embroidered waistcoat, a suit of dark green broadcloth ornamented with large pearl buttons, and a bell crowned beaver, each detail of his costume proclaiming him a man of fashion—the stranger made a strikingly handsome picture. Apart from his well-chosen clothes, his handsome face—fair, with honest blue eyes and bright, blond hair—impressed one with a certain freshness and charm. He was a man evidently used to the niceties and refinements of life, one to whom difficulties and hardships had never come.
"So you've come way down here to get you a bride, have you?" the Captain commented, evidently satisfied with his inspection. "Something of a long trip, it strikes me. She must be a powerful exception to her kind, to draw a young blood all over this much travelling to get her."
The stranger laughed good-humouredly, his face beaming with a boyishness that was winning. "She is an exception!" he answered, "and sufficiently fascinating to make one travel any distance to win her; but, in my case, I am not going to find her—she is already with me. She has been spending several years with my family in Boston, and when we decided to be married, she wanted to come down here to have the wedding in the old home of her ancestors."
"And you come all this way—just to be married!" the Captain commented with a shrug. "But I reckon when a feller gets way off yonder, he kinder has a hankering after old places he used to know. I reckon that was the way with your gal—just had to come back and see it once more!"
The stranger was silent a moment, viewing with evident interest the stretch of wooded hills crowned by a rambling town, which was becoming visible.
"Yes, I suppose you are right," he said, reflectively. "It was the memories of her home and all the associations of childhood which had become dear to her—now that she knows how delightful they were. But after six or seven years it seems she would have forgotten all about it—particularly as she was a little girl when she left."
The Captain shook his head, knowingly. "There you're wrong, young man. It takes a youngster to remember things. I'll wager, sir, she can tell you every one of the changes that's taken place since she left here. And if you're going to Natchez, and I believe you said you were,—well, sir, she'll find enough changes there. Whew! but it makes me feel kinder like it's time for me to be turning in my checks when I look around the old town and see the difference."
With a shake of his rugged frame, he went nearer the railing to better scan the shore. Already they could see the line of carriages and the brilliant colours of the crowd assembled to meet the boat. Some smaller craft had left the town landing and gone forward to salute the new boat, waving colours and blowing their whistles with royal welcome.
"All of them seem to know you, Captain," the stranger remarked, when the Captain had called greetings to some men in a small boat.
"Yes, siree, they know me! Well, they ought to. I've been plying up and down here among 'em for many a year, and I know pretty nearly every blamed man between St. Louis and New 'leans; and every house, too," he added, his eyes resting humourously upon an old two story building very near the shore. "Yes, sir, nearly every one of these places has something to say to me about what's gone afore. You see that shanty? Well, sir, that used to be the biggest gambling den in the whole of this country. The fellows were run out of town and they built this place just outside the limits, and once, when I was a-takin' a crowd of gentlemen down here from St. Louis on a round trip, we stopped off at the town for a day, and will you believe me, sir, every blamed one of them gentlemen went and got drunk and got mixed up wit them gamblers, and when they come back to the boat damned if they had a cent—not a one of 'em. That lot of scoundrels had just fleeced 'em. Well, sir, I just made up my mind that I wasn't goin' to put up with such tom-foolery, even if them town folks was bluffed out by the gang, and I set to work to think how I could get back the money my passengers had dropped. So I lets my boat drift down from the landing till I gets afore that very shanty there, sir; then I stops her and hollers for somebody to come out and talk to me—but they had no intention of comin' out in broad daylight. Finally I lets off a load of buckshot against one of them windows, and that brought one of the damn rascals to the door. Says I, 'I want the money you stole from my passengers, you dirty scoundrel!' Says he—'Why don't you come off that dugout and get it?' and slams the door. 'Well,' says I to myself, 'I reckon I'll show him a thing or two!' So I makes two niggers swim ashore with a coil of rope and tells 'em to run clear round the house with it and bring both ends back to the boat. You see that made a circle of the buildin', with me a-holdin' both ends. I gets the line fastened tight, and then calls down to the engineer to back off easy-like—just enough to make the rope taut. Then I stops. Says I, callin' ashore—'I've got the deadwood on you now. Will you come to time?' But they wasn't a-thinkin' that way, so I backs off a little more, and then the old shanty begins to creak. Just a little more and the whole damn house would a-tumbled over. It brought 'em to life, though! The whole gang jumped out of the windows and doors and everywhere, and one of 'em called out that he'd give me the money back if I'd hold up. Well, sir," he nodded toward the building, "you see she's still a-standin' there."
The stranger joined the Captain in his hearty, infectious laughter. "It's a great old country you have down here," he commented a few minutes later. "The more I hear of it, the more I wonder how in the world Sargent Everett ever made his way, in such surroundings."
Captain Mentdrop wheeled suddenly, his wrinkled old features showing a new interest.
"D'you know Sargent Everett?"
"I should think I did! We went to college together."
The old Captain extended his hand. "Let's shake," he said. "I think more of that youngster than anybody else in the world. If you're his friend, I'm yours."
"I'm very glad to hear it. Do you know," the stranger answered, meeting the Captain's look with a keener interest, "I haven't seen him since we parted at college. I hardly think that I would know him now—and particularly since he has grown so famous."
"Famous! Well, I reckon! Why, sir, you ought to have been here a month ago when he come back from a speech-makin' trip. It would 'a' done your heart good to see how the people turned out to give him a welcome. They had a torch-light procession that night and fired a cannon, and had an all 'round jollification! I was sure proud for him. It showed up plainer that day how everybody felt about him. That was a grand speech he made at Jackson! Did you hear anything about it, up in your country?"
"No. But I hope I'll have an opportunity to hear him speak while I'm down here. You have heard him often, I suppose?"
"Not half as often as I'd like to," the old Captain answered. "I heard him make his first speech, and 'pon my word, it's a wonder—the way he gets under your skin and makes you feel what he's a-sayin'. It ain't so much his words you hear when you're listening to him—it's more the sound of his voice and the look of his face. He jest takes all a feller's idees away from him and makes him think jest like he does. But I reckon you won't get a chance to hear him if you're only here for a week or two." The old fellow gave a gesture of disappointment. "He's running for Congress now. I'm kinder sorry, too, cause I ain't much on politics—I can't look at things but one way myself, and that's straight at 'em, and politicians seem to me to spend all their time a-beatin' 'round the bush. But I reckon Sargent'll show 'em a new way. He knows how—you can bet your bottom dollar on that!"
"I should like for Natalia to hear you talk about him. I believe I'll go find her," the young man said, turning away with the decision. "He used to be her tutor when she lived down here."
"It ain't no use," the Captain raised a detaining hand. "It won't do her a bit of good to hear about him. He don't give a snap of his fingers about the lady folks. I heard some of 'em call him a woman-hater—of course that ain't so," he added, laughing easily to himself, "but jest because he don't spend his time a-flyin' 'round with 'em, they're bound to resent it."
"And he has never married," the other added.
"Married! Well, I reckon not! He lives all by himself in a mighty fine house that he's built up there on the hill, and if you want to be entertained in real style, you must take a meal with him, for he's got the finest cook in the town. But as for women—" Captain Mentdrop lowered his voice confidentially and drew closer to the stranger. "You know it kinder worries me, but I can't make it out. Some say he's jest timid, and absorbed in his work, and then we all know he's mighty touchy about his bad leg, but for the sakes of me, I don't see why he thinks limpin' makes him objectionable to the ladies. I heard one gal say she thought it made him lots more picture-like, and made her think of Lord Byron, and you know he was a lady-killer, right!"
"And he is wealthy, too, I understand."
"Well, I reckon! He made dead oodles of money out of a lawsuit that him and Judge Houston had together. See that ridge south of the town?" He waved his hand in the direction. "There was a whole lot of property there, that was left to a number of heirs, and it seems the whole crowd could never be got together to sign the deeds, so half of 'em signed for the other half and sold the property, and when the other half turned up you can see what the mix-up was. Well, sir, Sargent and old man Houston took the case for the heirs that hadn't signed, with the arrangement that they was to get half. And they did. That put the youngster way up in the pictures. He had money to burn, but I never seen him do any of them blamed tricks you hear tell about down here. He never lit a cigar with a ten dollar bill like I've seen some dern fools do. He's got too much sense. Do you know, I believe he's got more learnin' crammed in his head than any other man I ever seen."
"He was that way at Bowdoin College. The rest of his class did not have a chance."
"And I'm mightily afeard it's goin' to be the death of him yet. He over-does things. And after every big case, you can hear tell about the crazy things he does. Of course I know how 'tis, for he once told me that when he got through a case and making a big speech, he couldn't rest one minute—that everything was flyin' round in his head like fire, and it takes him a day or two to get quieted down again. It went mighty hard with him at first, he took things so serious-like, and I just found out one day that the thing he needed worst in the world, was to take every blamed situation in life with a pinch of humour. Well, sir," the old fellow slapped his sides and let out a gust of laughter, "I soon found out he had it in him and didn't know it. Since then he's been makin' people laugh till the tears roll down their cheeks; and then, by Jingo, before he's through they're cryin' sure enough. I thought I'd split my sides the other night, when a feller was tellin' about his experience with him in a country tavern, away off in the backwoods."
The Captain spread his legs apart and rammed his hands deep into his pockets. When a fresh Havana was between his lips he was completely at his ease. "Seems like Sargent had a big case down there, wherever it was," he continued, "and after it was all over, he had to spend the night in a room with another feller—the tavern was so crowded. Well, sir, in the middle of the night, it seems that his bed-feller was mightily put out by a gallaniper peckin' at him. He raised such a racket about it that Sargent told him to shut up and let him go to sleep—that the thing wouldn't bite him if it wan't for his good. Mighty poor comfort to the other feller, I says. Anyhow the feller got up and caught it, and showed it to Sargent. Then, bless you, both of 'em got up and argued whether it was good or bad for gallanipers to be in the world. Nothin' would suit Sargent but that they settle the question by law. So they went all over the tavern at three o'clock in the mornin', mind you, and waked up everybody until they got twelve men to come to their room, and sit like a jury while they argued the case. It must 'a' been rich!" The old fellow stopped, overcome by laughter, while the tears rolled down his cheeks. "Can't you see 'em? Twelve sleepy men, all sittin' in a row in their night-shirts, while two lunatic lawyers went into vigorous harangues. It must 'a' been side-splittin'. They say Sargent placed a table before the jury, put the gallaniper under a tumbler on the table, and made everybody take a look at it. Then his companion began the prosecution, while he spoke in defence. They tell me that by that time the whole tavern had adjourned to that room, and they kept up the argument till broad daylight."
"So Sargent has developed a talent for humour?" laughed the newcomer.
"Humour—well, I reckon! He's got a-plenty of it. In fact, and this is strictly between you and me—it's his humour that makes him so popular. That's what brings him close to the people; and if he didn't have it, he'd be too far away and above all the rest of us common, ordinary folks." The old fellow's face softened suddenly. "Sometimes when I've talked to him a while," he continued in a quiet voice, "I go back to my boat and stay out on her all by myself at night, wondering if just knowing him hasn't done me a powerful lot o' good." The Captain's eyes grew almost wistful, even the steely twinkle growing gentle and kindly. "Jest to show you," he went on, "I told him I was goin' to leave him every cent I had, and d'you know, he said not to do that—that he had enough, and there was a world of people that needed it. So, together, we've fixed it to go to an orphan asylum in New 'leans. That's the first man it's been my luck to meet that ever refused to take a red cent. Whoa! there."
In a second the whole aspect of the Captain changed, as he strode forward to the front of the deck and called out directions for the landing of the boat.
In the interest of his discussion the boat had gone many feet beyond the landing, and in the chagrin of his preoccupation, the old fellow made the air about him resound with a splendid outburst of oaths.
"It jest goes to prove," he said to himself, when the ropes had been swung over the piles and the boat was settling easily against the wharf. "It jest goes to prove that I'm gettin' old and played out—standin' up here a-talkin' about a blamed lawyer, and lettin' my boat slide clean past the landin'. Shucks!"
CHAPTER II
THE VOICE OF THE PAST
Judge Houston was in the crowd that day that lined the wharf, impatient to board the new boat. No one was in more gala attire than he, with a fresh ribbon on his queue, wearing a suit of fine blue linen, so stiffly starched that the tails of his long coat stood far out on each side of him, and in his lapel, to give a finishing touch to his Colonial appearance, Mrs. Houston had placed, with characteristic precision, a pink japonica.
It was a great day to both of them, and often, as the boat drew nearer, the old gentleman would smile sweetly toward his wife, who was waiting by his side. Seven years had passed over them lightly, the touches of age showing more like caresses than cares; leaving snow-white hair instead of flecked grey; touching their features with many fine lines, so full of character and accomplishment, that, as they came, one wondered over all they meant. Only, perhaps, in the stoop of the shoulders, in the sometimes trembling hand, and the heavy stick upon which he always rested, did the old gentleman's friends see the encroachments of age. It was only in that, however, for his eyes were as clear and blue as they had always been, shedding about him even more sympathy and benignity. His wife, the one who had stood beside him from the first days of their pioneer voyage, had grown along with him into the realm of approaching shadows, not lagging behind nor rushing before, but beside him hand in hand as they had always been.
A little distance from the wharf, seated in a high-swung chariot of modish trappings, sat Lemuel Jervais and his wife.
Mrs. Jervais watched the approaching boat with mingled pride and apprehension. Her thoughts were travelling backward over the years that had passed since she had sent the little girl so far away. They had never loved each other; Mrs. Jervais seeing in Natalia too many of the characteristics of her husband's first wife, to be drawn to the child, and Natalia realizing this and shrinking from it. "But she had done her duty," Mrs. Jervais sighed contentedly as she viewed the approaching boat. "She had seen that the plantations brought Natalia an income that left no wish unsatisfied. But now," she mused, "Natalia was no longer a child, she was coming back a woman, and a woman who seemed to have suddenly become imbued with the memories of her childhood and a desire to visit her old home again."
For several years Natalia's letters had dwindled, until recently they had become merely notes of thanks in reference to the management of the estate and a few lines about her plans. Then, quite without warning, a letter had come to Mrs. Jervais from her, in which she had told of her approaching marriage, and of her wish to return to her home for that occasion. "Probably you will think it strange," the letter read, "when I tell you I want to be married in my old home. It does seem a long journey to make for such a short visit, especially as Morgan and I shall make Boston our home; but in thinking about the dear, old place that has come down to me from my Spanish ancestors, the idea has taken possession of me that I would like my marriage to be solemnized amid those surroundings. Uncle Felix would call it quixotic in me, I know, and at the same time, understand; I feel sure that you appreciate my sentiment in regard to the old place, too, and that will explain better than words what I am going to ask of you.
"I want you to help me in arranging the wedding. You wrote that the house had been closed ever since your marriage to Mr. Jervais, so do not go to much trouble in fixing it up. Left to my own wishes, the wedding would be simple, but Morgan insists that it be elaborate, as it will be my only wedding—he hopes. Perhaps it is only right that I should ask all our old friends, indeed, I want them about me at that time. It is a time in a girl's life when such things count most, and I feel that it will start me out on my new life happier for carrying away as many dear memories as possible; so ask every one we used to know.
"Of course I need not mention that I want you and Mr. Jervais to be the hosts for me, and stay at the old home until the wedding—after that I shall not keep you, for it is my idea to spend our honeymoon there, Morgan and I alone in the sweet old place. I am writing Aunt Maria also, and I know she will be glad to help you all she can. Be sure to insist upon her making the wedding cake—one of those wonderful, tall affairs which I remember so well. In reading over what I have written, I can not help wondering if I have asked too much of you; but then, you must remember, there is no one else except the boys, and they are much too interested in college even to go down there with me. I could go on indefinitely with plans—but I shall wait until we meet, to tell you everything."
The letter had caused no end of consternation in the town. Mrs. Jervais had driven, the day it came, to Mrs. Houston, finding the old lady holding a similar letter in her lap and weeping copiously over the news it contained. Together they had driven out to the old house and opened it once more to the golden warmth of the June sun. A corps of slaves was brought from the cotton fields, back to their former quarters, and in so short a time it seemed like magic, the old home of the Spaniards shone resplendent again. The garden was put in trim shape and the broad drive to the gate was cleared of the weeds that had so long grown in neglected luxuriance.
Invitations were sent out broadcast, and for many days garrets were being ransacked, and old brocades and laces that had lain idle for a generation or more were again brought to life to do duty for such a grand occasion. It was an exceptional time for the gossips and when the report spread over the town that all the refreshments were coming from a distance, and that it was actually a fact that the fiddlers were to be brought up from New Orleans, the whole place thrilled with expectancy.
At last the day of the arrival came. As the boat eased itself against the wharf and the great ropes were thrown ashore and made fast, Judge Houston stepped forward and shaded his eyes with his hand. At last his face lighted up with a smile as he saw the face of the little girl peering out of the crowd of passengers. She was just as he had remembered her—yet strangely different, too. There were the same beautiful grey eyes, grown darker with the years, still full of a sympathy that had deepened through the wide outlook of travel and experience; there was still the delicate oval of the face; the rich, creamy complexion, as smooth and flawless as in childhood; the hair, if possible, blacker, and worn parted and brought back over the ears and coiled low on the neck. The sprite-like look of the child still clung to her, for even in the voluminous folds of her fashionable frock, her figure showed fragile and lithe and gracefully poised; and as she walked down the stage plank, her face bent forward intently searching for a familiar face, the old man knew that the little girl had come back dearer to them than ever before.
Natalia rushed into his arms, when she had seen him, her eyes searching his face and lingering on every feature as the memories crowded about her thick and overflowing. Neither of them had said a word.
"Natalia! Natalia!" the old gentleman finally spoke, holding her a little way from him. "I believe you are the same little girl. Changed? Not one bit!"
"Yes, Uncle Felix," Natalia answered, smiling through tear-dimmed eyes, "the same little girl—but changed—a great deal. Oh!" and she broke away to embrace Mrs. Houston. "And Morgan, where are you? This is Uncle Felix and Aunt Maria; and this is Millicent Talbot, Aunt Maria—and Morgan's brother, Joel. Aren't we a large family party? And where are the Jervais? Oh, I see them coming."
Mrs. Jervais came forward with outstretched arms. Evidently the past was bringing her and Natalia closer than they had ever expected. Then came Lemuel Jervais a portly man of forty, handsome and more affably haughty than ever.
"And there's the old carriage! How good of you to bring it out!" Natalia cried, with a grateful glance at Mrs. Jervais. "And bless my heart—if it isn't old Zebby on the box! Zebby! Zebby!" she called aloud, pushing her way through the crowd and running towards the carriage. "Zebby! Zebby! Isn't it wonderful? Hasn't it been a long time?" She clasped both his hands as the old negro almost fell from the box to reach her. "And Mammy Dicey, Zebby where is she? Why didn't she come to meet me? The mean old thing! I wouldn't treatherthis way."
Zebediah's face fell at the mention of Dicey's name, and he made a great fuss at opening the carriage door.
There were three carriages to carry them, and Mrs. Jervais insisted that Natalia should ride in her new smart one, but Natalia had already urged Judge Houston and his wife and Morgan into the old one Zebediah commanded, into which she quickly followed.
"Now, Zebby," she cried breathlessly, sinking back into the seat. "Drive very, very slowly, and let me see everything."
So they started up the hill, the other carriages following and a procession of wagons which were to bring the trunks and all the wonderful wedding delicacies that had come on the same boat.
Natalia was exclaiming, laughing, and often tears were standing in her eyes, as they drove along. Pointing out familiar old buildings to Talbot and asking Mrs. Houston and the Judge a thousand questions, they passed through the town where many curious glances were cast towards the bride.
Not until the town was left behind and the river was showing now and then through the rifts in the trees, did Natalia grow calmer. Where the road to the house met the highway, she suddenly called to Zebediah to stop.
"I want to get out and walk to the house, Aunt Maria," she explained. "It will come back to me gradually then; I don't want to hurry or miss anything. Come with me, Morgan?" Talbot helped her out and in a few moments they stood alone in the road, the other carriages having passed on. "I love this place very, very dearly, Morgan," Natalia said, slipping her hand through his arm and walking slowly. "It is where my father and mother were very happy. It is where I was the most unhappy—and the happiest of little girls, and now—it is where my perfect happiness will come to me. I have felt all through my life that this old place would mean everything to me, one day—that all that was worth while would happen to me here. And it will," she ended, smiling up at him, "for we are to spend our honeymoon here."
Morgan Talbot looked before him intently, curious to see what manner of place it was that held his sweetheart's love so deeply. And as he looked through the dense shade of the trees to the wide open gate and beyond to the gleaming columns, he felt the charm of the old world surroundings creep over him. Turning finally towards Natalia and meeting her look, anxious for his approval, he saw with a sudden flash of insight, that the girl before him—intense, passionate, and oddly beautiful—was the culmination of the old house and all that had gone before.
"It is beautiful, Natalia," he said softly, drawing her closer to him. "It is more than you told me."
"And you will love it with me, Morgan?"
"I shall love it because it is a part of you."
They were directly before the iron gate now. Everything was very still in the glowing warmth of the sunshine. Natalia leaned against the gate, and drank in the view like a thirsty traveller. It spoke eloquently of the coming in and going out of the many who had gone before her, and of her own days, too; and as she gazed at it, little incidents of her childhood—long forgotten but safely stored away, came forward and made their bows and claimed her attention. The scene suddenly became peopled to her. Everything was significant. The depths of the magnolia grove were filled with mysterious ghosts of the past, and the red tiles of the roof, gleaming just above the dark line of the trees, called to her with the cry of familiar voices. The present slipped entirely from her under the rush of the pent-up memories crowding about on all sides.
"Shall we walk on now?"
The voice of her lover startled her. She looked up at him and smiled vaguely.
"Isn't it beautiful, Morgan? I wish you could see it as I do. Everything means so much to me that it can never mean for you. It makes me sad, dear, that you did not know it with me."
Talbot laughed down into her intense eyes. "It is happiness enough for me to know you now—why bother about what has gone before?"
Natalia did not answer for a moment. "Perhaps you do not understand, Morgan, or perhaps the old characteristics of my childhood are coming back to me. Do you know, they used to call me 'peculiar'? I wasn't like other children."
"I know—you were so much more beautiful."
"That reminds me," Natalia laughed, with a sudden change of mood, "of how dreadfully afraid I was that I would not be good-looking when I grew up. There was only one person who really comforted me about it, and he always insisted that my claim to a goodly appearance would not disappear with age."
"That was a man who knew the standards of beauty. I should like to meet him. What was his name?"
"You will laugh when I tell you. It was Sargent Everett."
"Dear old Sargent!" Talbot exclaimed, his face lighting up with pleasure. "I wonder if he got my letter. The Captain on the boat is a great friend of Sargent's. He told me a great deal about him, but he said he was not here now. Wouldn't it be unfortunate if he were not at our wedding? Did you ask any one if he would be here?"
"No—I didn't ask," Natalia answered slowly. "It's very odd—I haven't thought of him for a long time; not since you said you were going to write him about our wedding. Did you receive an answer?"
"No—I did not have time. I didn't expect one until I saw him here."
"I wonder if he has forgotten me," Natalia murmured, sinking on the bench near the gate, and motioning Talbot to the seat beside her. "Let's sit down here for a while. You don't mind my dreaming aloud to you, do you?"
His arm slipped about her until her head rested against his shoulder, and her eyes closed for a moment as if she had suddenly grown weary.
"No, indeed, dear, dream all you want, and tell me about your old school days with Sargent. Aren't you proud that your tutor has become so celebrated?"
"I knew he would be, some day, for even when I knew him he was a wonderful speaker. I never heard him make but one speech—it was beautiful and awful—all in one. I cried for weeks afterwards whenever I thought of it. And now, Morgan, I am going to make you terribly jealous. I'm going to tell you something that will surprise you very much."
She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing with the quaint habit of childhood.
"You are not my first love."
She straightened up and faced him, finally breaking into her soft, merry laugh. "I was desperately in love with Sargent Everett once."
"Seven years ago," Talbot answered lightly. "I can hear about it calmly—now."
"But it was very serious," Natalia insisted. "I really was in earnest, and after he left our house and fought a duel, he became a real hero to me. It was terrible when we had to part. I just made up my mind to die. But you see—I didn't," sighing happily. "And the night before I went away I made my old Mammy take me to him so I could say good-bye. I made him swear not to forget me, for I was coming back a beautiful woman some day and would expect him to marry me. You can imagine how terribly smitten I was!"
"And at twelve! Did he promise?"
"Indeed he did, and said I could not come back more beautiful than I was at that moment. Then I kissed him, Morgan, and he said I must send for him, even if it were to the ends of the earth, if I ever needed him. So we plighted our troth and parted. It was all just like a fairy book, and it seems hundreds of years ago. We used to walk right along here together. You see his mother was a long way off, up in Maine, and mine was gone for ever, and that drew us very close together. Seriously, Morgan, I loved him very dearly. The day I went away I sent him a miniature of myself, all in a locket with a chain, and told Mammy to tell him to keep it before him always. It was only when I became so occupied in school, and growing up, that I finally forgot all about him. Then, since I've known you, the past seems to have counted for very little with me—until to-day." Her words ended softly, and for a moment silence fell between them.
"I believe I shall get jealous if you go on talking much more about old Sargent." Talbot leaned over and looked into her face, smiling. "Really, did you think that you loved Sargent? I can't get used to the idea," he laughed. "And to think of Sargent Everett being in love with anybody! He was always too deep in books when I knew him. It would be very easy to realize that people would love him—all of us did at school. But somehow, I always felt that people did not mean much to him."
At his words, Natalia drew herself away in mock hauteur. "Am I to infer, sir, that you understand why I should have loved him, but not how he could have loved me?"
Morgan drew her hands into his, laughing all the time. "Yes, Natalia, I'll wager if it came to a point, that you were very much more in love with him than he was with you."
"Perhaps you are right, Morgan," Natalia answered his laugh happily. "But I did love him—I assure you."
"And it makes me wonder all the more that you fell in love with me after loving Sargent. We are not a bit alike. But then I suppose you are variable—indeed I know you are. But it's to be hoped that you will not be any more. It's a wonderful thing—how people do change their loves, isn't it?"
Natalia's eyes narrowed for a moment as she looked beyond the gate.
"Don't try to analyze love," she replied. "I tried once and it did no good. I always came back to the point that I loved you and nothing else mattered. How did I fall in love with you?" She repeated the words after him, taking hold of his hand and counting his fingers as she narrated her reasons. "Well—first, it must have been your frank admiration that touched me—I am always very sensitive to admiration. Then, you look upon life with so bright an eye, so smilingly, that it makes me feel safe and contented to know that my own too sensitive nature will bloom under your brightness. It's the contrast, Morgan, that's it. You give me what I have not. You meet a demand of my nature. It is that which makes the perfect love."
Talbot looked at her a moment, his face grown serious and almost sad. "It is not my own happiness that I ever think of—there is only one thing that could ruin that for me—losing you," he said, Natalia's hand still clasped in his own. "But when I think of the great difference between us, I wonder if it is possible for me to make you happy. I love gaiety and the world, and people, and deep down in your heart, I don't believe you do. And I can't help thinking that you do many things for my sake, isn't it so?"
Natalia shook her head slowly, and smiled. "No, I'm not doing a thing for you, Morgan, that doesn't give me pleasure. Don't try to find flaws in our love, or search for some hidden reason for unhappiness. It's too perfect as it is, and I love you better, Morgan dear, when you are not attempting an analytical state of mind." She laughed at him gayly. "You're the old-fashioned lover who brings nosegays to his lady-love, and writes her billet-doux, and is always telling her how beautiful she is—that is why I love you so, Morgan. That has always been my ideal of a lover since I was a little girl. Be that way always, please. Now shall we walk on towards the house? Oh, look, the magnolias have put on their wedding garments to do us honour. They are in full bloom!"
They passed through the gate and into the shadow of the grove where the trees were filled with gorgeous white velvety blossoms, and where in the dream shadows they lingered awhile.
They came finally upon the others grouped in the shade of the deep veranda, where Lemuel Jervais was playing the part of host by mixing them his famous sangaree, and Mrs. Houston was insisting that every one should have at least three slices of her equally famous jelly cake.
Morgan and Natalia looked at them from the protection of a column until Millicent Talbot spied them. "Well—you'd better hurry or you'll miss the party," she called to them. "We thought you were lost. I was sure Natalia had forgotten the way."
"No, I was only dreaming aloud to Morgan, over the old days. He was very kind and listened, for all the world as if he were not bored. I'll not do it often, though, for fear it might get monotonous. You don't know how beautiful everything looks," Natalia continued, putting her arm about Mrs. Jervais' waist. "How good of you to do it all for me." Suddenly she stopped and looked about the group, then made a step towards the open hall door. "Do you know," she said, with a catch in her voice, that showed her fear, "I have let all this time go by, and haven't seen Mammy Dicey yet. Poor old soul—is she very feeble? Whereisshe? I know she is anxiously waiting for me."
For a few minutes silence fell upon every one, while Natalia searched each face for an answer. At last when her eyes began to fill with tears over the certainty that she was never to see her old nurse again, Mrs. Houston rose, and casting a swift glance at Mrs. Jervais, led Natalia a little way from the others. When they had reached the front door, quite beyond hearing of the others, Natalia stopped and faced Mrs. Houston.
"Is she dead?" she exclaimed in a low voice. "I shall never forgive myself for not writing to her more. Poor old Mammy!"
"No, she is not dead," Mrs. Houston answered, hesitating a moment over the information, "but she is not here any more."
Natalia's brows wrinkled in bewilderment. "Not here! But she belonged to me! Surely she is not hired to any one?"
"You are mistaken, Natalia. She did not belong to you, as we all thought. She was included in the property your father left his wife. Felix looked up the matter and found it that way. When you were sent away—"
"Yes?" Natalia asked, breathlessly.
"Mrs. Jervais sold her. You know she never liked her, and as soon as the opportunity was propitious I suppose she thought it would be better for them to separate. Of course she never had an idea you would care one way or the other."
Natalia lifted her head suddenly, while the colour mounted to her cheeks; her eyes flashed and her lips trembled in quick anger. "She did belong to me! I know it! My father told me so when he was dying. It was a trick she played to get Mammy away from me."
Mrs. Houston stared into the passionate face before her, startled as the resemblance to the little girl of earlier days became so vivid. If Natalia had only stamped her foot, as of old, the likeness would have been identical.
"My dear child," the old lady expostulated in a lowered voice. "Please don't take it that way. I'm sure you misjudge her. Even if it is true, don't say anything now,—not until after the wedding. She has really done a great deal for you."
Natalia leaned forward and kissed the old lady. "Of course I'll behave, dear Aunt Maria," her voice controlled, but tears still in her eyes. "But I loved Mammy so. To have anything happen to her, or for her to suffer hurts me like it would myself." Then eagerly, "But I can buy her back. Do you know who owns her?"
Mrs. Houston looked away, smiling vaguely. "Some one who has found her too valuable to part with, I'm thinking."
"Who?" Natalia murmured, her eagerness disappearing in her greater disappointment.
The keen old lady watched the vivid face before her, searching it with a sudden earnestness when she answered, "Sargent Everett owns her now."