The week that decided Quimby's fate so unexpectedly and brought him so much woe, to Cyn brought good tidings. Her success at the concert had been so decided that she was the recipient of many offers for the coming season, and was enabled to accept those that promised most advantageously. No one was more honestly glad than was Nattie in her congratulations; Nattie, who had fought and overcome that selfish pain and bitter wonder of hers, why Cyn should have everything and she nothing.
Since the approach of summer, a much-talked of project among them had been a little picnic party in the woods, and as Clem now proposed to get it up in honor of Cyn's success, the plan was immediately carried out. Mrs. Simonson, with a feeble protest, because Miss Kling was not invited, accompanied them. The "them," of course, consisted of Cyn, Nattie, Clem, Jo, and the newly betrothed ones.
Nature was kind to these seekers of her solitudes, and gave them a perfect day; one of those that occur in our uncertain climate less often than might be wished, but that penetrate everywhere with their sunshine, when they do come, even into hearts where sunshine seldom glances. So, for the nonce, our friends forgot all their little troubles; even Quimby brightening up, and ceasing to think of his engagement, as they stood underneath the green trees, by the banks of a small river; sunshine everywhere, and the music of birds in the air.
"Is it not glorious?" cried Cyn, like a child, in her exuberance.
"Why not camp out here, and stay all summer?" ecstatically suggestedClem, as he fondled his fishing tackle.
"But it might not always be pleasant like this," said practical Mrs.Simonson.
"When the sun shines we forget it may ever storm," said Jo, and looking admiringly at Cyn as he spoke.
"Is our artist a philosopher, as well as all the rest we know he is?" asked Cyn, laughing.
"A very little one; five feet six!" replied Jo.
"Well, we will have no shadows to-day," said Cyn.
"No shadows to-day!" echoed Jo; then turning to Mrs. Simonson, asked, "I hope you do not still regret Miss Kling!"
"I suppose she would spoil it all!" that good lady committed herself enough to say.
"Well, really, I must say," remarked Celeste, who now gave herself many airs, and evidently looked upon Cyn and Nattie as commonplace creatures,notengaged!—"I must say, now that you are speaking of her, that she doesKlingin a way that is not pleasant sometimes. She actually annoys pa!"
"I thought she entertained a high regard for The Tor—for your father," said mischievous Cyn.
"That is exactly it!" replied Celeste. "Toohigh a regard! Truly, she behaves very ridiculously! Why, she positively waylays pa! so indelicate in a woman, you know!" with sublime unconsciousness of ever having indulged in the pastime of waylaying herself! "Such an old creature, too! she is always coming and wanting to mend his old clothes and stockings! Poor pa actually has to lock himself in his room sometimes!"
The vision of "poor pa" thus pursued was too much for the gravity of the company, and there was a general laugh.
"It is true," asserted Celeste. "Now; isn't it, Ralfy?" appealing to her betrothed with appropriate bashfulness.
Everybody stared at this. No one before ever really knew that Quimby possessed a front door to his name, and he, as surprised as any one at the cognomen Love had discovered, fell back on a rolling log, and clutched his legs to that extent that they must have been black and blue for a week afterwards.
Clem saved the discomfited "Ralfy" the necessity of replying, by interposing with,
"Come! come! let us not talk on such incongruous subjects this lovely day! let us rather talk sentiment!" and he gave a prodigious wink in Jo's direction.
"I fear we are not a very sentimental party!" laughed Cyn; adding mischievously, "except, of course, Quimby and Celeste!"
"Oh! I—I am not, I assure you! I am not in the least, you know!" protested Quimby, taking a roll on the log; "never felt less so in my life."
"Why, Ralfy!" exclaimed Celeste, reproachfully, and to his distress went up close to him, and would have sat down by his side, but for the uncontrollable rolling propensity of that log, which made it impossible.
"How is it with you, Jo?" queried Cyn; "can you not for once, forget your horrible hobby, and be a little sentimental, in honor of the day?"
Jo, who was throwing sticks into the water, to the great disturbance of the bugs, and plainly-shown annoyance of a big frog, made a somewhat surprising reply. Decidedly seriously, he said,
"I fear if I should attempt it, I might get too much in earnest!"
"Oh! we will risk that, so please begin!" said Cyn, but staring at him a little as she spoke. "Jo, sentimental! Just imagine it!"
"Will you risk it?" he asked still seriously, and with so peculiar an expression that she could reply only by another astonished stare.
"But really, it does not pay to be sentimental, as you all ought to have found out long ago! as Jo and I have!" Nattie said, jestingly, yet with an undertone of earnestness.
"Then," said Clem, dryly, "since it is so with us, let us fish!" and he threw his line into the stream.
Cyn, Jo, and Mrs. Simonson followed his example. Quimby declined joining in the sport, and perhaps, likening himself to the fish, balanced himself on the log, and looked on with a pathetic face. Celeste, as in duty bound, remained by his side. Nattie, too, was an observer only, and from the expression off her face was decidedly not amused.
"I think it is cruel!" she exclaimed, as Jo took a fish off Cyn's hook.
"I—I quite agree with you!" Quimby replied quickly, in answer toNattie's observation. "It is cruel!"
"But perhaps the fish were made for people to catch," suggested the pacific Mrs. Simonson, who had not yet been able to get a bite.
"Yes," acquiesced Clem, pulling up a skinny little fish. "They are no worse off than we poor mortals after all. We must each fulfill our destiny, whether man or fish."
"Yes! it is all fate!" exclaimed Quimby vehemently. "We cannot help ourselves!"
"You believe in fate then? I don't think I do!" said Cyn, with a glance half-humorous, half-pitying, at its victim on the log; "what incentive would we have to any effort, if we were sure everything was marked out for us in advance?"
"That is a question requiring too much effort for us to discuss on a warm day," said Nattie.
"Certain circumstances must bring about certain results, you will acknowledge," Clem gravely remarked.
"But, it is said that every soul that is born has a twin somewhere; and if so, that must be fate!" said Mrs. Simonson.
"Miss Kling's theory, I believe!" laughed Nattie.
"If it is so, the right ones don't often come together," said Quimby gloomily.
"Weare an exception, then, to the general rule!" simpered Celeste.
Quimby groaned, and then murmured something about the toothache.
"Poor fellow!" said Cyn, in a low voice, to Nattie.
"After all, thereissomething in fate," Nattie sighed.
"Perhaps so," she said.
"Well, we will not get solemn over fate," said Jo, cheerily; then, in a lower voice, as he glanced at Cyn, he added—"yet."
"And do not frighten away what few fish there are here, with your theories," commanded Clem.
Although this mandate was obeyed, and for a time silence reigned, it was not long before they were all singing a gay song, started by Clem himself, even Quimby joining in the chorus with a feeble tenor. But they were tired of fishing by that time, and began to feel as if a little refreshment would not be out of place, and would indeed enhance the loveliness of Nature, so a fire was made, and lunch-baskets unpacked.
"It will take a good many of those fish for a mouthful," declared Clem, who was cook.
"You may have my share, I can't eat creatures I have seen squirm," saidNattie.
"Ah, you fastidious young woman! what shall I ever do with you, if you are cast away on a desert island with me?" exclaimed Clem, in mock despair.
"Set up a telegraph wire, and then she would need nothing more," insinuated Cyn.
"And get snubbed for my pains!" muttered Clem,sotto voce. But Nattie caught the words, and an expression of distress passed over her face.
"This reminds me of that feast!" Cyn declared, as they sealed themselves wherever convenient, with a dish of whatever was handy.
"Only more so," added Clem.
"What feast?" asked Celeste, curiously.
"One we had once," Cyn replied evasively, glad there was something Celeste did not know about. In fact, in the matter of curiosity, Celeste was an embryo Miss Kling.
"I am sorry we have noCharlotte Russesto-day, Quimby," remarked Clem, with an expression of transparent innocence.
Quimby could only reply with a groan. The recollections awakened were too much.
"What is the matter now, Ralfy?" asked the loving Celeste.
Again Quimby muttered something about "that tooth."
"Oh!" said Celeste, tenderly, "you really must have it out, Ralfy!"
The possibility of being obliged to part with a sound tooth in self-defense, restored him for the time being. But he was not the only one to whom the retrospect brought a momentary pain. Nattie sighed as she looked back to the day that had brought Clem, but not restored as she then supposed, but taken away, her "C."
"The salubrious air and the invigorating odor of the forest adds immeasurably to the natural capacity of the appetite!" commented Jo, gravely, as he passed his plate for the seventh fish.
"Ah!" sighed Celeste, who prided herself on her delicacy, "I never could eat more than would satisfy a mouse, and since my engagement," simpering, "I cannot swallow enough to scarce keep me alive!"
Quimby looked up eagerly.
"I—I beg pardon, but if the—if the engagement weighs upon you, I—I am willing to release you, you know!" he exclaimed, hopefully.
"You jealous creature!" replied Celeste, archly. "You know, Ralfy, that no consideration could make me release you!"
Quimby knew it only too well, and sighed as he picked a chicken bone.
"A great objection to dining in the woods is that one is apt to find his food unexpectedly seasoned!" said Clem, as he captured a six-legged bug of an adventurous spirit, that had sought to investigate the contents of his plate.
"Isn't it strange that bugs don't seem half so bad in our food here as they would at home!" said Mrs. Simonson.
"Oh! we can get used to anything, if we only think so!" said Cyn, bringing her cheery philosophy to the front.
"Yes!" assented Quimby, mournfully, "I—I am used to it, you know!"
Cyn laughed, and then proposed the health of the betrothed pair, which was drank in lager beer, and to which Quimby, bolstered up by Celeste, attempted to respond, but collapsed in the middle of the third sentence, and with the words,
"Thank you! and I—I am used to it, you know!" sat down, wiped his forehead on his napkin, and looked intensely miserable.
After that they toasted Cyn, and then "Dots and Dashes," and last, Jo with mock solemnity proposed "Fate."
And just then Quimby met with a fresh mishap, and came near ending his sufferings in a watery grave, only the water did not happen to be quite deep enough. Arising from the sharp-pointed rock that had served him for a pivot on which to eat his dinner, he stumbled, fell and rolled over and over down the bank, and into the river, with a tremendous splash.
Every one jumped up in consternation.
"Oh, Clem! Jo!" shrieked Celeste, wringing her hands, and rushing down to the water's edge. "Save him! Save my darling Ralfy!"
"Ralfy," however, was equal to saving his own life this time. The water was only up to his waist, and he had already picked himself up and was wading ashore.
"I—I am all right!" he said looking up at his anxious friends with a reassuring smile. "I—I am used to it, you know!"
As Clem assisted him up the bank, the thought came into Cyn's head, why would it not be a good idea to push Nat—accidentally—into the river, so Clem might rescue her, and thus bring about that much to be desired crisis? But remembering that water would run the colors of her dress, and farther, how dreadfully unbecoming it was to be wet—a fact fully demonstrated by the present appearance of Quimby—Cyn rejected the idea as not exactly feasible.
They left Quimby drying on a sunny bank, with Celeste as guardian angel, love, and the remains of the repast to cheer her, and the consciousness that his clothes were shrinking on him as they dried, to diverthim, and wandered off through the woods, and over the hills, gathering on the way so many flowers and green things, that Cyn declared they looked like Birnam Wood coming to Dunsinane.
At first they were all together, then straggled apart; Mrs. Simonson being the first dereliction, as she was not quite equal to climbing as fast as the young people. Thus it came about that Nattie found herself alone with Clem, and suddenly stopping, with some embarrassment, but steadily, said,
"There is something I wish to say to you. You have spoken several times of late about my 'snubbing' you. I want to say, I have not intentionally done so; that I have the same—the same friendship for you as always, and that I wish you every happiness. What may have appeared to you as strange or cold in my conduct of late, is due to secrets of my own."
Clem look at her scrutinizingly, as she spoke, and the flowers he had gathered fell unheeded from his hands.
"It has never beenmywish that any coldness should come between us; you know that, Nattie," he replied earnestly. "From our first acquaintance, the old acquaintance over the wire, you have held the same place in my heart!"
"The place next to Cyn!" was Nattie's involuntary bitter thought, but she instantly stifled the feeling, and answered,
"Thank you, Clem; and I hope we may always be the same friends."
At this Clem took an impetuous step towards her, and would have said—who can tell what?—had not at the same moment Mrs. Simonson, very much out of breath, come up with them. Nattie was not sorry. She had wished to say to him what she had, that he might not think her changed manner of late had been caused by any feeling of dislike, and might understand she wished him success with Cyn. But she had no desire to prolong the interview, and gladly walked on by the side of the puffing Mrs. Simonson.
Clem, however, looked displeased, and followed with a thoughtful face; so thoughtful that Mrs. Simonson noticed and wondered at his preoccupation.
Meanwhile, Cyn, with Jo, were far in advance, and had turned into a by-path that led toward a slight rising, sauntering on, Cyn talking merrily, Jo unusually quiet, until suddenly stopping, she exclaimed,
"Dear me! we have lost sight of every one! Had we not better return?"
"No! I do not want to!" answered Jo, bluntly.
"Do you not? As you say, only we must not lose them. Possibly they may stroll this way; shall we sit down?" and without waiting for a response Cyn seated herself on a big rock by the side of the pathway.
Although Jo was not romantic, he had an artist-eye, and could not but note the beauty of the scene before him, a scene he did not need to reproduce on canvas to remember ever after;—the mountains in the background, the narrow path sloping down from the near hill to where, on the gray and moss-covered rock, Cyn sat, her dark eyes mellow with the summer sunshine, and the cherry ribbons of her hat giving the requisite touch of color to make the picture perfect.
For a moment he stood in silent admiration, then, taking off his hat, and smoothing down his shaven locks, he said,
"To tell the truth, Cyn, I do hope they will not stroll this way. They are around altogether too much. I never can have a quiet talk with you!"
"I declare, I believe in addition to your being unsentimental, and all that, you are becoming a confirmed grumbler!" exclaimed Cyn, as she caught one of the boughs of the tree overhead and turned a merrily-protesting face towards him.
Jo looked at her, and a queer expression came over his face.
"Am I?" he said, slowly. "Well—would you like to see me sentimental?Would you like to see me make a fool of myself?"
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure!" cried Cyn.
"Then," exclaimed Jo, planting himself directly in front of her, "here goes! now I am going to astonish you very much, Cyn!"
"Very well! I am all impatience! Go on!"
"But it is no joke!" he replied, in protest to her laughing face. "If I am to make a fool of myself I am going to do it in dead earnest!"
"That is the way, of course," responded Cyn, but beginning to look a little surprised.
For Jo seemed very much excited, and his manner indicated anything but a jest. Extraordinary creature, that Jo! His next proceeding was even more strange; that was to ask the apparently irrelevant question,
"Do you remember what we were all saying a short time ago, about Fate?"
"Certainly; but are you going to favor me with a dissertation on Fate, instead of making a fool of yourself?"
"No!" was the solemn reply, "have a little patience, Cyn. The fact is, you are my Fate—there is no mistake about it!—and must be either cruel or kind, and there's no alternative!"
Cyn's surprise increased visibly.
"I am sure, I do not understand you at all! how queer you are to-day,Jo!"
"Of course I am queer! when a man throws his theories and hobbies to the winds, and confesses himself conquered, he is apt to be queer, is he not? Can you not understand, that I, Jo Norton, who have always scoffed at sentiment, and proudly declared myself incapable of being the victim of love, am ready—yes, and longing!—to make as big a fool of myself as the veriest spooniest youth in existence, and all for love of you, Cyn?"
To this exceedingly novel declaration of love, Cyn responded by releasing the bough she held, and staring at him with distended eyes and a perfectly blank face; for once in her life, speechless.
"I told you I was going to astonish you," said Jo, quaintly, in answer to her prolonged stare, "and I do not wonder that you cannot believe I really love you! I did not myself, for a long time, and I would not after I knew it! But it is a fact. No joke—no mistake, but a sober, serious fact! I love you, love you, love you!"
Jo's voice grew very fervent, as he uttered these last words, and was in such striking contrast to his ordinary manner, that Cyn could but see that this was indeed, "no joke."
"You—you love—andlove me!" she gasped.
"Yes, I could not help it! I have only known it within a few days, but I think I have loved you ever since we first met, only those confounded theories of mine blinded me."
"Well—but what are you going to do about it?" questioned Cyn, unable yet to recover from her bewilderment.
Jo looked at her, wistfully.
"I know I am homely, Cyn, and I am poor; I have nothing to offer you but an honest, loving and true heart. I suppose a man who is in love is naturally unreasonable—I never was in love before, you know—but an extravagant hope will whisper to me, that even this little might not be unappreciated by you."
And as he spoke, Jo's face was so transfigured that it could no longer be called plain. Cyn gazed at him in wonder, and recovering partly from her first surprise, an unusual seriousness came over her own handsome face, as she answered earnestly,
"It is not unappreciated! oh, no, Jo! Nothing to offer me but an honest, loving and true heart, you say? why, that is everything!"
"Then will you accept it? May I try and win your love?" he asked eagerly, advancing close to her. "I will work very hard to make myself worthy of it, and to win a name you need not be ashamed to bear. I lay myself, my life at your feet, Cyn."
"And this is unsentimental Jo!" Cyn exclaimed involuntarily.
"This is unsentimental Jo," he answered, in all humility. "Do with him what you will; he is all yours."
Into Cyn's expressive eyes came some deeply-stirred emotion.
"I am so sorry;" she said, sadly, "so very, very sorry! what shall I say? what shall I do? I like you so much as a friend! But what you ask, Jo, could never be!"
The sun sank behind the distant hills, and a shadow, such as had fallen over the woods behind them, settled on Jo's face.
"The idea is new to you. At least, think it over. Do not leave me without a little hope," he entreated.
"Jo, I wish—yes! Idowish that I could love you as you deserve to be loved," said Cyn, earnestly. "But it cannot be! it never could be! Do not deceive yourself with false hopes. Friends always, Jo, but lovers never!"
"Ah!" exclaimed Jo, bitterly, unable to restrain his jealousy, "it isClem who stands between us!"
"Clemwho stands between us!" echoed Cyn, astounded for the second time that day.
"There—now I have lowered myself in your estimation; I am but a blundering fool, Cyn. You see I am selfish in my love; and I have not yet become sentimental enough to be willing to see another fellow win what is all the world to me!"
Cyn's face grew red as was the sky when the sun had gone down.
"Do you mean to insinuate that I am in love with Clem?" she asked, angrily.
"I would not insinuate it for all the world, if you are not," was Jo's eager reply; "I am not experienced in love matters, but I am quite sure he loves you—and he is very handsome," he added ruefully.
"What a dreadful combination of circumstances!" cried Cyn, distractedly."But, pshaw! It's impossible!"
"Impossible? No, indeed! Why, it was by being so jealous of him that I first awoke to the fact that I was in love with you myself. Besides, every one has noticed his fondness for you."
"They have?" vehemently, and smiting the rock where she sat with her hand, as she spoke. "But this is truly awful!"
"Then you do not care for him?" questioned Jo, joyfully.
"Care for him?" repeated Cyn, irritably. "Of course I care for him! Is it not my pet scheme that he should marry Nattie? Certainly it is, and has been from the first! And now, if he has gone and fallen in love withme, a nice predicament we will all be in. But you must be mistaken! I cannot believe him capable of such a thing! The only reason I have to fear it is that I would not have credited it ofyouyesterday!"
"But you see I do love you. You believe I do, do you not, Cyn?" askedJo, too eager to press his own suit to give much thought to Nattie andClem. "Why will you not try and love me, as you do not love Clem? Am Iso homely as to be repulsive to you?"
"Homely? Nonsense!" replied Cyn, momentarily putting aside her newest anxiety for the previous one, "now I come to think of it, I had rather marry you than any man I know!"
"Would you? Would you really?" seizing her hand hopefully. "Then why will you not?"
Cyn allowed her hand to remain in his as she said slowly and impressively,
"I cannot marry. That is entirely out of the question for me. Of my life, love can form no part!"
"But I thought you believed in love?" said Jo, looking perplexed, but clinging to her hand as a sort of anchor.
"I do. I believe it is the best happiness of life. But it cannot be for me. Why, I will tell you. I owe this much in return for what you have given me; what I prize even though I am compelled to refuse it. What stands between us is the memory of a love—gone forever."
"What!" exclaimed Jo, astounded in his turn. "You do not mean to say that you—that you—you, the gayest of the gay—thatyou—" Jo stopped, unable to proceed.
"You hardly expected to find me in theroleof the victim of a broken heart, did you?" questioned Cyn, with a half-sad, half-humorous smile. "I admit I do not exactly answer to the average description, and my heart is not broken—there is only a blank in it—something dead that can never live again. Once I loved a man with all my heart"—Jo sighed—"with all the illusion of youth, and he loved me. The difference between his love and mine was, that mine was forever, and his was for a day."
"Impossible!" interrupted Jo. "No man who once loved you could ever change."
"He happened to be one of the kind whocould. I never really knew the cause—it might have been another woman. You know there alwaysisanother woman."
"Or another man," added Jo gloomily.
"Yes," assented Cyn, and continued. "He was one of the kind, I think now, who are incapable of appreciating a woman's love, and consequently unworthy of it. But unfortunately, I did not know this, and wasted mine on him. So he and love, went out of my life forever. But," with a proud raising of her head, "I would not be weak enough to allow all my life to be ruined because one part of it was wrecked; with so much gone, there still remained something, and of that I made the most. This is why my art is everything to me, and why I cannot marry you."
"But it seems to me unreasonable, that because you loved one man who was unworthy, you should refuse the love of another who would try very hard to make you forget that first sad experience," argued Jo. "Give me what you have left, Cyn! If it be but dead ashes, I will thank God for the gift, and perhaps, at some future day, in response to my devotion, even from those ashes shall arise another love, so strong, so intense, that, in comparison, the old shall be but as some half-forgotten trouble of childhood, whose remembrance cannot awaken even a passing pain."
The fervor of an honest affection made Jo truly eloquent, and his true blue eyes met the dark ones of Cyn, glowing with earnestness and love, and for a moment she looked at him and hesitated. Then she arose, saying resolutely,
"No! Jo! no! Do not tempt me! The experiment would be too dangerous! To give you a warmed-over affection in return for your whole heart, would only be misery for us both—more misery than I am bringing to you now. I respect and esteem you, as I said before—we will be friends—comrades—always—no more!"
As she spoke, she extended her hand to him, in farewell to all his hopes.
And so understanding he clasped it, a sadness on his face she had never seen there before.
"As you will, Cyn," he replied, brokenly, "but I shall love you—forever!"
As he spoke, from below came the cry,
"Cyn Jo! where are you? we are going!"
"Coming!" Cyn's clear voice answered back.
"One moment," Jo said, detaining her, "may I—may I kiss you once, Cyn?Once, and for the last time?"
There were tears in Cyn's eyes. She bent her handsome head, their lips met, then, without a word, they went on together to join those who awaited them.
And it was thus Fate decreed for these two.
Love brings the most intense sorrows, the keenest joys of life. But there must always be some lives, into which comes only the sadness, and none of the bliss, of loving.
Leaving Clem, on their arrival at the hotel, to bear the burden of the green stuff they had brought from the woods, Cyn, with a trace of melancholy on her sunny face, followed Nattie to her room. For Cyn's joyous picnic, with its gay beginning, had ended sadly enough for her.
"I want to ask you something," Cyn said, with frank directness, as she carefully closed the door behind them. "And that is, are you, can you be foolish enough to imagine, that Clem and I are in love with each other?"
The small basket Nattie held in her hand fell to the floor, at this unexpected question. Had Cyn drawn forth a bowie-knife, and playfully clipped off her nose, she could not have been more astounded.
"If you can possibly reduce your eyes to their ordinary size, and give me a candid yes or no, I will be obliged," Cyn said, rather petulantly, after waiting in vain for an answer. The events of the day had sorely tried her usually even temper.
A little tremulously, while a burning flush covered her face, Nattie answered her,
"I—I have heard it intimated!"
"You have heard it intimated! That means yes, to my question," said Cyn; then sinking despairingly on the lounge, she added, "here is a crisis of which I never dreamed!"
Not understanding very well, and moreover much agitated by the subject,Nattie knew not what to say.
"This is awful!" went on Cyn, savagely beating the pillow with her fist; "what contrary things love affairs are!"
Fearful of having in some way betrayed her secret—the only conclusion she could draw from Cyn's extraordinary outburst—Nattie stood looking guiltily at the floor a few moments, then recovering herself, she went to Cyn, and said, in a voice full of emotion,
"I do not just comprehend your meaning, dear, but it may be you think I might not quite like the idea, on account of that—that first affair on the wire. If so, dismiss the thought. You and Clem are suited to each other, and—" Nattie stopped, unable to continue.
Cyn, who had been beating the innocent pillow, as if it was the cause of all this, while Nattie was speaking, now threw it across the room, as she exclaimed.
"Oh! the perversity of human nature! Oh! you degenerate girl! As if I cared for Clem in that way! Have I not from the first set my heart on this real-life romance ending in the only way it could rightfully end?"
A sudden light came into Nattie's face, but it died away in a moment.
"Then you do not care for him? Poor Clem!" she said, in a low voice.
"Poor Clem, indeed!" cried Cyn, pacing the floor excitedly. "I cannot—no, I cannot—believe it of him! He certainly has sagacity enough not to run his head against a beam in broad daylight, even—"
"If Jo had not," she was about to add, but checked herself suddenly. Not for the world would she betray Jo's confidence. What had passed between them to-day should be a secret always, never again to be mentioned—but never forgotten in the friendship and companionship of after years.
"You must be very difficult to suit, dear, if you do not like Clem!" said Nattie, with unconscious significance, after waiting in vain for Cyn to finish her sentence.
"It is not that," replied Cyn, somewhat sadly. "Do you not know I have only one love,—music?"
"Poor Clem!" again said Nattie, from the depths of her tender heart."For I know he loves you, dear. He could not help it, who could?"
Such words would have been sweet to the vanity of an ordinary woman. But on Cyn they had a very opposite effect.
"Things have come to a pretty pass if one can not laugh and joke, and enjoy one's self with friends without being made love to!" she said, annoyed. Then looking scrutinizingly at Nattie, she asked,
"And you—did you really wish Clem and I might love each other?"
Nattie played nervously with the fringe of her dress, hesitated, then replied in a low tone,
"I fear I did not, Cyn!"
"Then it may come right yet!" exclaimed Cyn, hopefully.
Nattie shook her head.
"And he loving you? Oh, no!" she said. "I shall never be able to sayO.K. to what you term your romance of the dots and dashes, Cyn. In fact,I have made up my mind that there are some people born to go throughlife missing both its best and its worst, and that I am one!"
"Pray, do not say that!" urged Cyn, too disturbed to bring her easy philosophy to bear on the situation. "Of all things, do not get morbid."
"But it is the truth!" persisted Nattie. "Even my name, for instance, proves it! I was christened Nathalie, a very fine poetic name. But, in all my life no one ever called me by it! I was always mediocre Nattie!"
"AndIhave curtailed you down to Nat!" said Cyn, with whimsical remorse. "But what a tangle we are in! First it was the man of musk and bear's grease, who came between you! Then, when he was explained away, came blundering I! Why did you not lock me out of sight somewhere? I would have done it myself had I known—" ironically— "what an extremely fascinating and dangerous person I was!"
At this Nattie could not help smiling.
"Is was not your fault; it was Fate!" she said, her smile becoming a sigh, that Cyn echoed, for she thought of Jo. But yet unconvinced, she said,
"Fate! No; it cannot be! I think better of Clem than to believe he, too, has made a mistake, like Quimby, and fallen in love with the wrong woman!" then starting up, she exclaimed, tragically, "Who? ah! who shall cut the Gordian knot and bring about a crisis that shall cause this 'wired love' to terminate in 'O. K.'?"
As if invoked by Cyn's words, there came a sneeze from outside, and MissKling pushed open the door unceremoniously.
"I wish to have some conversation with you, Miss Rogers," she said in a tone of severity.
"Some other time, if you please," Nattie replied, impatiently, for her talk with Cyn had unnerved her; "just now I am engaged."
Miss Kling drew herself up and said, with even more austerity,
"There is no time like the present, and since Miss Archer is here, it may not be amiss for her to hear what I have to say."
Nattie frowned, but Cyn, not unwilling to be diverted even by Miss Kling from the topic that was so annoying her, said,
"Very well. We are listening, Miss Kling."
"Miss Rogers," proceeded Miss Kling solemnly, after a preparatory sneeze, "I knowall."
The emphasis on the last word was truly tremendous, and Nattie started astonished, while Cyn looked up with awakened curiosity.
"May I inquire what you mean by all?" inquired Nattie stiffly.
"Yes," repeated Miss Kling, without heeding the question. "I know ALL. I have for some time suspected that something underhanded was going on. Now I know what it is that has been so carefully concealed from me! I have long objected to your associates, Miss Rogers, but—"
"Pardon me, but that certainly does not concern you!" interrupted Cyn disdainfully.
Miss Kling looked at her and sneezed a sinister sneeze.
"It concerns me to know what kind of people I have in my house!" she replied, "and since you force me to speak out, Miss Archer, I will say that in my opinion no truly modest and proper girl would become intimate with those who pad their legs and paint their faces, and show themselves to the public"—this insinuation struck Cyn so comically that she could hardly suppress a laugh. "My suspicions, to return to what I was about to say, Miss Rogers, were first awakened by hearing that—that instrument"—Cyn and Nattie exchanged looks of intelligence—"you have here going, when I knew you were not in the room. And now, as I said, I knowall! I pass over the audacity of such proceedings onmypremises, but their utter immorality is too much for me to bear! Yes! I found a wire, and know where it leads! Into the room of two young men! That any young woman should so immodest as to establish telegraphic communication between her bed-room and the bed-room of two young men is beyond my comprehension!"
Cyn felt a mischievous desire to inquire how it would have struck her, had it been the bed-room ofoneyoung man? Nattie, who had flushed crimson at the first knowledge of Miss Kling's discovery, now drew herself up and replied with dignity,
"Really, Miss Kling, I think this extravagance of language utterly uncalled for! I admit it was not exactly correct for me to allow the wire to be run without consulting you, but beyond that, there was nothing reprehensible in my conduct."
Miss Kling held up her hands in horror.
"Nothing reprehensible in being connected by a telegraph wire with two young men!" she exclaimed. "Nothing—"
"Excuse my intrusion; but, Cyn, will you please inform me if I am to stand all night loaded with green stuff, like a farmer on a market day?" at this point the merry voice of Clem interrupted, as he came hastily in, still bearing the burden Cyn had piled upon him. Then becoming aware of Miss Kling's presence, he added to her, "I beg pardon for my abrupt entrance, but the outer door being open, I made bold to enter;" then explanatory to Cyn, "Your door was locked, as also was mine, of which Quimby has the key; and as Celeste has not yet been able to part with him, there I have been standing in the hall, like patience with a load of dandelions!"
"We were having such an interesting conversation," Cyn answered, with a scornful glance in Miss Kling's direction, "that I quite forgot you and the lapse of time."
Clem instantly became aware of something amiss in the atmosphere, and glanced around inquiringly. Miss Kling immediately enlightened him.
"There are many things you make bold to do, young man!" she said."Putting telegraph apparatus in my house, for instance!"
"Ah!" exclaimed Clem, comprehensively.
"Yes;" went on the aggrieved Miss Kling, "you and that Quimby, I suppose, did it. The idea originated with you, of course.Hehasn't brains enough; if he had he would not marry Celeste!" and Miss Kling sniffed in utter contempt of poor Quimby.
"Thanks for the compliment tomyintellectual abilities!" said Clem with a mischievous look; then advancing towards her, he answered in his own frank, manly way, "And so you have found us out? But I trust you will not be offended with us? It is, after all, a trifle, and we said nothing about it merely because we wished to have a little mystery of our own! It was, as the newsboys would say, a lark of ours!"
"Lark!" repeated Miss Kling, drawing herself up stiffly; "young man, you will oblige me by not using slang in my presence!"
"Pardon me," said Clem, good humoredly; "and in regard to the wire, blame me, if you must blame any one. As you say, it was all my doing, and I induced Miss Rogers to allow the wire to come into her room."
"And I, too," added Cyn, propitiatingly, for Nattie's sake, "I wished to learn the business, you know!"
But Miss Kling would not propitiate.
"Miss Rogers, I have no doubt, was very ready to be induced!" she said, with an effort at sarcasm. "I have heard of young females so much in love that they would run after and pursue young men, but never before of one so carried away and so lost to every sense of decorum, as to be obliged to have a wire run from her room to his, in order to communicate with him at improper times!"
This accusation, far-fetched and ridiculous as it was, yet being uttered in the presence of Clem, overwhelmed poor Nattie, and she sank on the lounge, burying her face in her hands, at which Clem made a hasty motion, and then, as if aware any interference of his would only make matters worse, checked himself. But Cyn came to the front with striking effect.
"You ought, certainly, to be well informed on the subject ofoldfemales who run afteroldmen!" she said, witheringly. "If one may believe what the Tor—what Mr. Fishblate says!"
This shot told. Miss Kling turned livid with rage and mortification, and burst into a terrific spasm of sneezing.
"Miss Rogers," she said, wrathfully, as soon as she recovered sufficiently to speak, "your conduct and that of your associates is such, that I can no longer allow you to remain on my premises.
"Miss Kling, this is—is very unjust,", said the agitated Nattie.
"It is against the wishes of her friends that she has remained as long as she has," cried Cyn, hotly.
"Miss Kling, your proceedings are infamous!" exclaimed Clem, not able to contain himself longer.
Rather afraid to draw out Cyn any more, Miss Kling gladly seized this opportunity to attack Clem.
"Young man, what right have you to interfere?" she inquired, majestically.
Clem bit his lip. Sure enough, what right had he?
He glanced at Nattie where she sat, pale and disturbed, at the scene that threatened to end seriously for her, and then, obeying a sudden impulse, seized the key at his side, and called,
Nattie looked up quickly, and while Miss Kling, who supposed he was wantonly drumming on the obnoxious instrument to exasperate her, vented her indignation, and also the outraged feelings caused by the Torpedo-wound inflicted by Cyn, still rankling, in a wrathful homily to which no one listened, for Cyn was watching Clem curiously, he wrote rapidly, his eyes on the sounder,
"She says I have no right to interfere. If you had not so changed towards me—if I could hope you loved me as I have ever loved you, I would ask you to give me the right, and let me put this pernicious discredit to her sex on the other side of that door!"
As these words in dots and dashes came to her ears, Nattie, forgetting Miss Kling, forgetting everything, except that she loved Clem, and Clem declared—could it be possible—that he loved her, arose hastily, with a quick joy suffusing her face, and then their eyes met, and neither words or dots and dashes were needed. Love, more potent than electricity, required no interpreter, and that most powerful of all magnets drew them together. Before the face and eyes of the amazed Miss Kling, who had just delivered herself of a sentence intended to be crushing, and could not conceive why her victim should suddenly look so happy over it, he advanced to Nattie's side, clasped her hand eagerly and tenderly, then turning to Miss Kling, said, while Cyn, surmising the truth of the matter, embraced herself fervently,
"Miss Kling, any farther observations you may have to make, you will be good enough to say to me, hereafter; and now, will you oblige me by leaving the room?" and he politely held open the door.
"What?" gasped Miss Kling, hardly believing her own ears.
"I cannot allow you to annoy Miss Rogers, the lady who is to be my wife!" Clem added; "and if she and I choose to have twelve telegraph wires, we will. Let me bid you good-evening!" and he pointed significantly at the open door.
"Your wife! Miss Rogers!" echoed the discomfited Miss Kling, and glanced at the blushing Nattie, at Cyn, undisguisedly exultant, and at Clem, determinedly waiting for her to go out. This was something she had not expected, and it took her aback. So, with a sneeze, she drew herself up, gave a spiteful parting shot,
"Well, she has worked hard enough to get you—had to bring the telegraph to her assistance!" and then retreated, before Cyn could retaliate with the Torpedo. Retreated to her own room, to nurse her wrath and envy, and to dream hopelessly, forever more, of that other self, never to come nearer than now!
The discreet Cyn, comprehending that Miss Kling had brought about that, "crisis," and that something had been said on the wire to the right purpose, followed her out, and left them alone. It is hardly necessary to mention, that as soon as the door closed behind Cyn, Clem took Nattie in his arms and kissed her. It was an inevitable consequence.
"And now explain why you have treated me so, you contrary little girl?" he queried, tenderly.
"I thought," Nattie replied, raising her gray eyes, from which the shadows were all gone now, to his, "that you loved Cyn."
"You did!" he said, surprised and reproachful; "and that is why you have been so cold and distant! How could you?"
"But Cyn is so handsome, and—I do not see how you could help it!" pleaded Nattie in self-extenuation.
"Of course she is handsome, talented, brilliant fascinating, everything that is nice," Clem answered, "but," in a low voice, "Cyn was not my little girl at B m!"
Of course, after this there was another inevitable consequence, and thenClem asked,
"And did you care because you imagined—you naughty, jealous girl—thatI loved Cyn?"
"Yes," Nattie answered, blushing, but honestly, "I was very unhappy, indeed I was, Clem! I think I loved you from the first—when you were invisible, you know!"
"And I," said Clem, "should have given myself up a victim to despair, like Quimby, if it had not been for one thing. Jo made me a duplicate of that picture you destroyed, and the fact that you never even mentioned the Cupid overhead gave me hope!" and his own roguish look was in his eyes as he saw Nattie's confusion, and laughing his merry laugh, he clasped her in his arms.
"I beg pardon," said Cyn tapping, and entering after a cautious interval, "But I come to inquire if Nat—I mean Nathalie—still thinks, as she did an hour ago, that Clem and I are just suited to each other?"
Nattie laughed and blushed.
"You see I set my heart on this from the beginning," said Cyn to Clem, not thinking it necessary to define to what "this" referred. "It was such a perfect romance, you know! and she has been frightening me by declaring that you were in love with me, and was so positive that she almost made me believe it, notwithstanding my natural sagacity!"
"As I certainly should have been," replied Clem gallantly, "only for a prior attachment. You see, I loved Nattie before ever I saw you! Why, I used to pass the most of my time when at X n in wondering what she was like, and wishing—I was as near her as I am now, for instance. And how miserable I was, when she dropped me so suddenly! and how happy I was when I came upon her at that blessed feast, and the red hair was all explained away. And then came another cross on the circuit of my true love."
"And had it not been for thatdearBetsey Kling with her invectives we should have been mixed, and not had a cue now!" exclaimed Cyn. "I declare, I could hug her!"
But Betsey Kling not being available just then, she substituted Nattie, and gave her a most emphatic squeeze.
"It was your shot about the Torpedo that finished her, Cyn," laughedClem.
"Itwaseffective, I flatter myself," Cyn confessed. "And that reminds me, you must not stay here now, Nat, you know; so I have seen Mrs. Simonson, and you are going to live with me—for the present"—glancing archly at her, "until that book is written, for instance."
"And itwillbe written, now, I know!" said Nattie, earnestly, her eyes shining. "You remember what you once said, Cyn? I see now you were right."
"Yes;" said Cyn, seriously, "and thank Heaven that it was love, and not disappointment, that came!"
"Love shall not come in vain!" Nattie said, as seriously. "I will be worthy of it!"
The after years only could prove her words. But in Clem's face the belief in them was written as plainly as if those future possibilities were acknowledged results.
"We must have another feast to celebrate events!" Cyn said then, gayly. "You are happy; my romance is O. K.; Celeste is ecstatic; Quimby as joyful as circumstances permit the victim of mistake to be; Jo and I are hopeful of future fame—and we certainly must have a feast!"
"With plenty of dishes this time," laughed Clem, "and there shall be no more crosses on the wire!"
"But bless my heart!" ejaculated Cyn, "here you two are making love like ordinary mortals"—at this Nattie hastily withdrew the hand Clem had taken— "Quimby and Celeste, for instance! This will never do! We must end this romance of dots and dashes as it commenced, to make it truly 'Wired Love!'"
"True enough! so we must!" answered Clem merrily, and rising, he went to the "key," with his eyes looking straight into Nattie's, and wrote something that made her blush and seize his hand in shy and unnecessary alarm, saying,
"Suppose Jo should be over in your room! He might be able to read it!"
"Very well," replied Clem, as he laughed and kissed her, regardless of the spectator. "I am quite content to make love like common mortals, Cyn, and I hope, my darling Nattie, that we are done now with all 'breaks' and 'crosses,' as we are with Wired Love. Henceforth ours shall be the pure, unalloyed article, genuine love!"
And Nattie, half-laughing, half-serious, but wholly glad, took the key and wrote, "O. K."
If any one is anxious to know what Clem wrote when Nattie stopped him, here it is.
[Transcriber's Note. The concluding three lines were printed in the American Railroad dialect of Morse. It cannot easily be represented in ASCII as it requires dashes of different lengths]