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diff --git a/37003.txt b/37003.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..be45e86 --- /dev/null +++ b/37003.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12499 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline, by Jennie M. Drinkwater + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline + A Story of the Development of a Young Girl's Life + +Author: Jennie M. Drinkwater + +Release Date: August 7, 2011 [EBook #37003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TESSA WADSWORTH'S DISCIPLINE *** + + + + +Produced by Katherine Ward, Roger Frank and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +[Illustration: Nan drew Tessa's cheek down to her lips. (_Page 329_)] + + + + + Tessa Wadsworth's + Discipline + + A Story of the Development of a Young Girl's Life + + By Jennie M. Drinkwater + + Author of "Growing Up," "Bek's First Corner," + "Miss Prudence," etc., etc. + + "The people that stood below + She knew but little about; + And this story's a moral, I know, + If you'll try to find it out." + + A. L. Burt Company, Publishers + New York + + + + + Copyright 1879, + By Robert Carter & Brothers. + + + + + Dedication. + + TO + MY FRIEND + Mary V. Childs. + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + 1. Hearts that Seemed to Differ 9 + 2. The Silent Side 20 + 3. The Last Night of the Old Year 31 + 4. Somebody New 55 + 5. Hearts that were Waiting 65 + 6. Another Opportunity 81 + 7. The Long Day 90 + 8. A Note out of Tune 101 + 9. The New Morning 140 + 10. Forgetting the Bread 156 + 11. On the Highway 162 + 12. Good Enough to be True 178 + 13. The Heart of Love 188 + 14. Wheat, not Bread 211 + 15. September 217 + 16. A Tangle 244 + 17. The Night Before 258 + 18. Moods 280 + 19. The Old Story 293 + 20. Several Things 305 + 21. Through 330 + 22. Several Other Things 338 + 23. What She Meant 362 + 24. Shut in 367 + 25. Blue Myrtle 377 + 26. Another May 390 + 27. Sunset 397 + 28. Hearts Alike 405 + + + + +TESSA WADSWORTH'S DISCIPLINE. + + + + +I.--HEARTS THAT SEEMED TO DIFFER. + + +She was standing one afternoon on the broad piazza, leaning against the +railing, with color enough in her usually colorless cheeks as she +watched the tall figure passing through the low gateway; he turned +towards the watching eyes, smiled, and touched his hat. + +"You will be in again this week," she said coaxingly, "you can give me +ten minutes out of your busy-ness." + +"Twice ten, perhaps." + +The light that flashed into her eyes was her only reply; she stood +leaning forward, playing with the oleander blossoms under her hand until +he had seated himself in his carriage and driven away; not until the +brown head and straw hat had disappeared behind the clump of willows at +the corner did she stir or move her eyes, then the happy feet in the +bronze slippers tripped up-stairs to her own chamber. Dinah had left her +slate on a chair, and dropped her algebra on the carpet, at the sound of +Norah's voice below the window. + +Tessa was glad to be alone; she was always glad to be alone after Ralph +Towne had left her, to think over all that he had said, and to feel +again the warm shining of his brown eyes; to thank God with a few, low, +joyful exclamations that He had brought this friend into her life; and +then, as foolish women will, she must look into her own face and try to +see it as he saw it,--cheeks aglow, tremulous lips, and such a light in +the blue eyes! + +She did not know that her eyes could look like that. She had thought +them pale, cold, meaningless, and now they were like no eyes that she +had ever looked into; a dancing, tender, blue delight. + +Had he read her secret in them? + +Her enthusiasm with its newness, sweetness, and freshness,--for it was as +fresh as her heart was pure,--was moulding all her thoughts, +strengthening her desire to become in all things true and womanly, and +making her as blithe all day long as the birds that twittered in the +apple-tree near her chamber window. + +It mattered not how her hands were busied so long as her heart could be +full of him. And he, Ralph Towne, blind and obtuse as any man would be +who lived among books and not in the world at all, and more than a +trifle selfish, as men sometimes find themselves to be, little thinking +of the effect of his chance visits and fitful attentions, had in the +last two months come to a knowledge that grieved him; for he was an +honorable man, he loved God and reverenced womankind. He had not time +now to think of any thing but the book for which he was collecting +material. It was something in the natural history line, he had once told +her, but he never cared to speak of it; indeed Ralph Towne cared to talk +but of few things; but she loved to talk and he loved to listen. He +loved to listen to her, but he did not love her (so he assured himself), +he only loved her presence, as he loved the sunshine, and he did not +love the sunshine well enough to fret when the day was gloomy; in these +days he did not love any body or any thing but himself, his books, and +his mother. + +Dunellen said that he was proud of his money and proud of a +great-great-grandmother who had been cousin to one of the president's +wives; but Tessa knew that he was not proud of any thing but his +beautiful white-haired mother. + +Not understanding the signs of love, how could he know that Tessa +Wadsworth was growing to love _him_; he had never thought of himself as +particularly worth loving. Surely she knew a dozen men who were +handsomer (if that were what she cared for), and another dozen who could +talk and tell stories and say pretty things to women (if _that_ were +what attracted her); still he knew to-day that his presence and light +talk (he did not remember that he had said any thing to be treasured) +had moved her beyond her wont. She was usually only self-contained and +dignified; but to-day there must have been some adequate cause for her +changing color, for the lighting and deepening of her eyes as they met +his so frankly; he was sure to-day of what he had only surmised +before,--that this sensitive, high-spirited, pure-hearted woman loved him +as it had never entered his preoccupied mind or selfish heart to love +her or indeed any human being. + +"I have been a fool!" he ejaculated. "Well, it is done, and, with a +woman like her, it can not be undone! Miserable bungler that I am, I +have been trying to make matters better, and I have made them a thousand +times worse! Why did I promise to call again this week? Why did I give +her a right to ask me? I wish that I had _never_ seen her! God +knows,"--she would never have forgotten his eyes could she have seen them +at this instant, penitent and self-reproachful,--"that I did not _mean_ +to trifle with her." + +Meanwhile, resting in Dinah's chair, with the algebra and slate at her +feet, she was thinking over and over the words he had spoken that +afternoon; very few they were, but simple and sincere; at least so they +sounded to her. She smiled as "I _do_ care very much" repeated itself to +her, with the tone and the raising of the eyes. + +"Very much!" as much as she did? It was about a trifle, some little +thing that she had put into rhyme for him; how many rhymes she had +written for him this summer! He so often said, "Write this up for me," +and she had so intensely enjoyed the doing it, and so intensely enjoyed +his appreciation--his over-appreciation, she always thought. + +O, Tessa, Tessa, pick up that algebra, and go to work with it. Life's +problems are too complex for your unworldliness. + +She stooped to pick up Dinah's slate, and, instead of finishing the work +upon it, she wrote out rapidly a thought that had tinged her cheeks +while Ralph Towne had been with her. _The silent side_ she called it. +Was it the silent side? If it were, how was it that he understood? She +_knew_ that he understood; she knew that he had understood when he +answered, "Twice ten, perhaps." + +Her mother's voice below broke in upon her reverie; fancy, sentiment, or +delicate feeling of any kind died a hard and sudden death under Mrs. +Wadsworth's influence, yet she read more novels than did either of her +daughters, and would cry her lovely eyes red and swollen over a story +that Tessa would not deign to skip through. It was one of her mother's +plaints that Tessa had no feeling. + +Ralph Towne did not give the promised "twice ten" minutes that week, nor +for weeks afterward; she met him several times driving with his mother, +or with his mother and Sue Greyson: her glad, quick look of recognition +was acknowledged by a lifting of the hat and a "good afternoon, Miss +Tessa." Once she met him alone with Sue Greyson. Sue's saucy, +self-congratulatory toss of the head stung her so that she could have +cried out. "I am ashamed"--no, I am not ashamed to tell you that she +cried herself to sleep that night, as she asked God to bless Ralph Towne +and make him happy and good. She could not have loved Ralph Towne if she +might not have prayed for him. Her mother would have been inexpressibly +shocked at such a mixture of "love and religion." + +"How long have you loved Christ?" asked the minister, when Tessa was +"examined" for admission to the church. + +"Ever since I have known Him," was the timid reply. + +And Ralph Towne, in these miserable days, for he _was_ miserable, as +miserable in his fashion as she was in hers, was blaming her and +excusing himself. What _had_ he ever said to her? Was every one of a +man's words to be counted? There was Sue Greyson, why didn't she turn +sentimental about him? True, he had said one day when they were talking +about friendship--what had he said that day? Was she remembering that? If +she had studied his words--but of course, she had forgotten! What had +possessed him to say such things? But how could he look at her and not +feel impelled to say something warm? It could not be his fault; it must +be hers, for leading him on and for remembering every trivial word. And +of that she was equally sure, for how could he do any man or any woman +wrong, this sincere and honorable Christian gentleman? + +In her imagination there was no one in a book or out of a book like +Ralph Towne. Gus Hammerton was a scholar and a gentleman, but she had +known him all her life; Felix Harrison was gracious and good, but he was +not like Ralph Towne. Ralph Towne was not her ideal, he was something +infinitely better than she could think; how beautiful it was to find +some one nobler and grander than her ideal! Far away in some wonderful, +unknown region he had grown up and had been made ready for her, and now +he had come to meet her; bewildered and grateful, she had loved him and +believed in him--almost as if that unknown region were heaven. + +It was her wildest dream come true; that is, it had come true, until +lately. Some strange thing was happening; it was happening and almost +breaking her heart. + +"Tessa, you look horrid nowadays," exclaimed Dinah, one afternoon, as +Tessa came up on the piazza, returning from her usual walk. "You are +white, and purple, and all colors, and you never sing about the house or +talk to me or to any body. You actually ran away while Mrs. Bird was +over here yesterday, and you don't even go to see Miss Jewett! She asked +me yesterday if you had gone away. When Laura was talking to you +yesterday, you looked as if you did not hear one word she said." + +"I was listening." + +"And you used to have such fun talking to Gus; I believe that you went +up-stairs while he was here last night." + +"I had a headache; I excused myself." + +"You always go down the road. Why don't you go through Dunellen?" + +"I want to get into the country; I never walk through a street simply +for the pleasure of it. I like to be alone." + +"Do you ever walk as far as Old Place?" + +"That isn't far, only three miles; sometimes I go to Mayfield, that is a +mile beyond Old Place." + +"Isn't Old Place splendid? Next to Mr. Gesner's it is the handsomest +place around." + +"It is more home-like than Mr. Gesner's." + +"Sue likes Mr. Gesner's better. I told her that I would take Old Place +and she could have Mr. Gesner's. Mr. Gesner's is stone; Old Place is all +wood. Do you ever see any of the Townes?" + +"There are not many to be seen." + +"Counting Sue, there are three. Sue thinks that she is stylish, driving +around with Mrs. Towne. She stayed a week with Miss Gesner once, too. +Why don't you and I get invited around to such places? Mrs. Towne ought +to invite you. Mr. Towne used to come here often enough." + +"Used to come!" Tessa shivered standing in the sunlight. "Yes, it was +'used to come,'" she was thinking. "I have been dreaming, now I am +awake. I wish that I had died while I was dreaming." + +"Now you look pale again! I guess you are growing up," laughed +unconscious Dinah; "it's hateful and horrid to grow up; I never shall. +Remember that I am always to be fifteen." + +"I hope that you never will grow up," said Tessa, earnestly, "every +thing is just as bad as you can dream." + +"Mr. Towne has given Sue coral ear-rings," Dinah ran on. Tessa had gone +down to her flower-bed to pull a few weeds that had pushed themselves in +among her pansies. "He gave his mother several groups in stone for the +dining-room; they are all funny, Sue says. In one, some children are +playing doctor; in another, they are playing school. He gave his cousin +a silk dress, and he bought himself a set of books for his birthday; he +was thirty-two. Did you think he was so old?" + +"Yes." + +"I say, Tessa, Sue thinks that she is going to marry him." + +"Does she?" The voice was away down in the flowers. + +"You are always among those flowers. Don't you wish that we had a +conservatory? They have a grand one at Old Place. I wonder why they have +so little company." + +"Mrs. Towne is feeble; she likes a quiet house." + +"Yes, Sue says that. But Grace Geer, his cousin, is there! Mrs. Towne is +to give Old Place and all its treasures to Mr. Towne upon his +wedding-day; she wants a daughter more than any thing, Sue says. I wish +she would take me. Sue thinks that she will take _her_. Every other word +that she speaks is 'Mr. Ralph.' She talks about him everywhere. Do _you_ +believe it?" + +"Believe what?" + +Tessa had returned to the piazza with a bunch of pansies. + +"Believe that she will marry him! She has real pretty manners when she +is with them, and really tries not to talk slang. But I don't believe +it. He treats her as he would treat any one else; I have seen them +together." + +"Perhaps she will. People say so," said Tessa. + +Poor motherless, sisterless Sue! Was she making a disappointment for +herself out of nothing? Or was it out of a something like hers? + +It was certainly true that Sue Greyson had taken a summer tour with Mrs. +Towne and Mr. Ralph Towne, and that she had spent more of her time +during the last year at Old Place than in her own small, unlovely home. +She loved her father "well enough," she would have told you; but after +the months at Old Place, she found the cottage in Dunellen a stale and +prosaic affair; her father had old Aunt Jane to keep house for him, why +did he need her? He would have to do without her some day. Doctor Lake +was great fun, why could he not be interested in him? + +"He is a stranger, not my only daughter," her father had once replied. + +"Your father will be glad enough and proud enough that he let you come +to Old Place," comforted Grace Geer, when Sue told her that he missed +her at home. "Ralph Towne's wife will be a happy woman for more reasons +than one; and he is interested in you, as one can see at a glance. He +told his mother to-day that he should always be glad that they had come +to Old Place." + + + + +II.--THE SILENT SIDE. + + +It was nearly six weeks after the day that she had watched him as far as +the clump of willows that he came again. Sue Greyson had driven him into +Dunellen that morning and had stopped at the gate on her return to tell +her about her "grand splendid, delightful times" at Old Place. + +"Cousin Grace has gone away; how we miss her music! Mr. Ralph did not +care for it, but Mrs. Towne and I cared. Mrs. Towne says that I ought to +have a music teacher; but I never did practice when I had one. I can't +apply my mind to any thing; Mr. Ralph says that I learn by observation. +I wonder why wise men choose silly wives always," she added consciously, +playing with the reins. + +"Do they?" asked Tessa, picking a lilac leaf from the shrubbery. + +[Illustration: "Is not this what we usually call the Indian summer?" +said Tessa, as she extended her hand.] + +"Cousin Grace says so. I wish I knew what ails Mr. Ralph. His mother +says that he is having a worry; she always knows when he is having a +worry by his eyes; they do look very melancholy, and last night I +overheard him say to Mrs. Towne, 'A man has to keep his eyes pretty wide +open not to step on peoples' toes.' I didn't think much of that, but he +said afterward, 'A man may do in an hour what he can't _undo_ in a +lifetime.' He never talks much, so I know that something is on his mind, +or he would not have talked so long. She said that he must be patient +and do right." + +"Why, Sue, you did not listen!" + +"Of course not. They were in the library, and I was on the balcony +outside the window. I heard his voice--he was walking up and down, and, I +confess, I _did_ want to know what it was all about! I thought that it +might be about me, you know. But I can't stay here all day; Mrs. Towne +is to take me to spend the day with the Gesners. It is splendid there. +Mr. John Gesner I don't like, but Mr. Lewis Gesner treats me so +respectfully and talks to me as if he liked to hear me talk. And Miss +Gesner is loveliness personified! Mr. Towne said that he had a call to +make this afternoon, and would walk home. He will be up in the four +o'clock train." + +"A call to make!" + +The words were in her ears all day; she dressed for her walk, then +concluded to stay at home. How could he undo what he had so +thoughtlessly, so mercilessly, done? Would he come and talk to her as he +had talked to his mother? Would he say, "I am sorry that you have +misinterpreted my words?" Misinterpreted! Did they not both speak +English? Sincere, straightforward, frank English? It was the only +language that she knew. In what tongue had he spoken to her? + +Her fluttering reverie was brought to a sudden and giddy end; the sound +of a firm tread on the dried leaves under the maple-trees outside the +gate, a tall figure in plain, elegant black,--the startled color in her +eyes told the rest; she sprang to her feet, dropped her long, white +work, shook off all outward nervousness, brushed her hair, fastened a +bow of blue ribbon down low on her braids, questioned her eyes and lips +to ascertain if they were _safe_, and then passed down the stair-way +with a light, sure tread, and stood on the piazza to welcome Ralph +Towne; her own composed, womanly self, rather more self-repressed than +usual, and with a slight stateliness that she had never assumed with +him. But he only noted that she appeared well and radiant; he understood +her no more--than he understood several other things. Ralph Towne had +been called "slow" from his babyhood. + +"Is not this what we usually call the Indian summer? We have not had +frost yet, I think," she said easily. + +His dark face crimsoned, he answered briefly, and dropped her hand. + +If he had ever prided himself upon his tact, he was aware that to-day it +would be a most miserable failure. How could he say, "You have +misunderstood me," when perhaps it was he who had misunderstood her? He +had come to her to-day by sheer force of will, not daring to stay away +longer--and what had he come for? To assure her--perhaps he did not intend +to assure her any thing; perhaps it was not necessary to assure her any +thing. Not very long ago he _had_ assured her that he could become to +her her "ideal of a friend," if she would "show" him how. Poor Tessa! +This showing him how was weary work. "Yes," he replied, wheeling a chair +nearer the open window, "the country is beautiful." + +That look about her flexible lips was telling its own story; she was +just the woman, he reasoned, to break her heart about such a fellow as +he was. + +"I have very little time for any thing outside my work," he said, +running on with his mental comments. All a man had to do to make himself +a hero was to let a woman like this fall in love with him. + +"What have _you_ been doing?" he asked in his tone of sincere interest. + +"All my own doings," she said lightly. "Mr. Hammerton and I have been +writing a criticism upon a novel and comparing notes, and I have sewed, +as all ladies do, and walked." + +"You are an English girl about walking." + +"I know every step of the way between Dunellen and Mayfield. Do _you_ +walk?" + +"No, I drive. My life has a lack. My book is falling through. I do not +find much in life." + +"Our best things are nearest to us, close about our feet," she answered. + +He did not reply. Ralph Towne never replied unless he chose. + +He opened his watch; he had been with her exactly ten minutes. + +"I have an engagement at six," he said. + +The flexible lips stiffened. "Do not let me detain you." + +He was regarding her with a smile in his eyes that she could not +interpret; her graceful head was thrown back against the mass of fluffy +white upon the chair, the white softening the outlines of a face that +surely needed not softening; the clear, unshrinking eyes meeting his +with all her truth in them; the blue ribbon at her throat, the gray +cashmere falling around her, touched him with a sense of fitness; the +slight hands clasping each other in her lap, slight even with their +strength, partly annoyed, partly baffled him. Mr. Hammerton had told her +that she had wilful hands. + +Regarding Tessa Wadsworth as regarding some other things, Ralph Towne +thought because he felt; he could not think any further than he thought +to-day, because he had not felt any further. + +There was another friend in her life who with Tessa Wadsworth as with +some other things felt because he thought, and he could not feel any +further than he felt to-day because he had not thought any further. + +For the first time since she had known Ralph Towne, she was wishing that +he were like Gus Hammerton. It had never occurred to her before to wish +that he would change. + +Each smiled under the survey. He was thinking, "I wish I loved you." She +was thinking, "You are a dear, big boy; I wish you were more manly." + +"You did not send me the poem you promised." + +"You said you would come soon." + +"Did you expect me?" + +"Had I any reason to doubt your word?" + +"You must not take literally all I say," he answered with irritation. + +"I have learned that. I have studied the world's arithmetic, but I do +not use it to solve any word of yours, any more than I have supposed +that you would use it to find the meaning of any problem you might +discover in my attitude towards you." + +"It is best not to dig and delve for a meaning, Miss Tessa; society +sanctions many phrases that you would not speak in sincerity." + +"Society!" she repeated in a tone that brought the color to his +forehead. "Is society my law-giver?" + +It was very pleasant to be loved by a woman like this woman; he could +not understand her, but she touched him like the perfume of the white +rose, or the note of the thrush. His next words were sincere and abrupt. +"You asked me some time since to burn the package of poems you have +written for me. If I had done as much for you, would you destroy them?" + +A flush, a dropping of the eyes, and a low laugh answered him. + +He arose quickly, with a motion of tossing off an ugly sensation. "I am +very much engaged; I do not know when I can come again. We are going +west for the winter." + +She could not lift her eyes, or speak, or catch her breath. She arose, +slowly, as if the movement were almost too great an effort, and stood +leaning against the tall chair, her fingers fumbling with the fringe of +the tidy; the room had become so darkened that the white fringe was but +a dark outline of something that she could feel. + +"Sue Greyson is to accompany my mother; I shall be much away, and I do +not like to leave her with strangers." + +"Sue is pleasant and lively." She had spoken, and now she could, not +quite clearly yet, but a glance revealed the blood surging to his +forehead, the veins swollen in his temples, even through the heavy +mustache she discerned the twitching of his lips. The pain in her heart +had opened her eyes wide. Had he come to make the parting final? What +had she done that he should thus thrust her away outside of all the +interests in his life? Did he know how she cared, and was he so sorry? +Was he trying to be "patient," as his mother had advised--patient with +her for taking him at his word? + +Dunellen had called her proud; this instant she was as humble as a +child. + +Slowly and sorrowfully she said, "Come again--some time." + +"Yes," he said, as slowly and as sorrowfully, "I will." + +He was very sorry for this woman who had been so foolish as to think +that his words had meant so much. + +She had closed the street door and was on the first step of the stairs +when her mother called to her from the sitting-room. + +"What did Sir Dignified Undemonstrative have to say for himself?" + +"He does not talk about himself." + +"It is your turn to get tea! It is Bridget's afternoon out." + +Mrs. Wadsworth was a little lady something less than five feet in +height, as slight as a girl of twelve, and prettier than either of her +daughters; with brown hair, brown eyes, and the sprightliest manner +possible. + +"Young enough to be Tessa's sister," Dunellen declared. + +But she was neither sister nor mother as her elder daughter defined the +words. + +"If you get him, Tessa, you'll get a catch," remarked Mrs. Wadsworth +watching the effect of her words. + +The first sound of her mother's voice had brought her to herself, her +self-contained, cautious and, oftentimes, sarcastic self. + +"Have you any order about tea?" + +Her studied respect toward her mother, was pitiful sometimes. It was +hard that she could not attain somewhat of her ideal of daughterhood. + +"No, but I want you to do an errand for me after tea. I forgot to ask +Dine to do it on her way from school." + +"Very well," she assented obediently. + +She stumbled on the basement stairs, and found the kitchen so dark that +she groped her way to a chair and sank into it, dropping her head on the +table. She could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing--the whole earth +was empty! + +Where was God? Had He gone, too? + +Through the open windows floated the sound of girls' voices, as Norah +and Dinah chatted and laughed in the garden. But the sound was far off; +the engine whistled and screamed, but the sound was not in her world; +carriages rolled past, the front gate swung to, her father's step was on +the piazza over her head, and he was calling, her dear old father, +"Where are you all, my three girls?" + +His fulfilled hope was bitterer than all her disappointments ever could +be. + +"I don't wonder," she said with a sob in her throat, as she arose and +pushed her hair back, "I don't wonder that he can not love me; but oh, I +wish that he had not told me a lie!" + +October passed; the days hurried into November; there was no more +leaf-hunting for her, no more long walks down the beautiful country +road, no more tripping up and down stairs with a song or a hymn on her +lips, no more of life, she would have said, for every thing seemed like +death. She did not die with shame, as at first she was sure that she +would do; she could not run away to the far end of the earth where she +would never again see his face; where every face would be a new face, +where no voice would speak his name; she could not dig a hole in the +earth and creep into it; she could not lie down at night and shut her +tired eyes, with both hands under her cheek, as she always fell asleep, +and never awake again, as she would love best of all to do; she could +cry out, but she could not hear the answer, "Oh, please tell me when I +_meant_ to be so good, why it had to be so hard." + +No; she had to live in a world where people would laugh at her if they +only knew; how she would shiver and freeze if her mother should once +begin to harp upon the sudden break. She could not bemoan herself all +the time; she was compelled to live because she had been born, and she +was compelled to thrive and grow cheery; there were even moments when +she forgot to be ashamed, for her mother's winter cough set in with the +cold winds, and beside being nurse, she was in reality the head of the +small household. Dinah was preparing to be graduated in the summer and +was no help at all; instead, an hour or two every evening Tessa was +asked to study with her, for she did not love study and was not quick +like her sister. + +And then she had her own special work to do, for she was a scribbler in +prose and rhyme; the half dozen weeklies that came to the house +contained more than once or twice during the year sprightly or pathetic +articles under the initials T. L. W. + +But few knew of this her "literary streak," as her mother styled it, for +she dreaded any publicity. + +Miss Jewett, her father, and Mr. Hammerton were her sole encouragers and +advisers; Mr. Towne was not aware that she dipped her pen in ink for any +one's pleasure but his own. Beside this work there were friends to +entertain, half the girldom in Dunellen were her friends or had been at +some time. + +Ralph Towne often wondered how she was "taking" it; he could have found +no sign of it in her face or in her life. Her father feared that she was +being overworked. Mr. Hammerton's short-sighted eyes noticed a shadow +flit across her eyes, sometimes, when she was talking to him, and said +to himself, "I see her often; I see a change that is not a change; there +is something happening that no one knows." + + + + +III.--THE LAST NIGHT OF THE OLD YEAR. + + +All her life she had longed for personal beauty; she loved every +beautiful thing and she wanted to love her own face. It was Ralph +Towne's perfect face that had drawn her to him, his voice, and his eyes, +like the woods in October. + +She had studied her face times enough by lamplight and sunlight to know +it thoroughly, but she could not discover the sweetness that Miss Jewett +saw, or the intelligence that delighted her father; she could find +without much searching the freckles on her nose, the shortness of her +upper lip, the two slight marks that infantile chicken-pox had dented +into her forehead, the upward tendency of her nose, and the dimple that +was only half a dimple in her chin. + +She was as pretty and as homely as any of the fair, blue-eyed girls in +Dunellen or elsewhere: with lips that shaped themselves with every +passing feeling; with eyes that could grow so bright and dark that one +could forget how bright they were; with the palest of chestnut hair, +worn high or low, as the little world of Dunellen demanded; with hands +slight and characteristic; a figure neither tall nor slender, but +perfectly proportioned, rounded and graceful; arrayed as neatly and +becomingly as she could be on her limited allowance, usually in plain +colors, often in black of a soft texture with a ribbon of some pale tint +at her throat and among her braids. A stranger might have taken her for +any one of the twenty-three girls in Miss Jewett's Bible class; that is +any one of the blue-eyed ones who wore gray vails and gray walking +suits. + +But you and I know better. + +With her self-depreciation she was one thing that she was not likely to +guess--the prettiest talker in the world. + +Felix Harrison had told Miss Jewett so years ago. + +"I haven't any accomplishments," she often sighed. + +"You do not need any," Mr. Hammerton had once said. + +One morning in December she chanced upon a bundle of old letters in one +of Dinah's drawers, they were written during the winter that she had +spent in the city two years ago. + +She drew one from its envelope; it was dated December 22, just two years +ago to-day; she ran through it eagerly. How often she had remembered +that day as an era; the beginning of the best things in her uneventful +life! The second perusal was more slow. "I have seen somebody new; he is +a friend of Aunt Dinah's, or his mother is, or was. Don't you remember +that handsome house near Mayfield, just above Laura's? When they were +building it, Laura and I used to speculate as to whom it belonged, and +wonder if it would make any difference to us. She said she would marry +the son (for of course there would be a handsome and learned son) and +that I should come to live with her forever; and Felix said that he +would buy it for me, some day; you and I used to play that we owned it +but that we preferred to live nearer Dunellen and had left it in charge +of our housekeeper! How often when the former owner was in Europe, I +have stood outside the gates and peered in and planned how happy we +would all be there. Father should rest and read, and enjoy all the +beautiful walks and the woods and the streams in the meadow with the +rustic bridge, and mother should have a coach and four, and you and Gus +and I would have it all. + +"All this preamble is to introduce the fact that the somebody new is the +owner of Old Place. Isn't that an odd name? I don't like it; I should +call it Maplewood; in the autumn it is nothing but one glory of maple. +His mother named it and they have become accustomed to its queerness. +His mother is wintering with a relative, an invalid, I believe; I think +that she has taken the invalid to Florida and the son (the father died +long ago) has come to spend the winter in the city. They say he is wise +and learned (I do not see any evidence of it, however), but he certainly +is a veritable Tawwo Chikwo, the beauty of the world. Get out my old +Lavengro and read about him. + +"He is almost as dark as a gypsy, too, his eyes are the brownest and +sunniest. I never saw such eyes (a sunbeam was lost one day and crept +into his eyes for a home), his hair, beard, and mustache are as brown as +his eyes; as brown, but not at all bright. + +"He looks like a big boy, but Aunt Dinah says that he is in the +neighborhood of thirty; his life has left no trace in his face, or +perhaps all that brown hair covers the traces of discipline. His manner +is gentleness and dignity united. But he can't talk. Or perhaps he +won't. + +"His replies (he ventures nothing else) are simple, good, kind, and +above all, _sincere_. I have a feeling that I shall believe every word +he says. That is something new for me, too. He doesn't think much of me. +He likes to hear me talk though; I have made several bright remarks for +the pleasure of the sunbeam in his eyes. + +"If I were his mother I should be sorry to do or say any thing to +frighten it away. + +"I know that he has never been in love; he could not be such a dear, +grave, humorous, gentle, dignified, stupid big boy if some girl had +shaken him up. + +"If he were the talker that Gus Hammerton is, I should go into raptures +over him. He is a doctor, too, but he has not begun practice; he has +been travelling with his mother. Is it not lovely to be rich enough to +do just what you like? + +"Tell Gus that I will answer his letter sometime; you may let him read +this if you like." + +This letter she tore into atoms; she glanced over the others to find +Ralph Towne's name; not once did she find it. + +"I will do something to commemorate this anniversary," she thought. "I +will drop his photograph into the fire, and tear the fly-leaf out of the +Mrs. Browning he gave me." + +Her name and his initials were all that was written in the book; very +carefully she cut out the entire page. + +"Why, child! have you seen a ghost?" her mother exclaimed, meeting her +in the hall. + +"Yes, but it was only a ghost; there was nothing real about it." + +That afternoon, having some sewing to do for her father, she betook +herself to the chilliness of the parlor grate; her mother was in a +fault-find frame of mind and Tessa's nerves were ready to be set on edge +at the least provocation. + +That parlor! She would have wept over its shabbiness had she ever been +able to find tears for such purposes. Wheeling an arm-chair near enough +to the grate to be made comfortable by all the heat there was, she +placed her feet on the fender and folded her hands over the work in her +lap. It was a raw day, the sky over Mr. Bird's house was unsympathetic, +the bare branches in the apple orchard stretched out in all directions +stiff and dry as if they were never to become green again; the outlook +was not cheering, the inlook was little more so; but how could she wish +for any thing more than her father was able to give his three dear +girls! + +This room had seemed pretty to her in the summer when the windows were +open and she could have flowers everywhere; Ralph Towne always spoke of +her flowers, and he had more than once leaned back in that worn green +arm-chair opposite hers, as if that stiff, low room were the place of +all places that he loved to be in. In dreary contrast with his own home, +how poor and tasteless this home must be! How the carpet must stare up +at him with its bunches of flowers and leaves upon its faded gray +ground; how plain the white shades must appear after curtains of real +lace; how worn and yellowish the green rep of the black-walnut +furniture; how few the books in the small bookcase; and the photographs +and engravings upon the walls, how they must shock him! How meagre and +coarse her dress must be to him after his mother's rich attire! + +She despised herself for pitying herself! + +Sue Greyson said that Old Place was fairy-land, but in her catalogue of +its attractions she had omitted the spacious library; his "den," Mr. +Towne called it. In Tessa's imagination he was ever in that room buried +among its treasures. + +Was her photograph in that room? What had he done with it? Where was he +keeping it? How he had coaxed for it! She had had it taken unwillingly; +it was altogether too much like giving herself away; but when she could +refuse no longer she had given it to him. A vignette with all herself in +it; too much of herself for him to understand; what would he do with it +now? Burn it, perhaps, as she had burned his; but he would not be +burning a ghost, it was her own self, that he had thrown away. + +"I should have despised myself forever if I had not believed in him and +been true," she reasoned. "I would rather trust in a lie than not +believe the truth. And how could I know that he was not true!" + +She took up her work and began to sew, her reverie running on and +running away with her; an ottoman stood near her, she had laid +needlework and scissors upon it: how many associations there were +clustering around it! It was an ugly looking thing, too; her mother had +worked the cover one winter years ago when she was kept in by a cough; +the wreath of roses was so unlike roses, and the parrot that was poised +in the centre of the wreath, on a brown twig, was so ungainly! One +night--how long ago it was--before she had ever seen Ralph Towne, Felix +Harrison had been seated upon it while he told her with such a warm, shy +glance that he never slept without praying for her. And Ralph Towne had +scattered his photographs over it, and asked her to choose from among +them, saying, "I should not have had them taken but for you." + +The ugly old parrot was dear after all. + +"I wonder," she soliloquized, taking slow stitches, "if having lost +faith in a person, it can ever be brought back again? If he should come +and say that he has been wrong--" + +The gate clicked, in an instant she was on her feet, _had_ he come to +confess himself in the wrong? Oh, how she would forgive and forget! And +trust him? + +The tall thin figure had a stoop in its shoulders, Ralph Towne was +erect; the overcoat was carelessly worn, revealing a threadbare vest and +loose black necktie; it was only Dr. Lake, Dr. Greyson's new partner. + +She had been drawn to him the first moment of their meeting. As soon as +he had left after his first call, she had said to Dinah: "I never felt +so towards any one before; I shall be so sorry for him to go away where +I can not follow him; I want to put my arms around him and coax him to +be good." + +"How do you know that he isn't good?" + +"I do know it. I do not know how I know. He hasn't any 'women folks' +either. He is as sensitive to every change in one's voice as the +thermometer is to changes in the atmosphere. I never saw any one like +him before. When I make a collection of curiosities I find in Human +Nature, I shall certainly take him for one of the rarest and most +interesting. It would not take two minutes to convert him from the +inquisitor to the martyr at the stake. I feel as if he were a little +child crying with a thorn in his finger, and he had no mother to take it +out." + +"He was only here fifteen minutes and he was as full of fun as he could +be; he ran down the piazza, and he whistled while he was unhitching his +horse, and began to sing as he drove off. Oh, you are so funny! you hear +a man talk slang--he is equal to Sue Greyson for that--ask mother about +her cough, tell a funny story, and then think his heart is breaking with +a thorn in his finger." + +Tessa would not laugh. "I want him to stay; I don't want ever to lose +him." + +"Isn't he ugly? Such a tall, square forehead. Did you ever see such a +forehead?" + +"My first thought of him was, 'oh, how homely you are.'" + +But that first thought never recurred; she was too much attracted by his +rapid, easy utterance and sensitive voice to remember his plain face and +careless attire. + +She resumed her sewing with a new train of thought and had forgotten Dr. +Lake's entrance, when Bridget came to the door with a request from Mrs +Wadsworth; opening the door of the sitting-room, she found her mother +leaning back in her sewing chair with a plaintive and childish +expression, and Dr. Lake playing with her spools of silk, sitting in a +careless attitude of perfect grace at her side. Tessa was sorry to have +the picture spoiled by his rising to greet her. + +"Ralph Towne, M.D.," he was replying, "he was born with a gold spoon in +his pretty mouth! It would have been better for him if it had been +silver-plated like mine. Quit? He's a mummy, a cloister, a tomb! I do +not quarrel with any man's calling," he continued, winding the black +silk around his fingers, "circumstances have made me a physician. +Calling! It means something only when circumstances have nothing to do +with it." + +"Read the lives of the world's best workers," said Tessa. + +"A glass of water, an empty glass, and a spoon, if you please, Miss +Tessa. Do you remember--I have forgotten his name--but I assure you that I +am not concocting the story--he rose to eminence in the medical +profession, several rounds higher in the ladder of fame than I expect to +climb--and his mind was drawn towards medicine when he was a youngster by +the display of gold lace that his father's physician flung into the eyes +of the world. Gold lace made that boy a famous doctor." Tessa brought +the glasses and the water; in a leisurely manner he counted a certain +number of spoonfuls of water into the empty glass. "I'm a commonplace +fellow! I'm not one of the world's workers! Neither is Ralph Towne! To +have an easy life and not do _much_ harm is the most I hope for in this +world; as for the next, who knows anything about that? I say, 'Your +tongue, please,' and drop medicine and make powders all day long for my +bread and butter. I have no faith in medicine." + +"Then you are an impostor! You shall never see even the tip of my +tongue." + +He laughed as if it were such fun to laugh. + +"What is medicine to you?" he asked after counting forty drops from a +vial into the water. "A woman in a crowd once touched the border of a +certain garment and through faith was healed; so I take the thing that +He has ordained for healing, all created things are His garment; through +His garment I come nearer to Him and am healed." + +Mrs. Wadsworth looked annoyed. "So I may take cream instead of cod liver +oil, doctor." + +"If you prefer it," he answered carelessly. "Miss Tessa, you are a +Mystic." + +Tessa liked to watch the motion of his fingers; his hands were small, +shapely, and every movement of them struck her as an apt quotation. She +was learning as much of himself from his hands as from his face. + +"Now I must go and scold Felix Harrison," he said rising. "A teaspoonful +in a wineglass of water three times a day, Mrs. Wadsworth! He had an +attack last night and cheated me out of my dreams. Do you know him, +Mystic? If he do not leave off brain work he will make a fool of +himself. A gold spoon would not have hurt him." + +He turned suddenly facing Tessa as they stood alone in the hall; he was +seriousness itself now; a look of care had settled over his features. He +was not a "big boy," he was a man, undisciplined, it is true, but a man +to whom life meant many disappointments and hard work. + +"What is the matter with you? Do you ever go to sleep? If you do not +give up thinking and take to nonsense and novels, I shall be called to +take you through a nervous fever. Mind, I am in earnest. Don't spend too +much time in washing the disciples' feet either; it is very charming to +be St. Theresa, but you are not strong enough." + +"Thank you. I am well. Is Sue at home?" + +"No, she stays at Old Place until her knight departs. He had better go +soon or I shall meet him in the woods. Alone. At midnight. What is he +trifling with her for? Does he intend to marry her?" + +Was this his thorn? Could he love a shallow girl like Sue Greyson? + +"Ought we to talk about her?" she asked gently. + +"You are her friend. You are older than she is. She will not listen to +me. Her father takes no more care of her than he does of you." + +"She has not cared for me lately." + +"She does care for you. You must pull her through this. Towne made a +fool of a girl I know--she is married, though; it didn't smash her +affections very deep; married rich, too. But it will be a pity for Sue +to have a heartache all for nix; she is a guileless piece; I would be +sorry for her to have a disappointment." + +"Motherless children are always taken care of," she answered trying to +speak lightly. + +In the twilight she sat alone at the parlor grate; it was beginning to +rain; through the mist the lights in kitchen and parlor opposite were +gleaming; Dinah and Bridget were laughing in the basement; a quick, hard +cough, then her father's voice in a concerned tone sounded through the +stillness. + +Why was she feeling lonely and as if her heart would break, unless +somebody should come, or unless somebody gave her something, or unless +something happened? In story-books, when one was in such a mood, in a +misty twilight something always happened. + +Why were there not such strong helpers in her life as women in books +always found? Compared with the grand, good, winning lover in books, +what were the men she knew? Why, Dr. Lake was frivolous, Felix Harrison +weak, Gus Hammerton practical and pedantic, and Mr. Towne heartless and +stupid! + +"Gus is here," said Dinah, her head appearing at the door, "and he has +brought you a book! But I'm going to read it first." + +"Well, I'll come," she answered. But she did not go for half an hour; +Mr. Hammerton took the new book to her immediately and talked to her +until her pale cheeks were in a glow. + +The last day of the year, what a day it was! + +It was like a mellow day in October; in the afternoon Tessa found +herself wandering through Mayfield; as she sauntered past the +school-house a voice arrested her, one of the voices that she knew best +in the world. She stood near the entrance listening. + +That thrilling pathetic voice; it had never touched her as it touched +her to-day. + + "Old year, you shall not die; + We did so laugh and cry with you, + I've half a mind to die with you, + Old year, if you must die." + +She stood but a moment, the voice read on, but she did not care to +listen; she went on at a slow pace, enjoying each step of the way past +the barren fields lying warm and brown in the sunlight, past the +farm-houses, past the low-eaved homestead of the Harrisons, past the +iron gates of the Old Place with the voice in her ears and the sigh for +the old year in her heart. She almost wished that she could love Felix +Harrison; she had refused him five times since her seventeenth birthday +and in May she would be twenty-five! He had said that he would never ask +her again. Why should she wish for any change to come into her life? If +she might always live in the present, she would be content; she had her +father and mother and Dine and Gus; her world was broad enough. + +The sound of wheels had been pursuing her; a sudden stoppage, then +another voice that she knew called to her, "Miss Tessa, will you ride +with me?" + +"Perhaps you are not going my way," she said lightly. + +"I am going to Dunellen." He answered her words only. + +As soon as they were seated in the carriage, she said very gravely, "I +wrote you a letter last night, but I burned it this morning." + +"I am sorry for that." + +The words came out with a gasp and a jerk; she did not know that words +_could_ choke like that, but she was glad as soon as she had spoken. +"Mr. Towne, are you engaged to Sue Greyson?" + +"Engaged! And to Sue Greyson!" + +"I did not ask to be saucy--I did not believe it--but don't be +heartless--don't be cruel--don't be stupid, do think about her, and don't +let her die of shame." + +"Excuse me, Miss Tessa. Why should you talk to me about Sue Greyson?" + +"I knew that you would not understand." + +"Perhaps you can explain." + +"I can't explain; you ought to know." + +"What ought I to know?" he queried, looking down at her with the +sunshine in his eyes. + +"It seems mean in me to tell you such a thing, but I do not know of any +other way for your sake and hers. I would do any thing to keep you from +doing a heartless thing."--Another heartless thing, she almost said.--"I +would do any thing for Sue, as I would for Dine if _she_ had been led +into trusting in a lie." + +His face became perplexed, uncomprehending. + +"Are you trying to tell me that Sue Greyson thinks that I am intending +to marry her and that I have given her an occasion to believe it? You +are warning me against trifling with Sue?" + +"Yes." + +"How do you know that she thinks so?" + +"Nonsense! How do I know any thing?" + +"I should as soon have thought--" he ended with a laugh. + +"A woman's heart is not made of grains of sand to be blown hither and +thither by a man's breath," she said very earnestly. + +"Miss Tessa, you accuse me wrongfully. I have been kind to Sue--I have +intended to be kind. Her life at home is too quiet for her, she has few +friends and no education; you call me heartless. I thought that I was +most brotherly and thoughtful." + +His sincerity almost reassured her. Had she misjudged him? + +"I beg your pardon," she said, after an uncomfortable pause. "I did not +know that Old Place was a monastery and that you were a monk. If you are +speaking sincerely, you are the most stupid human being that ever +breathed; if you are not sincere, you are too wily for me to +understand." + +The color rose to his forehead, but he was silent. + +"Mr. Towne! Excuse me. I am apt to speak too strongly; but I care so +much for Sue. She is only a child in her experiences; she has no +fore-thought, she trusts every body, and she thinks that you are so good +and wonderful. She does not understand any thing but sincerity. Will you +think about her?" + +"I will." + +She was almost frightened, was he angry? + +"Are you angry with me?" she asked, laying her hand on his arm. "You can +not misinterpret me; I don't want Sue to be hurt, and I do not want you +to be capable of hurting her." + +"I understand you, Miss Tessa." + +He spoke gently; her heart was at rest again. + +"You say that you can not understand whether I am wily or sincere?" + +"I can not understand." + +"Neither can I. But I _think_ that I am sincere!" + +"And please be careful how you change your attitude towards her; you are +unconventional enough to refuse a woman upon the slightest pretext. I +know that you will say 'I regret exceedingly, Miss Sue, that you have +misinterpreted my friendly attentions.'" + +"I would like to; I think many things that I do not speak, Miss Tessa." + +"Your head and heart would echo a perpetual silence if you did not," she +laughed. "The Sphinx is a chatterbox compared to you." + +As they drove up under the maple-trees before the low iron gate, he +said, "Has this year been a happy year to you? Do you sleep well?" + +"Wouldn't you like to look at my tongue and feel my pulse?" she returned +in her lightest tone. + +"Will you not answer me?" he asked gravely. + +"This year has been the best year of my life." + +"So has it been my best year. This winter I shall decide several things +pertaining to my future; it is my plan to practice for awhile--and not +marry!" + +Were those last words for her? Discomfited and wounded--oh, how +wounded!--her lips refused to speak. + +"Good-by," she said, just touching his hand. + +He turned as he was driving off and lifted his hat, the sunshine of his +eyes fell full upon her; her smile was but a pitiful effort; what right +had he to say such a thing to her? + +"I hope," she said, as she walked up the path, "that I shall never see +you again." + +"I wish that I had never seen her," he ejaculated, touching his horse +with the whip. + +And thus a part of the old year died and was buried. + +Shaking with cold, not daring to go away by herself, she irresolutely +turned the knob of the sitting-room door; her face, she was aware, was +not in a state to be taken before her mother's critical eyes; but her +heart was so crushed, she pitied herself with such infinite compassion, +that she longed for some one to speak to her kindly, to touch her as if +they loved her; any thing to take some of the aching away from that +place in her heart where the tears were frozen. + +When she needed any mothering she gave it to herself; with her arms +around her shivering, shrinking self, she was beseeching, "Be brave; +it's almost over." + +In the old days, the impulsive little Tessa had always chided herself; +the sensitive little Tessa had always comforted herself; the truthful, +eager, castle-building little Tessa had always been her own refuge, +shield, adviser, and best comforter. + +With more bosom friends than she knew how to have confidences with, with +more admiring girl friends than she could find a place for, with more +hearts open to her than to any one girl at school, Tessa the child, +Tessa the maiden, and Tessa the woman had always lived within herself, +leaned upon herself. + +Mr. Hammerton said that she was a confutation of the oak and vine +theory, that he had stood and stood to be entwined about, but that she +would never entwine. + +In this moment, standing at the door, with her hand upon the knob, a ray +of comfort shone into her heart and nestled there like a gleam of +sunlight peering through an opening in an under-growth, and the ray of +comfort was, that, perhaps Gus Hammerton would come to-night and talk to +her in his kindly, practical, unsentimental fashion, sympathizing with +her unspoken thoughts, and tender towards the feelings of whose +existence he was unaware. + +Perhaps--but of late, did she fancy, or was it true? that he was rather +shy with her, and dropped into the chair nearest to Dinah. + +Well! she could be alone by and by and go to sleep! + +So relentless was she, in that instant toward Ralph Towne that it would +have been absolute relief could she have looked into his dead face: to +see the cold lids shut down fast over the sunshiny eyes, to know that +the stiff lips could never open to speak meaningless words, to touch his +head and feel assured that, warm and soft, his fingers could never hold +hers again. + +"Why, Tessa, you look frozen to death," exclaimed her mother. "How far +did you go and where did you meet Mr. Towne?" + +"I went to Mayfield," she closed the door and moved towards the gay +little figure reading "The Story of Elizabeth" upon the lounge. "Mr. +Towne overtook me after I had passed Old Place." + +"O, Tessa," cried Dinah, dropping her book, "Dr. Lake was here. What a +pity you were out! He asked where 'Mystic' was. I made a list on the +cover of my book of the things that he talked about. Just hear them. One +ought to understand short-hand to keep up with him. Now listen." + +Tessa stood and listened. + + "'The Valley of the Dog, + "'The Car of Juggernaut, + "'Insanity, + "'Intemperance, + "'Tobacco, + "'Slavery, + "'Church and State, + "'Conceit, + "'Surgery, + "'The English Government, + "'Marriage, + "'Flirtations, + "'Ladies as Physicians, + "'The Wicked World, + "'A Quotation from Scott.' + +"And that isn't half. I began to grow interested there, and forgot to +write." + +"Where did the professional call come in?" + +"Oh, that doesn't take a second. He watches his patient while he talks! +Oh, and he told two hospital stories, a story of his school life, and +about being lost in the woods, and about a camp-meeting! He is from +Mississippi. Your Mr. Towne couldn't say so much in ten years." + +"He says that the disease in my lungs is not progressive, but that I +should protect my health! I ought to spend every winter in the West +Indies or in the south of Europe! South of Europe, indeed! On your +father's business! Now if I had married John Gesner I might have spent +my winters in any part of the civilized world." + +"Would you have taken us?" asked Dinah. + +"The future is veiled from us mercifully." + +Dinah laughed. "Mother, you forget about love." + +"_Love!_" exclaimed Mrs. Wadsworth scornfully, "I should like to know +what love is." + +"Father knows," said Dinah. "Have you read 'Elizabeth,' Tessa?" + +"Yes." + +"I'd _die_ before I'd act as she did, wouldn't you? I'd die before I'd +let any body know that I cared for him more than he cared for me, +wouldn't you?" + +"It isn't so easy to die." + +"Did Mr. Towne speak of Sue Greyson?" inquired Mrs. Wadsworth. + +"Yes." + +"What did he say?" + +"Nothing--much?" + +"He must have said something. Couldn't you judge of his feelings towards +her?" + +"I am not a detective." + +"H'm," ejaculated Mrs. Wadsworth, glancing up at the uneasy lips, "if he +can't talk or sing, he can say something." + +"Possibly." + +Standing alone at one of the windows in her chamber, she watched the sun +go down the last night of the old year. + +In her young indignation, she had called Ralph Towne some harsh names; +while under the fascination of his presence, she had thought that she +did not blame him for any thing; but standing alone with the happy, +false old year behind her, and the new, empty year opening its door into +nowhere, she cried, with a voiceless cry: "You are not true; you are not +sincere; you are shallow and selfish." + +At this moment, watching the same sunset, for he had an appreciation of +pretty things, he was driving homeward almost as nerve-shaken as Tessa +herself; according to his measure, he was regretting that these two +trusting women were suffering because of his--he did not call it +selfishness--he had been merely thoughtless. + +Tessa's heart could kindle and glow and burn itself out into white ashes +before his would feel the first tremor of heat; she had prided herself +upon being a student of human nature, but this man in his selfishness, +his slowness, his simplicity, had baffled her. + +How could she be a student of human nature if she understood nothing but +truth? + +She was in a bitter mood to-night, not sparing Ralph Towne as she would +not have spared herself. The crimson and gold faded! the gray shut down +over her world: "How alone I shall be to live in a year without him!" + +"O, Tessa! Tessa!" cried Dinah, running up-stairs, "here's Gus, and he +has brought us something good and funny I know, for he's so provokingly +cool." + +How could she think thoughts about the old year and the sunset with this +practical friend down-stairs and a mysterious package that must mean +books! She had expected to cry herself to sleep; instead she read +Dickens with Mr. Hammerton until the new year was upon them. + +"Gus," she said severely, with the volumes of Dickens piled in her arms +up to her chin, "if I become matter-of-fact, practical, and commonplace +there will be no one in the world to thank but you. I had a poem at my +finger tips about the old year that would have forever shattered the +fame of Tennyson and Longfellow." + +"As we have lost it, we'll be content with them," he said. "Drop your +books and let us read them." + +Before the dawn she was dreaming and weeping in her sleep, for a voice +was repeating, not the voice in the school-house, nor the voice that had +read Longfellow, but the voice that had spoken the cold good-by at the +gate: + + "The leaves are falling, falling, + Solemnly and slow; + Caw! Caw! the rooks are calling, + It is a sound of woe, + A sound of woe!" + + + + +IV.--SOMEBODY NEW. + + +There was the faintest streak of sunshine on the dying verbenas in her +garden; the dead leaves, twigs, and sprays looked as if some one who did +not care had trampled on them. She was glad that the plants were in, +that there was a warm place for them somewhere. + +The school children were jostling against each other on the planks, on +the opposite side of the street, laughing and shouting. Nellie Bird was +provokingly chanting: + + "Freddie's mad, + And I am glad, + And I know what will please him." + +and there were two little girls in red riding hoods, plaid cloaks, and +gay stockings, skipping along with their hands joined. It was a hard +world for little girls to grow up in. She had run along the planks from +school once, not so very long ago, swinging her lunch-basket and teasing +Felix Harrison just as at this minute Nellie Bird was teasing Freddie +Stone. + +Her needle was taking exquisite stitches; Dinah liked white aprons for +school wear, and this was the last of the dainty half-dozen. Her +mother's voice and step broke in upon her reverie. + +"Tessa, I wouldn't have believed it, but six of my cans of tomatoes have +all sizzled up! Not one was last year, though. Mrs. Bird never has such +good luck with hers as we have with ours." + +"That's too bad. But we have so many that we sha'n't miss them." + +"That isn't the question. I remember how my side ached that day. Bridget +was so stupid and you and Dine had gone up to West Point with Gus; he +always is coming and taking you and Dine off somewhere! You are not +attending to a word I say." + +"Yes, I am; I am thinking how you took us all three to look at your cans +of tomatoes." + +"But you don't care about the tomatoes. You never do take an interest in +house-work. I would rather have Sue Greyson's skin stuffed with straw +than to have you around the house. And _she_ is going to marry Ralph +Towne: she passed with him this morning; they were in the phaeton with +that pair of little grays! And Sue was driving! I believe that you have +taken cold in some way, you must see the doctor the next time he comes; +your face is the color of chalk, and your eyes are as big as saucers +with dark rims under them! You sat here writing altogether too late last +night." + +"It was only eleven when I went up-stairs." + +"That was just an hour too late. What good does your writing do you or +any body, I'd like to know." + +"It is rather too early in my life to judge." + +"Your father spoils you about writing; I suppose that he thinks you are +a feather in _his_ cap; I tell him that you are none of my bringing up." + +"I am not 'up' yet, perhaps." + +"You may as well drop that work and take a run into Dunellen; the air +will do you good. You had color enough in the summer. I want a spool of +red silk, two pieces of crimson dress braid, and a spool of fifty +cotton. Don't get scarlet braid, I want crimson; and run into the +library and get me something exciting; you might have known better than +to bring me that volume of essays!" + +She folded the apron and laid it on the pile in the willow work-basket, +wrapped herself in a bright shawl, covered her braids with a brown +velvet hat, and started for her walk, drawing on her gloves as she went +down the path. + +Her mother stood at the window watching her. "She is too deep for me," +she soliloquized; "there is more in her than I shall ever make out. She +is so full of nonsense that I expect she has refused Ralph Towne, and +what for, I can't see--there's no one else in the way." + +In Tessa's pocket was a long and wide envelope containing the article +that she had sat up last night to write; the lessons gathered from her +old year she had told in her simple, quaint, forcible style. The title +was as simple as the article: "Making Mistakes." + +"Tessa, you are not brilliant," Miss Jewett had once remarked, "but you +do go right to the spot." + +The fresh air tinged her cheeks, she breathed more freely away from her +work and her reveries; there was life and light somewhere, she need not +suffocate in the dark. + +It was not a long walk into the little city of Dunellen; fifteen minutes +of brisk stepping along the planks brought her to the corner that turned +into the broad, paved, maple-lined street. As she turned the corner, a +lame child in a calico dress and torn hood staggered past her bent with +the weight of a heavy basket. She stopped and would have spoken, but the +shy eyes were not encouraging. + +Two years ago all the world might have knocked at her gate and she would +not have heard. + +"Will you ride?" She lifted her eyes, with their color deepening, to +find Mr. Towne sitting alone in his carriage looking down at her. + +"You are going the wrong way." + +"Because I am not going _your_ way?" he asked somewhat sternly. + +"I thought that you had gone away," she said uncomfortably. + +"We go on the seventeenth." + +"You have not told me where?" + +"Have I not? You have forgotten. Sue will stay at home and learn to be +sensible." + +"I don't like you when you speak in that tone." + +"Then I will never do it again." + +"Good-by," she said cheerily, passing on. + +His thoughts ran on--"How bright she is! She has a sweet heart, if ever a +woman had! I wonder if I _am_ letting slip through my fingers one of the +opportunities that come to a man but once in a lifetime! A year or two +hence will do; she cares too much to forget me." + +Her thoughts ran on-"How _can_ you look so good and so handsome and not +be true!" + +With a quickened step she crossed the Park. Miss Jewett's large fancy +store was opposite the Park. + +Miss Jewett was never too tired or too busy to live again her young +life. Sue Greyson was sure that she had broken somebody's heart, else +she never was so eloquent in warning her about Stacey Rheid. Laura +Harrison had decided that she had once lived in constant dread of having +a step-mother. Mary Sherwood wondered if she had ever been a busybody, +and in that experience had learned to warn her to keep quiet her busy +tongue; and Tessa Wadsworth knew that she must have learned her one word +of advice: "Wait," through years that she would not talk about. + +Miss Jewett was seldom alone; Tessa was glad to find the clerks absent +and no one bending over the counter but Sue Greyson. + +"O, Tessa," she cried in her loud, laughing voice. "I haven't seen you +in an age." + +Miss Jewett's greeting was a hand-clasp; among all her girls (and all +the girls in Dunellen were hers) Tessa Wadsworth was the elected one. + +"Mrs. Towne has every thing so delicious," Sue was rattling on; "such +perfumes and such silks and such jewels. Oh, how Old Place makes my +mouth water! I wish you could go over the place, Tessa; you were never +even through the grounds, were you? Mr. Ralph takes great pride in +keeping it nice; of course, it is really his. I'd marry any body to live +there and have plenty of money and do just as I please; not that Mr. +Ralph isn't something out of the common, though. People say that he +never means any thing by his attentions; Dr. Lake says--" + +"I hear that you are going to St. Louis," interrupted Miss Jewett. + +"No, I'm not. And I'm as provoked as I can be and live! Something has +happened; Mr. Ralph is an uneasy mortal; he never knows what he will do +next, and he has changed his mind about taking me. My cake is all dough +about my winter's fun. How I cried the night she told me! The last night +of the year, too, when I ought to have been full of fun. Mrs. Towne +wants me to write to her, but I'd never dare, unless you would help me, +Tessa, about the spelling and punctuation. Mr. Ralph would laugh until +he died over my letters. + +"I don't write to Stacey now, Miss Jewett. I wrote him a letter one +Sunday from Old Place and told him that he might as well cease. Mr. +Ralph and I had been walking through the wood and he asked me if I were +engaged to Stacey! I thought it was about time to stop that." + +"Perhaps if you had been home you wouldn't have written that letter. +Stacey is a fine fellow." + +"Oh, I had thought of it, but that day I decided! Stacey can hardly +support one, let alone two. Father says that I was born to have a rich +husband because I have such luxurious tastes! I know that I shall die +cooped up at home. I have to go out to see the sons and daughters of the +land. Tessa, I don't see how you live." + +"I do, nevertheless," said Tessa, selecting her spool of silk. + +"I shall have Dr. Lake this winter or I couldn't exist. He says that he +will take me everywhere if father will only give him the time. He is +great fun, only he does get so moody and serious; sits for two hours in +the office with his head in his hands. Mr. Ralph doesn't have moods; he +is always pleasant. I am going to stay these last few days at Old Place. +Tessa, I am coming to stay all night with you and have a long talk." + +"I shall be very glad; I have been wishing that you would." + +"Oh, I'll come. I have a whole budget to tell you." + +"Sue, you look thin," said Miss Jewett, rolling up her purchases. + +"I _am_ thin. Since the night before New Years I have lost three +pounds." + +The night before New Years! Tessa's veil shaded her face falling between +her and Sue. + +"Mr. Ralph lectured me; oh, _how_ he talked! When he will, he will, +that's the truth. His mother says that her will is nothing compared to +his, and I believe it." Sue's face grew troubled. "He told me that I +ought to read travels and histories, and throw away novels; that I ought +to marry Stacey, if he is a good man and can take care of me--" Her voice +sounded as if she were crying; she laughed instead and ran off. + +"Something at Old Place has hurt Sue; I didn't like the idea of Mrs. +Towne taking her up; Mr. Towne--I do not know about him! Do you?" + +"No." + +"Ah, here comes Sarah! Rachel has a sore throat, and Mary has gone to +the city to buy to-day. Light the gas, Sarah." + +The light flashed over the faces: Miss Jewett's almost as fair as a +child's, and sweeter than any child's that Tessa had ever seen, with a +mouth in the lines of which her whole history was written, with just a +suspicion of dimples in the tinted cheeks, with brown rings of soft hair +touching the smooth forehead; the younger face was hurried, anxious, +with a trembling of the lips, and a nervous gleam in the eyes that were +so dark, to-night, that they might have been mistaken for hazel. + +The door was pushed open; a crowd of girls giggled in; Tessa bowed to +Mary Sherwood and moved aside. She was turning over a pile of wools, +selecting colors for a sacque for Dinah, when a laugh from the group +thrilled her; low, deep, full, in all her life she had never heard a +sound like it. + +It was as sweet as the note of a thrush and as jubilant as a thoughtless +girl. + +"Now, Naughty Nan, you are laughing at me. But I will forgive you, +because you are going away so soon. When are you coming back?" + +"Never. I will allure the black bear to take me around the world." + +Naughty Nan stepped back, tossing her curls away from her face; Tessa +looked down into her face, for she was a little thing; it was not a +remarkable face: a broad forehead, deep set brown eyes, a passable +complexion, a saucy mouth. If she would only laugh again; but she would +not even speak. + +How surprised Tessa would have been had she known that Naughty Nan had +been studying her and wishing, "I want to be like you." + +The group of girls giggled out. + +"I have fallen in love," said Tessa. + +"With Nan Gerard? Every body does. She is one of those lovable little +creatures that every body spoils! It's strange that you haven't met her; +she is Mary Sherwood's cousin." + +"I do remember now--Mr. Hammerton told me that I must hear her laugh." + +"Her home is in St. Louis; she had never been in Dunellen until a month +since; she was her father's pet and lived abroad with him until he died +a year ago! He named her Naughty Nan. She has plenty of money and plenty +of lovers! She is going home under the escort of Mr. Towne and his +mother. Perhaps it is her laugh that has stolen his heart from Sue! +Naughty Nan was to be married, but the gentleman died in consumption." + +"And she can laugh as lightly as that! If my father should die I would +never laugh again." + + + + +V.--HEARTS THAT WERE WAITING. + + +On the evening of the eighteenth of January, Tessa was sitting alone in +her chamber, wrapped in her shawl, writing. She was keeping a secret, +for she was writing a book and no one knew it but Mr. Hammerton; he +would not have known it had not several questions arisen to which she +could find no answer. + +"I can not do without my encyclopedia," she had said. + +She had written the title lovingly--"Under the Wings." + +This chamber was her sanctuary; she was born in this room, she had lived +in it ever since; her little battles had been fought on this consecrated +ground, her angry tears, her wilful tears, and the few later grateful +tears had fallen while kneeling at the side of the white-draped bed or +sitting at the window with her head in her hands or on the window-sill. +A stranger would have thought it a plain, low room with its cottage set +of pale green and gold trimmings, its ingrain carpet of oak leaves on a +green ground, its gray paper with scarlet border, and three white shades +with scarlet tassels. + +The high mantel was piled with books, the gifts of her father, Mr. +Hammerton, and Miss Jewett; on the walls were photographs in oval +black-walnut frames of Miss Jewett, sitting at a table with her elbow +upon it and one hand resting on a book in her lap, of her father and +mother, she sitting and he standing behind her, and one of herself and +Dinah, taken when they were fifteen and twenty-one; there were also a +large photograph taken from a painting of the Mater Dolorosa, which Mr. +Hammerton had given her on her fourteenth birthday and a chromo of Red +Riding Hood that he had given to Dinah upon her fourteenth birthday. +Upon the table at which she was writing, books were piled, and a package +of old letters that she had been sorting, and choosing some to burn, +among which were two from Felix Harrison. The package contained several +from Mr. Hammerton, but his were never worth burning; they were only +worth keeping because they were so like himself. Pages of manuscript +were scattered among the books, and a long envelope contained two +rejected articles that she had planned to rewrite after a consultation +with Mr. Hammerton and to send elsewhere. She had cried over her first +rejected article (when she was eighteen), and two years afterward had +revised it, changed the title, and her father had been proud of it in +print. + +She was writing and thinking of Sue when a noisy entrance below +announced her presence. + +"Go right up," said Mrs. Wadsworth's voice. "Tessa is star-gazing in her +room. Don't stay if you are chilly. Tessa likes to be cold." + +Tessa met her at the head of the stairs. + +"I've come to stay all night. Do you want me?" + +"I want you more than I want any one in the world." + +"That's refreshing. I wanted to see you and that's why I came. Norah +Bird said that Dine was to stay all night with her and I knew I should +have you all to myself. Dr. Lake brought me. I believe that he wanted me +to come. What do you stay up here for? It's lovely down-stairs with your +father and mother; she is sewing and he is reading to her. Put away that +great pile of foolscap and talk to me; I'm as full of talk as an egg is +full of meat." + +"Must I break the shell?" + +"Your room always looks pretty and there isn't much in it, either." + +"Of course not, after Old Place." + +"Old Place _is_ enchanting!" Sue tossed her gloves and hat to the bed. +"I'll keep on my sacque; I want to stay up here." + +Tessa had reseated herself at the table. Sue dropped down on the carpet +at her feet. + +"Have they gone?" + +"Oh, yes! I stayed to see them off and drove to the depot with them. We +called for Nan Gerard. What a flirt that girl is! Any one would think +that she had known Mr. Ralph all his life." + +Sue leaned backward against Tessa; her face was feverish and excited, +her thin cheeks would have looked hollow but for their high color, her +eyes as she raised them revealed something new; something new and not +altogether pleasant. + +Tessa touched her hair and then bent over and kissed her. It was so +seldom that Sue was kissed. + +"You know that night--" Sue began with an effort, "the night before New +Years. Mr. Ralph found me in his den, I was arranging one of his tables, +and he said that he wanted to talk to me. And I should think he _did_! I +didn't know that he had so much tongue in his head. His mother calls him +Ralph the Silent. Grace Geer calls him Ralph the Wily when nobody hears. +He is Ralph the Hateful when he wants to be. How he went on! Fury! +There! I promised him not to talk slang or to use 'unlady-like +exclamations.' I was as high and mighty as he was, but I wanted to cry +all the time. He said that I ought to live for something, that I am not +a child but a woman. And I promised him that I wouldn't read novels +until he says that I may! He said that I didn't know what trouble is! +_He_ has had trouble, Grace Geer says. I don't see how. Some girl I +suppose. Perhaps she flirted with him. I hope she did. But I have had +trouble. Did _he_ ever wait and wait and wait for a thing till he almost +died with waiting, and then find that he didn't get it and never +_could_? Did you ever feel so?" + +The appealing eyes were looking into hers; she could not speak +instantly. + +"I don't believe that you ever did. You are quiet. You have a nice home +and people to love you; your mother and father are so proud of you; your +mother is always talking to people about you as if she couldn't live +without you! And you don't have beaux and such horrid things! I +shouldn't think that you would like Dine to have a lover before you have +one." + +"Dine?" said Tessa, looking perplexed. + +"Why, yes, Mr. Hammerton." + +"Oh, I forgot him," replied Tessa, almost laughing. + +"I wish that I had _never_ seen Old Place. I never should have thought +any thing if it hadn't been for Grace Geer. Before I went to Old Place I +expected to marry Stacey. She put things into my head. She used to call +me Mrs. Ralph, and tell me how splendidly I could dress after I was +married! And she used to ask me what he said to me and explain that it +meant something. I didn't know that it meant any thing. He was so old +and so wise that I thought he could never think of me. Once she went +home with me and she told father and Aunt Jane and Dr. Lake that they +were going to lose me. He told me himself that night that he was more +interested in me than in any body." + +"Did he say that?" asked Tessa, startled. + +"Yes, he did." + +"So am I interested in your life. I want to see what becomes of you." + +"Oh, he didn't mean _that_. He meant in me. But I suppose he didn't mean +any thing, or he wouldn't have told his mother not to take me to St. +Louis. You think I like him because he's rich and handsome, but I don't. +I like him because he was so kind to me; nobody was ever so kind to me +before; I can love any one who is kind to me. He gave me his photograph +a year ago. It's elegant. I'll show it to you some time. I know he had +six taken, for I saw them and counted them; he didn't know it, though. +And I heard him tell his mother that he had _five_ taken. I never could +find out where that sixth one went to. I know that his mother had one, +and Grace Geer, and Miss Sarepta Towne, that's three! And mine was four, +and Philip Towne's was five. I asked him where the other was." + +"What did he say?" asked Tessa, gravely. + +"He said nothing. I know that Aunt Jane thinks my not going the queerest +thing in nature, and father looked rather nonplussed and asked me what I +had been doing. I am as ashamed as I can be." + +Tessa arranged her papers thoughtfully; she was pondering Grace Geer's +name for Mr. Towne. + +"Perhaps he will change his mind and come home and like me," said Sue, +brightening. + +"O, Sue, Sue, don't make a disappointment for yourself! When there are +so many good and beautiful things in the world, why do you see only this +that is being withheld?" + +"Because--" with a drooping head, "I want it so." + +"There are good men and good women in the world, Sue; men and women +whose word is pure gold." + +"Whose, I'd like to know?" + +"Miss Jewett's." + +"Oh, of course!" + +"And Gus Hammerton's." + +"Oh, he's as wise and stupid as an owl!" + +"Dr. Johnson could think in Latin and I should not wonder if Gus could." + +"But he's awkward and never talks nonsense, and he wears spectacles and +has a tiny bald spot on the top of his head, the place where the wool +ought to grow! The girls don't run after him." + +"They are not wise enough." + +"He's so old, too." + +"He's younger than Mr. Towne." + +"He doesn't look so. And he's poor." + +"He has a good salary in the bank." + +"Mr. Ralph has the pure gold, but it is not in his word. I only wish it +was. I always pray over my love affairs; they ought to come out all +right." + +"How do you know what 'all right' is?" + +"I know what I want." + +"I'll say to you what Miss Jewett always says _Wait_." + +"What for? I don't know what I'm waiting for. Do you?" + +"Yes." + +"What? Tell me." + +"_The will of God_." + +"Oh!" Sue drew nearer as if she were frightened. After a while she +spoke: "I'm so sorry for dear Mrs. Towne. She has every thing in the +world but the thing she wants most. She said one day that she would be +willing to be the poorest woman in Dunellen if she might have a +daughter. She said it one day after we had passed you; you were alone, +picking up leaves near the corner by the brook. 'A daughter like that,' +she said, and she turned to look back at you; you were standing still +with the leaves in your hand. Mr. Ralph didn't say anything, but he +looked back, too. I said, 'That's Tessa Wadsworth.' Mrs. Towne said, 'Do +you know her, Ralph?' and he said, 'I have met her several times.'" + +Tessa had wiped her gold pen and slipped it into its morocco case; she +closed her writing-desk as she said cheerily: "Now about this winter, +Sue; what do you intend to do?" + +"You don't know how horrid it is at home! Father always has his pockets +full of bottles and he doesn't care for the things that interest me; all +he talks about is his 'cases,' and all Aunt Jane cares for is house-work +and the murders in the newspapers; Dr. Lake is splendid, but he's so +poor and he's low-spirited when he isn't full of fun; and when his +engagement with father is ended he'll set up for himself, and it will +take him a century to afford to be married." + +"Sue, look up at me and listen." + +Sue looked up and listened. + +"I pray you don't flirt with Dr. Lake." + +Sue laughed a conscious laugh. + +"Men flirt; they haven't any hearts." + +"He has. You do not know the influence for evil that you may become in +his life." + +Sue's eyes grew wild, she clung to Tessa with both hands. "You sha'n't +talk so to me. You sha'n't. You make me afraid. I'll try to be good. I +_will_ try." + +"How will you try?" + +"I won't try to make him like me. I am sure that he would if I should +try a little. I'll tell him about Stacey. Tessa, _I don't want to be an +old maid._" + +Tessa's eyes and lips kept themselves grave. + +"I wouldn't think about that. I'd do good and be good; I'd help Aunt +Jane, and go with your father on his long drives--" + +"I'd rather go with Dr. Lake." + +"Let your father see what a delightful daughter you can be. My father +and I can talk for hours about books and places and people." + +"Hateful! I hate books. And I don't know about places and book-people." + +"And don't wait for Dr. Lake to come in at night." + +"I do. I made him a cup of coffee last night." + +"Who makes coffee for your father?" + +"Oh father thought that I made it for him. But Dr. Lake knew!" + +"I will read history with you this winter. Dine and I intend to study +German with Gus Hammerton; you can study with us, if you will." + +"Ugh!" groaned Sue, "as if that were as much fun as getting married." + +"It may help along. Who knows?" laughed Tessa. + +"I'm going to make Miss Gesner a visit next month. She asked me to-day. +But they are such old men? Mr. John Gesner is an old beau! Mr. Lewis is +lovely, so kind and polite. And Miss Gesner is charming when she doesn't +try to educate me. Their house is grander than Old Place and they keep +more servants. I'll forget all about Old Place before spring. Mr. John +Gesner likes girls." + +"Sue." + +"Well! Don't be so solemn." + +"If I were to die and leave a little girl in the world as your mother +left you, I would hope that some one would watch over her, and if the +time came, through her own foolishness, or in the way of God's +discipline, for a disappointment to come to her, I would hope that this +friend would love her as I love you to-night. She would warn her, advise +her, and encourage her! Don't go to visit Miss Gesner; she is selfish to +ask you; you are bright and lively and she likes to have you to help +entertain her friends--but you will not be so good a daughter to your +father if your heart is drawn away from his home; the best home that he +can afford to give you." + +"There's danger at home and danger abroad," laughed Sue. "Don't you wish +that you could put me in a glass case?" + +"I don't know what to do with you." + +"Oh, something will happen to me before long. I'll get married or die or +something. I'm glad I had my things ready to go with the Townes, for now +I have them ready to go to Miss Gesner's. I wish I had a mother and my +little brother hadn't died. I'd like to have a _real_ home like yours! I +wouldn't mind if it were as plain as this; but I'd rather have it like +Old Place. Won't Nan Gerard have a lovely time? Such a long journey, and +Mr. Ralph will be so attentive, and she'll be so proud to be with such a +handsome fellow! Don't you like to be proud of people that belong to +you? I am always proud enough to go out with Mr. Ralph." + +"There is some one else to be proud of somewhere! Sue, can't you be +brave?" + +"Somebody will have what I want," said Sue. "I can't bear to think of +that. I shall have to drive past Old Place in father's chaise with one +horse, and I hate to drive with one horse! and see somebody in _my_ +place in silks and velvets and diamonds and emeralds! And _she_ will +have visitors from all over and Old Place will be full of good times and +Mr. Ralph will let her do it all and be so kind to her! And she will be +so proud and happy and handsome. Would _you_ like that? You know you +wouldn't. Do you think that I really must give him up?" + +Sue did not see the distressed face above her; she felt that the fingers +that touched her hair and forehead were loving and pitiful. + +"Don't talk so; don't _think_ so! Forget all about Old Place. Do you not +remember Mrs. Towne's kindness? That is a happier thing to think of than +the grounds and the house and handsome furniture." + +"I wish I had told you about it before," sobbed Sue. "You would have +made it right for me; then I wouldn't have thought and thought about it +until it was _real_. And now I can't believe that it isn't true and the +house is shut up with only Mr. and Mrs. Ryerson and the boy to look +after things and Mr. Ralph gone not to come back--ever, perhaps. If Mrs. +Towne should die, perhaps he won't come back but go off and be a doctor; +for he doesn't want to be married, he said so; he told his mother so. I +don't want him to be a doctor and have bottles in all his pockets and +smell of medicine like father and Dr. Lake. He wouldn't be Mr. Ralph any +more." + +"So much the better for you." + +"Then you don't think that he's so grand." + +She answered quietly, surprising herself with the truth that she had not +dared to confess to herself, "No. I do not think he is so grand." + +"Who is?" + +"Who is? George Macdonald and George Eliot and Shakespeare and St. Paul +and my father and your father," laughed Tessa. + +"Hark. They are singing over the way." + +"There's a child's party there to-night." + +Tessa went to the window. + +Loud and merry were the voices: + + "Little Sally Waters sitting in the sun, + Weeping and crying for a man." + +Sue laughed. "Oh, how that carries me back." + +"That's good advice," said Tessa, as the children shouted-- + + "Rise, Sally, rise, and wipe off your eyes." + +"I wish that I were a little girl over there in the fun," said Sue. +"Suppose we go." + +"I intended to go. Perhaps we can teach them some new games." + +No one among the children was merrier than Sue; not one any more a +child. + +"I think I'll stay little," said Sue, coming to Tessa, half out of +breath. "I'm never going to grow up; it's hateful being a woman, isn't +it?" + +"You will never know," said Tessa laughing. "There's little Harry +Sherwood calling for Sue Greyson now." + +Towards midnight, when Tessa was asleep, Sue awakened her with, "Put +your arm around me, I can't go to sleep." + +Sue lay still not speaking or moving. + +The clock in the sitting-room struck three. + +"Tessa, Tessa," whispered a startled voice, "are you awake?" + +"Yes," rousing herself, "what is it? Is any thing the matter?" + +"Oh, no," wearily, "but it has struck one, and two, and three, and I'm +afraid it will strike four." + +"I suppose it will unless the clock stops or time ceases to be." + +"What will be when time ceases to be? What comes next?" + +"Forever comes next. Don't you want it to be forever?" + +"You sha'n't talk so and frighten me. I can't go to sleep. I thought +somebody was dying or dead." + +"You were dreaming." Tessa put a loving arm around her. "Didn't you ever +say the multiplication table in the night?" + +"No, nor any other time." + +The moonlight shone in through the open window, making a golden track +across the carpet. + +"The moon shines on Red Riding Hood," said Sue. "Tell me a story, +Tessa." + +"Don't you like the moonlight? Some one had a lovely little room once +and she said that the moonlight came in and swept it clean of foolish +thoughts." + +"What else?" in an interested voice. + +"It is a long story; it is in blank verse, too, and you like rhymes." + +"I've been trying to say Mother Goose and Old Mother Hubbard." + +"I will tell you a story," said Tessa, as wide awake as if the sun were +shining. "I will rhyme it as I run along, and when I hesitate and can +not make good sense and a perfect rhyme, we'll go to sleep." + +"Well, but you must do your best." + +"I always do my best. I tell Gus and Dine stories in rhyme." + +So she began with a description of a little girl who was fair and a boy +who was brave, who grew up and grew together, but cruel fate in the +shape of a step-mother separated them, and he travelled all over the +world, and she stayed at home and made tatting, until a hundred years +went by and he came to the door a worn-out traveller and found her a +withered maiden sitting alone feeding her cat. Afterward in trying to +recall this, she only remembered one couplet: + + "He was covered with snow, his hat with fur, + He took it off and bowed to her." + +Once or twice Sue gave a hysterical laugh. + +The story was brought to a proper and blissful conclusion; still Sue was +sleepless. + +"How far on their journey do you suppose they are now?" + +"I'm not a time-table." + +Sue lay too still to be asleep; when she _was_ still she was a marvel of +stillness. + +Daylight and breakfast found her in high spirits, asking advice of Mrs. +Wadsworth about making a wrapper out of an old brown cashmere, and +talking to Tessa about the drive that she had promised to take with Dr. +Lake, saying the last thing as she ran down the steps, "I'll come and +study German if I can't find any thing better to do." + +In all the talks afterward, Sue never alluded to this night; it was the +only part of her life that she wished Tessa to forget; she herself +forgot every thing except that she was miserable about Mr. Ralph and two +of the lines in the story that she had laughed about and called as +"stupid" as her own life: + + "The room in which she lived alone, was carpeted with matting; + She spent the hours, she spent the days, in making yards of + tatting." + + + + +VI.--ANOTHER OPPORTUNITY. + + +"Miss Jewett." + +"Well, dear." + +Tessa was sitting on the carpet in Miss Jewett's little parlor with her +head in Miss Jewett's lap; Miss Jewett had been smoothing the girl's +hair for several minutes, neither speaking. + +"I have lost something; I don't dare try to find it for fear that God +has taken it away from me." + +"How did you lose it?" + +Tessa raised her head, paused, then spoke impressively: "I lost it +through _carefulness_." + +"Ah! I have heard of such a thing before." + +"Oh, have you? Is any one in the world like me? I thought that no one +ever made such mistakes as I do, or needed the discipline that I need!" + +"My dear, all hearts are fashioned alike." + +"But all lives are not alike." + +"Not so different as you imagine; in my girls I live over my old +struggles, longings, mistakes; in the history of lives lived ages ago I +find the same struggles, longings, mistakes, the same need of the same +discipline." + +"Oh, if you can help me; if you can only help me! You study the Bible, +isn't every thing in the Bible? Didn't Paul mean that every thing was in +it when he said that through the comfort of the Scriptures we have hope? +I can not find any thing to suit me; _you_ find something." + +The gaslight was more than she could bear, she dropped her head again, +covering her face with both hands. + +"Suppose you tell me all about it." + +"_All about it_," repeated Tessa in a muffled tone. "I could not if I +wanted to; but I can tell you where the despair comes in." + +"That is all I want to know." + +"Well," raising her head again and speaking clearly and slowly. "It was +an opportunity to get something that I wanted. I thought I had it, I +thought it was laid in my hand and I had but to clasp my fingers tightly +over it to keep it forever and forever; I cared so much that I hardly +cared for any thing else. I do not think that I would lose it again +through caring too much. Do you think that it is just as hard for God to +see us too careful as too careless?" + +"How were you too careful?" + +"Oh, in being wise and doing things in my own way. What I want to know +is this: did He ever give any body another opportunity? If He ever did, +I will hope that He will be just as tender towards me." + +"Christ came down to earth to seek the lost; a lost opportunity is one +of the things that He came to find. I think if you seek it for His sake, +and not for your own, that He will find it for you." + +"For His sake, not for mine," repeated Tessa, wonderingly. "How can I +ever attain to that? I am very selfish." + +"Do you remember about David, whose heart was fashioned like yours, how +careful he was once and what happened?" + +Miss Jewett was speaking in her brisk, working voice; the troubled face +had become alight. + +"Now we will read about one who made a sorry mistake by being so careful +that he forgot to find out God's way of doing a certain thing. He did +the thing that he wanted to do after a style of his own." + +Tessa arose and went into Miss Jewett's bedroom; she knew that the Bible +she loved best, the one pencilled and interlined, was always kept on a +stand near the head of her bed. While Miss Jewett was opening it, Tessa +said hurriedly and earnestly "I knew that if it were anywhere in the +Bible--that if any one in the world had suffered like me--that you would +know where to find them. You said last Sunday that God had written +something to help us in every perplexity; but I studied and studied and +could not find any thing about second opportunities. Perhaps mine is +only a foolish little trouble; not a grand one like David's." + +"Do you think that God likes to hear you say that?" + +"No," confessed Tessa. "I will not even think it again." + +"Have you forgotten how David attempted to bring the Ark into the city +of David, and how he failed? What a mortifying and distressing failure +it was, too. Now I'll read it to you." + +One of Tessa's pleasures was to listen to her reading the Bible; she +read as if David lived across the Park, and as if the city of David were +not a mile away. + +Tessa kept her head in its old position and listened with intent and +longing eyes. + +"'And David consulted with the captains of thousands and hundreds and +every leader. And David said unto all the congregation of Israel, If it +seem good unto you, and that it be of the Lord our God, let us send +abroad unto our brethren everywhere, that are left in all the land of +Israel, and with them also to the priests and Levites which are in their +cities and suburbs, that they may gather themselves together unto us: +and let us bring again the Ark of our God to us: for we inquired not at +it in the days of Saul. And all the congregation said that they would do +so: for the thing was right in the eyes of all the people. So David +gathered all Israel together from Shihor of Egypt even unto the entering +of Hemath, to bring the Ark of God from Kirjath-jearim. And David went +up and all Israel to Baalah, that is to Kirjath-jearim, which belonged +to Judah, to bring up thence the Ark of God the Lord, that dwelleth +between the cherubim whose name is called on it. And they carried the +Ark of God in a new cart--' In a _new_ cart, Tessa; see how careful he +was!" + +"Yes." + +"'--Out of the house of Abinadab; and Uzza and Ahir drave the cart.' That +was all right and proper, wasn't it?" + +"It seems so to me." + +"'And David and all Israel played before God with all their might, and +with singing, and with harps, and with timbrels, and with cymbals, and +with trumpets.' They were joyful with all their might. Were you as +joyful as that?" + +"Yes: fully as joyful as that." + +"Now see the confusion, the shame, and the fear that followed those +harps and timbrels and trumpets. 'And when they came unto the +threshing-floor of Chidon, Uzza put forth his hand to hold the Ark; for +the oxen stumbled. And the anger of the Lord was kindled against Uzza, +and He smote him, because he put his hand to the Ark: and he died before +God. And David was displeased, because the Lord had made a breach upon +Uzza: wherefore that place is called Perez-uzza, to this day. And David +was afraid of God that day, saying, How shall I bring the Ark of God +home to me?'" + +"I should think that he _would_ have been afraid," said Tessa; "and +after he had been so sure and joyful, too." + +Miss Jewett read on: "'So David brought not the Ark home to himself to +the city of David, but carried it aside to the house of Obed-edom the +Gittite.'" + +Tessa raised her head to speak. "I can not understand where his mistake +was; how could he have been too careful of such a treasure. Oh, how +terrible and humiliating his disappointment must have been! How ashamed +he was before all the people! I can bear any thing better than to be +humiliated." + +"My poor, proud Tessa." + +Tessa's tears started at the tone; these first words of sympathy +overcame her utterly; she dropped her head again and cried like a child, +like the little child Tessa who had had so many fits of crying. + +The eyes above her were as wet as her own; once or twice warm lips +touched her forehead and cheek. + +"Did _he_ have another opportunity?" asked Tessa, at last. "I can +understand how afraid he was. I was troubled because I gave thanks for +the thing that was taken away from me. Did he find an answer to his +'How'?" + +"He was thankful, sincere, and careful." + +"I should think that was enough," exclaimed Tessa, almost indignantly; +"but I know that there was sin somewhere, else the anger of the Lord +would not have been kindled. They went home without the Ark. That is +saddest of all." + +"It was kept three months in the house of Obed-edom, and during those +three months humbled David studied the law and found that his cart, new +as it was, was not according to the will of God. + +"'Then David said, None ought to carry the Ark of God but the Levites; +for them hath the Lord chosen to carry the Ark of God, and to minister +unto Him forever.'" + +"And he _could_ have known that before," cried Tessa. + +"'And David gathered all Israel together to Jerusalem, to bring up the +Ark of the Lord unto his place, which he had prepared for it, and David +assembled the children of Aaron and the Levites and said unto them, Ye +are the chief of the fathers of the Levites: sanctify yourselves, both +ye and your brethren, that ye may bring up the Ark of the Lord God of +Israel unto the place that I have prepared for it. For because ye did it +not at the first, the Lord our God made a breach upon us, for that we +sought Him not after the due order." + +"Oh, how can we know every thing to do at the first?" + +"How could David have known? Now he had found the right way to do the +right thing. 'So the priests and the Levites sanctified themselves to +bring up the Ark of the Lord God of Israel. And the children of the +Levites bare the Ark of God upon their shoulders with the staves thereon +as Moses commanded, according to the word of the Lord. And David spake +to the chief of the Levites to appoint their brethren to be the singers +with instruments of music, psalteries and harps and cymbals, sounding, +by lifting up the voice with joy. So David, and the elders of Israel, +and the captains over thousands, went to bring up the Ark of the +covenant of the Lord out of the house of Obed-edom with joy.'" + +"He was not afraid now," said Tessa. "I think that he was all the more +joyful because he had been so humiliated and afraid. I will think about +that new cart." + +"And those three months in which he was finding out the will of God. +'And it came to pass, when God helped the Levites that bare the Ark of +the covenant of the Lord that they offered seven bullocks and seven +rams.' He could not help them the first time because their way was not +according to His law; their joy, their thankfulness, their sincerity, +their carefulness availed them nothing because they kept not His law. +Uzza was a priest and should have known the law; David was king and he +should have known the law." + +"But he had his second opportunity, despite his mistake." + +"And so, if your desire be according to His will may you have yours; it +may be months or years, half your lifetime, but if you study His word +and ask for your second opportunity through the intercession of Christ, +I am sure that you will have it." + +"Sometimes I am angry, sometimes bewildered, sometimes there is hatred +in my heart because I have been deceived and humiliated--sometimes I do +not want it back--" + +"My dear," said Miss Jewett, gravely, "discipline is better than our +heart's desire." + +"Is it? I don't like to think so." + +When the clock in the church-tower struck midnight Tessa lay awake +wondering if she could ever choose discipline before any heart's desire. + +Then she crept closer to Miss Jewett and kissed her. + + + + +VII.--THE LONG DAY. + + +With the apple blossoms came Tessa's birthday. She had lived twenty-five +years up-stairs and down-stairs in that white house with the lilac +shrubbery and low iron fence. Twenty-five years with her father and +mother, nineteen with her little sister, and almost as many with her old +friend, Mr. Hammerton; twenty years with Laura and Felix and Miss +Jewett, and not quite three years with the latest friend, the latest and +the one that she had most believed in, Ralph Towne. + +She was counting these years and these friends as she brushed out her +long, light hair and looked into the reflection of the fair, bright, +thoughtful face that had come to another birthday. + +Nothing would ever happen to her again, she was sure; nothing ever did +happen after one were as old as twenty-five. In novels, all the +wonderful events occurred in earlier life, and then--a blank or bliss or +misery, any thing that the reader might guess. + +Would her life henceforth be a blank because she was so old and was +growing older? + +In one of her stories, Miss Mulock had stated that the experience of +love had been given to her heroine "later than to most" and _she_ was +twenty-four! + +"Not that that experience is all one's life," she mused; "but it is just +as much to me as it is to any man or woman that ever lived; as much as +to Cornelia, the matron with her jewels, or Vittoria Colonna, or Mrs. +Browning, or Hypatia,--if she ever loved any body,--or Miss Jewett,--if she +ever did,--or Sue Greyson, or Queen Victoria, or Ralph Towne's mother! I +wonder if his father were like him, so handsome and gentle. I have a +right to the pain and the blessedness of loving; perhaps I _have_ been +in love--perhaps I am now! He shut the door that he had opened and he has +gone out; I would not recall him if I could do it with one breath-- + + "'No harm from him can come to me + On ocean or on shore.' + +"Well," smiling into the sympathetic eyes, "if nothing new ever happen +to me, I'll find out all the blessedness of the old." + +For she must always find something to be glad of before she could be +sorrowful about any thing. + +She ran down-stairs in her airiest mood to be congratulated by her +father in a humorous speech that ended with an unfinished sentence and a +quick turning of the head, to be squeezed and hugged and kissed by +Dinah, and dubbed Miss Twenty-Five, and then to have her mood changed, +all in the past made dreary, and all in the future desolate, by one of +her mother's harangues. + +Mr. Wadsworth had kissed his three girls and hurried off to his +business, as he had done in all the years that Tessa could remember; +Dinah had pushed her plate away and was leaning forward with her elbows +on the table-cloth, her face alight with the mischief of teasing Tessa +about being "stricken in years." Tessa's repartees were sending Dinah +off into her little shouts of laughter when their mother's voice broke +in: + +"I had been married eight years when I was your age, Tessa." + +"It will be nine years on my next birthday," said Tessa. + +"Yes, just nine; for I was married on my seventeenth birthday; your +father met me one day coming from school and said that he would call +that evening; I curled my hair over and put on my garnet merino and +waited for him an hour. I expected John Gesner, too. But your father +came first and we set the wedding-day that night. I was seventeen and he +was thirty-seven!" + +"I congratulate you," said Tessa. "I congratulate the woman who married +my father." + +"Girls are so different," sighed Mrs. Wadsworth. "Now _I_ had two offers +that year! Aunt Theresa wanted me to take John Gesner because he was two +years younger than your father; but John was only a clerk in the Iron +Works then, and so was Lewis. Lewis is just my age. How could I tell +that he would make a fortune buying nails?" + +"You would have hit the nail on the head if you had known it," laughed +Dinah. + +"And here's Dine, now, _she_ is like me. You are a Wadsworth through and +through! Young men like some life about a girl; how many beaux Sue +Greyson has! All you think of is education! There was Cliff Manning, you +turned the cold shoulder to him because he couldn't talk grammar. What's +grammar? Grammar won't make the pot boil." + +"Enough of them would," suggested Dinah. + +"Mr. Towne came and came till he was tired, I suppose. I hope you didn't +refuse him." + +"No, he refused me." + +Her tone was so gravely in earnest that her mother was staggered. Dinah +shouted. + +Mrs. Wadsworth went on in a voice that was gathering indignation: "You +may laugh now; you will not always laugh. 'He that will not when he may, +when he will he shall have nay.' Mrs. Sherwood told me yesterday that +she hoped to have Nan Gerard back here for good, and Mary looked as if +it were all settled. Mr. Towne did not do much _last_ winter, Mary said, +beside run around with Naughty Nan. I'm hearing all the time of somebody +being married or engaged, and you are doing nothing but shilly-shally +over some book or trotting around after poor folks with Miss Jewett." + +"She will find a prince in a hovel some day," said Dinah. "He will be +struck with her attitude as she is choking some bed-ridden woman with +beef-tea and fall down on his knees and propose on the spot. 'Feed me, +seraph,' he will cry." + +"He wouldn't talk grammar, or he couldn't spell or read Greek, and she +will turn away," laughed Mrs. Wadsworth. "Tessa, you are none of my +bringing up." + +"That is true," replied Tessa, the sorrowfulness of the tone softening +its curtness. + +"You always _did_ care for something in a book more than for what I +said! You never do any thing to please people; and yet, somehow, +somebody always _is_ running after you. I wish that you _could_ go out +into the world and get a little character; you are no more capable of +self-denial and heroism than an infant baby; for getting along in the +world and making a good match, I would rather have Sue Greyson's skin--" + +"Her father understands anatomy, perhaps you can get it, mother." + +"_She_ knows how to look out for number one. Her children will be +settled in life before Tessa is engaged. You needn't laugh, Dine, it's +her birthday, and I'm only doing a mother's duty to her." + +Tessa's eyes laughed although her lips were still. Her sense of humor +helped her to bear many things in her life. + +"You have never had a trial in your life, Tessa, and here you are old +enough to be a wife and mother!" + +"If she lived in China she could be a grandmother," said Dinah. + +"I have always kept trouble from you; that is why, at your mature age, +you have so little character. In an emergency you would have no more +responsibility than Nellie Bird. If you had studied arithmetic instead +of always writing poetry and compositions, you might have been teaching +now and have been independent." + +"Father isn't tired of taking care of her," said Dinah, spiritedly. +"It's mean for you to say that." + +"Why don't you write a novel and make some money?" + +"I don't know how." + +"Can't you learn?" + +"I study all the time." + +"Why don't you write flowery language?" + +"I don't know how." + +"It is Gus that has spoiled you; he has nipped your genius in the bud. +What does he know, a clerk in a bank? I know that he tells you to leave +out the long words; and it is the long words that take. I shouldn't have +had my dreadful cough winter after winter if I hadn't worked hard to +spare your time that winter you wrote those three little books for the +Sunday School Union; I lay all my sickness and pain to that winter." + +Mrs Wadsworth had brought this charge against Tessa several times +before, but she had never shivered over it as she did this birthday +morning. + +"And what did you get for them? Only a hundred dollars for the three. +Your father made a great fuss over them, and he really cried (his tears +come very easy) over that piece you called 'Making Mistakes.' I couldn't +see any thing to cry over; I thought you made out that making mistakes +was a very fine thing." + +"Four people from away off have written to thank her, any way," exulted +Dinah. + +"People like your father I suppose." + +Dinah sprang up and began to rattle the cups and saucers; she could not +bear the look in Tessa's eyes another second. + +"Dinah, I can't talk if you make so much noise. You are very rude." + +"Oh, I forgot to tell you," cried Dinah, standing still with two cups in +her hands. "It's great fun! Nan Gerard refused Mr. John Gesner while she +was here." + +"I don't believe it," exclaimed Mrs Wadsworth. "Those brothers are worth +nearly a million." + +"Naughty Nan didn't care." + +"She'll jump out of the frying-pan into the fire, then; for the Townes, +mother and son, are not worth a quarter of it." + +"What does she care? Mr. Lewis Gesner is a gentleman, and he knows +something." + +"He said once that I was only a little doll," said Mrs. Wadsworth. "I +never liked him afterward." + +"I like him," said Dinah; "he doesn't flirt with the girls; he always +talks to the old ladies." + +"What are you going to do to-day, Tessa?" inquired Mrs. Wadsworth, +ignoring Dinah's remark. + +"Oh, I don't know," she answered, "and don't care" was the unspoken +addition. + +There was one thing she was sure to do. On her way to the ten o'clock +mail she would take a moment with Miss Jewett for a word, a look; for +something to set her heart to beating to a cheerier tune. Ten minutes +before mail time she found Miss Jewett as busy as a bee. + +"Oh, Tessa," glancing up from her desk, "I knew you would come. I had a +good crying spell on my twenty-fifth birthday and I've looked through +clear eyes ever since. I wish for you that your second quarter may be as +full of hard work as mine." + +Tessa felt as if the sun were shining warm again. At the office she +received her birthday present; the one thing that she most wished for; +if ever birthday face were in a glow and birthday heart set to dancing, +hers were when her fingers held the check for one hundred and +sixty-eight dollars and fifty cents, and when her eyes ran through the +brief, friendly letter, with its two lines of praise. + +"I am taken with your book. It gives me a humbling-down feeling. I +hardly know why." + +"Oh, it's too good! it's too good," she cried, with her head close to +Miss Jewett's at the desk over the large day-book. "I was feeling as if +nobody cared, and now he wants another book. As good as this, he says." + +Tessa lived in fairy-land for the next two hours. No, she lived in +Dunellen on a happy birthday. + +"Well! well! well!" exclaimed her father, taking off his spectacles to +wipe his eyes, "this is what I call fine. So this is what you grew pale +over last winter," he added, looking down into a face as rosy and wide +awake as a child's waking out of sleep. + +"What shall you do with so much money?" + +"Spend it, of course. I have spent it already a hundred times." + +"You must return receipt and reply to the letter." + +"I had forgotten that." + +"You will find every thing on my desk. Write your name on the back of +the check and I will give you the money." + +"I don't want to do that. I want to take it into the bank and surprise +Gus with it. His face will be worth another check." + +She wrote her name upon the check, her father standing beside her. +Theresa L. Wadsworth. He was very proud of this name among his three +girls. + +"And you expect to do this thing again?" + +"I do. Many times. All I want is a nook and a lead pencil." + +"Daughter, I would like something else better." + +"I wouldn't. Nothing else. I shall not change my mind even for a knight +in helmet and helmet feather." + +Mr. Hammerton's face _was_ worth another check; he looked down at her +from his high stool in a grave, paternal fashion. She remained +decorously silent. + +"How women _do_ like to spend money," he said. "At six o'clock you will +not have a penny left." + +"How can I? Father is to have a farm in Mayfield, mother is to go to +Europe, and Dine is to have diamond ear-rings!" + +"And I?" + +"I will buy you a month to go fishing! And myself brains enough to write +a better book. Isn't it comical for me to get more for my book than +Milton got for Paradise Lost?" + +Tessa laughed as she counted her money at tea-time; there was a twenty +dollar bill and seventy-five cents! But in her mother's chamber stood a +suite of black-walnut with marble tops, in one of Dine's drawers, +materials for a black and white striped silk, on the sitting-room table +a copy of Shakespeare in three Turkey morocco volumes, for her father; +she had also sent a gold thimble to Sue Greyson, several volumes of +Ruskin to Mr. Hammerton, Barnes on _Job_ to Miss Jewett, and had +purchased a ream of foolscap, a pint of ink, a pair of gloves, and _The +Scarlet Letter_ for herself! + +"Is there any thing left in the world that you want?" her father asked. + +"Yes, but twenty dollars will not buy it," she replied, thinking of Dr. +Lake's anxious face as she had seen it that day. + +At night, alone in the darkness, there were a few tears that no one +would ever know about. Her joy in her accepted work was nothing to Ralph +Towne. He did not know about her book and if he knew--would he care? + + + + +VIII.--A NOTE OUT OF TUNE. + + +The blossom storm came and blew away the apple blossoms, the heavy +fragrance of the lilacs died, and the shrubbery became again only a mass +of green leaves and ugly, crooked stems; but amid this, something +happened to Tessa; something that was worth as much to her as any +happenings that came before it; something that had its beginning when +she was a little school-girl running along the planks and teasing Felix +Harrison. How much certain jarring words spoken that day and how much a +certain bit of news influenced this happening, she, in her rigid +self-analysis, could not determine! + +She arose from the breakfast table at the same instant with her father, +saying: "Father, I will walk to the corner with you." + +"We were two souls with one thought," he replied. "I intended to ask you +for a few minutes." + +They crossed the street to the planks. She slipped her arm through his, +and as he took the fingers on his arm with a warm grasp, she said; "I +never want any lover but you, my dear old father." + +"Nonsense, child! Only girls who have had a heart-break say such things +to their old fathers, and your heart is as good as new, I am sure. +Tessa, I want to see you married before I die." + +"May you live till you see me married," she answered merrily. "What an +old mummy you will be!" + +"I have been thinking of something that I want to say to you. I am an +old man and I am not young for my age--" + +"Now, father." + +"I may live a hundred years, of course, and grow heartier each year, and +like the 'frisky old girl,' die at the age of one hundred and ten, and +'die by a fall from a cherry-tree then,' but, still there's a chance +that I may not. And now, Daughter Tessa"--his voice became as grave as +her eyes, "I want you to promise me that you will always take care of +your poor little mother; poor little mother! You are never sharp to her +like saucy Dine, and she rests in you like an acorn in an acorn cup, +although she would be the last to confess it." + +"I promise to do my best," Tessa said very earnestly. + +"But that is only a part of it. Promise me that if she wishes to marry +again, and her choice be one that _you_ approve--" + +"Approve!" + +"Approve," he repeated, "that you will not hinder but rather further it, +and keep Dine from making her unhappy about it." + +"I will not promise. You shall not die," she cried passionately. "How +can you talk so and break my heart?" + +"Dr. Watts says that we all begin to die as soon as we are born, so I +have had to do it pretty thoroughly; but he was a theologian and not a +medical man. Have you promised?" + +"Yes, sir," speaking very quietly, "I have promised." + +With her hand upon his arm, they kept even step for ten silent minutes. + +"Are you writing again?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Then you must walk every day." + +"Oh, I do, rain or shine. I am going down the road this afternoon to +look at the wheat fields and the oat fields and to see the boys and +girls dropping corn!" + +"And to wish that you were a little girl dropping corn?" + +"No, indeed," she said earnestly and solemnly. "I like my own life +better than any life I ever knew in a book or out of a book." + +"When I count up my mercies I'll remember that." + +She was dwelling upon those words of her father late that afternoon as +she sauntered homeward with her hands full of wild flowers and grasses. + +"Mystic, will you ride with me?" + +A feeling of warmth and of tenderness ever crept into her heart at the +sound of this voice. + +She loved Dr. Lake. + +"No, sir, thank you; I am out for a walk and when I walk I never ride." + +"But I want to talk to you--to tell you something." She stepped nearer +and stood at the carriage wheel; his voice was sharp and his white +temples hollow. "Sue has refused me," he began with a laugh. "I proposed +last night, and what do you think she said? 'Why, Dr. Lake, you are +poor, and you smell of medicine.'" + +"They are both true," she said, not conscious of what reply she was +making. + +"Yes," he answered bitterly, "they are both true and will _be_ true +until the end of time. Don't you think that you could reason with her +and change her mind; you have influence." He laid his gloved hand on the +hand that rested on the wheel. "It will kill me, Mystic, if she doesn't +marry me." + +So weak, so pitiful! She could have cried. And all for love of flighty +Sue Greyson! + +"I was sure that she would accept me. She has done every thing _but_ +accept me. I did not know that a woman would permit a man to take her +day after day into his arms and kiss her unless she intended to marry +him. Would _you_ permit that?" he asked. + +"You know that I would not," she answered proudly; "but Sue doesn't know +any better; all she cares for is the 'fun' of the moment." + +"I have been hoping so long; since Towne went away; I can't bear this." + +"There is as much strength for you as for any of us," she said gently. + +"But I am too weak to hold it." + +And he looked too weak to hold it. She could not lift her full eyes. "I +am so sorry," was all she could speak. + +"There isn't any thing worth living for anyway; I, for one, am not +thankful for my 'creation.' I wish I was dead and buried and out of +sight forever. Sue Greyson has another offer to whisper to all Dunellen. +I would not stay here, I would go back to that wretched hospital, but my +engagement with her father extends through another year. Well, you won't +ride home with me?" + +"Not to-day, I want to be out in this air." + +"And you don't want to be shut in here with my growling. I don't blame +you; I'd run away from myself if I could. I'll kill half Dunellen and +all Mayfield with overdoses before another night, and then take a big +dose myself. Say, Mystic, you are posted in these things, where would be +the harm?" + +"Take it and see." + +"Not yet awhile. I am not sure of many things, but I _am_ sure that a +man's life in this world will stare in his face in the next. And my life +has not been fit even for your eyes." + +Homely, shabby, old, worn, excited, with a sharp ring in his voice and a +stoop in his shoulders. What was there in him to touch Sue Greyson? +Where was the first point of sympathy? + +Tessa could have taken him into her arms and cared for him as she would +have cared for a child. + +"I have just seen an old man die; a good old man; he was over ninety; he +prayed to the last; that is his lips moved and his old wife laid his +hands together; he liked to clasp his hands when he prayed, she said. +She put her ear down close to his mouth, but she could not distinguish +the words. I was wishing that I could go in his place, and that he could +take up my life and live it through for me. He would do better with it +than I shall." + +"Is not that rather selfish?" + +"Life is such a sham. I don't believe in the transmigration of souls; I +don't want to come back and pull through another miserable existence." + +"I want you to stay this soul in this body; I do not want to lose you." + +"If every woman in the world were like you--" + +"And every man were as tired and hungry as you--" + +"What would he do?" + +"He would hurry home to a good, hot dinner." + +"I have not eaten or drank since yesterday morning. Sue has a hot dinner +waiting for me. She will sit with me while I eat, and tell me, perhaps, +that she has had a letter from that fellow in Philadelphia, or that that +well-preserved specimen of manhood, old John Gesner, has asked her to +drive with him. Some flirtation of hers is sauce to every dish." + +"Poor Sue," sighed Tessa. + +"She might be happy if she would; I would take care of her." + +"Good-by," squeezing his fingers through his glove. "Go home and eat." + +"Give me a good word before I go." + +"Wait." + +"Is that the best word you know?" + +"It is good enough." + +"Well, good day, Mystic," he said, lifting his hat. + +She went back to the grassy wayside, thinking. What right had Sue +Greyson's light fingers to meddle with a life like Dr. Lake's? They had +not one taste in common. How could he find her attractive? She disliked +every thing in which he was interested; it was true that she could sing, +sing like one of the wild birds down in the woods, and he loved music. + +She paused and stood leaning against the rails of a fence, and looked +across the green acres of winter wheat; one day in September she had +stood there watching the men as they were drilling the wheat; afterward +she had seen the tender, green blades springing up in straight rows, and +once she had seen the whole field green beneath a light snow. The wind +moved her veil slightly, both hands were drooping as her elbows leaned +upon the upper rail, her cheeks were tinged with the excitement of Dr. +Lake's words, and her eyes suffused with a mist that was too sorrowful +to drop with tears. A quick step on the grass at her side did not +startle her; she did not stir until a voice propounded gravely: "If a +man should be born with two heads, on which forehead must he wear the +phylactery?" + +She turned with a laugh. "Gus, I would know that was you if I heard the +voice and the question in the Great Desert." + +"Can't you decide?" + +"My thoughts were not nonsense." + +"Of course not, you were labelling and pigeon holing all that you have +thought of since sunrise! I've been sitting on a stone waiting for your +conference to end. Are you in the habit of meeting strange men and +conversing with them." + +"Yes, I came out to meet you." + +"I only wish you did! I wish that you would make a stranger of me and be +polite to me. It is nothing new for you to be wandering on a Saturday +afternoon, and nothing new for you to find me." + +"I didn't find you." + +"I intended to give you the honor of the discovery; now we will share +the glory. Shall we go on?" + +"I have been to my roots; do you know my roots? Do you know the corner +above Old Place and the tiny stream?" + +"I know every corner, and every root, and every stream. Shall I carry +your flowers for you? I never can see why I should relieve a maiden of a +burden when her avoirdupois equals mine. You will not give them to me? I +have something to read to you--something of my own composing--I composed +it in one brilliant wakeful moment--you will appreciate it." + +"I do not believe it." + +"Wait until you hear it. Lady Blue, are you going to be literary and +never be married! Woe to the day when I taught you all you know." + +They went on, slowly, for she liked to talk to Mr. Hammerton. "Father +said something like that this morning and it troubled me; why may I not +do as I like best? Why should he care to see me married before he dies?" + +"Why should he not?" + +"Nonsense. I can take good care of myself; beside," with a mischievous +glance into his serious eyes, "I really don't know whom to marry." + +"Oh, you could easily find some one. If all else fail, come to me, and +if I am not too busy I will take you into consideration." + +"Thanks, good friend! But you will always be too busy. What have you to +read to me?" + +"Something that you will appreciate. I wrote it for you. Stay, sit down, +while I read it." + +"I don't want to. You can read and walk. The mother of Mrs. Hemans could +read aloud while walking up hill." + +Mr. Hammerton's voice was not pleasant to a stranger, but Tessa liked it +because it belonged to him; it was a part of him like his big nose, his +spectacles, and the tiny bald spot over which, every day, he carefully +brushed his hair. The color in his cheeks was as pretty as a girl's, and +so was the delicate whiteness of his forehead; the bushy mustache, +however, made amends for the complexion that he sometimes regretted; +Tessa had once told him that his big nose, his mustache, and his +awkwardness were all that kept him from being as pretty as his sister. + +"I am not the mother of Mrs. Hemans." He took a sheet of paper from his +pocket-book, and showed her the poem written in his peculiarly plain, +upright hand. + +"Excuse my singing and I will read. You must not think of any thing +else." + +"I will not." + +"You are walking too fast." + +She obediently took slower steps. + +He cleared his throat and, holding the paper near his eyes, began to +read. A shadow gathered in his listener's eyes at the first four lines. + + "A nightingale made a mistake; + She sang a few notes out of tune, + Her heart was ready to break, + And she hid from the moon. + + "She wrung her claws, poor thing, + But was far too proud to speak; + She tucked her head under her wing, + And pretended to be asleep. + + "A lark arm in arm with a thrush, + Came sauntering up to the place; + The nightingale felt herself blush, + Though feathers hid her face. + + "She knew they had heard her song, + She felt them snicker and sneer. + She thought this life was too long, + And wished she could skip a year. + + "'O, nightingale!' cooed a dove, + O, nightingale, what's the use; + You bird of beauty and love, + Why behave like a goose? + + "'Don't skulk away from our sight, + Like a common, contemptible fowl; + You bird of joy and delight, + Why behave like an owl? + + "'Only think of all you have done; + Only think of all you can do; + A false note is really fun + From such a bird as you. + + "'Lift up your proud little crest: + Open your musical beak; + Other birds have to do their best, + You need only to speak.' + + "The nightingale shyly took + Her head from under her wing, + And giving the dove a look, + Straightway began to sing. + + "There was never a bird could pass; + The night was divinely calm; + And the people stood on the grass, + To hear that wonderful psalm! + + "The nightingale did not care, + She only sang to the skies; + Her song ascended there, + And there she fixed her eyes. + + "The people that stood below + She knew but little about; + And this story's a moral, I know, + If you'll try to find it out." + +"How did you know that I need that?" she asked, taking it from his hand. +"Who wrote it?" + +"I did." + +"Don't you know?" + +"No. I don't know. I copied it for you." + +"Thank you. I thank you very much. You could not have brought me any +thing better." + +"I brought you a piece of news, too." + +"As good as the poem?" + +"Nan Gerard thinks so. She is to be married and to live at Old Place; +our castle in the air." + +"Old Place isn't my castle in the air. Who told you?" + +"A woman's question. I never told a woman a secret yet that she did not +reply, 'Who told you?' Mary Sherwood told me, of course. Do you +congratulate Naughty Nan?" + +"Must I?" + +"It's queer that I do not know that man. I have missed an introduction a +thousand times. Do you congratulate her?" + +"I am supposed to congratulate _him_. He is very lovable." + +"I thought that only women were that." + +"That's an admission," laughed Tessa, "you cross old bachelor." + +"You learned that from Dine." + +"No, I learned it from you." + +Tessa talked rapidly and lightly, perhaps, because she did not feel like +talking at all. + +Would he marry Nan Gerard? Why could she not be glad for Nan Gerard? Why +must she be just a little sorry for herself? Why must it make a +difference to her? Why must the weight of the flowers be too heavy for +her hand, and why must she give them that toss over a fence across a +field? + +"Your pretty flowers," expostulated Mr. Hammerton. + +"I do not care for them; they were withering." + +"I have a thought; I wonder why it should come to me; I am wondering if +you and I walk together here a year from to-day what we shall be talking +about. My prophetic soul reveals to me that a year makes a difference +sometimes." + +"I remember a year ago to-day," she answered. "A year _has_ made a +difference." + +"Not to you or me?" + +"To Nan Gerard?" she answered seriously. + +"But that does not affect us." + +Did it not? A year ago to-day Ralph Towne had brought her some English +violets, and she had pressed them and thrown a thought about him and +about them into a poem. To-day had he taken violets to Nan Gerard? + +"Lady Blue; you are absent-minded." + +"Am I? I was only labelling and pigeon-holing a thought; it is to be +laid away to moulder with the dust of ages." + +"A thought that can not be spoken?" + +"A thought that it was folly to think, and that would be worse than +folly to speak." + +If he replied she did not hear; they sauntered on, she keeping the path +and he walking on the grass. + +A carriage passed, driving slowly. The two ladies within watched the +pedestrians,--a fair-faced girl with thoughtful eyes, and a tall man with +an intellectual face,--as if they were a part of the landscape of the +spring. + + "'In the spring a young man's fancy--'" + +laughingly quoted one of them. + +"Will she accept or refuse him?" asked the other. + +"If she do either it will be once and forever," was the reply seriously +given. "Did you notice her mouth? She has been very much troubled, but +she can be made very glad." + +After the carriage had passed, Mr. Hammerton spoke, "I am glad we amused +those people; they failed to decide whether or not we are lovers." + +"They have very little penetration, then," said Tessa. "I am too languid +and you are too unconscious." + +"There is nothing further to be said; you do not know what you have +nipped in the bud." + +"I suppose we never know that." + +Dinah met them at the gate, her wind-blown curls and laughing eyes in +striking contrast to the older face that had lost all its color. Tessa +did not see that Mr. Hammerton's eyes were studying the change in her +face; she had no more care of the changes in her face with him than with +Dinah. + +"I'll be in about eight," he said to Dinah, as Tessa brushed past him to +enter the gate. + +Another thing that influenced impressible Tessa this day, was a talk at +the tea-table. They were sitting around the tea-table cozily, the four +people who, in her mother's thought, constituted all Tessa's world. Mr. +Wadsworth in an easy position in his arm-chair was listening to his +three girls and deciding that his little wife was really the handsomest +and sprightliest woman that he had ever seen, that happy little Dine was +as bewitching as she could well be, and that Tessa, the light of his +eyes, was like no one else in all the world. Not that any stranger +sitting in his arm-chair would have looked through his eyes, but he was +an old man, disappointed in his life, and his three girls were all of +earth and a part of heaven to him. They were all talking and he was +satisfied to listen. "I believe that some girls are born without a +mother's heart," Mrs. Wadsworth said in reply to a story of Dine's about +a young mother in Dunellen who had slapped her baby, saying that she +hated it and was nothing but a slave to it! "Now, here's Tessa. _She_ +has no motherliness. Only this morning Freddie Stone fell down near the +gate and hurt his head; his screams were terrifying, but she went on +working and let him scream. As I said it is all as girls are born." + +"Yes," answered Tessa, in the deliberate way in which she had schooled +herself to reply to her mother, "I know that your last assertion is +true. There was a lady in school, a teacher of mathematics, she +acknowledged that she did not love her own little girls as other mothers +seemed to do. She stated it as she would have stated any fact in +geometry; perhaps she thought that she was no more responsible for one +than for the other. The mere fact of motherhood does not bring mother +love within; any mother that does not give to her child a true idea of +the mother-heart of God fails utterly in being a mother. She may be a +nurse, a paid nurse, or a nurse upon compulsion; any hired nurse can +wash a child's face, can tie its sash and make pretty things for it to +wear, and _any_ nurse, who was never mother to a child, can teach it +what God means when He says, 'as a mother comforteth.' Miss Jewett could +not be happier in her Bible class girls if they were all her own +children; she says so herself. Mary Sherwood said to her one day, 'If my +mother were like you, how different I should have been!'" + +"Such a case is an exception," returned Mrs. Wadsworth excitedly. + +"Nineteen out of her twenty-three girls tell her their troubles when +they would not tell their own mothers," said Dinah. "She has +twenty-three secret drawers to keep their secrets in." + +"She has time to listen to fol-de-rol. She advises them all to marry for +some silly notion and let a good home slip, I've no doubt." + +"I expect that twenty-one of her girls have refused John Gesner," +laughed Mr. Wadsworth. "He will have to bribe Miss Jewett to let them +alone." + +"Only twenty, father," said Dine. "Tessa and Sue and I are waiting to do +it." + +"I will make this house too uncomfortable for the one of you that does +refuse him." + +"Mother! mother!" remonstrated Mr. Wadsworth gently. + +"He'll never have the honor," said Dine. "Mr. Lewis Gesner is the +gentleman; I have always admired him. Haven't you, Tessa?" + +"Yes; I like to shake hands with him; he has a trustworthy face." + +"So much for the mothers of Dunellen, Tessa; how about the fathers? +Would the girls like to have Miss Jewett for a father, too?" + +"Oh, the fathers have the bread-winning to do. If the mothers do not +understand, we can not expect the fathers to understand. There was a +girl at school who had had a hard home experience; she told me that she +never repeated the second word of the Lord's prayer; that she said +instead: Our Lord, who art in heaven?" + +"Oh, deary me! How dreadful!" cried Dinah, moving nearer the arm-chair +and dropping her head on her father's shoulder. "Didn't she _ever_ learn +to say it?" + +"Not while we were at school." + +"Tessa, you can talk," said her mother. + +"Yes," said Tessa, humbly, "I can talk." + +"She was a very wicked girl," continued Mrs. Wadsworth. "I don't see how +she dared; I should think that she would have been afraid of dying in +her sleep as a judgment sent upon her." + +"Perhaps she did not repeat the prayer as a charm," answered Tessa, in +her clearest tones. + +Dinah lifted her head to laugh. + +"You upheld her, no doubt," declared Mrs. Wadsworth. + +"I sympathized with her as they who never had a pain can feel for the +sick," said Tessa, smiling into her father's eyes. + +"How did you talk to her?" asked Dine. + +"What is talk? I only told her to wait and she would know." + +"It's easy to talk," said Mrs. Wadsworth uncomfortably. "You can talk an +hour about sympathy, but you didn't run out to Freddie Stone." + +"Why didn't you?" inquired her father seriously. + +Tessa laughed, while Dine answered. + +"Mother was there talking as fast as she could talk, Bridget was there +with a basin of water and a sponge, Mrs. Bird had run over, a carriage +with two ladies, a coachman and a footman had stopped to look on, and +oh, I was there too. He was somewhat bloody." + +"You are excused, daughter. Save your energies for a time of greater +need." + +"Energies! Need!" tartly exclaimed Mrs. Wadsworth. "If she begins to be +literary, she will care for nothing else." + +"I see no evidence of a lessening interest yet," replied her father. + +"Oh, I might know that you would encourage her. She might as well have +the small-pox as far as her prospects go! A needle is a woman's weapon." + +"You forget her tongue, mother," suggested Dine. "Oh, Tessa, what is +that about a needle; Mrs. Browning says it." + +Tessa repeated: + + "'A woman takes a housewife from her breast, + And plucks the delicatest needle out + As 'twere a rose, and pricks you carefully + 'Neath nails, 'neath eyelids, in your nostrils,--say, + A beast would roar so tortured--but a man, + A human creature, must not, shall not flinch, + No, not for shame.'" + +"Some woman wrote that when she'd have done better to be sewing for her +husband, I'll warrant," commented Mrs. Wadsworth. Mr. Wadsworth looked +grave. + +"Oh she had a literary husband," replied Tessa, mischievously. "A word +that rhymed with supper would do instead of bread and butter; and he +cared more for one of her poems than he did for his buttons." + +"Literary men don't grow on every bush; and they don't take to literary +women, either," said her mother. + +"Mother, you forget the Howitts, William and Mary; what good, good times +they have taking long walks and writing; like you and Gus, Tessa, and +Mr. and Mrs. Browning--" + +"You don't find such people in Dunellen; _we_ live in Dunellen. Gus will +choose a woman that doesn't care for books, and so will Mr. Towne, mark +my words! And so will Felix Harrison, even if he is killing himself with +study." + +"He is improving greatly," said Mr. Wadsworth, pulling one of Dine's +long curls straight. "He is going away Monday to finish his studies." + +"I honor him," said Tessa, flushing slightly. + +"Don't," said Dine, "he sha'n't have you, Tessa. Don't honor him." + +"That's all you and your father think of--keeping Tessa. She needs the +wear and tear of married life to give her character." + +"It's queer about that," rejoined Tessa in a perplexed tone, playing +with her napkin ring. "If such discipline _be_ the best, why is any +woman permitted to be without it? Why does not the fitting husband +appear as soon as the girl begins to wish for him? In the East, where it +is shameful for a girl not to be married at eleven, I have yet to learn +that the wives are noted for strength or beauty of character." + +"You may talk," said her mother, heatedly, "but two years hence _you_ +will dance in a brass kettle." + +"I hope that I shall work in it," answered Tessa, coloring painfully, +however. Whether her lips were touched with a slight contempt, or +tremulous because she was very, very much hurt, Dinah could not decide; +she was silent because she could not think of any thing sharp enough to +reply; she never liked to be _too_ saucy. + +Mr. Wadsworth spoke in his genial voice: "It's a beautiful thing, +daughters, to help a good man live a good life." + +Dinah thought: "I would love to do such a beautiful thing." Tessa was +saying to herself, "Oh, what should I do if my father were to die!" + +Mr. Wadsworth pushed back his chair, went around to his wife and kissed +her. Tessa loved him for it. + +"You have helped a good man, a good old man, haven't you, fairy?" he +said, smoothing the hair that was as pretty as Dinah's. + +"Yes," answered his wife, and Tessa shivered from head to foot. "People +all said that you were a different man after you were married." + +"I'm going over to Norah's," cried Dinah. "I told her that I would come +to write our French together. And, oh, father! I forgot to tell you, Gus +will be in about eight." + +"I don't know that I care for chess; I can not concentrate my attention +as I could a year ago." + +"Why do you run off if he is coming?" asked Mrs. Wadsworth. + +"He comes too often to be attended to," Dine answered. "Won't you be +around, Tessa?" + +"Perhaps." + +Tessa had resolved to give the evening to writing letters, and was +passing through the dining-room with a china candlestick in her hand, +when her father, reading Shakespeare at the round table, on which stood +a shaded lamp, detained her by catching at her dress. + +"Set your light down, daughter, and stay a moment." + +With her hand upon his shoulder, she looked down over the page he was +reading: + + "'Heaven doth with us as we with torches do; + Not light them for themselves--'" + +she read aloud. + +"I made my will to-day," he said quietly; "that is, I changed it. Lewis +Gesner and Gus Hammerton, my tried friends, were in the office at the +time. If you ever need a friend, daughter, any thing done for you that +Gus can not do--I count on him as the friend of my girls for life--go to +Lewis Gesner." + +"I don't want a friend; I have you." + +"If I should tell your mother about the will she would go into +hysterics, and Dine would be sure that I am going to die; I have divided +my little all equally among my three. That is, all but this house and +garden, which I have given to my elder daughter, Theresa Louise. It is +to be hers solely, without any gainsaying. Your mother will fume when +the fact is made known to her, but I give it to you that my three girls +may always have a roof, humble though it be, over their heads. The old +man did not know how to make money, but he left them enough to be +comfortable all their lives there was never any need that his wife +should worry and work, or that his daughter should marry for a home. +Very good record for the old man; eh, daughter?" + +She laid her cheek against the bald forehead and put both arms around +his neck. + +"And, Tessa, child, your mother is half right about you; don't have any +notions about marriage; promise me that you will marry--for you will, +some day--but for the one best reason." + +"What is that?" she asked roguishly. "How am I to know?" + +"What do you think?" + +"Because somebody needs me and I can do him good." + +"A Hottentot might urge that; you will find the reason in time. Don't +make an idol; that is your temperament." + +"I know it." + +"And above all things don't sacrifice yourself; few men appreciate being +done good to! I know men, they are terribly human. Gus Hammerton is a +fine fellow." + +"_He_ is terribly human," she answered with a little laugh. + +"Am I harsh towards your mother ever, do you think?" he asked in a +changed tone. + +"Why, _no_," she exclaimed in surprise. + +"I used to be. I tried to mould her. Don't _you_ ever try to mould any +body; now run away to your work or to your book! Don't sigh over me, I +am 'well and hearty.' How short my life seems when I look back. Such +dreams as I had. It's all right, though." + +She could not run away, for the door-bell, in answer to a most decided +pull, detained her; she opened it, expecting to see Mr. Hammerton, but +to her surprise, and but slightly to her pleasure, Felix Harrison stood +there in broad-shouldered health. + +"Good evening," she said with some bewilderment. + +"Do I startle you?" he asked in the old gracious, winning manner. "May I +come in?" + +"I am very glad to see you. Will you walk into my parlor, Mr. Fly?" + +The one tall candle in the china candlestick was the only light in the +room. She set it upon the table, saying, "Excuse me, and I will bring a +light, that we may the better look at each other. The light of other +days is hardly sufficient." + +"It is enough for me," he said, pushing the ottoman towards one of the +low arm-chairs. "Sit down and I will take the ottoman. The parrot +recognizes me." + +Her hand moved nervously on the arm of her chair; the hand was larger +now than when it had spilled ink on his copy-book, larger even than when +it had written her first, shy, proud, indignant refusal. + +"You are not the tempest you used to be," he said smiling after a survey +of her face. + +"_Wasn't_ I a tempest? I have outgrown my little breezes. In time I may +become as gentle as a zephyr." + +"You always were gentle enough." + +"Not to you." + +"Not to me when I tormented you." + +"Probably I should not be gentle if I were tormented now." + +She had never decided to which of the five thousand shades of green +Felix Harrison's eyes belonged; they were certainly green; one of the +English poets had green eyes, she wondered if they were like Felix +Harrison's. To-night they glittered as if they were no color at all. +This face beside her was a spiritualized face; a strong mouth as sweet +as a woman's, a round benevolent chin; a low, square forehead; hair as +light as her own; his side face as he turned at least five years younger +than the full face; she had often laughed at his queer fashion of +growing old and growing young. At times, in the years when they were +more together than of late, he had changed so greatly that, after not +having seen him for several days she had passed him in the street +without recognition; these times had been in those indignant times after +she had refused him; that they were more than indignant times to him she +was made painfully aware by these changes in his rugged face. + +"I have been thinking over those foolish times," she said, breaking the +silence. "I am glad that you came in to-night; I am in a mood for +confessing my wrong-doings; I have said many quick words; you know you +always had the talent for irritating me." + +"Yes, I always worried you." + +"You did not intend to," she said hastily, watching the movement of his +lips; "we did not understand, that is all. It takes longer than a summer +and a winter for heart to answer to heart." + +"We have known each other many summers and many winters." + +"And now we are old, sensible, hard-working people; having given up all +nonsense we are discovering the sense there is in sense." + +He turned his face with a listening look in his eyes. + +"Did not some one come in? Shall we be disturbed?" + +"Not unless we wish to be. It is only Mr. Hammerton, he is a great +friend of father's. He renews his youth in him." + +"Is he not _your_ friend?" + +How well she remembered his suspicious, exacting questions! + +"He is my best friend," she said proudly. + +"I wish I was in heaven," he said, his voice grown weak. "Every thing +goes wrong with me; every thing has gone wrong all my life. Father is in +a rage because I will not stay home; he offered me to-day the deed for +two hundred acres as a bribe. I should be stronger to-day but that he +worked my life out when I was a growing boy." + +"A country life is best for you. Your old homestead is the loveliest +place around, with its deep eaves and dormer-windows and vines. That +wide hall is one of my pleasant recollections, and the porch that looks +into the garden, the blue hills away off, and the cool woods, the +thrushes and the robins and the whip-poor-will at twilight; that +solitary note sets me to crying, or it used to when I dreamed dreams and +told them to Laura! I hope that Laura will love the place too well to +leave it; it is my ideal of a home; much more than splendid Old Place +is." + +"I will stay if you will come and live in it with me," he said quietly. + +"I like my own home better," she answered as quietly. "Are you stronger +than you were?" + +"Much stronger. I have not had one of those attacks since March. Lake +warns me; but I am twice the man that he is! How he coughed last winter! +I haven't any thing to live for, anyway." + +"It is very weak for you to say that." + +"Whose fault is it that I am so weak? Whose fault is it that my life is +spoiled? You have spoiled every thing for me by playing fast and loose +with me." + +"I never did that," she answered indignantly. "You accuse me +wrongfully." + +"Every time you speak to me or look at me you give me hope; an hour with +you I live on for months. O, Tessa," dropping his head in both hands, "I +have loved you all my life." + +"I know it," she said solemnly. "Can't you be brave and bear it?" + +"I _am_ bearing it. I am bearing it and it is killing me. You never had +the water ebb and flow, ebb and flow when you were dying of thirst. +Women can not suffer; they are heartless, all their heart is used in +causing men to suffer. A touch of your hand, the color in your cheek, a +dropping of your eyes, talks to me and tells me a lie; and then you go +up-stairs and kneel down to Him, who is the truth-maker! You are a +covenant-breaker. You have looked at me scores of times as if you loved +me; you have told me that you like to be with me; and when I come to you +and ask you like a man to become my wife, you blush and falter, and +answer like a woman--_no_. I beg your pardon--" + +The tears stood in her eyes but would not fall. + +"I did not come here to upbraid you. I did not start from home with the +intention of coming; but I saw you through the window with your arms +around your father's neck and I thought, 'Her heart is soft to-night; +she will listen to me.' I was drawn in, as you always draw me, against +my better judgment. I shall not trouble you again; I am going away. +Tessa," suddenly snatching both hands, "if you are so sorry for me, why +can't you love me?" + +"I don't know," not withdrawing her hands, "something hinders. I honor +you. I admire you. Your love for me is a great rest to me; I want to +wrap myself up in it and go to sleep; I do not want to give it up--no one +else loves me, and I _do_ want somebody to love me." + +"I will love you; only let me. Marry me and I will stay at home; I will +do for you all that a human heart and two human hands can do; I will +_be_ to you all that you will help me to be." + +"But I do not want to marry you," she said perplexed. "I should have to +give up too much. I love my home and the people in it better than I love +you." + +"I will not take you away; you shall have them all; you shall come to +them and they shall come to you; remember that I have never loved any +one but you--" the great tears were rolling down his cheeks. "I am not +worth it; I am not worthy to speak to you, or even to hold your hands +like this." He broke down utterly, sobbing wearily and excitedly. + +"Don't, oh, don't," she cried hurriedly. "I may grow to love you if you +want me to so much, and you are good and true, I can believe every word +you say--not soon--in two or three years perhaps." + +His tears were on her hands, and he had loved her all her life; no one +else loved her, no one else ever would love her like this; he was good +and true, and she wanted some one to love her; she wanted to be sure of +love somewhere and then to go to sleep. Her father should see her +married before he died; her mother would never-- + +"You have promised," he cried, in a thick voice. "You have promised and +you never break your word." + +"I have promised and I never break my word; but you must not speak of it +to any one, not even to Laura, and I will not tell father, or Gus, or +Miss Jewett, or Dine; no one must guess it for one year--it is so sudden +and strange! I couldn't bear to hear it spoken of; and if you are very +gentle and do not _try_ to make me love you--you must not kiss me, or put +your arms around me, you know I never did like that, and perhaps that is +one reason why I never liked you before--you must let me alone, let love +come of itself and grow of itself." + +"I will," he uttered brokenly, and rose up trembling from head to foot. +"May God bless you!--bless you!--bless you!" + +It was better for him to leave her; the strain had been too great for +both. + +"I must be alone; I must go out under the stars and thank God." + +She lifted her face to his and kissed him. How unutterably glad and +thankful she was in all her life afterward that she gave that kiss +unasked. + +"God bless you, my darling," he said tenderly, "and He _will_ bless you +for this." + +Bewildered, not altogether unhappy, she sat alone while he went out +under the stars. + +Was this the end of all her girlhood's dreams? + +Only Felix Harrison! Must she pass all her life with him? Must her +father and mother and Gus and Dine be not so much to her because Felix +Harrison had become more--had become most? And Ralph Towne? Ought she to +love Felix as she had loved him? + +The hurried questions were answerless. She did not belong to herself; +not any more to her father as she had belonged to him half an hour since +with both her arms around his neck. Love constituted ownership, and she +belonged to Felix through this mighty right of love; did he belong to +her through the same divine right? + +He was thanking God and so must she thank Him. + +"Tessa," called her father, "come here, daughter!" + +With the candle in her hand, she stood in the door-way of the +sitting-room. "Well," she said. + +"With whom were you closeted?" asked Mr. Hammerton, looking up from the +chess-board. + +The effort to speak in her usual tone lent to her voice a sharpness that +startled herself. + +"Felix Harrison." + +"Your old tormentor!" suggested Mr. Hammerton. + +"Who ever called him that?" She came to the table, set the candlestick +down and looked over the chess-board. + +"She has refused him again," mentally decided Mr. Hammerton, carefully +moving his queen. + +"I called you, daughter, because Gus withstood me out and out about +'Heaven doth with us as we with torches do.' Find it and let his +obstinate eyes behold!" + +She opened the volume, turning the leaves with fingers that trembled. +"Truly enough," she was thinking, "a year from to-day will find a +difference." + +"Now I am going over for Dine," she said, after Mr. Hammerton had +acknowledged himself in the wrong. + +"Permit me to accompany you," he said. Even with Tessa Wadsworth, Gus +Hammerton was often formal. They found Dinah bidding Norah good-by at +Mr. Bird's gate; they were laughing at nothing, as usual. + +"Let us walk to the end of the planks," suggested Mr. Hammerton. "On a +night like this I could tramp till sunrise." He drew Tessa's arm through +his, saying, "Now, Dine, take the other fin." + +The end of the planks touched a piece of woods; at the entrance of the +wood stood an old building, windowless, doorless, chimneyless; the +school children knew that it was haunted. + +"We're afraid," laughed Dine; "the old hut looks ghostly." + +"It _is_ ghostly, I will relate its history. Once upon a time, upon a +dark night, so dark that I could not see the white horse upon which I +rode--" + +"Oh, that's splendid," cried Dinah, hanging contentedly upon his arm. +"Listen, Tessa." + +But Tessa could not listen. She was feeling the peace that rested over +the woods, the fields; that was enwrapping Old Place, and further down +the dim road the low-eaved homestead that must thenceforth be home to +her. There could be no more air-castles; her future was decided. She had +turned the leaf and discovered a name that hitherto had meant so little: +Felix Harrison. Not Ralph Towne; a year ago to-night it was English +violets and Ralph Towne. The peace that brooded over all might be hers, +if only she would be content. + +At this moment,--while she was trying to be content, trying to believe +that she could interpret the peace of the shining stars, and while she +was hearing the sound of her companion's words, a solemn, even tone that +rolled on in unison with her thoughts,--two people far away were thinking +of her; thinking of her, but not wishing and not daring to speak her +name. + +"I can not understand, Ralph. I was sure that we would bring Naughty Nan +away with us." + +"Truly, mother, I would have pleased you, if I could." + +"You are too serious for her; with all her mischievous advances,--like a +white kitten provokingly putting out its paw,--she was more than half +afraid of you." + +"It does not hurt her to be afraid." + +"She is most bewitching." + +"Now, mother! But it is too late; she will understand by my parting +words that I do not expect to see her soon again. In my mind is a memory +that has kept me from loving that delicious Naughty Nan." + +"Is the memory a fancy?" + +"No; it is too real for my ease of mind. If I were a poet, which I am +not, I should think that her spirit haunted me." + +"Can you tell me no more of her? That daughter that I might have had!" + +"I do not understand her: she is beyond me, she baffles me." + +"I read of a man once who loved a woman too well to marry any one else, +and yet he did not love her well enough to marry her." + +"Was he a fool?" + +"Answer the question for yourself. Are _you_ a fool?" + +"Yes, I am. I do not know my own mind. I should call another man a +fool." + +"It may not be too late," she gently urged. + +"Too late for what?" he asked irritably. + +"To be wise." + +In a few moments he spoke in an abrupt, changed tone-- + +"Mother! I have decided at last. I shall hang out my shingle in +Dunellen. It is a picturesque little city, and the climate is as good +for you as the south of France." + +"I am very glad," she answered cordially. "You are a born physician, you +are cool, you are quick, you are gentle; you can keep your feelings +under perfect control. You are not quite a Stoic, but you will do very +well for one." + +"But you will not be happy at Old Place without me." + +"Why should I be without you?" + +"You have noticed that large, wide brick house on the opposite side of +the Park from Miss Jewett's? It has a garden and stable; it is just the +house for us; you may have two rooms thrown into one for your +sitting-room and any other changes that you please." + +"I remember it, I like the situation; there are English sparrows in the +trees." + +"We will take that for the present. John Gesner owns it; he will make +his own price if he sees that I want it, I suppose. I _do_ want it. +There are not many things that I desire more. You and I will have a +green old age at Old Place." + +"You forget that I am thirty years older than you, my son." + +By accident, one day, Mrs. Towne had come across, in one of the drawers +of her son's writing-table, a large photograph of Tessa Wadsworth, a +vignette, and she had gazed long upon her; the face was not beautiful, +one would not even think of it as pretty, but it was fine, intellectual, +sensitive, and sweet. In searching for an old letter not long before +leaving home, she had discovered this picture, defaced and torn into +several pieces. + +"Ralph, you will not be angry with your white-headed old mother, but +were you ever refused?" + +"No," he said, laughing. "A dozen women may have been ready to refuse +me, but not one ever did." + +"Nor accepted you, either," she continued, shrewdly. + +He arose and began to pace the floor; after some turns of excited +movement, he came to her and stood behind her chair. "I know that I have +been accepted; I know that I asked when I did not intend to ask--that +is--I was carried beyond myself; I asked when I did not know that I was +asking." + +"What shall you do now?" + +"I shall ask in reality; I shall confess myself in the wrong." + +"And she?" + +"And she? She has the tenderest heart in the world. She has forgiven me +long ago." + +"Do not trust her eyes and forget her lips," warned his mother. "Love is +slain sometimes." + +He resumed his walk with a less confident air. He _had_ forgotten her +lips. + +Would Tessa have cared to hear this? Would she have forgotten Felix, his +blessing and the quiet of the holy stars? + +"Oh," cried Dinah, with her little shout (she would not have been Dinah +without that little shout), "Oh, Tessa, did you hear?" + +"She is star-gazing," said Mr. Hammerton. + +"It isn't a true story," pleaded Dinah. "You didn't really see him +hanging by the rope and the woman looking on." + +"My young friend, it is an allegory; that is what you will drive some +man to some day." + +"You know I won't. What is the name of that bright star?" + +"It isn't a star, it's a planet." + +"How do I know the difference?" + +"Lady Blue knows." + +"Do you call her that because her eyes are so blue or because she is a +blue-stocking?" + +"She is not a blue-stocking; I will not allow it. It is for her eyes." + +"Gus," said Dinah, "I can't understand things." + +"What things?" + +"Tennyson's Dream of Fair Women." + +"I shouldn't think you could. I have spent hours on it trying to make it +out. You look up Marc Antony and Cleopatra--" + +"As if I had to." + +"Well, look up the daughter of the warrior Gileadite, and fair Rosamond, +and angered Eleanor, and Fulvia, and Joan of Arc." + +"And will you read it to us, and talk all about it?" cried Dinah in +delight. "I like King Lear when father reads it, but I can't understand +Shakespeare; he is all conversations." + +Mr. Hammerton laughed, and patted her head. "I will bring you the +stories that Charles and Mary Lamb gathered from Shakespeare." + +"Shall we turn?" asked Tessa, slipping her hand through his arm; he +instantly imprisoned her fingers. Felix would be troubled and angry she +knew, even at this clasp of an old friend's hand. Jealousy was his one +strong passion; he was jealous of the books she read, of the letters she +received, of every word spoken to her that he did not hear; she wondered +as her fingers drew themselves free, if he would ever become jealous of +her prayers. + +She drew a long breath as the weight of her bondage fell heavier and +heavier; and then, he was so demonstrative, so lavish of his caresses, +and her ideal of a lover was one who held himself aloof, who kept his +hands and his lips to himself. She sighed more than once as she kept +even pace with the others. + +"Has the nightingale made a mistake?" asked Mr. Hammerton, as they were +crossing to the gate. + +"She only made one mistake. I wonder how many I _can_ make if I do my +best to make them." + +Dinah opened the gate; her father's light streamed through the windows +over the garden, down the path. + +"Good night," said Mr. Hammerton. "Oh, I just remember, what shall I do? +I asked my cousin Mary to go to a lecture on Burns with me to-night, and +I declare! I never thought of it until this minute." + +"Mary Sherwood will give it to you," said Dinah. "I wonder what your +wife will do with you." + +"A wife's first duty is obedience," he answered. + +"I'd like to see the man I'd promise to obey," said Dinah, quickly. + +"I expect you would," he said gravely. + +Dine darted after him to box his ears, words being impotent, and Tessa +went into the house. "I think I'll pigeon-hole _this_ day and then go to +bed," she said, a merry gleam crossing her eyes; "between my two walks +on the planks to-day, I have lived half a lifetime. I hope Dr. Lake is +asleep; I will never hurt Felix as he is hurt." + + + + +IX.--THE NEW MORNING. + + +Her eyes were wide open an hour before the dawn; as the faint light +streamed through the east and glowed brighter and brighter along the rim +of the south that she could see from her position on the pillow, she +arose, wrapped a shawl about her, and went to the window to watch the +new morning. On the last night of the old year she had watched the +sunset standing at her western window, then the light had gone out of +her life and all the world was dark; now, in the new year, her private +and personal new year, the light was rising, creeping up slowly into the +sky, the gold, the faint rose and the bright rose running into each +other, softening, blending, glowing deeper and deeper as she watched. +This new morning that was an old morning to so many other eyes that were +looking out upon it; this new morning that would be again for Dinah, +perhaps, and for all the other girls that were growing up into God's +kingdom on the earth! The robins in Mr. Bird's apple orchard were awake, +too, and chanticleer down the road had proclaimed the opening of another +new day with all his lusty might. She wondered, as she listened and +looked, if Felix were standing in the light of the morning on the porch, +or he might be walking up and down the long garden path. And thanking +God? She wished that she were thanking God. She was thanking Him for the +light, the colors, the refreshing, misty air, the robins and the white +and pink wealth of apple blossoms; but she was not thanking Him because +Felix Harrison loved her. + +"And that night they caught nothing." + +The words repeated themselves with startling clearness. What connection +could they possibly have with the sunrise? Oh, now she knew; it was +because the fishermen had seen the Lord upon the shore in the morning. + +_She_ had caught nothing; all her night of toil had been fruitless; she +had striven and hoped and dreamed, oh, how she had dreamed of all that +she would do and become! And now she could not be glad of any thing. + +The years had ended in having Felix Harrison love her; that was all. She +had lived her childhood and girlhood through for such a time as this. + +This new year had brought more hard things to bear than any of the old +years; if she could only tell some one who would care and sympathize +with her and help her not only to bear but to do and to become; but her +father would be justly angry and exclaim, "Madness, daughter," her +mother would laugh and look perplexed, Miss Jewett would say, "O, Tessa, +Tessa, I didn't think such a thing of you," and Mr. Towne--but she had no +right to think of him! And Gus! He would look at her steadily and say +nothing; he would be disappointed in her if he knew that she could +promise with her lips, with no love in her heart save the love of +regret, compassion, and contrition for all that she had so unconsciously +caused him to suffer. And how could she reveal to Felix, poor Felix! the +plain, cold truth! how she shrank from him as soon as she was alone and +could think! how as the morning grew brighter and her world more real +she shrank from him yet more and more! how the very thought of his +presence, of his tight arms around her, and his smooth face close to +hers gave her a feeling of repulsion that she had never felt towards any +human being before! She felt that she must flee to the ends of the earth +rather than to endure him. But it was done; she must keep her word; he +should never guess; she would write a note and slip it into his hand +to-day, he would be sure to press through the crowd towards her as she +came out of church. She would write it now and be at rest. Her +writing-desk stood open, pages of manuscript were laid upon it. She +selected a sheet of lemon-colored note paper, and wrote a message, +hurriedly, in pencil. Never afterward would she write a word upon +lemon-colored paper. + +"Do not come to me, dear Felix--" she hesitated over the adjective, +erased the words, and dropped the sheet into her waste paper basket and +found another: "Do not come to me, Felix, until I send for you, please. +I am not strong. I want to be alone. Do not think me unkind, you know +that I always did like to be alone. Do not expect too much of me; I am +not what you think; I am a weak, impulsive woman, too tender-hearted to +be wise, or to be just towards myself or towards you. If you want me to +love you, ask it of Him, who is love; do not ask it of me, I am not +love. But do not be troubled, I have given my word, I am not a +covenant-breaker, _I will be true_." + +She folded it, not addressing it, and placed it in the pocket of the +dress that she would wear to church; as she passed the window she saw +Dr. Lake driving towards home. Shivering, although the sun was high +enough to shine on the apple blossoms, she crept back to bed, nestling +close to sleepy Dine who loved her morning nap better than the sunrise. +Her confused thoughts ran hither and thither; she found herself +repeating something that she and Mr. Hammerton had learned together +years ago, + + "'Yes,' I answered you last night; + 'No,' this morning, sir, I say; + Colors seen by candlelight + Do not look the same by day." + +Mr. Hammerton said that he and the Wadsworth girls had learned "miles" +of poetry together. The Harrisons were not at church. When had such a +thing happened before? Her fingers were on the note in her pocket as she +passed down the aisle. + +"Tessa, Tessa," whispered a loud whisper behind her, and Sue's +irrepressible lips were close to her ear; "come home to dinner with me; +you won't want to go to Bible class, for Miss Jewett is down to +Harrison's. Father sent for her to go early this morning." + +"Why is she there?" + +"Oh, somebody is sick. Felix. Dr. Lake was there in the night and father +was going this morning. He was taken crazy, I believe. Come home with +me, will you?" + +"Very well." + +She found Dine waiting for Norah, and told her that she was going home +with Sue, then rejoined Sue at one of the gates. + +"I'm awful lonesome Sundays," began Sue; "Aunt Jane has gone, I told +you, didn't I? A cousin of hers died and left some dozens of young ones +and she had to go and take care of them and console the widower. 'The +unconsolable widder of Deacon Bedott will never get married again!' but +she went all the same. She said that she had brought _me_ up far enough +to take care of father." + +Sue's lightness grated all along her nerves. + +"Did you like Mary Sherwood's hat? Too many flowers, don't you think so? +And she _will_ wear light blue with her sallow face! Wasn't it a queer +sermon, too? Don't you think it is wicked for ministers to frighten +people so? He said that we make our own lives, that we choose every day, +and that every choice has an influence. You think that I don't listen +because I stare around, don't you? I sha'n't forget that ever, because I +have just had a choice that will influence my life; and I chose _not_ to +do it. It's hateful to have Miss Jewett away; I won't go to Bible class, +and I won't let you, either. I have a book to read, or I can go to +sleep." + +"Yes, you can go to sleep." + +"I have something to tell you," said Sue, shyly, hesitating as she +glanced into Tessa's quiet, almost stern, face. + +"Not now--in the street." + +"Oh, no, when we are by ourselves. Our parlors are lovely now; you will +see how I have fixed up things. Father is so delighted to have me home +that he will let me do any thing I like." + +Voices behind them and voices before them, now and then a soft, Sunday +laugh; through the pauses of Sue's talk Tessa listened, catching at any +thing to keep herself from thinking. + +"A rare sermon." + +"It will do me good all the week." + +"The most becoming spring hat I've seen." + +"He is very handsome in the pulpit." + +"Come over to tea." + +"I expect to do great things this summer." + +"If I could talk like that I'd set people to thinking." + +"We sha'n't get out of trouble in _this_ world." + +"When I can't forgive myself, I just let go of myself, and let God +forgive me." + +She wished that she could see that face; the voice sounded familiar, the +reply was in a man's voice; she felt as if she were listening, but she +would have liked to hear the reply, all the more when she discovered +that the talkers were Mr. Lewis Gesner and his sister. + +"_Isn't_ she handsomely dressed?" exclaimed Sue in admiration. "She +passed me without seeing me. He is so wrapped up in that sister that he +will never be married." + +The crowd became thinner; couples and threes and fours, sometimes only +one, entered at each gate as they moved on; they passed down the long +street almost alone; Dr. Greyson's new house stood nearly a mile from +the Park; there was a grass plot in front and stables in the rear. + +Dr. Lake was driving around to the stables. + +"I hoped that he wouldn't be home to lunch; he's awful cross," said Sue, +with a pout and a flush. Fifteen minutes later the lunch bell rang; Dr. +Greyson hurried in as they were seating themselves at the table. + +Tessa's quickened heart-beats would not allow her to ask about Felix; +she knew that her voice would betray her agitation; Dr. Lake had shaken +hands and had not stopped to speak to her; his miserable face was but a +repetition of yesterday. + +Dr. Greyson seldom talked of anything but his patients and he was +interested in Felix Harrison, she knew that she had but to wait +patiently. + +"Susie is a perfect housekeeper, isn't she? Somebody will find it out, +I'm afraid." + +"That's all I am," said Sue. "Father, why didn't you educate me?" + +"Educate a kitten!" + +"How is Felix Harrison?" inquired Dr. Lake. + +"Bad! Bad enough. That fellow has been walking around with a brain +fever. He'll pull through with care. Miss Jewett will stay until they +can get a nurse; I would rather keep _her_, though. I warned him months +ago. I told him that it would come to this. He has thrown away his life; +he'll never be good for any thing again. I am glad that he has a father +to take care of him; lucky for him, and not so lucky for his father. I +wouldn't care to see my son such a wreck as he'll be. Why a man born +with brains will deliberately make a fool of himself, I can't +understand. Teaching and studying law and what not? He will have fits as +long as he lives coming upon him any day any hour; he will be as much +care as an infant. More, for an infant does grow up, and he will only +become weaker and weaker mentally and physically. He has been under some +great excitement, I suspect. _They_ don't know what it is. He came home +late last night; his father heard a noise in his room and went in to +find him as crazy as a loon. He said that he had heard him talking in +his sleep all night long for two or three nights. I hope that he isn't +engaged. I know a case like his, and that poor fellow _was_ engaged." + +"Of course that ended it," said Sue. "A sick husband of all things. I +would drown myself, if I had a sick husband." + +"Of course it ended it. It almost broke her heart, though; broke it for +a year, and then a dashing cousin of his mended it." + +"Perhaps Felix hasn't any cousin. Dr. Lake, will you have more coffee?" +Sue spoke carelessly, not meeting his glance. + +"Thank you, no." + +Dr. Greyson ran on talking and eating: "I told the old man the whole +truth; he begged so hard to know the worst. He cried like a baby. He was +proud of Felix. Felix was a fine fellow,--a noble fellow. But he's dead +now; dead, _and_ buried." + +"Does Laura know?" inquired Sue, helping herself to sweet pickled +peaches. Tessa was tasting the peaches, her throat so full of sobs that +she swallowed the fruit with pain. + +"No, of course not. I told Miss Jewett to tell her any thing, but be +sure to keep her up. He won't die. Why should he? It will come gradually +to her. The very saddest case I know. And to think that it might have +been avoided. I didn't tell his father _that_, though. Felix has no one +but himself to thank. I warned him a year ago. Brains _without_ common +sense is a very poor commodity. What did the minister tell you Miss +Tessa? I haven't been to church since Sue was a baby." + +"No wonder that I'm a heathen, then; any body would be with such a +father," retorted Sue. + +Dr. Lake excused himself abruptly, and crossing the hall went into the +office. + +"That foolish boy has taught me a lesson. I would take a vacation this +summer, only if I leave Sue at home she would run off and marry Lake +before a week." + +"You needn't be afraid," answered Sue, scornfully. "I look higher than +Gerald Lake." + +The office door stood ajar. Sue colored with vexation as the words in +her high voice left her lips. + +"Shall we go into the parlor?" she said rising. "You can find a book and +I'll go to sleep." + +The parlors had been refurnished in crimson and brown. Standing in the +centre of the front parlor, Tessa exclaimed, "Oh, how pretty!" + +"Isn't it? All my taste. Dr. Lake did advise me, though; he went with +me. Now, you shall sit in the front or back just as you please, in the +most comfortable of chairs, and I will sit opposite you and snooze,--that +is," rather doubtfully, for she was afraid of Tessa, "unless you will +let me tell you my secret." + +In passing through the rooms, Tessa had taken a volume of Josephus from +a table; she settled herself at one of the back windows in a pretty +crimson and brown chair, smoothed the folds of her black dress, folded +her hands in her lap over the green volume, and looked up at Sue. Sue +and a book in brown paper were in another crimson and brown chair at +another window; flushed and vexed she played with the edges of her book. + +"Do you think that he heard what I said?" she asked anxiously. + +"You know as well as I." + +She did not feel in a gentle mood towards Sue; her voice and words had +rasped her nerves for the last hour. + +"I didn't intend it for him," she was half crying, "but father provoked +me. He does bother me so. I didn't flirt with him, I was real good and +sisterly. I told him to call me Sister Sue. But after it all, he asked +me to marry him, and was as mad as a hornet, and said dreadful things to +me when I refused him." + +She nibbled the edge of her book; Tessa had nothing to say. + +"I couldn't help it now, could I?" in a tearful voice. + +"You know best." + +"I _know_ I couldn't. I like him. I can't help liking him; a cat or a +dog would like him. In some things, I like him better than Stacey, and +I'm sure I like him better than old John Gesner." + +Tessa opened her book and looked into the handsome face of Flavius +Josephus. + +"Haven't you any thing to say to me?" + +"No." + +"You might sympathize with me." + +"I don't know how." + +Sue nibbled the edge of her book, with her eyes filled with tears. She +had no friend except Tessa, and now she had deserted her! + +Tessa turned the leaves and thought that she was reading; she did read +the words: "The family from which I am derived is not an ignoble one, +but hath descended all along from the priests; and as nobility among +several people is of a different origin, so with us to be of the +sacerdotal dignity is an indication of the splendor of a family." + +"Yes," she tried to think, her eyes wandering out of the window towards +the rear of Gesner's Row, "and that is why the promise, to be made kings +and priests--" + +"Tessa, I think you are real mean," said Sue, in a pathetic voice. + +Tessa met her eyes and smiled. She did not like to be hard towards Sue. + +"Do you think that I've been so wicked?" + +"I think that you have been so wicked that you must either be forgiven +or punished." + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear _me_," dropping her head on the arm of her chair. + +Tessa turned another leaf. "Moreover when I was a child and about +fourteen years of age, I was commended by all for the love I had to +learning; on which account the high priests and principal men of the +city came then frequently to me together, in order to know my opinion +about the accurate understanding of points of the law." + +Her eyes wandered away from the book and out the open window towards the +rows of open windows in the houses behind the stables. At one window was +seated an old man reading; in the same room, for he raised his head to +speak to her, at another window, a woman was sitting reading also. She +was glad that there were two. She wondered if they had been kind to each +other as long as they had known each other. If the old man should die +to-night would the old woman have need to say, "Forgive me." Through the +windows above came the heavy, steady whirr of a sewing-machine, with now +and then a _click_, as if the long seam had come to its end; the bushy, +black head of a German Jew was bent over it; the face that he raised was +not at all like that of the refined Flavius Josephus. No one ever went +to him with knotty points in the law! There were plants in the other +window of the room; she was glad of the plants. It was rather mournful +to be seeking things to be glad about. A child was crying, sharply, +rebelliously; a woman's sharper voice was breaking in upon it. + +There was a voice in the stable speaking to a horse, "Quiet, old boy." A +horse was brought out and harnessed to a buggy without a top. Dr. +Greyson climbed into the buggy and drove off. Another horse was brought +out and harnessed to a buggy with a top. She persuaded herself that she +was very much interested in watching people and things; she had not had +time to think of Felix yet. Dr. Lake came out, sprang into the buggy, +and drove slowly out, not looking towards the windows where sat the two +figures, each apparently absorbed in a book. + +"Tessa," in a broken voice, like the appeal of a naughty child with the +naughtiness all gone, "what shall I do?" + +"I don't know," said Tessa. + +"You don't think that I ought to marry him. He smells of medicine so." + +"I do not think any thing. If I did think any thing, it would be my +thinking and not yours." + +"Do you believe that he cares so _very_ much?" + +The exultant undertone was too much for Tessa's patience. + +"I hope that he has too much good sense to care long; some day when he +can see how heartless you are, he will despise himself for having +fancied that he loved you." + +"You don't care how you hurt my feelings." + +"I am not sure that you have any to be hurt." + +"You are a mean thing; I don't like you; I wish that I hadn't asked you +to come." + +Tessa's eyes were on _Josephus_ again. + +After a long, silent hour, during which Sue looked out the window, and +nibbled the edge of her book, and during which Tessa thought of every +body and every thing except Felix Harrison, Sue spoke: "I'm going +up-stairs for a while; excuse me, please." + +Tessa nodded, closed her book and leaned back in the pretty crimson and +brown chair. Sue came to her and stood a moment; her heart _was_ sore. +If Tessa would only say something kind! But Tessa would not; she only +said coolly, "Well?" + +"You don't believe that I am sorry." + +"I don't believe any thing about it, but that you are heartless and +wicked." + +Sue stood waiting for another word, but Tessa looked tired, and as if +she had forgotten her presence. Why should she look so, Sue asked +herself resentfully; _she_ had nothing to trouble her? Sue went away, +her arms dropped at her side, her long green dress trailing on the +carpet; tenderness gathered in Tessa's eyes as the green figure +disappeared. "I don't like to be hard to her," she murmured. + +The terrible thought of Felix pressed heavier and heavier. She took the +note from her pocket and pondered each word; the cruel, truthful words! +If he had read them she might have had to believe all her life that she +had hastened this illness! The sunshine grew warmer, beating down upon +the paving stones in the yard, the faces kept their places in the +windows, the child's shrill, rebellious cry burst out again and the +woman's sharper voice. + +Sue's steps were moving overhead; suddenly, so suddenly as to break in +upon the current of her thoughts, Sue's voice rang out in her clear +soprano, "Rock of Ages, cleft for me." + +The voice grated, the words coming from the thoughtless lips grated on +her ear and on her heart, grated more harshly than the woman's sharp +voice in taunting rebuke. + + "Nothing in my hand I bring, + Simply to Thy cross I cling." + +As soon as she had decided that she could not bear it another instant, +the singing ceased. It ceased and left her in tears. + + + + +X.--FORGETTING THE BREAD. + + +Again Tessa was spending the night with Miss Jewett; Sue Greyson had +chatted away half the evening, and it was nearly eleven before Tessa +could put both arms around her friend and squeeze her. + +"I am hungry for a talk with you, you dear little woman, every thing is +getting to be criss-cross with me nowadays; I'm so troubled and so +wicked that I almost want to die. You wouldn't love me any more if you +could know how false I am. All my life I have been so proud of being +true," she added bitterly, "I despise myself." + +"Is that all?" + +Miss Jewett was leaning back in her little rocker. Almost before she +knew it herself, Tessa had dropped upon the carpet at her feet. + +"I have come to learn of you, my saint." + +"What have you come to learn, my sinner?" + +"I'm confused--I'm bewildered--I'm all in a tangle. People say, 'pray +about it'; you say that yourself; and I do pray about all the trials in +my life and yet--I can not understand--I am groping my way, I am blind, +walking in the dark. Do you know that I believe that praying for a thing +is the hardest way in the world to get it? I would rather earn it a +thousand times over; I know that you think me dreadfully wicked, but do +not stop me, let me pour it all out; hard praying, never ceasing, night +and day, is enough to wear one out soul and body, because you _must_ +expect to get what you ask for, and if you do not after praying so long +the disappointment is heart-breaking. There now! I have said it and I +feel better. I have no one except you to talk to and I wouldn't dare +tell you how wicked I am. About something I have prayed with all my +strength--I will not be ashamed to tell you--I know you will understand; +it is about loving somebody. I have been so ashamed and shocked at +girls' love-stories and I wanted one so true and pure and unselfish and +beautiful, and I have prayed that mine might be that, and I have tried +so hard to make it that, and yet I get into trouble and break my own +heart, which is nothing at all, and more than break some one else's +heart and do as much harm as Sue Greyson does, who is as flighty as a +witch! I would rather go without things than pray years and years and be +disappointed every day, or go farther and farther into wrong-doing as I +do; I don't believe that the flightiest and flirtiest of your girls does +as much harm as I do, or is as false to herself as I am! And I have been +so proud of being true!" + +"My _dear_ child." + +"Is that all you can say to comfort me?" + +"Why do you pray?" + +"Why do I pray?" repeated Tessa in surprise. "To get what I want, I +suppose." + +"I thought so." + +"Isn't that what you pray for?" + +"Hardly. I pray that I may get what God wants." + +"Oh," said Tessa with a half startled, little cry. + +"I fear that you are having a hard time over something, child." + +"If you only knew--but you wouldn't believe in me any longer; neither +would father, or Dine, or Gus, or any one who trusts me; I will not tell +you; I have lost all faith in myself." + +"Thank God for that!" exclaimed the little woman brightly. + +"I am too sore and bruised to be thankful; I feel, sometimes, as if I +could creep into a dark corner and cry my heart out. I could bear it if +I were the only one, but to think that I must make somebody's heart ache +as mine does! I thought all my prayers would prevail to keep me from +making mistakes." + +"Perhaps you have been trying to _earn_ your heart's desire by heaping +up prayers, piling them up higher and higher, morning, noon, and night, +and you have held them up to God thinking that He must be glad to take +them; I shouldn't wonder if you had even supposed that you were paying +Him overmuch--you had prayed enough to get what you want some time ago." + +"That is true," answered Tessa, emphatically. "I have felt as if He were +wronging me by taking my prayers and giving me so little in return. I +believe that I have thought my prayers precious enough to pay for any +thing. I paid my prayers, and I am disappointed that I have not my +purchases." + +"Then your faith has been all in your _prayers_." + +"Yes; I was sure that I could not go wrong because I prayed so much." + +"And your faith has been in your _faith_." + +"And neither my faith nor my prayers have kept me from being false. Oh, +it has been such hard work!" + +Tessa's face was drawn as if by physical pain. + +"I was thinking in the night last night that I did not believe that +Hannah, or Elizabeth, or Huldah, or Persis, or Dorcas ever prayed more +fervently or unceasingly than I have; I have builded on my _faith_, no +wonder that the first rough wind has shaken my foundation! Ever since +Felix Harrison years ago called me a flirt, I have prayed that I might +be true; and to-night I am as false as Sue Greyson." + +"Through an experience once, long ago, I learned to pray that the will +of God might be done in me, even although I must be sifted as wheat." + +"I am not brave enough for that. Oh, Miss Jewett, I am afraid that God +is angry with me; and I have meant to be so true." + +"Do you remember the time that the disciples forgot to take bread?" + +"Yes, but that is not like me." + +"I think it is--just like you." + +"Then tell me." + +"It was one time when Jesus and the disciples were alone on board the +ship; He had been deeply grieved with the Pharisees, sighing in His +spirit over them, for they had tempted Him with asking of Him a sign +from heaven. A sign from heaven! And He had just filled four thousand +hungry people with seven loaves and a few small fishes! + +"By and by He began to talk to the disciples; speaking with authority, +perhaps, it even sounded severe to them as He charged them to beware of +the leaven of the Pharisees. + +"Then they began to talk among themselves: what had they done to be thus +bidden to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees? _Leaven_ reminded them +of bread! Oh, now they knew! They had but one loaf in the ship; they had +forgotten to bring bread with them; perhaps the Lord was hungry and knew +that they had not enough for Him and for themselves. It may be that He +overheard them reasoning among themselves, or perhaps, forward Peter +asked Him if He were rebuking them for forgetting the bread; for as soon +as He knew what was troubling their simple hearts, how He talked to +them! Seven questions, one after another, He asked them, ending with: +_How is it_ that ye do not understand? + +"And you are like them, child. The Lord has suffered you to be led into +trouble that He may teach you something about Himself and you fall down +at His feet bemoaning yourself; you forget Him and the great lessons He +has to teach you and think only of yourself and some little thing that +you missed doing; you missed it, blinded with tears in your eagerness to +do right, you _meant_ to be so good and true, and because you made a +mistake in your blindness and eagerness, you think Him such a harsh, +unloving Father that all He cares to do is to punish you! Trust Him, +Tessa! Don't moan over a loaf of bread forgotten before Him who has love +enough, and power enough to give you and somebody beside a thousand +thousand loaves. Do not grieve Him by crying out any longer, 'Do not +punish me; I _meant_ to be so good?'" + +Tessa's head kept its position. When she raised it, after a long +silence, she said: "I will not think so any more; you don't know what I +suffered in thinking that He is punishing me." + +"'How is it that ye do not understand?'" + +"Because I think about my own troubles and not of what He is teaching +me," said Tessa humbly. + + + + +XI.--ON THE HIGHWAY. + + +In June, Tessa gathered roses for Miss Jewett, and every evening filled +the tall glass vase with white roses for the tea-table; in June, +Dunellen Institute closed for the season and Dinah was graduated; +henceforth she would be a young lady of leisure, or a young lady seeking +a vocation. In June, Mrs. Wadsworth scolded Tessa for "taking it so +coolly about the dreadful thing that had come upon young Harrison." + +"How many times have you called to see Laura since her poor brother has +been so poorly?" + +"I have called every two days," answered Tessa in her quietest tones. + +"Oh, you have! Why didn't you say so? You are so still that people think +you do nothing but pick roses. Anxious as I am, you might have told me +how he was getting on. How was he yesterday?" + +"Comfortable." + +"Did you see him?" + +"Yes." + +"Was he sitting up?" + +"Yes, he had been sitting up half an hour." + +"How does he look?" + +"His eyes are deep in his head, his voice is as weak as a child's, he +burst into tears because Laura did not come when he touched his bell for +her." + +"Was he cheerful?" + +"He smiled and talked." + +"Are you going to-day?" + +"Yes; Dr. Lake will call for me about five." + +"You and Dr. Lake are getting to be great friends." + +"Are we?" + +"Do you know what he says about Felix?" + +"He can say nothing but that he may never be himself again." + +"Yes, he did; but you mustn't repeat it; promise me." + +"There is no need for me to promise." + +"He said that his mind will grow weaker and weaker. Do you know that he +has been having _fits_ for two years?" + +"Yes, I am aware of it." + +"Isn't it a dreadful, horrible thing? But he always was a little wild +and queer, not quite like other folks. I was sure that he would die; he +may yet, he may have a relapse. I should think that they would rather +have him dead than grow silly. I suppose that Laura will never be +married now; he will never be fit to be left alone. His father can marry +though, and that would leave her free. I never object to second +marriages, do you?" + +"That depends upon several things." + +"My father was married three times. I had two stepmothers, and might +have had four if he had lived longer. Some people think, but I never +did, that an engagement is as good as a marriage, do you?" + +"Yes." + +"Of course, I knew that you would think so. But I never had any +high-flown ideas about engagements. I was engaged to John Gesner--your +father doesn't know it to this day--he has high and mighty ideas about +things like you. _You_ ought to have some feeling about Felix Harrison, +then, for he always wanted you. Professional men are always poor; Dr. +Lake is not much of a 'catch.'" + +"I think he is--or will be--to the woman who can appreciate him." + +"I beseech you don't you go to appreciate him." + +"I do now--sufficiently," she answered, smiling. + +Two weeks later, having seen Felix several times during the interval, +Dine brought her a letter late in the afternoon. + +Felix always had written her name in full, saying that it was prettier +than the one that she had given herself in baby-days; the penmanship +appeared like a child's imitation of his bold strokes. + +Not daring and not caring to open it immediately, she put on her hat and +went out to walk far past the end of the planks down into the green +country. She thought that she knew every tree and every field all the +long way to the Harrison Homestead. + +Opening the letter at last, she read: + +"My Friend,--I suppose you know all the truth. I wrung it out of Dr. +Greyson to-day after you left me. You may have known it all the time. +Father has known it, but not Laura. I shall never be what I once was; I +know it better than any physician can tell me. If I live to forget every +thing else (and I may), I think that I shall never forget that night. +But I shall not let my mind go without a struggle; I shall read, I shall +write, I shall travel, when I am able. I have been reading Macaulay +to-day. I shall be a burden to father and Laura, and to any who may +nurse me for wages. But I shall not be a burden to you. I know that you +meant that _you_ would never break our covenant, when you said: +'Promises are made to be kept,' but _I_ will break it. I am breaking it +now. You did belong to me when you last said good-by and laid your +young, strong hand over my poor fingers; but you do not belong to me as +you read this. As I can not know the exact moment when you read it, I +can never know when you cease to belong to me. Laura and father intend +to take me away; do not come to me until I return. No one knows. In all +my ravings, I never spoke your name; it was on my mind that I had +promised not to speak of it, and I never once forgot. But your presence +was in every wild and horrible dream; you were being scalped and drowned +and burned alive, and often and often you sat beside me holding my hand; +many many times you came to me and said, 'I will keep my word,' but +something took you away; you never went of your own accord. I have asked +them all what I raved about and every name that I spoke, but no one has +answered 'Tessa.' Write to me this once, and never again, and tell me +that you agree, that you are willing to break the bond that held us +together such a little while. I am a man, and a selfish one at that, +therefore I rejoice that you _were_ mine. You can have but one answer to +give. I will not accept any devotion from you that may hinder your +becoming the happy wife of a good man. Do not be too sorry for me. Laura +will expect you to write to her, but I pray you, do not write; I should +look for your letters and they would take away the little fortitude I +have. Be a good girl; love somebody by and by. You have burned a great +many letters that I have written. This is the last." + + "F. W. H." + +Again and again she read it, pausing over each simple, full utterance. +He could never say to her again, "You have spoiled my life." She had +done her best to atone for the sorrow that she had so unwittingly caused +him, and it had not been accepted by Him who had planned all her life. +There was nothing more for her to do. The letter was like him. She +remembered his kindly, gracious ways; his eagerness to be kind to her, +how he would sit or stand near her to watch her as she talked or worked; +how timidly he would touch her dress or her hand; how his face would +change if she chanced to look up at him; how his pale green eyes would +glitter when she preferred the society of Gus Hammerton or any other of +the Dunellen boys, ever so long ago, as they were boys and girls +together; almost as long ago as when she was a little girl and he a big +boy and he would bring her fruit and flowers! On their Saturday +excursions after nuts or berries or wild flowers, how he would fall +behind the others when she did and catch her hand if they heard a noise +in the woods or lost themselves for half a minute among a new clump of +trees. + +In the long, happy weeks that she had passed at the Homestead, in the +days when his mother was alive, how thoughtful he had been of her +comfort, how he had tried to please her in work or play! One evening +after they had all been sitting together on the porch and telling +stories, she had heard his mother say to his father: "Tessa has great +influence over Felix, I hope that she will marry him." + +"I won't," her rebellious little heart had replied. And at bedtime she +had told Laura that she meant to marry a beautiful young man with dark +eyes who must know every thing and wear a cloak. "And Felix has light +eyes," she had added. + +She laughed and then sighed over the foolish, innocent days when +girlhood and womanhood had meant only wonderful good times like the good +times in fairy tales and Bible stories. + +Then for the last time she read his letter and tore it into morsels, +scattering them hither and thither as she walked. + +She had done all she could do; he could not keep hold of her hand any +longer. + +The last bit of paper fluttered on the air; she gave a long look towards +the dear old Homestead; she could see the spires of the two churches at +Mayfield, the brass rooster on the school-house where Felix had taught, +and then she turned homeward to write the letter that would release him +from the covenant whose keeping had been made impossible to them. As she +turned, the noise of wheels was before her, the dust of travel in her +face; she lifted her eyes in time to return a bow from Ralph Towne and +to feel the smile that lighted the face of the white-haired lady at his +side. + +In the dusk she came down-stairs, dressed for a walk, with several +letters in her hand. + +"Whither does fancy lead you, daughter?" her father asked as she was +passing through the sitting-room. He was lying upon the lounge with a +heavy shawl thrown over him; his voice came quick and sharp as though he +were in pain. + +She moved towards him instantly. "Why, father, are you sick?" + +"No, dear, not--now," catching his breath. "I have been in pain and it +has worn upon me. Greyson gave me something to carry with me some time +ago, I have taken it three times to-day and now I shall go to sleep?" + +"Are you _sure_ you feel better?" she asked caressing the hand that he +held out to her. "Let me stay and do something for you." + +"No. I must go to sleep. Run along. I have sent your mother away, and +now I send you away." + +She lingered a moment, stooping to kiss the bald forehead and then the +plump hand. + +Her father was very happy to-night, for her mother, of her own accord, +for the first time in fifteen years, had kissed him. + +He held Tessa's hand thinking that he would tell her, then he decided +that the thought of those fifteen years would hurt her too sorely. + +"I thought that you meant to tell me something," she said. + +"No; run along." + +Along the planks, along the pavement, across the Park, she walked +slowly, in the summer starlight, with the letters in her hand. + + "Star light! Star bright! + I wish I may, I wish I might, + See somebody I want to see to-night." + +A child's voice was chanting the words in a dreamy recitative. + +"Dear child," sighed Tessa, with her five and twenty years tugging at +her heart. + +She longed for a sight of Miss Jewett's untroubled face to-night; if she +might only tell her about the right thing that she had tried to do and +how the power to do it had been taken from her! + +But no one could comfort her concerning it; not her father, not Miss +Jewett, not Ralph Towne, not Gus Hammerton, not Felix! + +One glance up into the sky over the trees in the Park helped her more +than any human comforting. It was a new experience to have outgrown +human comforting; she thought that she had outgrown it that day--the last +day of the year; still she must see Miss Jewett; it would be a rest to +hear some one talk who did not know about Felix or that other time that +the sunshiny eyes had brought to life again. Would they meet as +heretofore? Must they meet socially upon the street or at church? + +If it might have been that he might remain away for years and +years--until she had wholly forgotten or did not care! + +Miss Jewett was almost alone; there was no one with her but Sue Greyson +tossing over neckties to find a white one with fringe. + +Through the silks there shone on the first finger of Sue's left hand the +sparkle of a diamond; she colored and smiled, then laughed and held her +finger up for Tessa's inspection. + +"Guess who gave it to me," she said defiantly. + +It could not be Dr. Lake--Tessa would not speak his name; it must be her +father--but no, Sue would not blush as she was blushing now; it could not +be Mr. Gesner! Tessa's heart quickened, she was angry with herself for +thinking of Mr. Gesner. Mr. Towne! But that was not possible. + +"Can't you guess?" Sue was enjoying her confusion. + +"No. I can't guess." + +"Say the Man in the Moon. I as much expected it. It's from Stacey! I +knew you would be confounded. Wasn't I sly about it? We are to be +married the first day of October. We settled on that because it is +Stacey's birthday! It is Dr. Lake's too. Isn't it comical. Stacey is +twenty-three and the doctor is twenty-nine! Stacey is a year younger +than I. I wish that he wasn't. I think that I shall change my age in the +Bible. When I told Dr. Lake, he said that I seemed inclined to change +some other things in the Bible. Don't you tell, either of you. It's a +profound secret. Wasn't father hopping, though? But I told him that I +would elope if he didn't consent like a good papa; and now since +Stacey's salary is raised he hasn't a bit of an excuse for being ugly +about it. I am going to have all the new furniture, too; I bargained for +that. Won't it be queer for me to live so far away? Stacey is in a lace +house in Philadelphia, don't you remember? You ought to see the white +lace sacque that he brought me for an engagement present; it's too +lovely for any thing. Why, Tessa, you look stunned, are you speechless? +Don't you relish the idea of my being married before you? You ought to +have seen Dr. Lake when I showed my ring to him! He turned as white as a +sheet and trembled so that he had to sit down; all he said was, 'May God +forgive you.' Don't you think that it was wicked in him to say that? I +told him that it sounded like swearing. Yes, I'll take this one, please. +And, oh, Tessa, I want you to help me to buy things. I am to have a +dozen of every thing. I shall be married in white silk; I told father +that he would never have another daughter married so that he might as +well open his long purse. We shall go to the White Mountains on our +wedding tour. It's late in the season, of course, but I always wanted to +go to the White Mountains and I will if we are both frozen to death. I +know that you are angry with me, but I can't help it. You are just the +one to believe in love. I have always liked Stacey; he has just +beautiful hands, and his manners are really touching. You ought to see +him lift his hat; Mr. Towne is nowhere." + +"What will your father do?" asked Miss Jewett. + +"Oh, Aunt Jane must come back, she hasn't captivated the widower yet; or +he might get married himself. I think that I'll suggest it. _Wouldn't_ +it be fun to have a double wedding? I'll let father be married first; +Stacey and I will stand up with them." + +Sue went off into a long, loud peal of laughter; Miss Jewett smiled; +Tessa spoke gravely: "Sue, your mother would not like to hear that." + +"Oh, bother! She doesn't think of me. I want some silks, too, please. I +shall have to make Stacey a pair of slippers and a lot of other pretty +things. And oh, Tessa, I haven't told you the news! The queerest thing! +Dr. Towne--we must call him that now--has bought that handsome brick house +opposite the Park and is going into practice. Dr. Lake says that of +course people will run after _him_ while they would let him starve!" + +"Then he'll smell of medicine, too," Tessa could not forbear suggesting. + +"Yes, and have bottles in all his pockets. I'm going to see your mother; +she cares more about dress than you and Dine put together. If your +father should die, she would be married before either of you. I won't +come if you look so cross at me." + +At that moment Mr. Hammerton pushed open the door; he had come for +gloves and handkerchiefs. Tessa selected them for him and would then +have waited for her word with Miss Jewett, had not one of the clerks +returned from supper. + +"Come, Lady Blue, I am going your way." + +"Father is not well to-night; he will not play chess." + +"I am going all the same, however; you shall play with me, and Dine +shall read the 'Nut Brown Maid.'" + +As they were crossing the Park, they met Dr. Lake; he was walking +hurriedly; she could not see his face. + +"What do you think Lake said to me last night? We were talking--rather, +he was--about trouble. He has seen a good deal of it one time and another +I imagine; his nerves are so raw that every thing hurts. For want of +something to suit him in my own experience, I quoted a thought of +Charles Kingsley's. He turned upon me as if I had struck him--'A man in a +book said that.' A man in a book _did_ say it, so I had nothing to say. +Something is troubling you, what is it?" + +"More than one something is troubling me. I just heard a bit of news." + +"Not good news?" + +"I can not see any good." + +He repeated in a hurried tone: + + "'Good tidings every day; + God's messengers ride fast. + We do not hear one half they say, + There is such noise on the highway + Where we must wait while they ride past.'" + +"Perhaps I do not hear one half they say this time; the half I do hear +is troublesome enough. Some day, when I may begin 'five and fifty years +ago,' I will tell you a story." + +"Will it take so long for me to become worthy to hear it?" + +"I wish I _might_ tell you; you always help me," she said impulsively. + +"Is there a hindrance?" + +"It is too near to be spoken of." + +She was not in the mood for chess, but her father brightened at Mr. +Hammerton's entrance, arose, threw off the shawl, and came to the table, +saying that he would watch her moves. He seated himself close to her, +with an arm across the back of her chair, once or twice bringing his +head down to the chestnut braids. + +"How alike you are!" exclaimed Mr. Hammerton. + +"Yes, I am very pretty," replied Mr. Wadsworth, seriously. + +Mrs. Wadsworth had taken her work over to Mrs. Bird for a consultation +thereupon; Dine fell asleep, resting her curly head on the book that Mr. +Hammerton had brought her. + +When Mr. Hammerton arose, Mr. Wadsworth went to the door with him to +look out into the night; Tessa said good night and went up-stairs; the +sleepy head upon the book did not stir. + +"I never can find a constellation," remarked Mr. Wadsworth. "Tessa is +always laughing at me." + +"Step out and see if I can help you." + +They moved to the end of the piazza leaving the door wide open; the +sleepy brown eyes opened with a start--was she listening to words that +she should not hear? + +Mr. Hammerton had surely said "Dinah." And now her father was saying--was +she dreaming still?--"Take her, and God bless you both. I have nothing +better to hope for my darling. She will make you a good wife." + +"Let it remain a secret I want her to love me without any urging. She +must love me because I am necessary to her and not merely because I love +her." + +Could Tessa have heard his voice, she would never again have accused him +of coldness. + +"I shall have to wait--I expect an increase of salary. I am not sure that +she thinks of me otherwise than as a grown-up brother--but I will bide my +time. I know this--at least I think I do--that she does not care for any +one else." + +"I am sure of that," said her father's voice. "You do not know how you +have taken a burden from me, my son! I have _hoped_ for this." Startled +little Dinah arose and fled. + +She would never tell, no, not even Tessa; but how could she behave +towards him as if she did not know? + +"Tessa, did you ever have a secret to keep?" + +"Yes. Laura told me once that she had a gold dollar and I've never told +until this minute." + +"But this is a wonderful, beautiful, happy secret; the wonderfulest and +beautifulest thing in the world. And I shall never, never tell. You will +never know until you discover it yourself." + +"I want to know something to be glad of." + +"You will be glad of this. As glad as glad can be. It is rather funny +that neither of us ever guessed; and you are quick to see things, too." + +"Perhaps I _do_ know, pretty sister." + +"No, you don't. I should have seen in your manner. Perhaps I dreamed it; +or perhaps an angel came and told me. It is good enough for an angel to +tell." + + "'Good tidings every day, + God's messengers ride fast.'" + +repeated Tessa. + +"Tessa," with her face turned away, "do you like Gus very much?" + +"Do I like _you_ very much? I should just as soon think of your asking +me that." + +"Better than Felix or Mr. Towne or Dr. Lake, or any of the ten thousand +young men in Dunellen?" + +"Why, Dine, what ails you? Are you asking my advice? He hasn't been +making love to my little sister, has he?" + +"No," said Dinah, "I wonder if he knows how. Daisy Grey's father is +dead. There will have to be a new Greek professor at the Seminary. She +liked her father." + + + + +XII.--GOOD ENOUGH TO BE TRUE. + + +The afternoon sun was shining down hot on the head of the soldier on his +tall pedestal in the Park; he stood leaning on his gun, his eyes +intently peering from under the broad visor of his cap; at his feet a +group of children were playing soldiers marching to the war; at the +pump, several yards distant, a small boy was pumping for the others to +drink, a tall boy was lifting the rusty dipper to his lips while a +ragged little girl was wistfully awaiting her turn; nurses in white caps +were rolling infants' chaises along the smooth, wide paths; ladies in +shopping attire were sauntering with brown parcels in their hands; +half-grown boys were lolling on the green benches with cigars and lazy +words in their mouths; girls in twos and threes were strolling along +with linked arms mingling gay talk with gay laughter; in the arbor seven +little girls and three little boys were playing school: a little boy who +stammered was trying to spell Con-stan-ti-no-ple, a rosy child in white +was noisily repeating "Thirty days hath September," a black-eyed boy was +shouting "The boy stood on the burning deck," and a naughty child was +being vigorously scolded by the teacher, who held a threatening willow +switch above her head. "You are the dreadfulest child that ever +breathed," she was declaring. "You are the essence of stupidity, you are +the dumbest of the dumb." + +A serious voice arrested the willow switch: "I didn't like to be scolded +when I was a little girl, it used to make me cry." + +The willow switch dropped; the various recitations came to a sudden +pause. "But she is such a dreadful bad girl," urged the teacher. + +Tessa Wadsworth lingered with her reticule, three parcels, a parasol, +and _Sartor Resartus_ in her hands. + +"_You_ come and be teacher and tell us a story," coaxed the naughty +child. + +But Tessa laughed and moved on, to be stopped, however, by a quick call. +"Tessa Wadsworth! I declare that you are a pedestrian." + +The voice belonged to a pair of blue eyes, and a slight figure in drab. + +"Well, now that you have caught me what will you have?" + +"I'll be satisfied with a walk across the Park. Didn't you know that I +was home? Gus said that he would tell you." + +"Have you had a pleasant time?" + +"Oh, I always manage to enjoy myself. How is it that you always stay +poking at home?" + +"I seem to have found my niche at home. Every one needs me." + +"Dunellen is a poky little place, but Nan thinks it is splendid." + +"I expect to spend the winter away from home and I don't want to go. I +don't see why I must. Mother has been promising for years that the first +winter that Dine was out of school I should go for three months, more or +less, to an old aunt of hers for whom I was named; she has lost all her +seven boys and lives on a farm down in the country with the dearest old +husband that ever breathed. If I had such a dear old husband I should +always want to be alone with him." + +"That sounds just like you. I wanted Naughty Nan to come home with me, +but she wouldn't or couldn't. You can't think how thin she has grown, +and she mopes like an old woman. I had to coax her to laugh just once +for me before I came away. I suppose that I oughtn't to tell, but I will +tell you; you are as deep as the sea. You know Dr. Towne?" + +"Yes." + +"Well it is all _his_ fault," said Mary Sherwood in a mysterious low +voice. + +"Did he give her something to take outwardly and she took it inwardly?" +asked Tessa gravely. + +"That's like you, too. You are always laughing at somebody. How he +flirted with poor little Naughty Nan nobody knows!" + +"How she flirted with him, you mean." + +"No, I don't. She was in earnest this time. He made her presents and +took her everywhere; he always treated her as if--" + +"--She were his mother." + +"I won't talk to you," cried Mary indignantly, "you don't know any thing +about it. You haven't seen how white and thin she is! It's just another +Sue Greyson affair; and every body talks about how he flirted with her. +I comforted Nan by saying that he had done the same thing before and +would again." + +"Did _that_ comfort her?" + +"It made her angry. I don't see how she can mourn over a man with a +false heart, do you?" + +"She would have no occasion to mourn over a man with a true heart." + +"Do you think that he changes his mind?" asked Mary anxiously. + +"No, I think that he does not have any mind to change; he has no mind to +flirt or not to flirt; he simply enjoys himself, not caring for the +consequences." + +"H'm! What do you call _that_?" + +"I do not call it any thing; it would be as well for you not to talk +about your cousin." + +"So Gus said; I had to tell him. I'm afraid that Nan will die." + +"No, she will not. It will make her bitter, or it will make her true." + +"Nan is so cut because people talk." + +"When is she coming to Dunellen?" + +"She wouldn't come with me! How I did coax her! She will come in +September. She says that she will stay with me until she is married." + +"Then she doesn't intend to take the veil because of this?" + +"She did say so--seriously--that she would enter a convent--" + +"A monastery!" suggested Tessa. + +"Where the monks are," laughed Mary, "I think that would suit her +better." + +"And believe me--Dr. Towne is not capable of doing a cruel or a mean +thing--don't talk to your cousin about him." + +"Oh, me! there he is now coming towards us! On our path, too. I'll break +the rules and run across the grass if you will." + +It was certainly Ralph Towne. He was walking slowly with his eyes bent +upon the ground. + +"He looks like a monk himself," whispered Mary, "he wouldn't look at us +for any thing." + +"Halt!" commanded the small military voice near the monument. He turned +to look at the children; Tessa was close enough to feel the sunshine in +his eyes although his face was not towards her; he stood watching the +soldiers as they tramped on at the word of command; her dress brushed +against him, she could have laid her hand on his arm; lifting her eyes +with all her grief and disappointment at his indifference she met his +fully; they were grave and very dark, not one gleam of recognition; how +greatly he had changed! His eyes appeared larger, not so deep set as she +remembered them, and there were many, many white threads running through +his hair. Had Naughty Nan effected all this? With a slight inclination +of his head he passed on. + +"He does look as if he had a 'mind to do or not do' something," said +Mary! "I hope that he can't sleep nights. He almost slew me with his +eyes; I can't see why such naughty hearts should look through such +eyes!" + +"They don't," said Tessa, "a good heart was looking through those eyes." + +"H'm! I believe it!" + +Tessa had walked three blocks in a reverie, scolding herself for her +sympathy with the changed face, trying to feel indignant that he had +passed her by so coolly, and trying to despise him for so soon +forgetting what she could never forget, when, lo! there he stood again, +face to face with her, speaking eagerly, his hand already touching hers. + +"Miss Tessa, what has happened to your eyes?" + +"Excuse me," she stammered, "I did not see you." + +"How do you do?" he asked more coolly as she withdrew her hand. + +"Did you not just pass me in the Park?" + +"I have not crossed the Park to-day." + +"Then I met your ghost." + +"Can you not be a little glad to meet me in the flesh?" + +"Mary Sherwood was with me and _she_ recognized you; she saw you before +I did." + +He laughed the low amused laugh that she had heard so often. "My cousin +Philip will believe now that he might be my brother--my twin brother--but +that he appears older than he is. He has come to Dunellen to take a +professorship. He is to be Greek teacher at the Seminary instead of +Professor Grey. Philip is a rare linguist; he is a rare scholar. It is +the Comedy of Errors over again. I suppose that he did not talk to you +and say that he was glad to see you again." + +"He bowed, he could not but do it. I expect that he thought I recognized +him, as I certainly did. You will look like him some day, but he will +never look like you." + +"Your distinction is not flattering. May I ask a kindness of you?" + +"Do you need to ask that?" she answered hurriedly. + +"My mother is homesick in Dunellen. Will you call upon her?" + +She colored, hesitating. After a second, during which she felt his eyes +upon her, she said, "Yes." + +"Philip's father and mine were twins; it is not the first time that we +have been taken for each other. He has a twin sister." + +"And he is like his sister." + +"Yes, he _is_ like his sister. Imagine me teaching Greek or preaching in +the Park--Phil is a preacher, of course, and an elocutionist. You will +hear of him; he does not live in a cloister; he is always doing +something for somebody." + +"He is a _disciplined_ man; I never saw a person to whom that word could +be so fitly applied." + +"And you never thought of applying it to me." + +"I confess that I never did," she said laughing. + +"You can see a great deal at a glance." + +"That is why I glance." + +"Probably you know that I have come to Dunellen to work." + +"I congratulate Dunellen," she answered prettily. + +"I hope that you may have reason to do so. May I tell my mother that you +will call?" + +"Yes--if you wish," she said, doubtfully, buttoning a loose button on her +glove. "Good afternoon, Dr. Towne." + +She passed on at a quickened pace, her cheeks glowing, her eyes alight. +A stranger, meeting her, turned for a second look. "She has heard good +news," he said to himself. + +_Had_ she heard good news? She had seen the man that she had so +foolishly and fondly believed Ralph Towne to be; she had learned that +she could not create out of the longings of her own heart a man too +noble and true for God to make out of His heart. Her ideal had not been +too good to be true; just then it was enough for her to know that her +ideal existed. Her heart could not break because she was disappointed in +Ralph Towne, but it would have broken had she found that God did not +care to make men good and true. And Ralph Towne would become good and +true some day. And then she would be glad and not ashamed that she had +trusted in him; she could not be glad and not ashamed yet. She did not +love the man that could trifle with Sue or flirt with Nan Gerard. She +had loved the ideal in her heart, and not the soul in his flesh. He +could not understand that; he would call it a fancy, and say that she +could make rhyme to it, but that she could not live the poem. Perhaps +not; if she had loved him she might have lived a different poem; her +living and loving, her doing and giving, would be a poem, anyway; she +did not love Ralph Towne to-day, she was only afraid that she did. He +could not understand the woman who would prefer Philip Towne's +saintliness; he was assured that his money would outweigh it with any +maiden in Dunellen--with any maiden but Tessa Wadsworth; he was beginning +to understand her. "She did not ask me to call," he soliloquized. The +stranger passing him also, gave him also a second glance, but he did not +say to himself, "He has heard good news." _Was_ it good news that the +woman that he had thoughtlessly deceived held herself aloof from him and +above him? + +"She loved me once," he soliloquized, "and love with her must die a hard +death." + +How hard a death even Tessa herself could not comprehend; she understood +years afterward when she said: "I thought once that I never could be as +glad as I had been sorrowful; but I learned that the power to be glad +was infinitely greater than the power of being sorrowful." + +That evening her father called her to say: "The new professor is to +preach Sunday evening before church service in the Park; you and I will +go to hear him." + + + + +XIII.--THE HEART OF LOVE. + + +The day lilies were in bloom, and that meant August; it meant also that +her book was written, rewritten, and ready to be copied. + +"Oh, that my poor little book were as perfect as you," she sighed one +morning as she arranged them with their broad, green leaves for the +vases in parlor and sitting-room. "But God made you with His own +fingers, and He made my book through my own fancies." + +She had worked early and late, not flagging, through all the sultry +days. "You will make yourself sick," her mother had warned, "and it will +cost you all you earn to buy beef tea and pay the doctor; so where is +the good of it?" + +She had read her manuscript aloud to her father, and he had laughed and +wiped his eyes and given sundry appreciative exclamations. + +"That writing takes a precious sight of time," her mother had +remonstrated. + +"That is because I am human." Tessa had answered soberly. + +"Suppose it is refused." + +"Then I'll be like William Howitt; his book was refused four times and +he stood on London bridge ready to toss it over. I do not think that I +will do as Charlotte Bronte did; she sent a rejected manuscript to a +publisher wrapped in the wrapper in which the first publisher had rolled +it. I suppose that his address was printed on it." + +She had run on merrily as she had placed the cool, pure lilies in the +vase; but her heart was sinking, nevertheless. It had always taken so +little to exhilarate or depress her. + +"Must you write to-day?" inquired her mother one morning in an +unsatisfied tone. + +"Several hours." + +"I wanted you to make calls with me and to help me with the currant +jelly and to put those button-holes into my linen wrapper." + +"I can do it all, but I must write while I am fresh." + +The first hour she wrote wearily; then she lost the small struggles in +her own life and became comforted through the comfort wherewith she +comforted others. Not one thing was forgotten, not one household duty +shirked, the jelly was made to perfection, the button-holes worked while +her mother was taking her afternoon nap, the calls were pushed through, +and then Mrs. Wadsworth proposed a call upon Mrs. Towne. + +"I promised your Aunt Dinah that I would call." + +Tessa demurred although she remembered her promise; she much preferred +calling some time when Aunt Dinah should be with her; Mrs. Wadsworth +insisted and Tessa yielded more graciously in manner than in mind. + +Mrs. Towne received them most cordially and gracefully; an expression +flitted over her eyes as Tessa looked up into them that she never +forgot; it touched her as Dr. Lake's eyes did, sometimes; what could +this beautiful old mother need in her? Whatever it might be, she felt +fully prepared to give it. + +Mrs. Wadsworth was as effusively talkative as usual; Tessa replied when +spoken to; lively, fussy, pretty little Mrs. Wadsworth did not compare +to her own advantage with her womanly daughter. Mrs. Towne looked at +Tessa and thought of the picture that she had seen; it was certainly +excellent only that the picture was rather too intellectual; in the +picture she might have written "Mechanism of the Heavens" but sitting +there in the crimson velvet chair with a pale blue bow among her braids +and her soft gray veil shading her cheek she was more like the daughter +that she had ever dreamed of--simple, sweet, and thoroughly lovable Mrs. +Towne was a trifle afraid of a woman who looked _too_ intellectual. +Would she forgive Ralph and trust him again? She was sure that she would +until Tessa unbuttoned her glove and drew it off; the slight, strong +hand was a revelation; the girl had a will of her own. But might not her +will be towards him? "I wish that I knew nothing," thought the mother, +"the suspense will weary me, the disappointment will be nearly as much +for me as for the boy." + +Meanwhile, unconscious Tessa, with the glove in her fingers, was far +away in the Milan cathedral on the wall opposite her, looking into the +arches of the choir, feeling the sunlight through the glimmering painted +windows, thinking about the procession of the scarlet-robed priests, and +wondering about the hidden chancel; if the picture were upon her wall +how it would glow and become alive in the western light, the drooping +banners would stir with the breath of the evening, the censers would +swing and the notes of the organ would bear her up and away. Away! +Where? Was not all her world in this little Dunellen? + +"My son is always busy; he rushes into every thing that he undertakes." + +The mother had a voice like the son's; the soul of sincerity was in it; +the sincere, sympathetic voice, the rush of feeling, love, regret, and +sense of loss that it brought filled her eyes too full to be raised. At +that instant Mrs. Towne was observing her; her heart grew lighter, +hoping for the thing that might be. + +Mrs. Towne held Tessa's hand at parting. "I am an old woman, so I may +ask a favor of a young one, will you come soon again?" + +"Thank you, yes." + +"And often?" + +Then she had to promise again. Dr. Towne was seldom at home; she thought +of this when she promised. She was thinking of it that evening in the +early twilight as she weeded among her pansies. Dine said that it was a +wonder that she had not turned into a pansy herself by this time. + +"Daughter, why do you sigh?" + +Her father was seated in a rustic chair on the piazza with a copy of +_Burns_ unopened upon his knee; he had left the store earlier than usual +that afternoon, complaining of the old pain in his side. + +"My sigh must be very loud or your ears very sharp," she replied, +lifting her head. "I will bring you some perfect pansies." + +He took them and looked down at them; she stood at his side smoothing +the straggling locks on his bald forehead with her perfumed, soiled +fingers. "I think that if I knew nothing about God but that He made +pansies, I should love Him for that," she said at last. + +"Is _that_ what you were sighing over?" + +"The sigh came out of the heart of the pansy. I wish I knew how to love +somebody." + +"Is that what you were sighing over?" + +"I do not know how," rubbing the soil from her fingers, "to love when I +lose faith. I do not know how and it worries me." + +"You mean that you do not know how to honor and trust when you lose +faith. Are you so far on the journey of life as that? Must I +congratulate you, daughter?" + +"No; teach me." + +"No human teaching can teach you to love where you have lost faith." + +"Well; nobody asks me to!" + +"If any body ever does, look at your own failings; that pulls me +through." + +"I understand that," still speaking in a troubled voice, "but all the +love and patience do no good; people do not change because we love +them." + +"No, they do not change, but _we_ change." + +"That is not enough for me; I am not satisfied with the blessing of +giving, I want the other somebody to have the blessing of receiving." + +"We do not know the end." + +"You two people do find queer things to talk about," cried a lively +voice behind them. "If I knew what mystical meant, I should say that it +was you and Tessa. Don't you want to hear all about Mrs. Towne, and what +a _lovely_ room we were taken into?" + +"Yes, dear, and how her hair was fixed and just how she was dressed." + +Tessa ran back to her pansies; Mrs. Wadsworth had found a theme to +enlarge upon for the next half hour. As Tessa worked among the flowers, +a poem that she had learned that day while making the button-holes sang +itself through and through her heart. + + "Oh the hurt and the hurt and the hurt of love! + Wherever the sun shines, the waters go, + It hurts the snowdrop, it hurts the dove, + God on His throne, and man below. + But sun would not shine nor waters go, + Snowdrop tremble nor fair dove moan, + God be on high, nor man below, + But for love--the love with its hurt alone. + Thou knowest, O, Saviour, its hurt and its sorrows, + Didst rescue its joy by the might of Thy pain; + Lord of all yesterdays, days, and to-morrows, + Help us love on in the hope of Thy gain! + Hurt as it may, love on, love forever; + Love for love's sake like the Father above, + But for whose brave-hearted Son we had never + Known the sweet hurt of the sorrowful love." + +"I am not sincere in repeating that," she mused. "I _don't_ love on, +love forever--and I don't want to! If I were in a book, every thing would +make no difference, nothing would make a difference--would love on, love +forever--and I don't know how. I wish I did. It would not change _him_, +but it would make _me_ very glad and very good! I can not attain to it." + +The grazing sound of wheels brought her back to the pansies, then to Dr. +Lake; he had driven up close to the opening in the lilac shrubbery. + +"Ah, Mystic." + +"Good evening, doctor." + +It was the first time that they had been alone together since Sue's +engagement. She had been dreading this first time. She arose and brushed +her hands against each other, moving towards the opening in the lilacs. + +"I saw you, and could not resist the temptation of stopping to speak to +you." + +"Thank you," she said warmly. "Will you have a lily?" + +"No, lilies are not for me. Briers and thorns grow for me." + +"Where are you riding to now?" + +"Felix Harrison came home yesterday worse than ever. I was there in the +night and am going again. Why don't he die now that he has a chance? +Catch me throwing away such an opportunity." + +"I hope that you will never have such an opportunity," she answered, not +thinking of what she was saying. + +"That's always the way; the lucky ones die, the unlucky ones live." + +"Can you not resist the temptation to tell me any thing so trite as +that?" + +"Don't be sharp, Mystic." + +She was leaning against the low fence, her hands folded over each other, +a breath of air stirring the wavy hair around her temples, and touching +the pale blue ribbon at her throat, a white, graceful figure, speaking +in her animated way with the flush of the pink rose tinting her cheeks +and a misty veil shadowing her eyes. + +"A very pretty picture in a frame-work of brown and green," thought the +old man in the rustic chair on the piazza. + +But she never thought of making a picture of herself, she left such +small coquetries to girls who had nothing better to do or to think of. +She had her life to live and her books to write! Nevertheless two pairs +of eyes found her pleasant to look upon. Dr. Lake's experiences had +opened his eyes to see that Tessa Wadsworth was unlike any woman that he +had ever known; she was to him the calm of the moonlight, the fragrance +of the spring, and the restfulness of trust. + +In these weeks of his trouble, had she been like some other of the +Dunellen girls, she would have found her way without pushing into his +heart by the wide door that shallow Sue had left ajar. + +His heart was open to any attractive woman who would sympathize with +him; to any woman who would be glad of what Sue Greyson had thrown away; +she might have become aware of this but for her instinctive habit of +looking upward to love; even the tenderest compassion mingled with some +admiration could not grow into love with her in her present moods; she +was too young and asked too much of life for such a possibility. + +In these days every man was too far below George Macdonald and Frederick +Robertson, unless indeed it might be the new Greek professor; in her +secret heart she had begun to wonder if Philip Towne were not something +like them both; perhaps because in his sermon that Sunday twilight in +the Park he had quoted a "declaration of Robertson's"--"I am better +acquainted with Jesus Christ than I am with any man on earth." + +The words came to her as she stood, to-night, talking with Dr Lake; she +was wishing that she might repeat them to him; instead she only replied, +"Why shouldn't I be sharp? You are a man and therefore able to bear it." + +"Not much of a man--or wholly a man. I reckon that is nearer right. I +never saw a man yet that a blow from a woman's little finger wouldn't +knock him over." + +"Not any woman's finger." + +"Any thing would blow me over to-night. Why do women have to make so +many things when they are married?" he asked earnestly. + +"To keep the love they have won," she said with a mischievous laugh. +"Don't you know how soon roses fade after they are rudely torn from the +protection and nourishment of the parent stem?" + +"Rudely! They flutter, they pant, they struggle to tear themselves +loose! Why do you suppose that she prefers Stacey to me?" + +"I don't know all things." + +"You know that. Answer." + +"She does not prefer _him_. He is the smallest part of her calculations. +Marriage with you would make no change in her life; she seeks change; +she has never been married and lived in Philadelphia--therefore to be +married and live in Philadelphia must be glorious." + +"Then if I had money to take her anywhere and everywhere she would have +married me. I'll turn highwayman to get rich then. She shows me every +pretty thing she makes; dresses up in all her new dresses and asks me if +I feel like the bridegroom lends me her engagement ring when she is +tired of it. I'd bite it in two if I dared--reads me his letters and asks +me to help her answer them for she can only write a page and a half out +of her own head." + +Tessa laughed; it was better to laugh than to be angry, and Sue could +not be any body but Sue Greyson. + +"She says that her only objection to him is his name and age; she likes +my name better, and scribbles Sue Greyson Lake over his old envelopes. I +would like to send him one of them. I was reading in the paper this +morning of a man who shot the girl that refused him; if I don't shoot +her it will not be her fault, she is driving me mad. If I can't have her +myself, _he_ sha'n't!" + +She dropped her hands and turned away from him. + +"Mystic." But she was among the pansies again. + +"Mystic," with the tone in his voice that she would never forget, "come +back. Don't _you_ throw me over; I shall go to destruction if you do." + +"I can not help you. You do not try to help yourself." + +"I know it. I don't want to be helped. I drift. I have no will to +struggle. She plays with me like a cat with a mouse. I do not know what +I am about half the time. I will take a double dose of morphine some +night. I wonder if she would cry if she saw me dead. Men have done such +things with less provocation; men of my temperament, too. Would _you_ be +sorry, Mystic?" + +She stretched out her hands to take his hand in both hers: "Don't talk +so," she said brokenly. "You know you do not mean it; why can't you be +brave and good? I didn't know that men were so weak." + +"I _am_ weak--I have strayed, I have wandered away--but I can go back." + +Long afterward she remembered these words; they, with his last "good-by, +Mystic," were all that she cared to remember among all the words that he +had ever spoken to her. + +She did not speak; she moved her fingers caressingly over his hand, +thinking how pliant and feminine, how characteristic, it was. + +"I know a woman's heart," he ran on lightly; "she is not a sacred +mystery to me, as the fellows say in books. I dissected an old negro +woman's heart once; she died of enlargement of the heart, so that it was +as much a study as the largest heart of her kind. Sue is going out +to-night with Towne and his mother--it's a pity that _he_ wouldn't step +in now--she might let us all have a fair fight, and old Gesner, too, with +his simpering voice! She would take Gesner only he doesn't propose. +'Thirty days hath September.' I wish it had thirty thousand. When I was +a youngster, and got a beating for not learning that, I little thought +that one day I _would_ learn it and count the days every night. Oh, that +rare and radiant first of October! Do you know," bending forward and +lowering his tone, "that she is more than half inclined to throw him +over?" + +"She is never more than half inclined to do anything," answered Tessa +indignantly. "I wish that he were here to keep her out of mischief. Why +do you stay so much with her? Surely you have business enough to keep +you out of her presence." + +He laughed excitedly. "Keep a starving man away from bread when he has +only to stretch out his hand and snatch it." + +"You have found that your doll is stuffed with sawdust, can't you toss +it aside?" + +"I love sawdust," he answered, comically. + +"Then I'm ashamed of you." + +"You haven't seen other men tried." + +"It is no honor to you to be thinking of her under existing +circumstances." + +"I would run away with her to-night if she would run with me." + +"Then I despise you." + +"You love like a woman, Mystic; I love like a man." + +"I hope that no man will ever dishonor himself or dishonor me with love +like that." + +As he stooped to pick up his glove, his breath swept her cheek; she +started, almost exclaiming as she drew back, flushed and bewildered. He +colored angrily, then laughed an excited, reckless laugh, and gathered +the reins which had been hanging loose. + +"Dr. Lake," in a hurried, tremulous voice, "please don't do that. Oh, +why must you? Why can't you be brave?" Her voice was choking with tears. +"I did not _think_ such a thing of you." + +"Of course you didn't! But I will not do it again--I really will not. I +am half mad as I told you. Good night, Mystic." + +"Good night," she said sadly. + +He held the reins still lingering. + +"Will you ride with me again some day?" + +"No, I don't like to hear you talk." + +Again she went back to her pansies; the innocent pansies with their +faint, pure breath were more congenial. As he drove under the maples, he +muttered words that would have startled her as much as his tainted +breath. + +"Do you like it in this world, little pansies?" she sighed. + +Her father laid his book within a window on the sill, and came down to +her to talk about the buds of the day-lilies; her mother fanned herself +with a palm-leaf fan and complained of the heat; Dinah ran down-stairs, +fresh and airy in green muslin with a scarlet geranium among her curls, +and after standing still to ask if she looked pretty, ran across to the +planks to walk up and down with Norah Bird with their arms linked and +their heads close together. + +Tessa sighed again, remembering the old confidential talks with Laura +when they both cared for the same things before she had outgrown Laura. +There were so many things in her world to be sighed about to-night; the +thought of Felix threw all her life into shadow; Norah and Dinah were +laughing over some silly thing, and her mother was vigorously waving the +fan and vigorously fretting at the heat and the dust in this same hour +in which Felix--her bright, good Felix--was moaning out his feeble +strength. She had not dared to ask Dr. Lake how he was; what comfort +would it be to know that he was a little better or a little worse? How +could she talk to him of her busy life and take him a copy of her book? +She was counting the days, also; for in October her book would surely be +out. + +"You think more of that than you would of being married," Dinah had said +that day. + +"So I do--than to be married to any one I know." + +"Do you expect to find somebody _new_?" + +"Perhaps I do not expect to find any one at all," she had answered. + +"Oh, don't be so dreary," laughed Dinah. + +_Was_ that dreary? Once it might have seemed dreary; a year ago with +what a smiting pain she would have echoed the word, but it was not a +dreary prospect to-night as she stood with her father's arm about her. + +A new thing had happened to disturb her; Dinah was becoming shy and +constrained in the presence of Mr. Hammerton; last summer she would run +out to meet him, hang on his arm and chatter like a magpie; this summer +she would oftener avoid him than move forward to greet him; this +shamefacedness was altogether new and very becoming, yet the elder +sister did not like it. There was no change in Mr. Hammerton, why should +there be change in Dinah or in herself? He came no oftener than he had +come last summer, he manifested no preference, sometimes she thought +that this non-manifestation was too studied; gifts were brought to each, +were it books or flowers. Did poor little Dine care for him, and was she +so afraid of revealing it? Or, had she decided that it was for _her_ +sake that he came, and did she leave them so often together alone that +it might be pleasanter for both? More than once or twice when he was +expected, she had pleaded an engagement with Norah, and had not appeared +until late in the evening. + +"I wonder what's got Dine," their mother had remarked, "she seems +possessed to run away from Gus." + +Their father had looked annoyed and exclaimed, "Nonsense, mother, +nonsense." + +Tessa's reverie was ended by Mr. Hammerton's quick step upon the planks. + +"He was here last night," commented Mrs. Wadsworth as he crossed the +street. + +"Good evening, good people," he said opening the gate. "You make quite a +picture! If you had fruit and wine I should rub up my French or Spanish. +I think that I am not too late; I did not hear until after tea that +Professor Towne is to read tonight in Association Hall; some of your +favorites, Lady Blue. Will you go, you and Dine?" + +"Oh, yes, indeed; that is just what I want." + +"It is to be selections from 'Henry V.,' 'The High Tide,' 'Locksley +Hall,' I think, and a few lighter things. You will think that you would +rather elocute 'The High Tide' than even to have written it." + +"That is impossible. Did you tell Dine?" + +"No, but I will. It was proper to ask the elder sister was it not?" + +"I am not Leah," said Tessa seriously, "call Rachel." + +"Rachel! Rachel!" he called, beckoning to Dinah. Dinah whistled by way +of reply and dropped Norah's arm. + +"Have you brought me Mother Goose or a sugar-plum?" she asked lightly. +"And why do you call me Rachel?" + +"Don't talk nonsense, children," said Mr. Wadsworth very gravely. The +color deepened in Mr. Hammerton's cheeks and forehead as he met the old +man's grave eyes. "Mother, let's you and I go too," proposed Mr. +Wadsworth, "we will imagine it to be twenty-seven years ago." + +"I only wish it was," was the dissatisfied reply. + +That evening was an event in Tessa's quiet life: she heard no sound but +the reader's voice, she saw no face but his; she drew a long breath when +the last words were uttered. + +"Was it so good as all that?" whispered Mr. Hammerton. "You shall go to +the Chapel with me next Sunday and hear him preach about 'Meditation.'" + +Dr. Towne, his mother, and Sue Greyson were seated near them; she did +not observe the group until she arose to leave the hall. + +"Wasn't it stupid?" muttered Sue, catching at her sleeve. "And isn't he +perfectly elegant? Almost as elegant as the doctor." + +"You will not forget your promise?" Mrs. Towne said as Tessa turned +towards her. + +"Has Miss Tessa been making you a promise? She does not know how to +break her word," said Dr. Towne. + +"You do not need to tell me that; her eyes are promise-keepers." + +Mrs. Towne kept her at her side until they reached the entrance and +would have detained her until Professor Towne had made his way to them, +had not Mr. Hammerton understood by the moving of her lips that she was +not pleased and hurried her away. + +"I hope that I shall never become acquainted with Professor Towne," +exclaimed Tessa nervously, as Mr. Hammerton drew her hand within his +arm. + +"Why not? I thought that you were wrapped up in him as the young ladies +say." + +"Suppose I make a hole in him and find him stuffed with sawdust." + +"You could immediately retire into a convent." + +Dinah had mischievously fallen behind with her father and mother. + +"Then I could never find my _good_ man?" + +"Must you find him or die forlorn?" + +For several moments she found no answer: then the words came +deliberately; "Perhaps I _need_ not; I wonder why I thought there was a +_must_ in the matter; why may I not be happy and helpful without ending +as good little girls do in fairy stories? I need not live or die +forlorn--and yet--Gus, you are the only person in the whole world to whom +I would confess that I would rather be like the good little girl in the +fairy story! Please forget it." + +"It is too pleasant to forget," he answered. "I do not want you to be +too ambitious or too wise for the good old fashions of wife and mother!" + +"How can any woman be that!" she exclaimed indignantly. + +"May you never know." + +"What an easy time Eve had! All she had to do was to be led to Adam. She +would not have chosen him a while afterward; he was altogether too much +under her influence." + +"That weakness has become a part of our original sin." + +"It isn't yours," she retorted. + +"Am I so different from other men?" he asked in a constrained voice. + +"Most assuredly. I should as soon think of a whole row of encyclopedias +falling in love." + +Mr. Hammerton was silent, for once repartee failed him. + +Suddenly she asked, "Is your imagination a trial to you?" + +"Haven't you often told me that I am stupid as an old geometry." + +"And I hate geometry." + +"You read, you write, you live, you love through your imagination. You +wrap the person you love in a rosy mist that is the breath of your +hopeful heart, and you see your hero through that mist. Of course the +mist fades and you have but the ugly outline--then, without stopping to +see what God hath wrought, you cry out, 'Oh, the horrible! the +dreadful!' and run away with your fingers in your ears." + +A few silent steps, then she said, "I deserve that. It is all true. Why +did you not tell me before?" + +"I left it to time and common sense." + +"It will take a great deal of both to make me sensible," she answered +humbly, and then added, "if suffering would root out my fancies--but I am +like the child that tumbles and tumbles, and then tumbles again. I need +to be guided by such a steady hand. Sometimes I do long so for somebody +to do me good." + +Her companion's silence might be sympathetic; as such she interpreted +it, or she could not have said what she never ceased wondering at +herself for saying--"I am not disappointed in love; but I _am_ +disappointed in loving. I thought that love was once and forever. Poets +say so." + +"Yes, but we do not know how they live their poetry." + +"I know that my poetry fails me when extremity comes." + +"Has the extremity come?" + +"Yes," she said bravely. + +"And that is another thing that I am not to know." + +"Not for five and fifty years. I will pigeon-hole all my experiences for +you--if there is no one to object on my side or yours." + +"What about the reading? Was it all that you expected?" + +"Wait a minute; call Dine before we talk it over." + +They had outwalked the others; Mr. Hammerton's strides would not be +pleasant to keep pace with in the long walk of life, as Dinah had once +told him. It was a truth that no one recognized so well as himself, that +he lacked the power of adaptation; he was too tall or too short, too +broad or too narrow, too crooked or too straight for any niche in +Dunellen, but the one that he had found in his boyhood by the snug, safe +corner in the home where Dinah was growing up to entangle herself in his +heart, and Tessa, lovable and wise, to enthrone herself in his +intellect. In the game of forfeits, when he had been doomed to "Bow to +the wittiest, kneel to the prettiest, and kiss the one you love the +best," in the long ago evenings, when they were all, old and young, +children together, he had always bowed to Tessa and knelt to bewitching +little Dine and kissed her. Now he bowed to Tessa, but he did not kiss +Dine. + +They stood waiting near a lamp-post; he, fidgeting as usual, she, +straight and still. + +"Lady Blue, you never put me on a pedestal, did you?" + +"No, you never kept still long enough." + +Professor Towne passed them with Mrs. Towne leaning upon his arm; Mrs. +Towne bowed and smiled, he lifted his hat in recognition of Tessa's +hesitating half inclination. + +"Why, Tessa! Do you know him?" + +"I almost spoke to him one day by mistake; I did not intend to bow, but +he looked at me--I suppose the bow bowed itself." + +"He has a noble presence! He is altogether finer physically than his +cousin." + +"I don't know that he is," she answered wilfully. Dinah came willingly +enough; they walked more slowly and talked. + +"Tessa," began Dine abruptly as they were brushing their hair at +bedtime, "isn't Gus a fine talker?" + +"Is he like Coleridge? He could talk four hours without interruption, +but sometimes his listeners, learned men too, did not understand a word +of it." + +"I do not always understand Gus." + +"Gus does not ramble; he is plain enough." + +Dine brushed out a long curl and looked down upon it. "I shall ask him +to give me a list of books that I ought to read." + +"I confess that while I understand what he says I do not understand +_him_. If you do, you are wiser than I." + +"I guess that I am wiser than you." + +"I used to think that I understood people; I have come to the conclusion +that I do not understand even my own self." + +"Do you like garnet? I want a garnet in some material this winter. Gus +says that I am a butterfly." + +"Yes, you are pretty in warm colors." + +Tessa drew a chair to the open window and sat a long time leaning her +elbows on the sill with her face towards the Harrison Homestead. Felix +had always been so proud of the old house with its tiled chimney-pieces, +with its ancient crockery brought from Holland and the iron bound Bible +with the names of his ancestors; for two hundred years the place had +been held in the Harrison name, a great-great-grandfather having +purchased the land from the Indians. He had said once to her, "I have a +good old honest name to give to you, Tessa." She would have worn his +name worthily for his sake; if it might be,--but her father would hold +her back,--why should she not sacrifice herself? Was not Felix worthy of +her devotion? What other grander thing could she ever do? The moon was +rising; she changed her position to watch it and did not leave it until +it stood high above the apple orchard. + + + + +XIV.--WHEAT, NOT BREAD. + + +Early one evening Tessa was writing alone in her own chamber; Dinah was +spending a few days in Dunellen; while Dinah was away she wrote more +than usual out of her loneliness. + +Becoming wearied she laid the neat manuscript away and began scribbling +with a pencil on a half sheet of foolscap; the disconnected words +revealed the thoughts that had been troubling her all day. + +"Counsel. Waiting. Asking. Deception. Years and years. Oh, I _want_ to +go to heaven." + +A tap at the door sounded twice before it broke upon her reverie; +absent-mindedly she opened the door, but the absent-mindedness was lost +in the flash of light that burst over her face when she recognized, in +the twilight, the one person in all the world whom she wished to see. + +"Oh, I was wishing for you! Did some good spirit send you." + +"I have been feeling all day that you wanted me," said the little woman +suffering herself to be drawn into the room. "What are you doing?" + +"Feeling wicked and miserable and wanting to go to heaven." + +"You are not the kind to go to heaven, you are the kind to stay on +earth; what would you do in heaven if you do not love to do God's will +on earth?" + +Tessa drew her rocker nearer the open window and seated her guest in it, +moved a low seat beside it, and sat down folding her hands in her lap. + +"What shall I do on earth?" she asked. + +"What you are told." + +"I can not always see or hear what I must do." + +"That's a pity." + +"Can you?" + +"I could not once; I can now." + +"How can you now?" + +"Because I desire but one thing--and that is always made plain to me." + +"But how can you get over _wanting_ things?" + +"I can not." + +"I do not understand." + +"I mean only this, dear child; I do want things, but I want God's will +most of all." + +"Sometimes I think I do, and then I _know_ that I do not. Do you think," +lowering her voice and speaking more slowly, "that He ever _deceives_ +any body?" + +"He sometimes, oftentimes, allows them to be deceived,--is that what you +mean?" + +"He does not do it." + +"No, but He allows others to do it." + +"Not--when--they pray--about it and ask what they may do--would He let +somebody who prayed be deceived?" + +Miss Jewett was removing her gloves. She smoothed out each finger and +thumb before she spoke, and laid them on the window-sill. + +"I have been trying to think--oh, now, I know! Do you not remember one +whom He permitted to be deceived after asking His counsel?" + +"No. I thought the thing impossible. I do not see how such a thing can +be." + +"It can be; it has been. What for, do you suppose?" + +"To teach some lesson. I am learning--oh, how bitterly!--that His teaching +is the best of His gifts." + +"So it is, child; but oh, how we have to be crushed before we can +believe it. Is your life so hard? It appears a very happy life to me." + +"So every one else thinks. I suppose it would be, but that I make my own +trials; _do_ I make them? No, I don't! How can I make things hard when I +only do what seems the only right thing to do. Tell me about that +somebody who was deceived--like me," she added. + +"He was a priest; he ministered before the Lord, and he believed in +David, because he was an honorable man, and high in the king's +household; so when David came to him and said: 'The king hath commanded +me a business, and hath said unto me, Let no man know it,' of course, he +believed him, and when he asked him for bread the old priest would have +given it, not thinking that in harboring the king's son-in-law he was +guilty of treason; but he had no bread; he had nothing but the +shew-bread, which only the priests might eat. He did not dare give him +that until he asked counsel of the Lord. No priest had ever dared +before, and how could he dare? But David and his men were starving, they +dared go to no one else for help; but the priest didn't know that, poor, +old, trustful man, so he asked counsel, and having obtained permission, +he gave to David the hallowed bread. That was right, because our Lord +approves of it; then David asked for Goliath's sword, and he gave him +that, and went to sleep that night as sweetly as the night before, I +have no doubt, because he had asked counsel of the Lord and followed +it." + +"Did any harm come to him?" asked Tessa, quickly. + +"Harm! He lost his head; Saul slew him for treason; and he pleaded +before the king: 'And who is so faithful among all thy servants as +David, which is the king's son-in-law, and goeth at thy bidding, and is +honorable in thine house?' God could have warned him or have brought to +his ears the news that David was an outlaw, but He suffered him to be +deceived and lose his life for trusting in the man who was telling him a +lie." + +After a silence Tessa said: "He _had_ to obey! I'm glad that he obeyed; +I believe that was written just for me. I asked God once to let somebody +love me, and I trusted him, because I thought that God had given him to +me--and it has broken my heart with shame. I did not know before that He +let me be deceived; I knew that I was obeying Him, but I thought that my +humiliation was my punishment for doing I knew not what." + +"Now I know the secret of some of your articles that I have cried over; +not less than ten people told me how much they were helped by that +article of yours, 'Night and Day.'" + +"I have three letters that I will show you sometime; I know that my +trouble has worn a channel in my heart through which God's blessing +flows; except for that I should have almost died." + +"You do not look like dying; your eyes are as clear as a bell, and +there's plenty of fun in you yet." + +"The fun and sarcasm are a little bit sanctified, I think; I never say +sharp things nowadays." + +"Perhaps the answer to your prayer has not all come yet; sometimes the +answer is given to us to spoil it or use as we please, just as the +mother gives the child five cents in answer to his coaxing, and the hap +or mishap of it is in his hands. Perhaps He has given you the wheat, and +you must grind it and bake it into bread; be careful how you grind and +how you knead and bake! To some people, like Sue Greyson, He gives bread +ready baked, but you can receive more, and therefore to you He gives +more--more opportunity and more discipline. To be born with a talent for +discipline, Tessa, is a wonderful gift, and oh, how such have to be +taught! Would you rather be like flighty Sue?" + +"No, oh, no, indeed," shivered Tessa, "but she can go to sleep when I +have to lie awake." + +"Now I must go." + +"I'll walk to the end of the planks with you." + +Tessa was too much moved to care to talk; the walk with Miss Jewett was +almost as silent as her walk homeward alone. + + + + +XV.--SEPTEMBER. + + +If Miss Jewett had not been once upon a laughing time a girl herself, +she would have wondered where the girls in Dunellen found so much to +laugh about. Nan Gerard laughed. Sue Greyson laughed, and Tessa +Wadsworth laughed; they laughed separately, and they laughed together; +they cried separately, too, but they did not cry together. Nan knew that +it was September, because she had planned to come to Dunellen in +September; Sue knew, because so few days remained before her +wedding-day; and Tessa knew, because she found the September golden rod +and pale, fall daisies in her long walks towards Mayfield; she knew it, +also, because her book was copied and at the publishers', awaiting the +decision over which she trembled in anticipation night and day. One +morning, late in the month, she found at the post-office a long, thick, +yellow envelope, containing two dozens of pictures; several of them she +had seen long ago in Sunday-school books, those that were new to her, +appeared cut or torn from some book; the letter enclosed with the +pictures requested her to write a couple of books and to use those +pictures. + +"I've heard of illustrating books," she laughed to herself, "but it +seems that I must illustrate pictures." + +Coaxing Miss Jewett into her little parlor, she showed her the pictures, +and read aloud the letter. + +"I think it is a great compliment to you," said the little woman, +admiringly. "You do not seem to think of that." + +"Father will think so. You and he are such humble people, that you think +me exalted! Women have become famous before they were as old as I." + +"You may become famous yet." + +"It isn't in me. Genius is bold; if it were in me, I should find some +way of knowing it. My work is such a little bit, such a poor little bit. +But I do like the letter." + +"You will be glad of it when you are old." + +"I am glad of it now." + +She read it again: the penmanship was straggling and ugly. + +"I do not know how to talk to you; you remind me of Tryphena and +Tryphosa; St. Paul would know what to say to you. You seem to have no +worldliness in your aims. Your style is impressive. I think that we can +keep your pen busy. Your last manuscript is still in the balance." + +"If it be found wanting, what shall I do! The suspense wears upon me." + +"I begin to understand why mediocrity is long-lived. Don't be a goose, +child." + +Mr. Wadsworth was at his desk; he read the letter through twice without +comment. + +"Well!" she said, playing with a morsel of pink blotting paper. + +"It's _beautiful_, daughter." + +She wondered why it did not seem so much to her as it did to him and to +Miss Jewett. + +"I expect that Dine will take to authorship next." + +Tessa's lips were keeping a secret, for Dine was writing a little story. +When had she ever failed to attempt the thing that Tessa had done? She +had not taken Tessa's place in school, and had been graduated much +nearer the foot of her class than Tessa had ever stood; still she had +Tessa's knack of writing stories, and telling stories, and had, at her +urging, written a story for boys, which Tessa had criticised and copied; +Dinah's penmanship being very pretty, but not at all plain. The letter +made no allusion to the fate of Dinah's story; somewhat anxious about +this, she slipped the bulky envelope into her pocket and turned her face +homewards. Her winter's work was laid out for her; there was nothing to +do but to do it. + +So full was she with plans for the books that she did not hear steps +behind her and at her side until Sue Greyson nudged her. + +"Say, Tessa, turn down Market Street with me; I have something to tell +you." The serious, startled voice arrested her instantly. What new and +dreadful thing had Sue been doing now? Her only dread was for Dr. Lake. + +"I've been ordering things for dinner; we have dinner at four, so I can +afford to run around town in the morning. I'm in a horrid fix and +there's nobody to help me out." + +"What about?" + +"_I_ haven't been doing any thing; it's other people; it's always other +people," she said plaintively, "somebody is always doing something to +upset my plans. You do not sympathize with me, you never do." + +"I do not know how to sympathize with any thing that is not +straightforward and true, and your course is rather zigzag." + +"Dr. Towne said--" + +"You haven't been talking to _him_," interrupted Tessa, flushing. + +"No, only he called to see father and I was home alone and he asked me +what ailed me and I had to tell him that I didn't want to be married." + +"Well, what could he say?" + +"He said, 'Stay with your father and be a good girl,'" laughed Sue, "the +last thing I would think of doing. Father looks so glum and says, 'Oh, +my little girl, what shall I do without you! I wish that fellow was at +the bottom of the sea!' So do I, too. I don't see why I ever promised to +marry him! I think that I must have been bereft of my senses." + +"Why not ask him to wait a year--you will know your own mind--if you have +any--by that time." + +"Oh, deary me! I'd be married to John Gesner or some other old fool with +money by that time! You don't mind being an old maid, but _I_ do!" + +"How do you know that I don't mind?" Tessa could not forbear asking. + +"Oh, you wouldn't be so happy and like to do things. I believe that I +like Gerald a great deal better any way." + +She grew frightened at Tessa's stillness; there was not one sympathetic +line in the stern curving of her lips. + +"Have you told Dr. Lake that?" + +"You needn't cut me in two," laughed Sue uneasily, "men can't _sue_ +women for breach of promise can they?" + +"Answer me, please." + +Sue hesitated, colored, stammered, finally confessed in a weak voice +that tried hard to be brave, "Yes, I have! There now! You can't hurt me! +Father said last night that if I had taken Lake he would have given me +the house and every thing in it 'for the old woman to keep house with,' +you know! And then he said that it was hard for me to leave him now that +he is growing old, that he would have to marry somebody that wouldn't +care for him, that he never had had much pleasure in his life, that +Gerald was a good physician and they could work together and how happy +we might all have been! He was mad enough though when he first +discovered that Gerald was in love with me; he threatened to send him +off. But that's his way! He is one thing one day and another thing the +next! And I couldn't help it, Tessa, I really, _really_ couldn't, but I +was so homesick and just then Gerald came in--he looked so tired, his +cough has come back, too--and when he said 'How many days yet, Susan?' I +said quick, before I thought, 'I like you a hundred times better! I +would rather marry you than Stacey.' And then he turned so white that I +thought he was dead, and he said something, I don't know whether it was +swearing or praying--and caught me in his arms, and said after that he +would never let me go! And then I said--I said--I couldn't help it--that I +would write to Stacey and send back the ring and he took it off and +tossed it out the window! I And then I made him go and find it! Stacey +can give it to some other girl. I didn't hurt it. I always took it off +when I swept or wet my hands. Life is so uncertain, I thought that he +might want it again." + +"Life _is_ uncertain. I never realized it until this minute." + +"Now your voice isn't angry," said poor Sue eagerly. "I want you to +think that I have done right." + +"When my moral perceptions are blunted, I will." + +"Go away, saying 'moral perceptions.' I don't know what Dr. Towne will +think either. Well, what's did can't be undid! Now Gerald says that I +sha'n't put it off, but that I've got to marry him on that day. I know +that you think it is horrid, but you never have lovers, so you don't +know! I don't see why, either. You are a great deal prettier than I am. +When I am tired, I am the lookingest thing, but you always look sweet +and peaceful. Don't you think that I ought to please father and stay +home? Why don't you say something? Are you struck dumb?" + +"I can not understand it--yet." + +"I think that I have made it plain enough," cried Sue, angrily. "You +must be very stupid. You like Gerald so much--I used to be jealous--that +you ought to be glad for him!" + +"I do like him. I like him so well, Sue, that I want him to have a +faithful and true wife. O, Sue! Sue Greyson! What are you to take that +man's life into your hands?" + +"I don't know what you mean. I love him, of course! If you think so much +of him, why don't you marry him?" + +"The question is not worth a reply." + +"You ought to comfort me; I haven't any mother," returned Sue, +miserably. + +"It is well for her that you haven't." + +"I don't see why you can't let me be comfortable," whined Sue; "every +thing would be lovely if you didn't spoil it all. Gerald is as wild as a +lunatic. He shall write to Stacey or father shall, or I'll be married +beforehand and send him the paper. I could do it in ten days. Do come +home with me, I want you to see my wedding dress! It's too lovely for +any thing. My travelling dress is an elegant brown; I got brown to +please Stacey, but Gerald likes it." + +"It's a good idea to choose a color that gentlemen like generally; life +is so uncertain." + +"So it is," replied Sue, unconsciously. "I think that you might +congratulate me," she added, with her hysterical laugh. "You didn't +think that your gold thimble would make pretty things for Dr. Lake's +wife, did you?" + +"I congratulate _you_! I hope that I may congratulate him, in time. Dr. +Lake is trying to pour a gallon into a half pint. I hope that one of you +will die before you make each other very miserable." + +"You mean thing," said Sue, almost crying. + +"I do not mean to hurt you, Sue, but you are doing something that is +wretched beyond words. Don't you care at all for that poor fellow who +loves you?" + +"Gerald loves me, too," she answered proudly. "You are ugly to me, and I +haven't any body that I dare talk to but you. Mary Sherwood says that +telling you things is like throwing things into the sea; nobody ever +finds them." + +"I must be very full of rubbish." + +"We are going to Washington on our bridal trip; we can't stay long, for +father will not spare Gerald. I shall ask nobody but Dr. Towne and his +mother, and Miss Jewett, and you, and Dine. Will you come?" she asked +hesitatingly. + +"I will come for Dr. Lake's sake." + +"I got a letter from Stacey this morning. I haven't opened it yet; it +will make me very sad. I wish that I wasn't so sensitive about things. +It's a dreadful trouble to me. I looked in the glass the first thing +this morning expecting that my hair would be all white. I'm dying to +show you my things; do come home with me." + +"Sue, do you ever say your prayers?" + +"To be sure I do," she replied, with a startled emphasis. + +"Then be sure to say them before you write to that poor fellow." + +"I wish that you would write for me. Will you come the night before and +stay all night with me? I shall be so afraid that the roof will tumble +in, or somebody come down the chimney to catch me, that I sha'n't sleep +a wink." + +The curves of Tessa's lips relented. "Yes, I will come. If somebody come +they shall catch me, too." + +"You are a darling, after all. We are to be married about noon; Day is +to send in the breakfast and the waiters--that _was_ the plan, and if +father isn't _too_ mad, I suppose he'll do the same now." + +She stood still at the corner. "Well, if I do not see you--good-by till +the last night of your girlhood." + +"Last night of my girlhood," repeated Sue. "What are the other hoods?" + +"Womanhood." + +"Oh, yes, and _widowhood_," she said lightly. + +Tessa turned the corner and walked rapidly along the pavement. +"Motherhood," she was thinking, "the sweetest hood of all! But I can +sooner think of that in connection with a monkey or a butterfly than +with Sue." + +At the next corner another interruption faced her in the forms of Mary +Sherwood and laughing Naughty Nan. + +The lively chat was ended with an expostulation from Nan. "Now, Mary +Sherwood, hurry. You know that I must do several things this afternoon. +I'm going to Mayfield and Green Valley with the handsome black bear, +Miss Wadsworth." + +It was the day for her afternoon with Mrs. Towne; it had chanced that +she had given to her every Tuesday afternoon. It touched her to find the +white-haired, feeble, old lady watching for her at the window. Tessa +loved her because she was cultured and beautiful; she loved her voice, +her shapely, soft hands, her pretty motions, her elegant and becoming +dress, and because--O, foolish Tessa, for a reason that she had tossed +away, scorning herself--she was Ralph Towne's mother. Not once in all +these times had she met Dr. Towne in his own home; not until this +afternoon in which he was to take Miss Gerard driving. + +"My mother is engaged with callers, Miss Tessa; she asked me to take you +to her sitting-room, and to take care of you for half an hour." + +"I am sorry to trouble you," said she confusedly. "I want to see Miss +Jewett; I will return in half an hour." + +"And not give me the pleasure of the half hour? When have you and I had +half an hour together?" + +She remembered. + +"On the last night of the old year, was it not? Come with me and 'take +off your things.' Isn't that the thing to say?" + +Unwillingly she followed him; he wheeled a chair into one of the wide +windows overlooking the Park, laid away hat, sacque, and gloves, then +seated himself lazily in the chair that he had wheeled to face her own. +It was almost like the afternoons in the shabby parlor at home; so like +them that she could not at first lift her eyes; in a mirror into which +she had glanced, she had noticed how very pale lips and cheeks were and +how dark her eyes were glowing. + +He bent forward in a professional manner and laid two fingers on her +throbbing wrist. "Miss Tessa, what are you doing to lose flesh so?" + +With that, she lifted her eyes, the color coming with a rush. "Wouldn't +you like to see my tongue, too?" + +"I know your tongue; it has a sharp point." + +"I am sorry." + +"No you are not," he answered settling himself back in an easy position, +and taking a penknife from his pocket to play with. The small knife, +with the pearl handle; how often she had seen that in his fingers. "You +are a student, of human nature; tell me what you think of me." + +How could she give to that amused assurance the bare, ugly truth! + +"How many times have you changed your mind about me?" + +"Once, only once." + +"Then your first impression of me was not correct." + +With her usual directness, she answered, "No." + +The blade snapped. If she had seen but his face she would have supposed +that he had cut himself. She hastened to speak: "Some one says that we +must change our minds three times before we can be sure." + +"But I do not want to wait until you are sure." + +"I am sure now." + +"No doubt. Tell me now." + +How many times his irresistibly boyish manner had forced from her words +that she had afterward sorely regretted! + +"You will not be pleased. You will dislike me forever after." + +"Much you will care for that." + +"Shall I not?" smiling at the humor in his eyes. "I think that I do not +care as I once did for what people think of me; the question nowadays is +what I think of them." + +"I will remember," he said urgently, "that I brought it all upon my own +head." + +How could he guess that in her heart was lodged one unpleasant thought +of him? Had she not a little while--such a little while since--cared so +much for him that he was grieved for her? + +"You must promise not to be cross." + +"I promise," taking out his watch. "You may hammer at me for twenty +minutes. I have an engagement at half past three." + +Did Nan Gerard care as she had cared once? Would the sound of his wheels +be to Naughty Nan what they were to her a year ago? A blue and gold +edition of Longfellow was laid open on its face on the broad +window-sill; she ran her forefinger the length of both covers before she +could temper her voice; she did not wish to speak coldly, and yet her +heart was very cold towards him. + +"I think that you took me by surprise at first; I thought you were the +handsomest man in the world--" + +"You have changed that opinion?" he said, laughing. + +"Yes; I should not think of describing you as handsome now; I should +simply say that you were tall, dark, with deep-set, not remarkable, +brown eyes, a quiet manner, given to few words--not at all remarkable, +you are aware." + +"Go on, I am not demolished yet." + +"Your spirit I created out of my own fancies; I gave you in those +enthusiastic days a heart like a woman's heart, and a perfect intellect. +You were my Sir Galahad, until I knew that some things you said were +not--quite true?" + +"Not quite true!" he repeated huskily. + +Her eyes as well as her fingers were on the blue covers. + +"Not true as I meant truth. Your words did not mean to you what they +meant to me--I beg your pardon; do not let me savor of strong-mindedness, +but I speak from my heart to your heart. You asked me a question +frankly, I have answered it frankly. You said some things to Sue that +you ought not to have said and that hurt me; I began to feel that you +are not sincere through and through and through. At first I believed +wholly in you and then I believed not at all. I was very bitter. And it +hurt me so that I would rather have died." + +Her tone was as cold and even as if she were reciting a theorem in +_Legendre_. + +"So you died because you were not true, but you did not go to heaven +because you had never lived, and therefore I can not expect to find you +again. I did not know before how sad such a burial is." + +"Why can not you expect to find me again?" + +"To find what? That fancy? If there is any one in the world as good, as +true, as strong, gentle and sympathetic as my ideal, I surely hope to +find that he is in the world." + +"You thought that his name was Ralph Towne, and now you know that his +name is not Ralph Towne." + +"I do not know what his name may be." + +"You think the real Ralph Towne is a stranger not worth knowing?" + +"He is a stranger, certainly; whether or not he is worth knowing you +know best." + +She laughed, but not the suspicion of a smile gleamed in his eyes; she +had forgotten that they could be as dark and stern as this. + +"Time will show you, Miss Tessa," he said humbly. + +"I _am_ sharp. I did not mean to be. But it cuts me so when I think that +you can flirt with girls like Sue and Miss Gerard. Do you know of what +it reminds me? Once the enemy fell upon the rear of an army and smote +all that were feeble, when they were faint and weary; it was an army of +women and little children, as well as men, and they did not go forth to +war; all they asked was a peaceable passage through the land." + +The door was pushed softly open; Tessa lifted her eyes to behold the +rare vision of shining gray silk, and real lace, a fine face crowned +with white braids and lighted by the softest and brownest of brown eyes. + +"My dear." All her motherhood was concentrated in the two worn-out +words. + +"Now you may run away, Ralph." + +"I am very glad to," he said. "Good afternoon, Miss Tessa." + +Tessa could not trust her voice to speak; raising her eyes she met his +fully as he turned at the door to speak to his mother; a long searching +look on both sides; neither smiled. + +"Tessa, have you been quarrelling with my boy?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"Has he been quarrelling with you?" + +"No, ma'am." + +Mrs. Towne seated herself in the chair that Dr. Towne had vacated, +arranged her dress and folded her hands in her lap. + +"It is Nan Gerard again! What a flirt that girl is! She called yesterday +and Ralph chanced to come in while she was here; she gave him such an +invitation to invite her to drive with him that he could not--that is, he +did not--refuse. I wish that he wouldn't, sometimes; but he says that he +is amused and no one is harmed. I am not so sure of that. I do not +understand Miss Gerard. I think that I do not understand girls of this +generation. But I understand you." + +"I wish that you would teach me to be as wise." + +"You will be by and by. Do you know what I would like to ask you to +promise?" + +"I can not imagine." + +"I have studied you. If you will give yourself five years to think, to +grow, you will marry at thirty the man that you would refuse to-day. You +are impetuous to-day, you form your judgments rashly, you despise what +you can not understand, and you are not yet capable of the love that +hopeth all things, endureth all things, that suffereth long and is +_kind_." + +"That is true; I am not capable of it. I have no patience with myself, +nor with others." + +"If you will wait these five years, your life and another life might be +more blessed." + +"Mrs. Towne! No one loves me. There is no occasion for me not to wait. I +could promise without the least difficulty for the happiness or +unhappiness of marriage is as unattainable to me to-day as the happiness +or unhappiness of old age." + +"I will not ask you to promise, my daughter, but I will ask you to +promise this; before you say to any man, 'Yes,' will you come to me and +talk it all out to me? As if I were really your mother!" + +Tessa promised with misty eyes. + +"I promised to show you an old jewel-case this afternoon," said Mrs. +Towne in a lighter tone. "I wish that I might tell you the history of +each piece." She brought the box from a small table and pushed her chair +nearer Tessa that she might open it in her lap. "This emerald is for +you," she said, slipping a ring containing an emerald in old-fashioned +setting upon the first finger of Tessa's left hand; "and it means what +you have promised. All that your mother will permit me, I give to you +this hour." + +"You are very kind to me." + +"I am very kind to myself. All my life I have wanted a daughter like +you: a girl with blue eyes and a pure heart; one who would not care to +flirt and dress, but who would love me and talk to me as you talk to me. +I am proud of my boy, but I want a daughter." + +"I am not very good; you may be disappointed in me." + +"I do not fear that. This, my mother gave me," lifting pin and ear-rings +from the box. A diamond set in silver formed the centre of the pin; the +diamond was surrounded by pearls of different sizes. "I was very proud +of this pin. I did not know then that I could not have every thing in +the world and out of it. This pin my father gave me." + +Tessa laid it in her hand and counted the diamonds; it was a diamond +with nine opals radiating from it, between each opal a small diamond. +"It looks like a dahlia," she said. "I love pretty things. This ring is +the first ring that I ever had." + +"People say that the emerald means success in love," replied Mrs. Towne. +"I did not remember it when I chose that for you. Perhaps you would +prefer a diamond." + +"I like best what you chose," said Tessa, taking from among the jewels, +bracelet, pin, ear-rings and chatelaine of turquoises and pearls, and +examining each piece with interested eyes. "These are old, too." + +"Every thing in this box is old. Some day you shall see my later jewels. +You will like this," she added, placing in her hands a bracelet formed +of a network of iron wire, clasped with a medallion of Berlin iron on a +steel plate; the necklace that matched it was also of medallions; the +one in the centre held a bust of Psyche; upon the others were busts of +men and women whom Tessa did not recognize; to this set belonged comb, +pin, and ear-rings. + +"These belonged to my mother. How old they are I do not know. See this +ring, a portrait of Washington, painted on copper, and covered with +glass. It is said to be one of the finest portraits in the country. I +used to wear it a great deal. My father gave it to me on my fifteenth +birthday. Have I told you that Lafayette kissed me when I was an infant +in my mother's arms?" + +While Tessa replaced the treasures with fingers that lingered over them, +with the new weight of the emerald upon her finger, and the new weight +of a promise upon her heart, Mrs. Towne related the story of the kiss +from Lafayette. + +Tessa was a perfect listener, Mrs. Towne thought; the lighting or +darkening of her eyes, a flush rising to her cheeks now and then, the +curving of the mobile lips, an exclamation of surprise or appreciation, +were most grateful to the old heart that had found after long and +intense waiting the daughter that she could love and honor. + +In the late twilight Dr. Towne returned; Tessa was still listening, with +the jewel-case in her lap. + +"I have missed my husband with all the old loneliness since we came into +Dunellen," she was saying when her tall son entered and stood at her +side. + +"Mother," he said, in the shy way that Tessa knew, "you forget that you +have me." + +"No, son, I do not forget; but your life is full of new interests. +Yesterday I did not have ten minutes alone with you." + +"It shall not happen again." + +"I have persuaded Tessa to stay and hear Philip to-night; she says that +he is like a west wind to her." + +"He would not fall upon the hindmost in your army, Miss Tessa." + +"I am sure that he would not." + +"Not if they coaxed him to?" + +"He should have manliness enough to resist all their pretty arts, and +enticing ways." + +"Mother, can't you convince her? She has been rating me soundly for +flirting, when it is the girls that are flirting with me." + +"It takes two to flirt," replied his mother. + +Dr. Towne was sent for as they were rising from the dinner table; Mrs. +Towne and Tessa crossed the Park alone; at the entrance of the Lecture +Room Sue Greyson met them. + +"I _had_ to come," Sue whispered, seizing Tessa's arm. "Father is so +horrid and hateful, and said awful things to me just because I asked +_him_ to write to Stacey. The letter is written anyhow, and I'm thankful +it's over. Father says that he won't give me the house, and that I +sha'n't be married under his roof. He is mad with Gerald, too, and told +him to leave his house. So Gerald left and went to see a patient. He is +so happy that he don't care what father says." + +As they passed down the aisle, Tessa's dress brushed against Felix +Harrison; he was sitting alone with his father. + +"Why! Felix Harrison! Did you ever?" whispered irrepressible Sue. + +The Lecture Room was well-lighted, and well-filled. Professor Towne was +the fashion in Dunellen. During the opening prayer there was a stir in +one of the pews behind Tessa; she did not lift her head, her heart beat +so rapidly that she felt as if she were suffocating. + +"Poor fellow," came in Sue's loud whisper close to her ear. "They have +taken him out! I should think that he would know better than to go among +folks." + +Tessa could not follow the speaker for some minutes; the lights went +out, she could not catch her breath; Mrs. Towne took her hand and held +it firmly, then the lights came dim, through a misty and waving +distance, her breath was drawn more easily, she could discern the +outline of the preacher, and then his dark face was brought fully into +view, his voice sounded loud in her ears; for some time longer she could +not catch and connect his words; then, clear and strong, the words fell +from his lips, and she could listen and understand-- + +"Good is the will of the Lord concerning me." + +If Felix could have listened and understood, would he have been +comforted, too? + +His voice held her when her attention wavered; afterward, that one +sentence was all that had fastened itself; and was not that enough for +one life time? + +At the door, Dr. Towne stood waiting for his mother, and Mr. Hammerton +and Dinah were moving towards the group. + +"I knew that you would be here," said Dinah, "so I coaxed Gus away from +father. I couldn't wait to tell you that your books have come. Two +splendid dozens in all colors; I had to open them. You don't mind? Gus +and I each read a brown one; we think the crimson and blue ones must be +splendid." + +Sue drew Tessa aside to coax in her plaintively miserable voice, "Come +home with me; father will say things, and I shall be afraid." + +"I can't help you, Sue." + +"You mean you _won't_. I'll elope with Dr. Lake, and then Dunellen will +be on fire, and you don't care." + +"I'm not afraid. He has good sense, if you haven't." + +"I'll come and see you to-morrow, then." + +"Well, that will do." + +"Nobody ever had so much trouble before," sighed Sue as she went off. + +Mr. Hammerton was in high glee and teased Tessa all the way home about +her book. + +"The milk pails were on the fence twice, Lady Blue, that is tautology." + +"Oh, they kept them there." + +"And the grandmother was always knitting." + +"She always did knit." + +"Lady Blue, you are on the road to Poverty; he who walks the streets of +Literature will stop at the house of Starvation. Homer was a beggar; +Terence was a slave; Tasso was a poor man; Bacon was as poor as a church +mouse; Cervantes died of nothing to eat. Are you not beginning to feel +the pangs of hunger? Breath and memory fail me, or I would convince you. +Collins died of neglect; Milton was an impecunious genius; every body +knows how wretchedly poor Goldsmith was; and wasn't poor old prodigious +Sam Johnson hungry half his life? Chatterton destroyed himself. I +tremble for you, child of Genius! Author of 'Under the Wings,' what hast +thou to say in defence of thy mad career?" + +"Don't mind him, Tessa," consoled Dinah, "he does like your book; he +said that he had no idea that you could do so well; that there was great +promise in it, that it revealed a thoughtful mind--he said it to +father--that the delineation of character was fine, and that it had the +real thing in it. What is the real thing?" + +"Read it and you will know." + +"If it isn't asking too much," began Tessa, timidly, "I wish that _you_ +would write me a criticism, Gus. I like the way that you talk about +books. Not many know how to read a book, and still fewer know how to +talk about it. Will you, please?" + +"You overrate my judgment; sentiment is not in my line; I have done my +share in reading books; I do not know that I have got much out of them +all. My own literary efforts would be like this: + + "'Here lies--and more's the pity! + All that remains of Thomas New-city.' + +"His name was Newtown." + +Dinah gave her little shout. + +"Then you will not promise," said Tessa, disappointedly. "I'm not afraid +of sharp criticism; I want to do my poor little best; I do not expect to +do as much as the girls in books who write stories. I do not expect any +publisher to fall in love with me as he did in _St. Elmo_, wasn't it?" + +"What _do_ you expect to do?" + +"I hope--perhaps that is the better word--to give others all the good that +is given me; I believe that if one has the 'gift of utterance' even in +so small a fashion as I have it, that experiences will be given to +utter; the Divine Biographer writes the life for the human heart to +read, interpret and put into words! And to them is given a peculiar +life, or, it may be, a peculiar appreciation of life; heartaches go hand +in hand with headaches. + +"I was born into my home that I may write my books; my poor little +books, my little, weak, crooked-backed children! Would Fredrika Bremer +have written her books without her exceptional home-training, or Sara +Coleridge, or any other of the lesser lights shine as they do shine, if +the spark had not been blown upon by the breath of their home-fires? +When I am sorry sometimes that I can not do what I would and go where I +would, I think that I have not gathered together all the fragments that +are around loose between the plank walk and the soldiers' monument! Said +mother, '_How_ do you make a book? Do you take a little from this book +and a little from that?'" + +"What did you say?" asked Dine. + +"Oh, I said that I took a tone from her voice, an expression from +father's eyes, a curl from your head, a word from Gus's lips, a laugh +from Sue Greyson, a sigh from Dr. Lake, an apple blossom from Mr. Bird's +orchard, a spray of golden rod from the wayside, a chat from loungers in +the Park, a wise saying from Miss Jewett--" + +"That's rather a conglomeration," said Dinah. + +"That is life, as I see it and live it." + +"What do you take from yourself?" asked Mr. Hammerton. + +"I have all my life from the time that I cried over my first lie and +prayed that I might have curly hair, to the present moment, when I am +glad and sorry about a thousand things." + +"What did mother say?" + +"She said that any one could write a book, then." + +"Let her try, then! It's awful hard about the grammar and spelling and +the beginning a chapter and ending it and introducing people!" + +"Yes, it's awful hard or awful easy," replied Mr. Hammerton. "Which is +it, Lady Blue?" + +"Ask me when I have written my novel! Did you hear from the afternoon +mail, Dine?" + +"Yes," said Dine, grimly, "I should think I _did_ hear. Mother and I +have had a fight! Father took care of the wounded and we are all +convalescing. Aunt Theresa has written for one of us to come next week; +kindly says that she will take me if mother can not spare you; I said +right up and down that _I_ wouldn't go, and mother said right down and +up that I _should_ go, that she couldn't and wouldn't spare you! Aunt +Theresa has the rheumatism, and it's horrid dull on a farm! I was there +when I was a little girl, and she sent me to bed before dark; I'm afraid +that she will do it again; if she does I'll frighten her out of her +rheumatics. Mother will not let you have a voice in the matter, Tessa; +who knows but you might meet your fate? The school-teacher boards with +them; he is just out of college. Mother sha'n't make me go!" + +"I do not choose to go; but I could have all my time to myself. A low, +cosy chamber and a fire on the hearth, no one to intrude or hinder." + +"But the school-master!" added Mr. Hammerton. + +"He's only a boy; I could put him into my book." + +"We'll draw lots; shall we?" + +"If mother is determined, the lot is drawn." + +"And father wants you, I know; he had an attack of pain before tea. I +wish that I was useful and couldn't be spared." + +"May I not have a vote; I am a naturalized member of the family?" + +"You would want Tessa, too," said Dinah. + +"Would I?" he returned, squeezing the gloved fingers on his arm, +whereupon Dinah became confused and silent. + +Tessa found her books upon the hall table; her father, Mr. Hammerton, +and Dinah followed her into the hall to watch her face and laugh over +her exclamations. + +"Your secret is out," cried her father; "at Christmas there will be a +placard in Runyon's with the name of the book and author in flaming red +letters! You can not remain the Great Unknown." + +"I feel so ashamed of trying," said Tessa, with a brown cover, a red +cover, and a green cover in her hands, "but I had to. I'll be too humble +to be ashamed. 'Humility's so good when pride's impossible.'" + +Several copies were taken up-stairs; Miss Jewett's name was written in +one, Mrs. Towne's in another, Mr. Hammerton's in one that he had +selected, and in one, bound in a sober gray, she wrote, + + "Felix Harrison. In memory of the old school days when he helped me + with my compositions. + + "T. L. W." + +She never knew of his sudden, sharp cry over it: "Oh, my life! my lost +life! my wasted life!" + + + + +XVI.--A TANGLE. + + +Mrs. Wadsworth's strong will triumphed, as it usually did, and Dinah was +sent into the country early in the last week of September, with a +promise from Tessa that she would release her from her durance as soon +as one of her books was finished and herself spend the remainder of the +winter with the childless old people who had been looking forward to +this pleasure from winter to winter ever since Tessa was ten years old. +Half Dunellen had pacified Dinah with the promise of long weekly +letters, and she knew that Tessa and her father would write often. "I am +not strong enough to write letters," her mother had said. "Tessa will +tell you every thing." "I will add a postscript whenever Tessa will +permit," said Mr. Hammerton, which queerly enough consoled homesick +Dinah more than all the other promises combined. + +Sue had not come to talk to Tessa and she dared not go to Dr. Greyson's +for fear of influencing her. She had met Dr. Lake once; he had lifted +his hat with a flourish, but would not stop to speak to her. + +And now it was Wednesday and Sue's wedding day had been set for Friday. + +At noon, among other letters, her father brought her a note from Felix +Harrison: + +"I must see you; I want to talk to you. Come Wednesday afternoon." + +How she shrank from this interview she did not understand until she +could think it over years afterward. In those after years when she said, +"I do not want to live my life over again," she remembered her +experiences with Felix Harrison; more than all, the feeling of those +weeks when she had felt _bound_. It was also in her mind when she said, +as she often did say, in later life, "I could never influence any one to +marry." How often an expression in the mature years of a woman's life +would reveal a long story, if one could but read it. + +Another word of hers in her middle age, "I love to help little girls to +be happy," was the expression to years of longing that no one had ever +guessed; her mother least of all. + +But she had not come to this settled time yet; it was weary years before +she was at leisure from herself. It was Wednesday noon now and Felix had +sent for her; she shrank from him with a shrinking amounting to terror; +he would touch her hand, most certainly, and he might put his arm around +her and kiss her; she would faint and fall at his feet if he did; he +might say that she had promised him, that she was bound to him, that he +would never let her go; that he was gaining strength and that she must +become his wife or he would die! + +Why could he not write his message? What could he have to say to her? +Was it not all said and laid away to be remembered, perhaps, and that +was all? Then the memory of the old Felix swept over her, and she bowed +her head and wept for him! She had held herself in her heart as his +promised wife for six long weeks, how could she shrink from him? Was he +not to her what no other man would ever become? Was she not to him the +one best and dearest? + +"I wonder," she sobbed, "why _he_ had to be the one to love me; why was +not the love given to one whom I could love? Why must such a good and +perfect gift as love be a burden to him and to me? If some one I know--" + +The cheeks that were wet for Felix Harrison burned at the thought of one +she knew! + +"Oh, I wonder--but I must not wonder--I must be submissive; I must bow +before the Awful Will." + +In that hour it was harder to bear for Felix Harrison to love her than +for Ralph Towne to be indifferent. + +"What are you going to do this afternoon?" inquired her mother at the +dinner table. + +"Take my walk! And then the thing that comes first" + +"You never have any plan about any thing; any one with so little to do +ought to have a plan." + +"My plan is this--_do the next thing_! I find that it keeps me busy." + +"The next thing, hard or easy," said Mr. Wadsworth. + +"Hard! Easy!" repeated Mrs. Wadsworth in her ironical voice. "Tessa +never had a hard thing to do in her life. It will be my comfort in my +last hours, Tessa, that you have been kept from troubles and +disappointments." + +"You might as well take the comfort of it now," said Tessa. + +"Not many young women of your age have your easy life," her mother +continued; "you have no thought where your next meal will come from, or +where you will live in your old age, or where--" + +"I know where all my good things come from," interrupted Tessa, +reverently; "the how, the when, and the what that I do not know--that I +am waiting to know." + +"That is like you! Not a thought, not a care; it will come dreadful hard +to you if you ever _do_ have trouble." + +Tessa's tears ever left in her heart a place for sweet laughter; so +light, so soft, so submissive, and withal so happy was the low laugh of +her reply that her father's eyes filled at the sound. Somebody +understood her. + +Mrs. Wadsworth looked annoyed. Her elder daughter's words baffled her. +Tessa _was_ shallow and she sighed and asked her if she would take apple +pie. + +Tessa ate her pie understanding how she was a trial to her mother, but +not understanding how she could hinder it. Could she change herself? or +could her mother change herself? + +"I wish that it were easier for me to love people," she said coming out +of a reverie, "then I would not need to trouble myself about not +understanding them." + +"I thought that you were a student of human nature," said her father. + +"I always knew that she couldn't see through people," exclaimed her +mother. + +"I do not; I never know when I am deceived." + +"My rule is," Mr. Wadsworth arose and stood behind his chair, "to judge +people by themselves and not by _myself_." + +"Oh, the heartaches that would save," thought Tessa. At the hour when +she was walking slowly towards Felix, her black dress brushing the +grass, her eyes upon the harvested fields lying warm in the mellow +sunlight, and on her lips the sorrowful wonder, he was sitting alone in +the summer-house, his head dropped within his hands. He was wondering, +too, as all his being leaped forward at the thought of her coming, and +battling with the strong love that was too strong for his feeble +strength. + +When her hand unlatched the gate, he was not in the summer-house; she +walked up the long path, and around to the latticed porch where Laura +liked to sew or read in the afternoons; there was no one there; the +work-basket had been pushed over, cotton and thimble had rolled to the +edge of the floor, the white work had been thrown over a chair, she +stood a moment in the oppressive silence, trembling and half leaning +against a post; the tall clock in the hall ticked loudly and evenly: +forever--never, never--forever! Her heart quickened, every thing grew dark +like that night in the lecture-room, she was possessed with a terror +that swept away breath and motion. A groan, then another and another, +interrupted the never--forever, of the clock, then a step on the +oil-cloth of the hall, and she dimly discerned Laura's frightened face, +and heard as if afar off her surprised voice: "Why, Tessa! O, Tessa, I +am so glad!" + +The frightened face was held up to be kissed and arms were clinging +around her. + +"I'm always just as frightened every time--he was in the summer-house and +father found him--he can speak now--it doesn't last very long." + +"I will not stay, he needs you." + +"Not now, no one can help him; father is with him. If this keeps on Dr. +Greyson says that some day he will have to be undressed and dressed just +like an infant. He has been nervous all day, as if he were watching for +something. O, Tessa, I want to die, I want him to die, I can't bear it +any longer." + +Tessa's only reply was her fast dropping tears. + +"If he only had a mother," said Laura; "I want him to have a mother now +that he can never have a wife! If he only had been married, his wife +would have clung to him, and loved him, and taken care of him. Don't you +think that God might have waited to bring this upon him until he was +married?" + +"Oh, no, no, _no!_" shivered Tessa; "we do not know the best times for +trouble to come. I shall always believe that after this." + +"He always liked you better than any one; do you know that he has a +picture of you taken when we went to the Institute? You have on a hat +and sacque, and your school books are in your hand." + +"I remember that picture! Has he kept it all this time?" + +"If he asks for you--he will hear your voice--will you go in?" + +"No, I can not see him," she answered nervously. + +"Then I will walk down to the gate with you. He will be sure to ask, and +I do not like to refuse him." + +Walking slowly arm in arm as they used to walk from school years ago, +they passed down the path, at first, speaking only of Felix, and then as +they neared the gate, falling into light talk about Laura's work, the +new servant who was so kind to Felix, the plants that Laura had taken +into the sitting-room, "to make it cosy for Felix this winter," the +shirts that she had cut out for him and their father, and intended to +make on the machine; about the sewing society that was to meet +to-morrow, a book that Felix was reading aloud evenings while their +father dozed and she sewed, some Mayfield gossip about Dr. Towne, and +their plan of taking Felix travelling next summer. Tessa listened and +replied. She never had any thing to say about herself. Laura thought +with Mrs. Wadsworth that Tessa had never had any "experiences." Miss +Jewett and Tessa's father knew; but it was not because she had told +them. What other people chattered about to each other she kept for her +prayers. + +Laura cried a little when Tessa kissed her at the gate. "I wish that you +wouldn't go; I want you to stay and help me. Will you come again soon?" + +"I can't," she answered hurriedly. + +"Did Felix know that you were coming to-day?" + +Tessa's eyes made answer enough; too much, for Laura understood. + +"I will not tell him that I know--but I had guessed it--I heard him +praying once while we were away, and I knew that he was giving up +_you_." + +Tessa kissed her again, and without a word hurried away, walking with +slower steps as she went on with her full eyes bent upon the ground. + +Was it so much to give up Tessa Wadsworth? What _was_ she that she could +make such a difference in a man's life? Was she lovable, after all, +despite her quick words and sharp speeches? She was not pretty like +Dinah, or "taking" like Sue; it was very pleasant to be loved for her +own sake; "my own unattractive self," she said. It would be very +pleasant in that far-off time, when she reviewed her life, to remember +that some one had loved her beside her father and Dine and Miss Jewett! +And a good man, too; a man with brains, and a pure heart! + +Her ideal was a man with brains, and a pure heart; then why had she not +loved Felix Harrison? + +"Oh, I don't know," she sighed. "I can't understand." Slowly, slowly, +with her full eyes on the ground she went on, not heeding the sound of +wheels, or gay voices, as a carriage passed her now and then; but as she +went on, with her eyes still full for Felix, a light sound of wheels set +her heart to beating, and she lifted her eyes to bow to Dr. Towne. + +In that instant her heart bowed before the Awful Will in acceptance of +the love that had been given to her, even as other things in her lot had +been given her, without any seeking or asking. + +"I can bear it," she felt, filling the words with Paul's thought, when +he wrote, "I can do all things." + +Dr. Towne drew the reins: she stood still on the edge of the foot-path. + +"My mother misses you, Miss Tessa." + +"Does she? I am sorry, but I have to be so busy at home." + +His sympathetic eyes were on her face. "I thought, that you were never +troubled about any thing," he said. + +"I am not--when I can help it." + +"I left Sue Greyson up the road looking for you; I could not bring her +to meet you, as my carriage holds but one; there was news in her face." + +"Then I will go to hear." + +The light sound of his wheels had died away before she espied Sue's tall +figure coming quickly towards her. + +"Oh, Tessa! How _could_ you go so far? Your mother said that you were +here on this road, and that I should find you either up a tree or in the +brook; I've got splendid news! guess! Did you meet Dr. Towne? He stopped +and talked to me, but I wouldn't tell him. He and his mother will know +in time. Now, guess." + +"Let me sit down and think. It will take time." + +They had met near the brook at the corner of the road that turned past +Old Place; on the corner stood a tall, bare walnut-tree, the gnarled +roots covered a part of the knoll under which a slim thread of water +trickled over moss and jagged flat stones, and then found its clear way +into a broader channel and thence into the brook that crossed one of the +Old Place meadows. + +These roots had been Tessa's resting-place all summer; how many times +she had looked up to read the advertisement of the clothier in Dunellen +painted in black letters on a square board nailed to the trunk; how many +times had she leaned back and looked down into the thread of water at +the moss, and the pebbles, the tiny ferns and the tall weeds, turning to +look down the road towards May field where the school-house stood, and +then across the fields--the wheat fields, the corn fields--to the peach +orchard beyond them, and beyond that the green slope of the fertile +hill-side with its few dwellings, and above the slope the crooked green +edge that met the sky--sometimes a blue sky, sometimes a sky of clouds, +and sometimes gray with the damp clouds hanging low; thinking, as her +eyes roved off her book, of some prank of Rob's or some quaint saying of +Sadie's, of some little comforting thought that swelled in grandma's +patient, gentle heart, or of something sharp that Sadie's snappish +mother should say; sometimes she would take the sky home for her book +and sometimes the weeds and the pebbles and the brook; and when it was +not her book it was Felix--poor Felix!--or Dr. Lake, whom she loved more +and more every day with the love that she would have loved a naughty, +feeble, winsome child; or Mr. Towne, of his face that was ever with her +like the memory of a picture that she had lingered before and could +never forget, or of his voice and some words that he had spoken; or of +her father and his failing strength and brave efforts to conceal it; +sometimes a kind little thing that her mother had done for her, some +self-denial or shame-faced demonstration of her love for her elder +daughter, sometimes of Dine's changeful moods, and often of the book of +George Eliot's that she was reading, or the latest of Charles Kingsley's +that she was discussing with Mr. Hammerton; thinking, musing, feeling, +planning while she picked up a pebble or tore a weed into bits, or wrote +a sentence in her pocket notebook! It was no wonder that this gnarled +seat was so much to her that she lost herself and lost the words that +Sue was speaking so rapidly. + +"You are not listening to me at all," cried Sue at last "I might as well +talk to the tree as to talk to you!" + +"I am listening; what is it?" + +"It's all settled--splendidly settled--and I'm as happy as Cinderella when +she found the Prince! Now guess!" + +"Well, then," stooping to pick a weed that had gone to seed, "I guess +that you have come to your right mind, that you will marry Stacey on +Friday and all will go as merry as a marriage bell should." + +"What a thing to guess! That's too horrid! Guess again." + +"You have grown good and 'steady,' you will keep house for your father +and be what he is always calling you,--the comfort of his old age,--and +forego lovers and such perplexities forever." + +"That's horrider still! Do guess something sensible." + +"You are going to marry Dr. Lake. Your father has stormed and stormed, +but now he has become mild and peaceable; you are to be married Friday +morning and start off immediately in the sober certainty of waking +bliss." + +"Yes," said Sue very seriously, "that is it. Every thing is as grand as +a story-book, except that father will not give me the house for a +wedding present. Oh, those wretched days since I saw you last! I did +think that I would take laudanum or kill myself with a penknife. You +don't know what I have been through. Old Blue Beard is pious to what +father has been; Gerald, _he_ kept out of the house. I should have run +away before this, only I knew that father would come around and beg my +pardon. He always does." + +Tessa stooped to dip her fingers in the water. + +"And _this_ is your idea of marriage," she said quietly. + +"No, it isn't. I never looked forward to any thing like this; I always +wanted something better. I am not doing very well, although I suppose +there _are_ girls in Dunellen who would think Gerald a catch." + +"Oh, Sue, Sue! when he loves you so! If he could hear you, it would +break his heart!" + +"Take him yourself then, if you think he's so much," laughed Sue. "Nan +Gerard will get the catch!" + +"Sue, I am ashamed of you!" exclaimed Tessa rising. "I am glad if you +are happy--as happy as you know how to be. I want you to be happy--and +_do_ be good to Dr. Lake." + +How Sue laughed! + +"Oh, you dear old Goody Goody," she cried, springing to her feet and +throwing her arms around Tessa. "What else should I be to my own wedded +husband? But it does seem queer so near to Old Place to be talking about +marrying Dr. Lake." + +"We'll remember this place always, Sue, and that you promised to be kind +to Dr. Lake." + +"Yes, I'll remember," with a shadow passing over her face. "The next +time you and I sit here it will be all over with me. I shall be out of +lovers for the rest of my natural life." She laughed and chatted all the +way home; her listener was silent and sore at heart. + +"You will come to-morrow night and see the last of me, won't you? This +is what I came to ask you, 'the last sad office' isn't that it? Sue +Greyson will never ask you another favor." + +"Yes, I will come." She had always loved Sue Greyson. She did not often +kiss her, but she kissed her now. + +"Don't look so. Laugh, can't you? If it is something terrible, it isn't +happening to you." + +"The things that happen to me are the easiest to bear." + +Sue crossed over to the planks and went on pondering this, then gave it +up to wonder how she would wear her hair on her wedding morning; Tessa +would make it look pretty any way, for she was born a hair-dresser. + +And Tessa went in and up-stairs, thinking of a remark of Miss Jewett's: +"I should not understand my life at all, it would be all in a tangle, if +it were not for my prayers." + + + + +XVII.--THE NIGHT BEFORE. + + +Two of the pretty crimson and brown chairs were drawn to the back parlor +grate; Sue had kindled a fire in the back parlor because she felt +"shivery," beside, it had rained all day; the wedding morning promised +to be chilly and rainy. + +Early after tea Dr. Greyson had been called away; Dr. Lake had not +returned from a long drive, the latest Irish girl was singing lustily in +the kitchen; Sue and Tessa were alone together before the fire. The +white shades were down, the doors between the rooms closed, they were +altogether cozy and comfortable. Almost as comfortable, Tessa was +thinking, as if there were no dreaded to-morrow; but then she was the +only person in the world who could see any thing to be dreaded in the +to-morrow. Tessa's fingers were moving in and out among the white wool +that she was crocheting into a long comforter for her father; Sue sat +idly restless looking into Tessa's face or into the fire. + +Now and then Tessa spoke, now and then Sue ejaculated or laughed or +sighed. + +"Life is too queer for any thing," she said reflectively. "Don't you +know the minister said that Sunday that we helped to make our own lives? +I have often thought of that." + +Tessa's wool was tangled, she unknotted it without replying. + +The rain plashed against the windows, a coal fell through the grate and +dropped upon the fender. + +"I wonder how Stacey feels," said Sue. "Perhaps he is taking out another +girl to-night. That ring was large, it will not fit a small hand; +perhaps he sold it, you can always get three quarters the worth of a +diamond, I have heard people say." + +Tessa's lips were not encouraging, but Sue was not looking at her. + +"Gerald has the wedding ring in his pocket; I tried it on this noon. I +wanted to wear it to get used to it, but he wouldn't let me. He is +sentimental like you. I expect that he is really enjoying carrying it +around in his pocket. S. G. L. is written in it." + +The rain plashed and Tessa worked; suddenly the door-bell gave a sharp +clang, a moment later little Miss Jewett, in a waterproof, was ushered +in. + +"I had to come, girls. I hope I don't intrude." + +"Intrude!" Both of Sue's affectionate arms were around the wet figure. +"Tessa is thinking of glum things to say to me, do sit down and say +something funny." + +The long waterproof was unbuttoned and hung upon the hat-stand in the +hall, the rubbers were placed upon the hearth to dry, and the plump +little woman pressed into Tessa's arm-chair. Moving an ottoman to her +side, Tessa sat with her arm upon the arm of her chair. + +"I'm _so_ glad to see you," Sue cried, dropping into her own chair. +"What a long walk you have had in the rain just to give me some good +advice. Don't you wish that Tessa was going off, too?" + +"Tessa will not go off till she is good and ready," replied Miss Jewett, +"and then she will go off to some purpose." + +"Make a good match, do you mean?" + +"If she can find her match," caressing the hand on the arm of the chair. + +"Oh, Miss Jewett, tell us a story! A real love story! Humor me just this +once, this last time! I don't like advice and I do like love stories." + +"Do you, too, Tessa?" + +"Yes, I shall write one some day! They shall both be perfect and love +each other perfectly. It shall not be an earthly story, but a heavenly +one." + +"That would be too tame," said Sue. "I should want it to be a little +wicked." + +"That would be more like life--" + +"And then get good in the end! That is like life, too," interrupted Sue. +"Now, go on, please." + +"Very well. To-night is an event, I suppose I may as well celebrate it. +I will tell you about a present I had once, the most perfect gift I ever +received." + +"But I wanted a love story." + +"And you think that _my_ story can not be that? Sometimes I think that +unmarried people live the most perfect love stories." + +Lifting the mass of white wool from Tessa's lap and taking the needle, +she worked half a minute before she spoke; Sue's curious, bright eyes +were on her face, Tessa's were on the wool she was playing with. + +"Twenty-five years ago, when I was younger than I am now, and as intense +and as full of aspirations as Tessa here, and as full of fun, as _you_, +Sue Greyson, I boarded one winter with a widow. She was quite +middle-aged and lived alone with her chickens and cat, very comfortably +off, but she wanted a boarder or two for company. My store was a little +affair then, but I was a busy body; I used to study and sew evenings. +Ah, those evenings! I often think them over now as I sit alone. I shall +never forget that winter. I _grew_. The widow and I were not alone; +before I had been there a week a young man came, he was scarcely older +than I--" + +Sue laughed and looked at Tessa. + +"He was to sail away in the spring to some dreadful place,--that sounds +like you, Sue,--to be a missionary!" + +"A _missionary!_" exclaimed Sue. + +"Every evening he read aloud to us, usually poetry or the Bible. Poetry +meant something to me then--that sounds like you, Tessa. One evening he +read Esther, one evening Ruth, and when he read Nehemiah, oh, how +enthusiastic we were! He talked and talked and talked, and I listened +and listened and listened till all my heart went out to meet him." + +"Ah," cried Sue, "to think of you being in love, Miss Jewett. I didn't +know that you were ever so naughty!" + +"At last the time came that he must go--the very last evening. I thought +that those evenings could never end, but they did. I could hardly see my +stitches for tears; I was making over a black bombazine for the widow, +and the next evening I had to rip my work out! He read awhile,--he was +reading _Rasselas_ that night,--and then he dropped the book and talked +of his work and the life he expected to lead. + +"'You ought to take a wife,' said the widow. + +"'No woman will ever love me well enough to go to such a place with me,' +he said. + +"Just then I dropped the scissors and had to bend down to pick them up. +The widow went out into the kitchen to set the sponge for her bread and +clear out the stove for morning, and we stayed alone and talked. We +talked about whether he would be homesick and seasick, and how glad he +would be of letters from home; not that he had many friends to write to +him, though; and I sewed on and on, and threaded my needle, and dropped +my scissors, and almost cried because all I cared for in the wide world +would sail away with him, and he would never know! + +"'The best of friends must part,' he said when she brought in his candle +and lighted it for him. + +"In the morning, we all arose early and took our last breakfast together +by lamplight. She shook hands with him twice, and wished him all sorts +of good wishes, and then he held out his hand to me and said, 'Good-by.' +I said, 'Good-by.' And then he said, 'You have given me a very pleasant +winter; I shall often think of it.' And I said, 'Thank you,' and ran +away up-stairs to cry by myself. That was five and twenty years +ago--before you were born, Sue, and before Tessa could creep; there were +wet eyes in the world, before you were born, girls, and there will be +wet eyes long after we are all dead; and always for the same +reason--because somebody loves somebody. + +"He is a hard worker--I rejoice in his life. Five years ago he came home, +but not to Dunellen; he had no friends here; after resting awhile he +returned to his field of labor, and died before he reached it, but was +buried in the place he loved better than home. + +"I thought of him and loved him and prayed for him through those twenty +years. I think of him and love him and give thanks for him now, and +shall till I die and afterwards!" + +"Why didn't you go with him?" asked Sue. + +"He did not ask me." + +"Would you if he had?" + +"I certainly should." + +"Couldn't you bring him to the point? It would have been easy enough." + +"The gentleman did the asking in those days," Sue laughed. "And wasn't +he ever married?" + +"No." + +"What a pity! I thought that every thing always went right for people +like you and Tessa. But I don't see where the perfect gift comes in, do +you, Tessa?" + +"Yes, but I'm afraid that I don't want such a perfect gift. I couldn't +bear it--twenty years." + +"Tell me--I can't guess. Did he give you something?" + +"No, _he_ did not." + +"Didn't he love _you?_" + +"No, he did not love me." + +"Where is the gift then?" + +"My love for him was my perfect gift. It was given by One in whom there +is no shadow of turning." + +"I am not strong enough to receive such a gift," said Tessa looking +troubled. + +"Oh, dear me, I hope not. Oh, dear me, horrid! What a story to tell the +night before my wedding! All I care about is about _being loved!_ I +didn't know that the loving made any difference or did any good! That +story is too sorrowful. Gerald would like that." + +The long ivory needle moved in and out; the fair face, half a century +old, was full of loveliness. + +"That is for you to remember all your life, Sue." + +"I sha'n't. I shall forget it. I only remember pleasant things." + +"I wonder if Fredrika Bremer were as happy as you, Miss Jewett. She says +that a gentleman inspired her with a 'pure and warm feeling,' that it +was never responded to, and yet it had a powerful influence upon her +development." + +"Was she _real?_" inquired Sue. "I thought that she only wrote books." + +"It takes very real people to write," answered Tessa. "The more real you +are, the more you are called to write." + +Slipping off the low chair, down to the rug, Sue laid her head in Miss +Jewett's lap, the white wool half concealing the braids and curls and +frizzes, the thin, excited face was turned toward the fire, the brown +eyes, wild and yet timid, were misty with tears. + +Miss Jewett and Tessa Wadsworth were the only people in the world who +had ever seen this phase of Sue Greyson. + +Dr. Lake had never seen her subdued or frightened. At this instant she +was both. There were some things that Sue could feel; there were not any +that she could understand. + +"Sometimes," said Sue, in a hollow whisper, "I'm so afraid, I want to +run away; I was afraid I might run away and so I asked Tessa to come +to-night." + +"My dear!" Miss Jewett's warm lips touched her forehead. + +"Oh, it isn't any thing! I like Gerald; I adore him. I wouldn't marry +him if I didn't! I am always afraid of a leap into the dark, and I am +always jumping into dark places." + +"It is a leap for _him_, too, Sue; you seem to forget that," suggested +Tessa. + +"You always think of him, you never think of me." + +"It is a pity for no one to think of him; if I were to be married +to-morrow, I should cry all night, out of pity for the hapless +bridegroom." + +"Tessa, you ridiculous child," exclaimed Miss Jewett. + +"In books," Sue went on, still with her face turned from them, "girls +choose the one they are to marry out of all the world. Why don't we?" + +"We do," said Tessa. + +"We don't. We take somebody because he asks us and nobody else asks." + +"_I_ will not. I do not believe that God means it so. He chooses that we +shall satisfy the best and hungriest part of ourselves, and the best +part is the hungriest, and the hungriest the best; we may not have +opportunity in one year, or two years, or ten years, but if we wait He +will give us the things we most need! He did not give us any longing +simply to make us go crying through the universe; the longing is His +message making known to us that the good thing _is_. I will not be false +to myself, cheating myself by shutting my eyes and saying, 'Ah, _this_ +is good! I have found my choice,' when my whole soul protests, knowing +that it is a lie. I can wait." + +"Oh, Tessa!" laughed Sue. "Doesn't she talk like a book? I never half +know what she means when she goes into such hysterics. Do you expect to +get all your good things?" + +"All _my_ good things! Yes, every single one; it is only a question of +time. God can not forget, nor can He die. I shall not be discouraged +until I am sure that He is dead." + +"O, Tessa, you are wicked," cried Sue. + +"You remind me of something," said Miss Jewett. "'Blessed are all they +that wait _for Him_.'" + +"I can't wait for my blessings," said Sue; "I want to snatch them." + +Gently pushing aside Sue's head, Tessa found her work and her needle; +she worked silently while Sue laughed and grumbled and Miss Jewett +talked, not over Sue's head as Tessa's habit was, but into her heart. + +"Sue, I shall lose you in Bible class." + +"I never answered any questions or studied any lesson, you will not care +for my empty place. Gerald is getting awfully good; he reads the Bible +and Prayer-book every night; every morning when I go in to fix up his +room, I find them on a little table by his bed; I suppose he reads in +bed nights. He used to be bad and talk dreadful things when he first +came; did you ever hear him, Tessa?" + +"Yes." + +"But he's awful good now; he thinks that people ought to go to church, +and say their prayers; I hope he will keep it up; _I_ will not hinder +him. I want to be good, too." + +Tessa's needle moved in and out; she did not hear Sue's voice, or see +the kneeling, green figure; her eyes were looking upon the face she had +looked down into that evening in January, such a little time since; and +she was hearing her voice as she heard it in the night. Had she +forgotten so soon? Or was it the remembrance that gave her the unrest +to-night? Was she conscious without understanding? And had _her_ Ralph +Towne done this? After having withdrawn himself from Sue, was he keeping +her from seeing the good and the happiness of marriage with Dr. Lake? +Would the thought of him come between her and the contentment that she +might have had? + +But no, she was putting herself into Sue's position; that would not do; +it was Sue's self and not her own self that she must analyze! If she +could tell Ralph Towne her fears to-night, his eyes would grow dark and +grave, and then he would toss the feeling away with his amused laugh and +say, "Sue is not deep enough for that! She did not care for me. Why must +you think a romance about her?" + +Was she not deep enough for that? Who could tell that? + +She listened to Sue's lively talk and tried to believe that his reply +would be just; the one most bitter thought of all was, that if she were +suffering it was through his selfishness or stupidity. Why must he be so +stupid about such things? Had he no heart himself? + +Sue was laughing again. "Oh, dear! I must be happy; if I am not I shall +be unhappy! It would kill me to be unhappy! I never think of unpleasant +things five minutes." + +The sound of wheels near the windows, and a call to "Jerry" in a loud, +quick voice, brought them all to a startling sense of the present. + +"There he is," cried Sue, springing lightly to her feet. + +Tessa was relieved that she said "he" instead of "Gerald" or "Dr. Lake." + +"If you will not stay all night, too, Miss Jewett, he shall take you +home." + +"I can not, dear. I only came because I wanted to talk with Sue Greyson +once more before I lost her." + +Rubbers and waterproof were hurried on, and Tessa was left alone with +the fire, the rain, and her work. + +Suppose that it were herself who was to be married to-morrow-- + +Would she wish to run away? Run away from whom? Although her Ralph Towne +had died and been buried, that old, sharp, sweet, memory was wrapped +around her still; it would always be sweet although so sharp--and +bitterly, bitterly sharp although so sweet; if it might become wholly +the one or wholly the other, but it could never be that; never unless +she learned Love's lesson as Mrs. Towne had laid it before her. But that +was so utterly and hopelessly beyond her present growth! + +Would he despise her if he could know how much that happy time was in +her thoughts? Was she tenacious where stronger minds would forget? He +would think her weak and romantic like the heroine of a story paper +novel; that is, if he could think weak any thing so wholly innocent. + +She trusted the emerald ring on her finger; at times it burned into her +flesh; sometimes she tore it off that she might forget her promise, and +then--oh, foolish, incomprehensible, womanly Tessa!--she would take it +again and slip it on with a reverence and love for the old memory that +she could not be ashamed of although she tried. + +Had she been too hard upon Ralph Towne in their latest interview? Why +need she have given shape to her hitherto unspoken thoughts concerning +his life; she could not tell him of her prayers that he might change and +yet become--for it was not too late--the good, good man that she had once +believed him to be. He had taken away her faith in himself; he might +give it back, grown stronger, if he would. If he only would! + +Dr. Greyson's step was in the hall; Sue's voice was less excited, her +father was speaking quietly to her. Sue, poor Sue! She would never be +again the free, wild Sue Greyson that she was to-night. + +Tessa felt Dr. Lake's mood; she could have written out his thoughts, as +he drove homeward in the rain; she dreaded his hilarious entrance, how +his eyes would shine, with tears close behind them! + +Her reverie was interrupted by the entrance that she dreaded. "Ah, +Mystic, praying for my happiness here alone! I know you are. I come to +be congratulated." + +"I congratulate you," she said rising and taking his hand. Not so very +long afterward, when she saw his cold, dead hands folded together and +touched them, she remembered with starting tears this soft, hot, +clinging clasp. + +"You didn't dream of this two months ago, did you?" he cried, dropping +into the chair that Sue had been sitting in. "You didn't know that I was +born under a lucky star despite all my woeful past. I have turned over a +new leaf; I turned it over to-night in the rain; it is chapter first. +Such a white page, Mystic. Don't you want to write something on it for +me?" + +"I wouldn't dare." + +"Oh, yes, you would! What do you wish for me? Write that." + +"I wish for you--" she rolled the white wool over her hand. + +"Well, go on! Something that must come true!" + +"--The love that suffers long and is _kind_." + +"Whew!" He drew a long breath. "There is no place for that in me." + +Sue entered noisily. She did every thing noisily. + +"Come here, Susan." Dr. Lake caught her in his arms, but she slipped +through them, moving to Tessa's side, seating herself upon the rug, and +resting both hands in Tessa's lap. + +"I was reading the other day"--he stooped to smooth Sue's flounce--"of a +fellow who fell dead upon his wedding day, as soon as the knot was tied. +Perhaps it was tied too tight and choked him. Suppose I drop dead, +Susan, will you like to be a bewitching young widow so soon? Whom would +you find to flirt with before night?" + +"Gerald, you are wicked!" + +"Probably this bridegroom had heart disease. I haven't heart disease, +except for you, my Shrine, my Heart's Desire." + +"Isn't he wretched, Tessa? He tells me all kinds of stories about people +dying of joy!" + +He bent forward, drawing her towards him backward, and with both arms +around her, kissed the top of her head and her forehead. + +"You mustn't do so before folks," said Sue shaking herself free. + +"Mystic isn't folks! She is my guardian angel." + +"I know that you would rather have married her." + +"But she wouldn't rather have married me, would you, Mystic?" + +"I can't imagine it," returned Tessa, as seriously as he had spoken. +"Set your jealous heart at rest, Sue." + +"I never thought of it, but once in my life," he continued, musingly, +"and that was when I was down in the deeps about you, Susan; I did think +that she might drag me out--a drowning man, you know, will catch at a +straw. It was one night when she was weeding her pansies and refused to +ride with me. I'm glad that you never _did_ refuse me, Mystic, you +couldn't be setting there so composedly." + +"Oh, yes, I would; I should have known that you were insane." + +"I was insane--all one week." + +"I believe that," said Sue. + +"I wonder what we shall all be thinking about the next time that we +three sit here together! It will be too late for us to go back then, +Susan; the die will be cast, the Rubicon crossed, another poor man +undone forever. Are you regretting it, child?" drawing her again towards +him backward and gazing down into her face. "Shall we quit at this last +last minute? Speak the word! You never shall throw it up at me, that I +urged you into it. It will be a mess for us if we do hate each other +after awhile." + +"I will never hate you, Gerald." + +"But I might hate you, though, who knows?" smoothing her hair with his +graceful, weak hands. + +"Then Tessa shall be peacemaker," said Sue straightening herself. + +"No; I will not," replied Tessa, gathering her work and rising. "Sue, +you will find me up-stairs." + +"Then I'm coming, too; I don't want to stay and be sentimental. Gerald +will talk--I know him--and I will cry, and how I would look to-morrow! I +want you to do a little fixing for me and to try my hair low and then +high." + +"I like it high," said Dr. Lake. + +"I don't. I like it low. Tessa you shall try it low, like Nan Gerard's. +Say, Gerald, shall I put on my dress after she has fixed my hair and +come down and let you see it." + +"I think I have seen it. Didn't you try it on for me and tell me that +that fellow liked it? I hate that dress; if you dress to please me, you +will wear the one you have on now." + +"This old thing! I see myself. No, I shall wear my wedding dress. It +fits to perfection. I want to look pretty once in my life." + +"You will never look prettier than you do this minute! Come here," +opening his arms towards her. + +"No, I won't. Let me alone, Dr. Lake." + +Tessa was already on the stairs; Sue ran towards her laughing and +screaming, the parlor door was closed with a bang. + +"Now he's angry," cried Sue, tripping on the stairs. "I don't care; he +wants me to stay and talk sentiment, and I _hate_ being sentimental. +And, Tessa, you sha'n't talk to me, either." + +"Where is your father?" inquired Tessa, standing on the threshold of +Sue's chamber. + +"In the dining-room drying his feet and drinking a cup of coffee." + +"Don't you want to go down and say good night? He will lose every thing +when he loses you." + +Sue hesitated. "I don't know how to be tender and loving, I should make +a fool of myself; he isn't over and above pleased with this thing +anyway; he never did pet me as your father has petted you. Your father +is like a mother. He said once when I was a little girl that he wished +that I had died and Freddie had lived; Freddie was two years older and +as bright as a button. Father loved him. I shall never forget that; I +shall never forgive him no matter how kind he is to me. And he swears at +me when he is angry with me; he used to, but Gerald told him that he +should not swear at _his_ wife! Father said that he didn't mean any +thing by it. Gerald will be kinder to me than father has been; father +swears at me in one breath and calls me the comfort of his old age in +the next. You can't turn him into your father if you talk about him all +night." + +"But he will be glad if you go down; he will think of it some day and so +will you." + +"He isn't sentimental and I can't be. Besides I have some things to put +into my trunk, and I want to put a ruffle into my wrapper that I may +have it all ready. It's eleven o'clock now; we shall not be asleep +to-night." + +Tessa urged no more; it was not her father who was drying his feet and +drinking his coffee down-stairs alone on the night before her wedding +day. How he would look at her and take her into his arms with tears. + +Sue opened her trunk. "Gerald's things are all in. It does seem queer to +have his things packed up with mine. And when we come home every thing +will go on just the same only I shall be Mrs. Lake instead of Miss +Greyson." + +As Tessa stood behind her arranging her hair, She said, "There, I like +that. I almost look like Nan Gerard. What do you think she said to-day? +She was here with Mary Sherwood to see father and they saw Mr. Ralph in +my album. 'That's the man I intend to marry,' she said, 'eyes, money, +and all.' Mary scolded her but she only laughed. She said that if she +couldn't get him, she should take the professor, for he was just as +handsome and could talk about something beside paregoric and postmortem +examinations." + +Tessa said nothing. How she had pitied Nan Gerard, and how harshly she +had misjudged Dr. Towne. She was awakened in the night by Sue's voice-- + +"Put your arm around me, Tessa." + +The long night ended at last in the dull dawn, for it was raining still. +Tessa had slept fitfully; Sue had lain perfectly quiet, not speaking +again or moving. + +At eleven o'clock Sue and Dr. Lake were married. Dr. Greyson sat with +his head in his hands, turned away from them, his broad frame shaking +from head to foot; Tessa did not look at Dr. Lake: she sat on a sofa +beside Mrs. Towne, with her eyes fixed on the carpet. Sue cried and +laughed together when her father kissed her; she drew herself to the +full height of Mrs. Gerald Lake, when Dr. Towne shook hands with her. At +half past twelve the bride and bridegroom were driven to the depot; +Tessa remained to give a few orders to the servants, and was then taken +home in Dr. Towne's carriage. + +"It seems to me as lonely as a funeral," she said; "and Sue is laughing +and eating chocolate cream drops this very minute. Marriage should be a +leap into the sunshine." + +"I hope that yours will be," her companion said in his gravest tone. + +"If it ever _is_, you may rest assured that it will be. It will be the +very happiest sunshine that ever shone out of heaven." + +She was learning to talk to Dr. Towne as easily as she talked to her +father, for he was the one man in the world that she was sure that she +would never marry; she knew that he desired it as little as she did +herself. + +"Why will it be so happy?" + +"Because I shall wait till I am _satisfied_." + +"Satisfied with him? You will never be that." + +"Then I shall wither in single blessedness; I shall be unhappily not +married instead of unhappily married." + +"Philip Towne is your ideal." + +"I know it," she said. "I like to think that he is in the world. He +makes me as happy as a pansy." + +"Women are never happy with their ideals." + +"They seldom have an opportunity of testing it; Professor Towne has a +pure heart and he has brains." + +Dr. Towne answered in words that she never forgot, "That is what he says +of you." + +"Oh, I am so glad! I like to have that said of me better than any +thing." + +She remembered, but she would not tell him, that a lady had said of him, +having seen him but a few moments, and not having heard him speak, that +he was a "rock." + +"And I love rocks and know all about them," she had added. + +"They give shadow in a weary land," Tessa had thought. "I have been in a +weary land and he has _not_ been a shadow to me." + +After a silent moment he spoke, "Don't you think that you were rather +hard on me last week?" + +"Yes," she said frankly, "I have thought it all over; I intended to tell +you that I was sorry; I _am_ sorry; I will not do so again." + +"Till next time?" + +"There shall not be any next time; in my thoughts I have been very +unjust to you; I have come nearer hating, really _hating_ you, than any +other person I ever knew. I am sorry; I am always sorry to be unjust." + +One look into the sunshiny eyes satisfied her that she was forgiven. It +almost seemed as if they were on the old confidential footing. + +"Have you gathered any autumn leaves?" he asked. + +"Yes, some beautiful ones. I did not get any last year--" She stopped, +confused. + +She had lived through her year without him. Was he remembering last +October, too? + +About sunset it cleared; she was glad for Dr. Lake's sake; about the +bride she did not think; Sue would be thankful if none of her bridal +finery were spoiled. + +The evening mail brought a letter from Dinah. + +There were two pieces of news in it, in both of which Tessa was +interested. The school-master was twenty-one years of age, "a lovable +fellow, the room grows dark when he goes out of it, and he likes best +the books that I do." This came first, she read on to find that +Professor Towne's mother and sister had come this summer to the house +over the way, that Miss Towne was "perfectly lovely" and had been an +invalid for fifteen years, not having put her foot to the ground in all +that time; she could move about on the first floor, but passed most of +her time in a chair, reading, writing, and doing the most beautiful +fancy work. She was beautiful, like Professor Towne, but the mother was +only a fussy old lady. Her name was Sarepta! + +Dinah's letters were rather apt to be ecstatic and incoherent. Tessa +wrote five pages in her book that night and a foolscap sheet to Dinah. + +She fell asleep thinking of what Professor Towne had said about her. + + + + +XVIII.--MOODS. + + +All through the month of October she felt cross, sometimes she looked +cross, but she did not speak one cross word, not even once; she was not +what we call "sweet" in her happiest moods, but she was thoroughly sound +in her temper and often a little, just a very little, sharp. Never sharp +to her father, however, because she reverenced him, and never to her +mother because she was pitiful towards her; she could appreciate so few +of life's best havings and givings, that Tessa could never make her +enjoyment less by speaking the thoughts that, at times, almost forced +their own utterance; therefore her mood was kept to herself all through +the month. + +There was no month in the year that she loved as well as she loved +October; in any of its days it was a trial to be kept within doors. + +She would have phrased her mood as "cross" if she had had the leisure or +the inclination to keep a diary; she had kept a journal during the first +year of her friendship with Ralph Towne and had burned it before the +year was ended in one of her times of being ashamed of herself. + +One of the happenings that irritated her was the finding in her desk a +scrap of a rhyme that she had written one summer day after a talk with +Ralph Towne; she dropped it into the parlor grate chiding herself for +ever having been so nonsensical and congratulating herself upon having +outgrown it. + +It was called _The Silent Side_ and was the story of a maiden wandering +in the twilight up a lane bordered with daisies, somebody didn't come +and her eyes grew tired of watching and her heart beat faint with +waiting, so she wandered down the daisy-bordered lane! She did feel a +little tender over the last lines even if she were laughing over it: + + "'Father,' she said, 'I may not say, + But will _you_ not tell him I love him so?" + +Had any one in all the world of maidenhood beside her ever prayed such a +prayer? Old words came to her: "Thou knowest my foolishness." + +The rhyme was dated the afternoon that Ralph Towne had said--but what +right had she to remember anything that he had said? He had forgotten +and despised her for remembering; but he could not despise her as much +as she despised herself! + +Why was it that understanding him as she certainly did understand him, +that she knew that she would fly to the ends of the earth with him if he +should take her hand and say, "Come"; that is, she was _afraid_ that she +would. It was no marvel that the knowledge gave her a feeling of +discomfort, of intense dissatisfaction with herself; how woefully wrong +she must be for such a thing to be true! + +On the blank side of a sheet of manuscript, she scribbled a stanza that +haunted her; it gave expression to the life she had lived during the two +years just passed. + + "A nightingale made a mistake; + She sang a few notes out of tune; + Her heart was ready to break, + And she hid from the moon." + +In this month her book was accepted; that check for two hundred and six +dollars gave pleasure that she and others remembered all their lives; +with this check came one for fifteen dollars for Dinah; she almost +laughed her crossness away over Dine's little check. + +Dine's reply was characteristic: + +"Thus endeth my first and last venture upon the literary sea; I follow +in your wake no longer. + +"If it were matrimony now-- + +"John (isn't John a grand, strong name?) doesn't like literary women. He +reads Owen Meredith to me, and Miss Mulock. He says that I am like Miss +Mulock's _Edna_." + +Each letter of Dine's teemed with praises of John Woodstock; she thought +that he was like Adam Bede, or Ninian in "Head of the Family," or +perhaps Max in "A Life for a Life"; she was lonely all day long without +him, and as happy as she could be on earth with him all the long +evenings. + +Tessa frowned over the letters; Dine made no allusion to him in letters +written to her father and mother; her whole loving, girlish heart she +poured out to Tessa. And Tessa cried over them and prayed over them. + +Sue returned from her bridal tour undeniably miserable; even the radiant +mood of Dr. Lake was much subdued. Tessa met them together at Mrs. +Towne's one evening, two days after the coming home, and was cut to the +heart by their manner towards each other: she was defiant; he, +imploring. + +"I'm sorry I'm married any way," she exclaimed. + +"Don't say that," he remonstrated, his face flushing painfully. + +"I will say it--I _do_ say it! I _am_ sorry!" + +"You know that you don't mean it." + +"Yes, I do mean it, too." + +Dr. Towne glanced at Tessa and gave an embarrassed laugh. Mrs. Towne's +expression became severe; Tessa could have shaken Sue. Nan Gerard turned +on the music stool with her most perfect laugh; Tessa could have shaken +_her_ for the enlightenment that ran through it. + +"We will have no more music after that," said Professor Towne. + +Sue bade Tessa good night holding both her hands. "I wish I had married +Stacey," she whispered. + +"Don't tell Dr. Lake, I beg of you." + +"Oh, he knows it. Come and see me." + +"No, I will not. You shall not talk to me about your husband." + +"I will if I want to. You must come." + +"Do come," urged Dr. Lake coming towards them. But she would not +promise. + +The last Saturday evening in October found Tessa alone before the fire +in Mrs. Towne's sitting-room; Mrs. Towne was not well, and had sent for +her to come; she had gone to her sleeping room immediately after tea, +and asked Tessa to come to her in two hours. + +She was in a "mood"; so she called it to herself, a mood in which +self-analysis held the prominent place; her heart was aching, she knew +not for what, she hardly cared, if the aching might be taken away and +she could go to sleep and then awake to find the sun shining. + +For the last hour she had been curled up in a crimson velvet chair, part +of the time with her head bowed upon the arm; there were tears on her +eyelashes, on her fingers, and on the crimson velvet. In the low light, +she was but a gray figure crowned with chestnut braids, and only that +Ralph Towne saw when he entered noiselessly through the half open door. + +Tessa thought that no one in the world moved so gently or touched her so +lightly as Ralph Towne. He stood an instant beside her before she +stirred, then she raised her head slowly, ashamed of her flushed, wet +cheeks. She could not hide from the moon. + +"Well?" she said, thinking of her eyes and cheeks. + +"Are you dreaming dreams alone, here in the dark?" + +"I'm afraid so; I dream too many dreams; I want something real; I do not +like the stuff that dreams are made of." + +"You are real enough." He leaned against the low mantel with one elbow +resting upon it; she did not lift her eyes; she was afraid. Had he come +to say something to her? + +"Miss Tessa." + +She did not reply, she was rubbing her fingers over the crimson velvet. + +"I have been thinking of something that I wish to say to you." + +"Well, I am approachable," in a light, saucy voice. + +"Think well before you speak; it is a question that, middle-aged as I +am, I never asked any woman before; I want to ask you to become my +wife." + +She had raised her eyes in surprise, unfeigned surprise. + +"You need not look like that," he said irritably; "you look as if you +had never thought of it." + +"I have not--for a long time; perhaps I did once--before I became old and +wise. I _am_ surprised, I can not understand it; I was so sure that you +could never care for me." + +"Why should I not? It is the most natural thing in the world." + +"I do not think so; I can not understand." + +"Accept it upon my testimony, do not try to understand it." + +He betrayed no feeling, except in his quickened tone; she was too +bewildered to be conscious of any feeling at all; she listened to the +sound of her own voice, as if another were speaking; she remembered +afterward, that for once in her life she had heard the sound of her own +voice. She was thinking, "My voice _is_ pleasant, only so cold and +even." + +"Will you not answer me?" + +She was thinking; she had forgotten to answer. + +"Why should you like me?" she said at last. + +"There's reason enough, allow me to judge; but you do not come to the +point." + +"I do not know how." + +"I thought that coming to the point was one of your excellences." + +"Your question--your assertion rather--is something very new." + +She could see the words; she was reciting them from a printed page. + +"Don't you know whether you like me or not?" he asked in the old +assured, boyish way. + +"No, I do not know that; if I did I should care for what you are saying, +and now I do not care. Once, in that time when I loved you and you did +not care, I would have died with joy to hear you say what you have said; +my heart would have stopped beating; I should have been too glad to +live; but perhaps when _that_ you went away and died, the Tessa that +loved you went away and died, too. I think that I _did_ die--of shame. +Now I hear you speak the words that I used to pray then every night that +you might speak to me, and now I do not care! When I was little I cried +myself sick once for something I wanted, and when mother gave it to me I +was too sick and tired to care. No, I do not want to marry you, Dr. +Towne, I am too sick and tired to love you." + +"Why do you not want to marry me?" + +"Because--because--" she looked up into his grave eyes--"I do not want to; +I am not satisfied with you." + +"Why are you not satisfied with me?" + +"I do not know." + +"Are you disappointed in me? Have I changed?" + +"Oh, no," she said sorrowfully, "you have not changed--not since I have +known you this time. It is like this, as if I were blind when I knew you +before, and I loved you for what you were to me; but as I could not see +you, I loved you for what I imagined you to be, and now, I am not blind, +my eyes are wide, wide open, and I look at you and wonder 'where is the +one I knew?' I do not know you; you are a stranger to me; I would love +you if I could; I can not say _yes_ and not love you. I have never told +any one, but I may tell you now. While you were away at St. Louis, I +promised to marry some one; he had loved me all my life, and I was so +heart-broken because of the mistake that I had made about you; and I +wanted some one to care for me, so that I might forget how I loved +somebody that did not love me. And then I was wild when I knew what I +had done! I did not love him; I felt as if I were bound in iron; I shall +never forget that. I do not want to feel bound in iron to you. Why did +you not ask me last year when you knew how I cared for you?" + +He dropped his eyes, the hot color flushing even to his forehead. "I +could not--sincerely." + +"Why did you act as if you liked me?" + +"I did like you. I did not love you. I did not understand. I can not +tell you how unhappy I was when I found that you had misunderstood me. I +would not have hurt you for all the universe; I did not dream that you +could misunderstand me; I was attracted to you; I did not know that I +manifested any stronger feeling. Surely you have forgiven me." + +"Yes, I have forgiven you; I did not really blame you; I knew that you +did not understand. You are a stupid fellow about women.--You are only a +stupid, dear, big boy." + +"But you do not answer me." + +"I _have_ answered you. Do you ask me sincerely now?" she asked +curiously. + +"You know I do," he said angrily. + +"Do you ask me because Miss Gerard has refused you?" with a flash of +merriment crossing her face. + +"I never asked Miss Gerard." + +"Did you flirt with her?" + +"I suppose you give it that name. I was attracted towards her, of +course, but I soon found that she had no depth; she would cling to me, I +could not shake her off. I took her to Mayfield this morning; she asked +to go, I could not refuse the girl. She has made several pretty things +for me; I showed my appreciation by buying pieces of jewelry for her; +was that flirting? I never kissed her, or said I loved her, or talked +any nonsense to her." + +"Of course not. You do not know how." + +"I know how to talk sense, Miss Tessa." + +"Are you asking me because your mother loves me so much?" + +"Is it so hard for you to believe that I love you?" + +"Yes," she said, her eyes filling at his tone, "I can not believe it. It +is as if you had put both hands around my throat and choked my breath +away and then said politely, 'Excuse me.'" + +"Is my love so little to you as that?" + +"I have not seen it yet; you _say_ you love me, that is all." + +"Is not that enough?" + +"It can not be enough, for it does not satisfy me. I have believed so +long that you despised me; one word from you can not change it all." + +"Is there something wrong about me?" + +"Wrong? Oh, no. How could there be? I do believe that you are a _good_ +man." + +"You think that you can not be happy with me?" he asked patiently. + +"I am happy enough always, everywhere; I was as happy as a bird in a +tree before I knew you; you set me to crying for something, and then +held out your hand empty." + +"I love you; isn't that full enough?" + +"No, that is not full enough. I want you to _be_ all that I believed you +to be. I shall not be satisfied till then. When you think of me you may +think of me hungering and thirsting for you to be all that I can dream +of your being--all that God is willing to make you." + +The light had died out of his eyes. + +"Do you know some one that does satisfy you?" + +"I know good people, but they do not satisfy me." + +"Philip Towne?" + +"I should as soon think of loving St. John." + +"Tell me, _do_ you love him?" + +"Dr. Towne, I never thought of such a thing!" she said with quick +indignation. + +"You are a Mystic; Dr. Lake has named you true. Come, be sensible and +don't talk riddles; don't talk like a book; talk plain, good sense; say +_yes_, and leave all your whims behind you forever." + +"Loving you was a whim; shall I leave that behind forever?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I could not endure your presence; it is that that keeps you near +me now. It is not enough for you to love me; I should die of hunger if I +did not love you." + +"Love me, then." + +Her head went down upon the arm of the chair; she covered her face with +both hands; a childish attitude she often assumed when alone. + +"I can't, I can't! I want to; I would if I could! it's too late; I can't +go back and see you as you were--" + +"I have asked you to forgive me." + +"I do, I do; but I do not love you as I want to love you. I shall never +marry any one, you may be sure of that; I do not want to be married. Why +must I? Who says I must?" + +"I say so." + +"Your authority I do not recognize. The voice must come from God to my +own heart." + +"Lift your head. Look at me." + +She obeyed. + +"I wish you to understand that I am not to be trifled with; this is +definite; this is final; I have asked and you have refused. You need not +play with me thinking that I shall ask you again, _I never shall_. +Remember, I never shall." + +"I do not wish you to ask me again." + +"Then this ends the matter." + +"This ends the matter," she repeated. + +"My mother is not well, she will miss you; you will stay with her just +the same. She will not surmise any thing. She loves you as I did not +know that one woman could love another." + +"Is that why you wish to marry me?" + +"No. I know my own mind. I have loved you ever since I knew you, but I +was not aware of it; I did not know it until I knew that Miss Gerard was +not like you." + +"Oh, I am so sorry! This is the hardest of all. But I might grow not to +like you at all; I might rush away from you; it takes so much love and +confidence and sympathy to be willing to give one's self." + +"I am not in a frame of mind to listen to such things; you forget that +you have thrown me away for the sake of a whim!" + +"I want to tell your mother; I can not bear for her to be so kind to +me--" + +"It isn't enough to hurt me, but you must hurt her, also. She would not +understand--any more than I do--why you throw me away." + +"I will not tell her, but I shall feel like a hypocrite. You will not +utterly despise me." + +"You can not expect me to feel very kindly towards you. Why may I not +lose all but the memory of _you_?" + +"You may. I am willing," she answered wearily. "Oh, I _wanted_ to be +satisfied with you." + +He had left the room with his last words, not waiting for reply. + +And she could only cry out, with a dry, hard sob, "Oh, Ralph, Ralph, I +_wanted_ to be satisfied with you!" + + + + +XIX.--THE OLD STORY. + + +One afternoon in the reading-room she found two notices of her book; one +was in _Hearth and Home_, the other in _The Lutheran Observer_; the +former ran in this style: + +"'Under the Wings' by Theresa Louise Wadsworth is the most lifelike +representation of a genuine live boy that we have seen for many a day. +We are almost tempted to think that the author was once a boy herself +she is so heartily in sympathy with a boy's thoughts and feelings. It is +a book that every boy ought to read, and we are confident that no boy +can read it without being bettered by it." + +The other she was more pleased with: + +"Rob is a genuine boy, with all manner of faults and pranks; but a +tender, truthful heart, and a determination for the right that brings +him through safely. But specially is he delightful in juxtaposition with +Nell, a little girl who says the quaintest things in the most laughable, +most lovable manner. Altogether it is a thoroughly enjoyable book, sweet +and saintly, too; though not saintly after the cut and dried style of +youthful piety." + +She turned the papers with a startled face as if the lady in the black +cloak near her had guessed what she had looked for and had found; as if +the blonde mustache hidden behind Emerson surmised that she had written +a book and wondered why she had not attempted something deeper; as if +Mr. Lewis Gesner reading a newspaper with his forehead puckered into a +frown knew that she was slightly a blue-stocking, and decided that she +might better be learning how to be a good wife for somebody. + +"I _am_ commonplace," she soliloquized, running down the long flight of +stairs; "ten years ago when my heroines were Rosalie and Viola, and +their lovers bandits or princes in disguise, who would have believed +that I could have settled down into writing good books for good little +children?" + +That evening Mr. Hammerton took from his memorandum book three square +inches of printed matter, neatly and exactly folded, and dropped it into +her hand. + +"There's a feather in your cap, Lady Blue; it is plucked from the +_Evening Mail_." + +She read it, by the light of the shaded lamp, standing at the +sitting-room table. Mrs. Wadsworth looked up from her work, regarding +her curiously; Tessa did not observe the expression of pride and love +that flitted across her face. Mrs. Wadsworth loved Tessa more than she +loved any other human being; indeed, with all her capacity for loving; +but Tessa would never discover it. Mrs. Wadsworth was not aware of it, +herself; Mr. Wadsworth saw it and was glad. Tessa read eagerly: + +"'Under the Wings' is the title of an excellent book by Theresa Louise +Wadsworth issued in neat form by----. The characters of the boyish +hero--wilful, merry, irreverent, honest, and bold, and the heroine--happy, +serious, inquiring, and lovable, are drawn with no mean skill, while the +other personages, the kind and pious grandmother, the snappish, but +well-meaning mother, the deacon, and others, are sketched with scarcely +less truth and vividness. The development of the Christian faith in the +soul of wild Rob is traced easily and naturally, the incidents are +numerous and interesting; the whole movement of the story is in helpful +sympathy with human hearts." + +"What is it, daughter?" inquired her father arranging the chess-men. + +"She is modest as well as famous. I will read it," said Mr. Hammerton, +"and here's your letter from Dine; I knew that that would insure my +welcome. Do you know, I forgot to inquire for myself? I never did such a +thing before. Father will go to the mail, however." + +Moving apart from the group, she ran through the long letter; coloring +and biting her lips as she read. Mrs. Wadsworth's little rocker was +drawn to the table; the light from the tall lamp fell over her face and +hair, touching her hands and her work; the low, white forehead, the wavy +hair, the pretty lips and chin were pleasant to look upon; when she was +in a happy state of mind, this little lady was altogether kissable. + +"What does Dine say?" she asked. + +"Not much. No news," stammered Tessa. + +"Hurry then and let me read it." + +"Excuse me, it is purely confidential, every vestige to be consigned to +the flames. You are to have a letter in a day or two." + +Mr. Hammerton gave her a quick glance and moved his queen into check. +She took the letter into the parlor for a second perusal. + +"Oh, Tessa, my dear, big, wise sister, I've got something to tell you. +What should I do if I hadn't somebody to tell? At first I thought I +wouldn't tell you or any body, and then I knew I must. Norah knows, but +she will never tell. She does not know about Gus. I have never told +that, but she knows about my wonderful John! I don't know how to begin +either; I guess I will begin in the middle; all the blanks your own +imagination must fill. You know all about John; I've told you enough if +your head isn't too full of literary stuff to hold common affairs; _I'm +in love_ and he is, too, of course. I should not be if he were not. I +mean I should not tell of it if he were not. I'm glad that you are not +the kind of elder sister that can't be told such things, for I could not +tell mother, and I would not dare tell dear, old father. Not that it is +so dreadful to be in love, even if I have known him but seven weeks +to-night; I fell in love with him the instant he raised his eyes and +took hold of my hand. Living under the same roof and eating together +three times a day (he eats so nicely), and ciphering and studying and +reading together, and going to church and prayer-meeting and +singing-school together, make the time seem ten times as long and give +twenty times as many opportunities of falling in love decorously as I +could have found in Dunellen in a year! But I am not apologizing for +_that_. It's too delightfully delicious to have a _real_ lover! Not that +he has asked me _yet_! I wouldn't have him do it for any thing; it would +spoil it all. But we both knew it as Adam and Eve knew it! Now the +dreadfulness of it is that I have no right to do such a thing. I came +here believing that I was lawfully and forever engaged to dear old Gus, +spectacles, chess-board, dictionary and all. Not that _he_ ever said a +word to _me_! Don't you know one night I told you that I had a secret? +How glad I was of it then! I couldn't sleep that night and for days I +felt dizzy; for Gus had been my hero ever since he told me stories when +I was a wee child. And so of course I thought I _loved_ him. What is +love, anyway? Who knows? That secret was this: I heard dear, old, wise +Gus tell father that he loved _me_ (just think, _me!_) and that he was +waiting for me to love him, dear, old boy! He would not try to make me +love him, he wanted it to come naturally; he would not speak to me or +urge me, he wanted to find me loving him and then he would ask me to +give him what belonged to him. Wasn't it touching? I didn't know that he +could be so lover-like. I didn't know that he ever would love anybody +because he always talks books and politics and only made fun when I told +him news about the girls. How could I help loving him when I knew that +he loved me. Isn't that enough to make anybody love anybody? + +"Just as soon as I saw my wonderful John, then I knew that I did not +love Gus, that I never had loved him, that I never _could_ love him. No, +not to the end of time. If I had married him, I suppose that I should +have been satisfied and thought I was as happy as I could be--I don't +know, though. He was wise to let me wait and have a choice: it is cruel +to ask girls before they have seen some one else; we do not know what we +do want until we see it--or him. I am writing at the sitting-room table; +John has not come home from the mail; Aunt Tessa knits a long, blue +stocking and Uncle Knox is asleep with the big white and black cat on +his knees. + +"I never could stay here but for John and Miss Towne. I have told _her_ +about John; she likes John. Every one does. + +"I want you to see my knight; he is not tall, he is broad-shouldered, +with the loveliest complexion and blonde mustache, blue eyes, shining +blue eyes, and auburn curly hair! that is, _rather_ auburn; I think it +is more like reddish gold. I wish that you could hear him talk about +making life a glorious success. He makes me feel brave and strong. Oh, +isn't it a beautiful thing to live and have some one love you! I wish +that you loved somebody; I do not like to be so happy and have you +standing out in the cold. John thinks that _you_ are wonderful; I tell +him that he will forget me when he has heard you talk. + +"Wise old Gus is a thousand miles over my head when he talks to me, but +John walks by my side and speaks the thoughts that I have been thinking, +only in so much more beautiful language; and he likes all the books I +like, and my favorite poems and hymns. How will you break it to Gus? He +must be told. He wrote to me two weeks ago, a long, interesting letter +all about Dunellen news, which I haven't dared answer yet. I suppose I +must. I showed it to John; he asked how old he was, and now he calls him +'The Venerable.' He must not keep on thinking about me, for I never, +never can like him, even if I never marry John. Do break it to him in +some easy, _pleasant_ way; he will never imagine that _you_ know that he +likes _me_. He never showed it any, I am sure. I always thought that it +was you, and mother thinks so; I heard her telling father. + +"Be sure to write immediately, for I am as unhappy as I can be. And be +sure to tell me what he says and how he takes it. Mary Sherwood wrote me +that Sue told her that she and Dr. Lake had awful quarrels, and that +once they didn't speak to each other for three days only in her father's +presence. I never could quarrel with John. There he comes. I'll be +writing when he comes in and not look up, and then he will come behind +my chair and touch my curls when auntie isn't looking. + +"Write soon. Your ever loving Dine. + +"P.S.--John calls me Di: he doesn't like _Dine_." + +Crumbling the letter in both hands, she laid it upon the coals; then she +stood with one foot on the fender, leaning forward with her forehead +upon the mantel, thinking, thinking. Before she was aware the door was +opened and some one came behind her and put both arms around her. + +"Is any thing the matter with Dine?" + +"Oh, no," shaking herself loose from his arms and creeping out of them. + +He pushed the ottoman nearer and seated himself upon the parrot and the +roses; she stood on the edge of the rug, with her arms folded across her +breast to keep herself quiet; how could she tell him the truth? He was +not a boy to laugh and cry and fling it off; he had loved Dine as long +as Felix Harrison had loved _her_! He would take it quietly enough; she +had no dread of an outburst; it might be that Dine's silence in regard +to his letter had been a preparation; surely every hard thing that came +had its preparation; the heavy blow was never sent before the word of +warning. + +"She is not sick?" he asked. + +"Sick!" She lingered over the word as if help would come before it were +ended. "Oh, no, she is well and happy." + +"Does she write you secrets?" + +"She always tells me her secrets." + +"Has any phenomenon occurred?" + +"It isn't a phenomenon; it is something as old as Eve and as new as +Dinah. She thinks she has found her Adam." + +"Ah!" in a constrained voice. + +She saw nothing but the fire; the long poker was laid across the fender, +a handful of ashes had fallen through the grate. "Such things have to +come, like the measles and mumps; I did hope, however, to keep her out +of the contagion. But Mother Nature is wiser than any sister." + +"Why is it to be regretted?" + +"Because--oh, because, I have learned that one's eyes are always wide +open afterward--they weep much and see clear; one can never be carelessly +happy again; I wanted her to stay a little girl. Selfishly, perhaps. I +thought there was time enough." + +"It is settled then--so soon?" + +"Nothing is settled, but that two people are in love, or believe +themselves to be. Am I not a cynical elder sister?" + +"Is this her first experience?" + +"Who can say when a first experience is! Tennyson and moonlight walks +are aggravating at their age." At their age! She felt as old as Miss +Jewett to-night. + +"I hope he is worthy of her. She is a jewel." + +"She would not love him if he were not," said the elder sister proudly. + +"This is a secret?" + +"Yes; I know that I can trust you. It will be time enough to tell father +and mother when he brings her home and kneels at their feet for their +blessing." + +"Who is he?" + +"John Woodstock, the school-master. He has neither father nor mother, he +is beautiful and good, enthusiastic and fascinating." + +She had not once lifted her eyes to his face; his fingers had clasped +and unclasped themselves; his voice was not as steady as usual. + +"That notice was a very pretty puff, Lady Blue." + +"Yes, I like it I will paste it into my notebook." + +"Is that all you have seen?" + +"No, I saw two in the reading-room, but I like this better." + +"Are you writing now?" + +"Yes." + +"You are not on the lookout for Adam." + +"No. I will write and he shall search for me. Haven't you heard of that +bird in Africa, which if you hunt for him, you can not find, but if you +stay at home, he will come to you?" + +He had risen and stood in his usual uneasy fashion. "My congratulations +to Dine." + +"I will tell her." + +He lingered on the hearth-rug, then at the door with his hand upon the +knob. + +"Good night. I shall be busy for a week or two; do not expect to see +me." + +"You will come when you can?" + +"Certainly." He went out and closed the door. + +She stood in the same position with her arms folded for the next half +hour. How could Dine know what love was? How could she give up a man +like Gus Hammerton for a light-haired boy who talked of making life a +glorious success? He had his heartache now; it had come at last after +all his years of watching Dine growing up: and no one could help him, he +must fight it out alone; she remembered what he had said about quoting +from a book for Dr. Lake. What "book man" could help him to-night? Would +he open a book or fall upon his knees? + +Was _he_ sorrowful to-night too, Ralph Towne? How gentle he had been +with her and how patient! They had met several times since; once, in his +mother's presence, when he had spoken to her as easily as usual; at +other times in the street; he had lifted his hat and passed on; the one +glimpse of his eyes had been to reveal them very dark and very stern. +She could hear Mr. Hammerton's voice calling back to her father from the +gate; they both laughed and then his quick tramp sounded on the planks. + +The tramp kept on and on for hours; the moon arose late; he walked out +into the country, now tramping along the wayside and now in the road; it +was midnight when he turned his face homeward and something past one +when he silently unlocked the door with his night-key and found his way +to his room. There was a letter there from Dinah; his sister had laid it +on his bureau. It was brief, formal, and ambiguous; she had subscribed +herself "Your young, old friend, D." She did not say that she was glad +of his letter, she did not ask him to write again. "She thinks that she +must not write to me," he thought, "darling little Dine! I would like to +see that John Woodstock!" + + + + +XX.--SEVERAL THINGS. + + +The November sky was full of clouds; Tessa liked a cloudy sky; the dried +leaves whirled around her and rustled beneath her feet, fastening +themselves to her skirt as she walked through them; she had stepped down +into the gutter to walk through the leaves because they reminded her of +her childish days when she used to walk through them and soil her +stockings and endure a reprimand when her mother discovered the cause of +it; then she had liked the sound of the leaves, now she only cared for +them, as she did for several other things,--for the sake of the long ago +past! She imagined herself a ten-year-old maiden with big blue eyes and +long, bright braids hanging down her back and tied together at the ends +with brown ribbon; she was coming from school with a Greenleaf's +Arithmetic (she ciphered in long division and had a "table" to learn), +"Parker's Philosophy" and "Magnall's Questions" in her satchel. The +lesson to-morrow in that was about Tilgath-pilneser; she had stumbled +over the queer name, so she would be sure to remember it. There were +crumbs in the napkin in the satchel, too, she had had seed cake for +lunch; and a lead pencil that Felix Harrison had sharpened for her at +noon, when he had come down-stairs to ask Laura for his share of the +lunch, and there was a half sheet of note paper with her spelling for +to-morrow from "Scholar's Companion" written on it; perhaps there was a +poorly written and ill-spelled note from Gus Hammerton's cousin, Mary +Sherwood, and there might be a crochet needle and a spool of twenty +cotton! + +She smiled over the inventory, lingering over each article; oh, if she +only were going home from school with that satchel, to help her mother a +little, play with Dine, and in the evening to look over her lessons +sitting close to her father and then to coax him for a story. And then +she would go to bed at eight o'clock to awake in the morning to another +day. Mr. Hammerton said that it was a premature "_Vanitas vanitatem_" +for her to declare that "growing up" was as bad as any thing a girl +could dream! + +But then he did not know about poor Felix, and he could never guess what +she had dreamed that she had found in Ralph Towne--and how empty life was +because of this thing that had mocked her. Empty with all its fulness +because of something that never had been; something that never could be +in him. + +In those satchel-days her greatest trouble had been an interminable +scolding from her mother, or the having to give to Dine her own share of +cup-custard, when one chanced to be left from tea. + +It was a raw day; the wind played roughly with her veil; the fields were +bleak, and the long lines of fence, stretching in every direction and +running into places that she did not know and would not care for, gave +her a feeling of homesickness. Homesickness with the home she had lived +in all her life not a mile distant, with every one that she loved or +ever had loved within three miles; every one but Dine, and Dine was as +blithe and satisfied as any girl could be. + +Still she was homesick; she had been homesick since that evening by the +fire in Mrs. Towne's sitting-room. Homesick because she had dreamed a +dream that could never come true; now that he had asked her in plain, +straightforward, manly words to love him and become his wife, her heart +had opened, the light shone in, and she read all that the three years +had written; she _had_ loved him, but the love had been crushed in +shame--in shame for her mistake. + +"There she is _now_," cried a voice in the distance behind her. + +She turned to find Dr. Lake stopping his horse; he sprang out, not +lightly, not like himself, and assisted his wife to the ground. + +"She prefers your company, it seems," he said, holding the reins with +one hand and giving Tessa the other. "Talk fast now, for I shall not be +gone long; I want to get home." + +"You can go home, I'll come when I like," replied Sue. + +"We stopped at your house," said Sue, as he drove on; "I asked him to +leave me while he goes to Harrison's; that Felix is always having a fit +or something. Do you think Gerald looks so sick?" squeezing her hand +under the folds of Tessa's crimson and gray shawl that she might take +her arm. + +"He is much changed; I did not like to look at him; has he been ill?" + +"Oh, you didn't hear then! It was day before yesterday! He was thrown +out; the horse ran away; he isn't hurt much; he thinks he is, I do +believe. I am not a nurse, I don't know how to coddle people and fuss +over them. The horse is a strange one that father had taken to try, and +he threw Gerald out and ran away and smashed the buggy, and a farmer +brought him home. He did look as white as a sheet and he hasn't eaten +any thing since; he went out yesterday and insisted upon coming out +to-day. Father says that he's foolhardy; but I guess he knows that he +isn't hurt; I sha'n't borrow trouble anyway. He mopes and feels blue, +but he says nothing ails him; he's a doctor and he ought to know. Where +are you going?" + +"Not anywhere in particular; I came out for the air; we will walk on +slowly." + +"We might go as far as your seat on the roots. Wasn't that time an age +ago? I didn't feel married-y one bit. I want to go over to Sherwoods +to-night to the Sociable, but Gerald says that I am heartless to want to +go. I don't think I am. I didn't get married to shut myself up. Gerald +never has any time to go anywhere with me, and it's just as stupid and +vexatious at home as it ever was. Don't _you_ ever get married." + +"Are you keeping your word?" + +"What word?" + +"The promise you made me that day by the brook." + +"About Gerald? Oh, sometimes I keep it and sometimes I don't. He always +makes up first, I will say that for him. He will never let me go to +sleep without kissing him good night." + +"Then you did not tell Mary Sherwood that once you did not speak for +three days?" + +"Bless you, no; Gerald would not let that be true; it was no goodness in +me that it wasn't true, though; perhaps I told her that." + +"Do you talk to her about him?" + +"Now, Granny, suppose I do!" + +Tessa stood still. "Promise me--you shall not take another step with me +till you do--that you will not talk to any one against him." + +"I won't. Don't gripe my hand so tight. He is my husband, he isn't +yours! When he's contrary, I'll be contrary, too, and I'll tell people +if I like." + +"Then you forfeit my friendship; remember I am not your friend." + +"Tessa Wadsworth! you hateful old thing! you know I shall have to give +in, for you are my best friend! There," laughing, "let me go, and I'll +promise! I'll say all the ugly things I have to say to his own face." + +They walked on slowly; Sue rambling on and Tessa listening with great +interest. + +"I had a letter from Stacey last week; Gerald has it in his pocket; he +dictated the answer, and I wrote it in my most flourishing style. I've +got somebody to take good care of me now--if he doesn't get sick! I don't +like sick people; I made him some gruel yesterday and it was as thick as +mush. Oh, the things he promises me when he gets rich! Gets rich! All he +wants is for me to love him, poor dear! What _is_ love? Do you know?" + +"To discover is one of the things I live for; I know that it suffers +long." + +"That's poetry! I don't want to suffer long and have Gerald sick. I had +to get up last night and make him a mustard plaster, and do you believe +I was so sleepy that I made it of ginger? He never told me till this +morning." + +In half an hour he drove up swiftly behind them. + +"Susan, you can get in; I don't feel like getting out to help you. I +feel very bad, I want to get home." + +He laid the reins in her hand. "You may drive; good-by, Mystic; you and +I will have our talk another day." + +"Come and see us," Sue shouted back. + +The horse trotted on at good speed; Sue's blue veil floated backward; +Tessa walked on thinking of Dr. Lake's pain-stricken face and figure. + +Her first words to Mary Sherwood that evening were: + +"How is Dr. Lake?" + +"Sick. Worse. Very sick, I suspect. Their girl told our girl that Mrs. +Lake was frightened almost to death." + +"I hope she is," said Nan Gerard, "she deserves to be." + +Tessa kept herself in a sofa corner all the evening. + +Nan said that she was a queen surrounded by courtiers, for first one and +then another came for a quiet talk. When she was not talking or +listening, she was watching: figures, faces, voices, motions, all held +something in them worth her studying; she had been watching under cover +of a book of engravings Professor Towne, for some time before he came +and stood at the arm of her sofa. + +She was shy, at first, as she ever was with strangers, but no one could +be shy with him for a longer time than five minutes. Dine's last letter +had contained an account of an afternoon with Miss Towne, with many +quotations from her sayings. + +"My sister thinks that your sister is a saint," said Tessa; "she has +written me about her beautiful life." + +"All about her invalids, I suppose. _Shut-ins_ she calls them! Invalids +are her mania; she had thirty-five on her list at her last writing; she +finds them north, south, east, and west." + +"Dine loves to hear about them; Miss Towne gives her some of their +letters to read to Aunt Theresa. Dine runs over every morning to hear +about last night's mail. I am looking forward to my good times with her +if she will be as good to me as she is to my little sister." + +"She is looking forward to you; your sister's enthusiasm never flags +when she may talk of you." + +The talk drifted into books; Mr. Hammerton drew nearer, his questions +and apt replies added zest to the conversation; Tessa mentally decided +that he was more original than the Professor; the Professor's questions +were good, but no one in all _her_ world could reply like Gus Hammerton; +she was proud of him to-night with a feeling of ownership; in loving +Dine, had he not become as near as a brother to her? + +This feeling of ownership was decidedly pleasant; with it came a safe, +warm feeling that she was taken care of; that she had a right to be +taken care of and to be proud of him. No one in the world, the most +keen-eyed student of human nature, could ever have guessed that he was +suffering from a heartache; he had greeted her with the self-possession +of ten years ago, had inquired about the "folks at home," and asked if +Dine were up in the clouds still. Could Dine have made a mistake? Had +she dreamed it? + +Professor Towne moved away to go to Nan Gerard; Tessa listened to Mr. +Hammerton, he was telling her about a discovery in science, and half +comprehending and not at all replying she watched Professor Towne's +countenance and motions. She could hear about this discovery some other +time, but she might not have another opportunity to study the Professor. +He was her lesson to-night. As he talked, she decided that he did not so +much resemble his cousin as her first glance had revealed; his voice was +resonant, his manner more courteous; he was not at all the "big boy," he +was dignified, frank, and yet reserved; simple, at times, as his sister +might be, and cultured, far beyond any thing she had ever thought of in +regard to Dr. Towne; he was as intellectual as Gus Hammerton, as +gracious as Felix Harrison, with as much heart as Dr. Lake, a physical +presence as fascinating as Dr. Towne, and as pure-hearted and +spiritualized as only himself could be. She had found her ideal at last. +She had found him and was scrutinizing him as coolly and as critically +as if he were one of the engravings in the book in her lap. She would +never find a flaw in him; when she wrote her novel he should be her +hero. + +"Why, doctor! Have the skies fallen? Did you hear that we were all taken +with convulsions?" + +Nan Gerard's laugh followed this; the doctor's reply was cool and +commonplace. + +"What is the title of your book?" Mr. Hammerton was asking. "'Hepsey's +Heartache?' 'Jennie's Jumble?' 'Dora's Distress?' 'Fannie's Fancy?' or +it may be 'Up Top or Down Below,' 'Smashed Hopes or Broken Idols.'" + +"I will not answer you if you are not serious." + +"I thought that young ladies gloried in sentiment." + +She turned the leaves of her book. + +"Lady Blue, I can not be a just critic; I can not take a sentimental +standpoint; you take it naturally and truly; you are right to do so; it +is your mission, your calling, your election. Do not think that I +despise sentiment and the ideal world of feeling--" + +"You know that I do not think that," she interrupted earnestly. + +"These questions of feeling can not be tackled like a problem in +mathematics, and an answer given in cold, clear cut, adequate words; +such a problem I like to tackle; such an answer I like to give; but +these sentimental questions in 'Blighted Hopes' are many sided, +involved, and curvilinear; they are for the theologian, metaphysician, +and mystic. What can you and I say about life's hard questions after +Ecclesiastes and Job?" + +"Then you think I am presuming?" + +"Did I not just say that sentiment is your mission? The story of each +human life has a pathos of its own, and each is an enigma of which God +only knows the solution." + +She colored and dropped her eyes; he did not dream that she knew any +thing of the "pathos" in his life. How kind she would be to him! + +"You are living your solution; perhaps you will help me to find mine." + +"I can't imagine any one in the world knowing you well enough to be of +any help to you." + +"Very likely; but I am not on a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, +crowned with a diadem of snow!" + +"It's a little bit warm at the foot of Mount Blanc," she replied +laughing. + +"Then you shall live at the foot." + +"Dine and I," she answered audaciously. + +"Not Dine! She has gone away from us; she would rather listen to a +love-ditty from the lips of her new acquaintance than a volume of sober +sense from us." + +"I had not thought to be jealous. She is not taking any thing from me." + +"Be careful; never tell her any thing again; if you write to her that +Mary wears a black silk to-night, and that Nan has geranium leaves in +her hair, she will run and tell him. She will never keep another secret +for you." + +Tessa looked grave. She never would be supreme in her little sister's +heart again. Perhaps this evening she had arrayed herself in garnet and +gone with him to the mite society, and was laughing and playing games, +fox and geese, or ninepins, in somebody's little whitewashed parlor, +forgetting that such a place as Dunellen was down upon the map. + +"Gus, we want you," said Mary Sherwood, approaching them. "The girls are +having a quarrel about who wrote something; now, go and tease them to +your heart's content." + +"Wrote what?" asked Tessa. + +"Oh, I don't know. Why are you so still? You are sitting here as stately +and grand and pale and intellectual--one must be pale to look +intellectual, I suppose--as if you had written _Middlemarch_. I thought +that you never went home without a separate talk with every person in +the room, and there you sit like a turtle in a shell. What change has +passed over the spirit of your dream?" + +"I feel quiet; I feel as if I were afraid that some one would push +against me if I should attempt to cross the room." + +Mary was called away and she drew herself into her sofa corner; the two +long rooms were crowded; bright colors were flashing before her eyes, +the buzz and hum of merry talk filled her ears; a black silk in contrast +with a gray or blue cashmere; a white necktie, a head with drooping +curls, a low, fair forehead, a pair of square shoulders in broadcloth, +an open mouth with fine teeth, sloping shoulders of gray silk, a slender +waist of brown, a coat-sleeve with cuff and onyx cuff-button, a small +hand with a diamond on the first finger, and dark marks of needle-pricks +on the tip of the same finger, a pearl ear-ring in a red, homely +ear;--Tessa's eyes saw them all, as well as the rounded chin, the fretful +lip, the humorous lines at the corner of the eye, the manner that was +frank and the manner that was intended to be, the lips that were +speaking truth and the lips that were dissembling, the eyes that were +contented and the eyes that were missing something--a word, perhaps, or a +little attention, the eyes that brightened when some one approached, the +eyes that dropped because some one was talking nonsense to some one +else;--it was a rest to dwell upon these things and forget that Dr. Lake +was suffering and Sue frightened. + +The gentlemen's faces she did not scan; it was fair, matured women like +Mrs. Towne and Miss Jewett, and sprightly, sweet girls like Nan Gerard +that she loved. + +Dr. Towne was hedged in a corner, behind a chair, conversing or seeming +to converse with a gentleman; he was not a lady's man, he could not be +himself in the presence of a third or fourth person, that is himself, +socially; he could be himself professionally under the gaze of the +multitude. Tessa smiled, thinking how uncomfortable he must be and how +he must wish himself at home. Was he longing for his leisure at Old +Place, where, as a society man, nothing was expected of him? Did he +regret that he had come out "into the world"? Was the old life in his +"den" with his book a dream that he would fain dream again? Perhaps that +book that had loomed up before her as containing the wisdom of the ages +was not such a grand affair after all? Who had ever thought so beside +herself? Who had ever worshipped him as hero and saint beside herself? +He was not looking like either, just now, for his face was flushed with +the heat of the room and he was standing in a cramped position. + +"The bear is in his corner growling," said Nan Gerard bending over her. +"How ungracious he can be when he wills. Sometimes he is positively rude +to me." + +"Is there but one bear?" + +"You know well enough whom I mean. I expect that Mrs. Lake is mad enough +because she couldn't come! How prettily she makes up; I have seen her +when she really looked elegant. Homely girls have a way of looking +prettier than the pretty ones. How grave you are! You don't like my +nonsense, do you?" + +"I was thinking of poor Sue." + +"Oh yes; sad, isn't it? She'll be married in less than two years, if he +dies, see if she isn't. I can't understand what her attraction is! She +has a thousand little airs, perhaps that is it. I am to sleep with you +to-night. May I?" + +"Thank you," said Tessa warmly, "I am very glad." + +"There, the bear is looking at us. He'll be over here; now I'll go over +to the piano and see if I can make him follow me; I've had great fun +doing that before now--_you_ don't do such things;" Nan shook her curls +back with a pretty movement, threw a grave, alluring glance across the +heads, and through the lights at the bear, then moved demurely away. + +The color touched his eyes; he looked amused and provoked; Tessa saw it +while her eyes were busy with the lady in the chair near him; would he +follow her? Mr. Hammerton returned. + + "'Why, William, on that old gray stone, + Thus for the length of a half a day, + Why, William, sit you thus alone, + And dream the time away?' +Only six ladies have found their way to you in the last half hour; with +what sorcery do you draw them towards you? Tessa," speaking in a grave +tone, "it's a beautiful thing for a woman to be attractive to women!" + +"It is a very happy thing." + +"Will you go to supper with me or do you prefer to sit on the old gray +stone? You once liked to go with me to get rid of poor Harrison; is +there any one that you wish to rid yourself of now? In these extremities +I am at your service." + +"Are you taking me to rid yourself of a pertinacious maiden?" + +"No, the girls do not trouble me; I wish they would; if Naughty Nan +would only run after me, now--there! there goes Towne; _he's_ after her, +I know." + +Tessa enjoyed the roguish, demure eyes with which she made room for him +at her side, and flashed back a congratulation in return for the little +nod of triumph which Nan telegraphed to her. + +"You are in league, you two; I can see that with my short-sighted eyes; +say, you and he were prime friends once, weren't you?" + +"We are now." + +"Humph! as they say in books! Why don't _you_ bring him with your eyes, +then?" + +"What for?" she asked innocently. + +"Oh, because he has money; he is a moral and respectable young man, +also." + +"You are something of a phrenologist; tell me what he is." + +"I will not. You will be thinking about him instead of about me." + +"I will be thinking of your deep knowledge of human nature, of your +unrivalled penetration. Don't you know that a woman likes to hear one +man talk about another?" + +"But you would not take my opinion, nevertheless." + +"True; I prefer my own unless yours confirm mine. Tell me, please, what +is he!" + +"I have never given him five minutes' thought." + +"You know his face; look away from him and think." + +"He isn't a genius; but he has brains," replied Mr. Hammerton slowly; +"he is very quiet, as quiet as any man you know; he is very gentle, his +manner is perfection in a sick room--and nowhere else, I fancy--" + +"That's too bad." + +"Remember that I do not know him; I am speaking as a phrenologist; I +have never been introduced to him. He does not understand human nature, +he could live a year under the roof with you or me, particularly you, +and not feel acquainted with you; he is shy of women, he never knows +whether they are talking sense or nonsense; he is not a lady's man in +the least, you may drop your handkerchief and stoop for it, he would +never know it." + +"Neither would you." + +"He can keep a secret, that he can do to perfection. Tell him that you +are in love with him and he will never, never tell! He is no musician. +Naughty Nan may break her wrists and the keys of the piano, they will +not unlock his ears or his heart; he is not fluent in conversation, he +states a fact briefly, he answers a question exactly, he has no more to +say; but he is a good listener, he does not forget; he is sympathetic, +but he does not show it particularly, very few would think that he has +any heart at all; I will wager that not two people in the world know +him, understand, or can easily approach him; his temper is even, but +when he _is_ angry 'beware the fury of a patient man!' He likes to see +things orderly; he seldom raises his voice; he is exceedingly +deliberate, and while he _is_ deliberating he would do or leave undone +many things that he would afterward regret. He will rush into matrimony, +or he will be in love for years before he knows it; his temperament is +bilious. Now, Lady Blue, have I described a hero fit for a modern +romance?" + +"No, only a commonplace man. All you have said is literally true." + +"He is a _good_ man," said Mr. Hammerton, emphatically. "I mean, good as +men go, in these days. Naughty Nan is to be congratulated. Do you not +think so?" + +"Perhaps," said Tessa doubtfully. + +"I believe that he is planning an attack on the citadel under my charge; +I will move off, and give him an opportunity; I want to talk to the +Professor." + +How many years ago was it since Felix had attended one of Mary +Sherwood's little parties? Not more than three or four; she remembered +how he used to hear her voice in its lightest speaking, how soon he +became aware whenever she changed her position; how many times she had +raised her eyes to meet his with their fixed, intense gaze; how his eyes +would glitter and what a set look would stiffen his lips. And oh, how +she had teased him in those days by refusing his eagerly proffered +attentions and accepting Gus Hammerton in the matter-of-fact fashion in +which he had suggested himself as ever at her service! In all the years +she could remember these two, Gus, helpful and friendly, not in the +least lover-like (she could as easily imagine the bell on the old +Academy a lover), and Felix, poor Felix,--he would always be "poor Felix" +now,--with his burning jealousy and intrusive affection. + +Was he asleep now, or awake and in pain? Was he lying alone thinking of +what he might have been but for his own undisciplined eagerness, not +daring to look into the future nights and days, that would be like +these, only more helpless, more terrible? + +The talk and laughter ran on, her cheeks were hot, her head weary; she +longed for a cool pillow and a dark chamber; some one was speaking, she +lifted her eyes to reply. + +"Miss Tessa, my mother misses you every hour." + +"I am very sorry. There is room on my sofa, will you sit down?" + +"No. I was too hasty in our last conversation," bending so low that his +breath touched her hair, "I come to ask you to reconsider; will you?" + +"Do you want such an answer as that would be?" + +"That is what I do want; then you will be sure, so sure that you will +never change--" + +"I am not changeable." + +"I think you are; in six months I will come to you again, when shall it +be?" + +"So long! If you care, the suspense will be very hard for you. I do not +like to hurt you so." + +"I prefer the six months." + +"Well," speaking in her ordinary tone, "do not come to me, wherever I +may be--we may both be in the next world by that time--" + +"We shall not be so much changed as to forget, shall we?" + +"Or not to care? I will write you a letter on the first day of June; I +will mail it before ten o'clock." + +She laid her hand in his; he held it a moment, neither speaking. + +"Oh, you _are_ here," cried a voice. + +And she was talking the wildest nonsense in two minutes, with her eyes +and cheeks aflame. + +At half past one the last guests had departed; Mary paused in a +description of somebody's dress and asked Tessa if she would like to go +to bed. + +"I have always wished to get near to you," said Nan, leading the way +up-stairs. "I knew that there was a place in your heart for me to creep +into." + +Tessa had a way of falling in love with girls; that night she fell in +love with Nan Gerard; sitting on the carpet close to the register in a +white skirt and crimson breakfast sacque, bending forward with her arms +clasping her knees, she told Tessa the story of her life. + +Tessa was seated on the bed, still in the black silk she had worn, with +a white shawl of Shetland wool thrown around her; she had taken the +hair-pins out of the hair and the long braid was brought forward and +laid across her bosom reaching far below her waist. + +She braided and unbraided the ends of it as Nan talked about last winter +and Dr. Towne. + +"I like to talk to you; I can trust you, I wouldn't be afraid to tell +you any thing; I can not trust Mary, she exaggerates fearfully. I don't +mind telling _you_ that I came near falling in love with that handsome +black bear; it was only skin deep however; I think that I have lost my +attraction for him, whatever it was; I never do take falling in love +hard; why, some girls take it as a matter of life and death; I think the +reason must be that I can never love any one as I loved Robert. He was a +saint. Yes, he was; you needn't look incredulous! I am not sentimental, +I am practical and I intend to marry some day. People call me a flirt, +perhaps I am, but my fun is very innocent and most delightful. + +"I know this: Ralph Towne would not like me if I were the only girl in +existence; he wants some one who can think as well as talk; you wouldn't +guess it to hear _him_ talk, would you? + +"Did you ever see a man who could not talk some kind of nonsense? +There's Gus Hammerton, can't he talk splendid nonsense? Some of his +nonsense is too deep for me. + +"Now, I've been trying an experiment with Dr. Towne, he is such an old +bear that I thought it would do no harm; I made up my mind to see if it +were possible for a marriageable woman to treat a marriageable man as if +he were another woman! I don't know about it though," she added +ruefully. + +"Has it failed?" + +"I think it has--rather. He does not understand--" + +"No man would understand." + +"I would understand if he would treat me as if I were Nathan instead of +Nan; what grand, good friends we could be!" + +"I am glad that you can see that it has failed. How do you detect the +failure?" + +"I have eyes. I know. His mother does not understand either. I think +that I shall begin to be more--" + +"Maidenly?" + +Nan colored. "Was I unmaidenly? I have resolved never to ask him to take +me anywhere again; I have made him no end of pretty things, I will do it +no more. I would not like to have him lose his respect for me." + +"It usually costs something to try an experiment; I am glad that yours +has cost you no more." + +"So am I, heartily glad. My next shall be of a different nature. Did you +never try an experiment?" + +"Not of that kind; I tried an experiment once of believing every thing +that somebody said, and acting upon it, as if it meant what it would +have meant to me." + +"And you came to grief?" + +"I thought so, at first. Life _is_ a long story, isn't it?" + +"It's an interesting one to me. I kept a journal about _my_ experiment; +I'll read it to you, shall I?" + +"I would like it ever so much if you like _me_ well enough to do it." + +"Of course I do," springing up. "And after I read it to you, you shall +write the 'final' for me." + +In the top drawer of the bureau, she fumbled among neckties, +pocket-handkerchiefs, and a collection of odds and ends, and at last, +brought out a small, soft-covered, thin book with edges of gilt. + +"I named it 'Nan's Experiment,'" she said seriously, reseating herself +near the register. "If you wish to listen in comfort, draw that rocker +close to me, and take off your boots and heat your feet. If you are in a +comfortable position, you will be in a more merciful frame of mind to +judge my misdoings." + +Tessa obeyed, and leaned back in the cushioned chair, braiding and +unbraiding her hair as she listened. + +The journal opened with an account of the journey by train to St. Louis. +The description of her escort was enthusiastic and girlish in the +extreme. + +"Is it nonsense?" the reader asked. + +"Even if it were, I haven't travelled so far away from those days that I +can not understand." + +She read with more confidence. + +Ralph Towne would have been pleased with the intentness of Tessa's eyes +and the softening of her lips. + +"You _dear_ Naughty Nan," cried Tessa, as the book fell from the +reader's hands. + +"Then you do not blame me so much?" + +"It is only a mistake. Who does not make a mistake? It sounds rather +more than skin-deep, though." + +"Oh, I had to throw in a little agony to make it interesting. I don't +want him to think--" + +"What he thinks is the price you pay for your experiment." + +"Now write a last sentence, and I'll keep it forever; the names are all +fictitious; no one can understand it; I'll find a pencil." + +Tessa held the pencil a moment. Nan on her knees watched her. + +"Something that I shall remember all my life--whenever I do a foolish +thing--if I ever _do_ again." + +"Do you know Jean Ingelow?" + +"She is the one Professor Towne reads from?" + +"Yes. I will write some words of hers." + +The pencil wrote, and Nan, on her knees, read it word by word. + + "I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover, + While dear hands are laid on my head; + 'The child is a woman, the book may close over, + For all the lessons are said.' + + "I wait for my story--the birds can not sing it, + Not one as he sits on the tree; + The bells can not ring it, but long years, O bring it! + Such as I wish it to be." + +"Thank you, very much. You write a fine hand. 'Such as I wish it to be?' +No one's story is ever that--do you think it ever is?" + +"We will do our best to make ours such as we wish it to be." + +"Professor Towne is to have a private class in elocution after the +holidays, and I'm going to join. He says that I will make a reader. I +wish that you would join too." + +"I wish I might, but I shall not be at home; I am to spend a part of the +winter away." + +"Oh, are you? Just as I have found you. But you promise to write to me?" + +"Yes, I will write to you; I beg of you not to try any experiments with +me," she added laughing. + +"Don't be afraid," said Nan, seriously. + +"I wish you would make a friend of Miss Jewett; you will be glad of it +as long as you live." + +"I am doing it; but I don't want _you_ to go away." + +"I shall come back some day, childie." + +Nan moved nearer, still on her knees, drew Tessa's cheek down to her +lips,--her warm, saucy, loving lips,--saying, "My counsellor." + +Dr. Greyson's house stood opposite. Tessa went to the window to see if +the light were still burning in Sue's chamber; Sue had forgotten to drop +the curtains; the room was well-lighted; Sue was standing in the centre +of the room holding something in her hand; Tessa saw Dr. Greyson enter +and Sue moved away. + +She lay in bed wide awake watching the light. + +"Good-by, Mystic; you and I will have our talk another day." + +The tears dropped slowly on the pillow. + + + + +XXI.--THROUGH. + + +The snow-flakes were very large, they fell leisurely, melting almost as +soon as they touched Tessa's flower bed; she was sitting at one of the +sitting-room windows writing. She wrote, as it is said that all ladies +do, upon her lap, her desk being a large blank book; her inkstand stood +upon the window-sill; the cane-seated chair in front of her served +several purposes, one of them being a foot-rest; upon the chair were +piled "Roget's Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases," "Recreations of +a Country Parson," a Bible, the current numbers of the _Living Age_ and +_Harper's Magazine_, and George Macdonald's latest book. + +Her wrapper was in two shades of brown, the ruffle at her throat was +fastened by a knot of blue velvet; in one brown pocket were a lead +pencil, a letter from an editor, who had recently published a work upon +which he had been busy twenty years and had thereby become so famous +that the letter in her pocket was an event in her life, especially as it +began: "My dear Miss Tessa, I like your letter and I like you." + +Her father was very proud of that letter. + +In the other brown pocket were a tangle of pink cord, a half yard of +tatting, and a shuttle, and--what Tessa had read and reread--three full +sheets of mercantile note from Miss Sarepta Towne. + +Dinah was seated at another window embroidering moss roses upon black +velvet; the black velvet looked as if it might mean a slipper for a +good-sized foot. There was a secret in the eyes that were intent upon +the roses; the secret that was hidden in many pairs of eyes--brown, blue, +hazel--in Dunellen in these days before Christmas. + +There was not even the hint of a secret in the eyes that were opening +"Thesaurus" and looking for a synonym for _Information_. + +"Poor Tessa!" almost sighed happy Dinah, "she has to plod through +manuscript and books, and doesn't know half how nice it is to make +slippers." + +Poor Tessa closed her book just then and looked out into the falling +snow. + +"Perhaps we shall hear that he's dead to-day," said Dinah, brushing a +white thread off the velvet. "I have expected to hear that every day for +a week." + +"But you said that he talked real bright last week." + +"So Sue said. I have not seen him. He knows that I have called, that is +enough; I do not want to see him, I know that my face would distress +him." + +"Poor fellow," said Dine, compassionately, "how he used to talk! The +stories that he has told in this room. Oh, Tessa, I can't be thankful +enough for every thing! To think that John should get such a good +position in the Dunellen school! How things work around; he would not +have had it but for Mr. Lewis Gesner! John and I are going there to +spend the evening next week; Miss Gesner asked him to bring me. And oh, +Tessa, _do_ you think that Gus takes it much to heart?" + +"If I did not know I should not think that he had any thing to take to +heart!" + +"I suppose his heart bleeds in secret," said Dinah pensively. "Well, it +isn't _my_ fault. You don't blame me." + +"I never blame any one." + +"Father and mother are very polite to John." + +"They are never rude to any one." + +"Say, Tessa, are you glad about me, or sorry?" + +"Am I not always glad about you?" + +"Well, about John?" + +"I like John; he is a good boy; but you can not expect me not to be +disappointed about Gus!" + +"You think that Gus is every thing." + +"I think that he is _enough_." + +"Perhaps--perhaps--" but Dinah became confused and dared not finish. + +Tessa felt her thought. Perhaps--but what a queer perhaps; who could +imagine it? + +The sharp Faber scribbled upon waste paper for some minutes; it +scribbled dates and initials and names, and then "Such as I wish it to +be." + +"There goes Dr. Towne," said Dinah. + +Tessa lifted her head in time for a bow. Then she scribbled, "A +nightingale made a mistake." + +The letter in her pocket had closed thus: "You have the faculty of +impressing truth in a very pleasant manner; your characters are +spirited, your incidents savor of freshness, your style is rather abrupt +however, it will be well to consider that." + +A busy life, busy in the things that she loved best, was her ideal of +happiness. + +She scribbled--"Dec. 15. Dinah making roses. Miss Towne wishing for me. +Is any one else? What do I wish? My naughty heart, be reasonable, be +just, be sure, do not take a thing that you _want_, just because you +want it." + +Dinah was wondering how Tessa's face _could_ look so peaceful when she +was not engaged nor likely to be. Tessa was at peace, she was at rest +concerning Dr. Lake. Before the storm was over, he would be glad that he +had been born into a life upon the earth. In this hour--while Dine was +working her roses and Tessa scribbling, while the snow-flakes were +melting on Dr. Towne's overcoat and Nan Gerard was studying "The Songs +of Seven" to read to the Professor that evening--Sue and her husband were +alone in Sue's chamber. + +"Sue, I haven't heard you sing to-day." + +"How can I sing, Gerald, when you are so sick?" + +"Am I so sick? Do you know that I am?" + +"I think I ought to know; don't I see how father looks? and didn't Dr. +Towne say that he would come and stay with you to-night? Are not people +very sick when they have a consultation?" + +"Sometimes. What are you doing over there?" + +"It is time for your powder; you must sleep, they all say so. Will you +try to go to sleep after you take this?" + +"Yes, if you will sing to me." + +He raised himself on his elbow and took the spoon from her hand. "You +have been a good wife to me, Susan." + +"Of course I have. Isn't that what I promised. There, you spilled some; +how weak your fingers are! you are like a baby. I don't like babies." + +"Don't say that," falling back upon the pillow. "I want you to be +womanly, dear, and true women love babies." + +"They are such a bother." + +"So are husbands." + +"When you get well, you will not be a bother! Can't you talk any +louder?" + +"Sit down close to me. How long have I been sick?" + +"Oh, I don't know! The nights and days are just alike." + +"I expect that you are worn out. We will go to sleep together. I wish we +could." + +"You mustn't talk, you must go to sleep." + +"Say, Susan," catching her hand in both his, "are you glad you married +me?" + +"Of course I am glad; that is, I shall be when you get well." + +"You wouldn't like a feeble husband dragging on you all your days, would +you?" + +"No, I _wouldn't_. Who would? Would you like a feeble wife dragging on +_you_ all your days?" + +"I would like _you_, sick or well." + +"I knew you would say that. You and Tessa and Dr. Towne are sentimental. +What do you think he said to me last night. 'Be very gentle and careful +with him, do not even speak loud.'" + +"He is very kind." + +"As if I _wouldn't_ be gentle!" + +"Bring your chair close and sing." + +"I don't feel like singing; this room is dark and hot, and I am sleepy." + +"Well, never mind." + +She pushed a chair close to the low bed and sat down; he took her hand +and held it between his flushed hot hands. "God bless you forever, and +ever, my darling wife!" + +"That's too solemn," said Sue in an awed voice; "don't say such things; +I shall believe that you are going to die, if you do. Do go to sleep, +that's a good boy." + +He laid his finger on his wrist keeping it there a full minute. + +"Are you stronger?" she asked eagerly. "Father will not say when I ask +him and Dr. Towne only looked at me." + +He lifted her hand to his lips and smiled. + +"Now sing." + +"What shall I sing?" + +"Any thing. Every thing. 'Jesus, lover of my soul.' I always liked +that." + +The clear, strong voice trembled nervously over the first words; she was +afraid, but she did not know what she was afraid of; his eyelids +drooped, he kept tight hold of her hand. + +She sang the hymn through and then asked what he would like next. + +"I was almost dreaming. Sue is a pretty name, so is Gerald; but I would +not like my boy to be named Gerald. Theodore means the _gift of God_; I +like that; Theodore or Theodora. If you ever name a child, will you +remember that?" + +"I shall never name a child; I don't like children well enough to fuss +over them. Now, what else?" + +"'Jerusalem the golden.'" + +"Oh, you don't want that! It's too solemn. I won't sing it, I'll sing +something livelier. Don't you like 'Who are these in bright array?'" + +The eyelids drooped, he did not loosen his clasp, and she sang on; once, +when she paused, he whispered, "Go on." + +The snow fell softly, melting on the window-sill, the wood fire burnt +low, she drew her hand away and went to the stove to put in a stick of +wood; he did not stir, his hands were still half-clasped; through the +half-shut lids, his eyes shone dim and dark. She was very weary; she +laid her head on the white counterpane near his hands and fell asleep. +Dr. Greyson entered, stood a moment near the door and went out; Dr. +Towne came to the threshold, his eyes filled as he stood, he closed the +door and went down-stairs; he opened the front parlor door, thinking of +the two as they stood there together such a little time since, and +thinking of Tessa's face as he saw it that morning. "She will love him +always if he leaves her now," he said to himself; "when she is old, she +will look back and grieve for him. Tessa would, but Sue--there's no +reckoning upon her. Why are not all women like Tessa and my mother?" + +He drove homeward, thinking many thoughts; of late, in the light of +Tessa's words, he could behold himself as she beheld him; she would have +been satisfied, could she have known the depth of his self-accusation; +"No man but a fool could _be_ such a fool," he had said to himself more +than once. "There is no chance that she will take me." + +Meanwhile Sue awoke from her heavy sleep; it was growing colder, the +snow was falling and not melting, the room was quite dark. + +"I have been asleep," said Dr. Lake. + +"And now you are better," cried Sue, joyfully. "I knew that you were +moping and had the blues." + +Through that night and the next day, Miss Jewett watched with Sue; +before another morning broke, Sue--poor widowed Sue!--was taken in +hysterics from the room. + + + + +XXII.--SEVERAL OTHER THINGS. + + +Tessa dropped the curtains, arranged the heavy crimson folds, and +lighted the gas. + +"I shall do this many times in my imagination before spring," she said. +"The curtains in my room, Dine says, are Turkey red, and my gas will be +one tall sperm candle. Just about twilight you will feel my ghost +stealing in, the curtains will fall, and invisible hands play among +them, the jets will start into light, and then the perfume of a kiss +will touch your forehead and hair. The perfume shall be that of a pansy +or a day-lily, as you prefer." + +"I would rather have your material lips; I am not fond of ghostly +visitants; I shall feel you always beside me; I shall not forget you +even in my sleep." + +"You are too kind to me," said Tessa, after a moment, during which she +had donned her brown felt hat and buttoned her long brown cloth cloak. +The feeble old lady in the arm-chair flushed like a girl under the +gratitude of Tessa's eyes; her eyes filled slowly as Tessa came to her +and kissed her. + +"I am very old womanish about you; it must be because I am not strong; I +would never let you go away out of my presence if I could hinder it." + +"I want to stay with you; I am never happier than I am in this room; but +I must go; it is a promise; and I must go to-morrow. Uncle Knox will +meet me at the train with a creaky old buggy and a half-blind white +horse; then we shall drive six miles through a flat country with +farm-houses scattered here and there to a cunning little village +containing one church and one store and about forty dwellings. Our +destination is a small house near the end of the principal street where +live the most devoted old couple in the world! Aunt Theresa and Uncle +Knox are a pair of lovers; it is beautiful to see them together; it is +worth travelling across the continent; they never forget each other for +an instant, and yet they make no parade of their affection; I am sure +that they will both die upon the same day of the same disease. Their +life is as lovely as a poem. I have often wondered how they attained it, +if it were perfect before they were married or if it _grew_." + +She was standing under the chandelier buttoning her gloves, with her +earnest face towards the lady in the arm-chair. + +"It _grew_," said a voice behind her. Dr. Towne had entered unperceived +by either. "Is that all?" + +"Isn't that enough?" she asked slightly flushing. + +"Yes, I think that it is enough; but I know that it was born and not +made. It did not become perfect in a year and a day. See if your aunt +hasn't had an experience that she will not tell you." + +"And my uncle?" she asked saucily. + +"Men do not parade their experiences." + +"Providing they have any to parade," she replied lightly. "I'm afraid +that I don't believe in men's experiences." + +"Don't say that, my dear," said Mrs. Towne anxiously. + +"I will not," Tessa answered, suddenly sobered, "not until I forget Dr. +Lake." + +"Am I to have the mournful pleasure of taking you home, Miss Tessa? My +carriage is at the door." + +"I have tried to persuade her to stay all the evening," said Mrs. Towne. + +"I have an engagement. My encyclopedia is coming to-night to talk over +to me something that I have been writing." + +"Is he your critic?" inquired Dr. Towne. + +"Yes, and an excellent one, too. Don't you know that he knows every +thing?" + +"Then perhaps he can tell me something that I want to know. Would it be +safe to ask him?" + +"If it is to be found in a book he can tell you," said Tessa seriously. + +"It is not to be found in any poem that was ever written or in any song +that was ever sung." + +"Then it remains to be written?" + +"Yes; don't you want to write it?" + +"I must learn it by heart first; I can not write what I have not +learned." + +"Ralph, you shall not tease her," interrupted his mother, "she shall not +do any thing that she does not please." + +"Not even go into the country for three months in winter," he said. + +"What will Sue do without you, Tessa?" asked Mrs. Towne. + +"I have been with her five days; she cried and clung to me. I do not +want to leave her, there are so many reasons for me to stay and so few +for me to go. Miss Gesner came this afternoon and promised to stay all +night with her. She is a little afraid of Miss Gesner; with Miss Jewett +and me, she cried and talked about him continually; the poor girl is +overwhelmed." + +"She will be overwhelmed again by and by," said Dr. Towne. + +"Ralph! I never heard you say any thing so harsh of any one before." + +"Is truth harsh?" he asked. + +"If it be mild to-morrow, I will go to Sue; I will take her down to Old +Place for a month; she always throve there." + +"She will be dancing and singing in a month," returned Dr. Towne. + +"Well, let her!" + +"But you must not be troubled, mother. I shall make her promise not to +talk to you and go into hysterics." + +"My son, she is a widow." + +"'And desolate,'" he quoted. + +"Tessa, will you write to me every week, child?" + +"Every week," promised Tessa, as she was drawn into the motherly arms +and kissed again and again. + +Her own mother would not kiss her like that. Was it her mother's fault +or her own? + +As soon as they were seated in the carriage and the robe tucked in +around her, her companion asked, "Shall we drive around the square? The +sun is hardly set and the air is as warm as autumn." + +"Yes," she answered almost under her breath. In a moment she spoke +hurriedly, "Does your mother think--does she know--" + +"She is a woman," he answered abruptly. + +"I wish--oh, I wish--" she hesitated, then added--"that she would not love +me so much." + +"It _is_ queer," he said gravely. + +They drove in silence through the town and turned into the "mountain +road"; after half a mile, they were in the country with their faces +towards the glimmer of light that the sunset had left. + +"Miss Tessa, my mother believes in me." + +"I know that." + +"You do not weigh my words sufficiently. They do not mean enough to +you." + +"Is that so very strange?" + +"Yes, it is strange when I tell you that I know I was a fool! When I +tell you that I have repented in dust and ashes. I did not understand +you, nor myself, a year ago--I am dull about understanding people. I +think that I am not quick about any thing; I can not make a quick reply; +I have labored at my studies; I was not brilliant in school or college; +I am very slow, but I am very _sure_. If you had been as slow as I, our +friendship would never have had its break; you were too quick for me; +but you understood me long before I understood myself; I did not +understand myself until I was withdrawn from you. Do you believe that?" + +"Yes, I believe it. But you should have waited until you _did_ +understand." + +"It is rather tough work for a man to confess himself a fool." + +Tessa said nothing. + +"I do not ask to be excused, I ask to be forgiven; to be borne with. +Will you be patient with me?" + +"I do not know how to be patient. I am too quick. I have been very +bitter and unjust towards you; I judged you as if you were as quick as I +am; I have even wished you dead; it does not do for us to be in a class +together." + +"Not in the short run; we haven't tried the long run yet, and you are +afraid to do that?" + +"I suppose I am. I am afraid of something; I think that I am afraid of +myself." + +"If you are not afraid of me, I do not care what you are afraid of." + +"I am not afraid of you--now." + +"Then if you do--reject me, it is because you are not satisfied with your +heart toward me?" + +"Yes, that will be the reason," she said slowly. + +"And none other?" + +"There is no reason in yourself; now that you have seen how you were +wrong; the reason will all be in myself." + +"Are you coming any nearer to an understanding with yourself?" he asked +quietly. + +He had spoken in this same tone to a patient, a little child, not two +hours since. + +The tone touched her more deeply than the words. + +"I do not know. I am trying not to reason. I have worn myself out with +reasoning. You are very still, but I know that this time is terrible to +you; as terrible as last year was to me! Believe me, I am not lightly +keeping you in suspense. Truly I can not decide. There is some +hindrance; I do not know what it is." + +"I do not wish to hurry you; you shall have a year to decide if you +prefer. It is very sudden to you; you need time and quiet to recover +from the shock; you are very much shaken. You are not as strong as you +were two years ago. The strain has been too great for you; when you have +decided once for all time and all eternity, your eyes will look as they +looked two years ago. All I ask you is be _sure_ of _yourself_! I +promise not to trouble you for a year; I am sorry to be troubling you +now. Are you very unhappy?" + +She was trembling and almost crying. + +"You shall not answer me, or think of answering me until you are ready; +I deserve to suffer; I do not fear the issue of your self-analysis; when +you have recovered from the shock and can _feel_ that you have forgiven +me, then you will know whether you love me, whether you trust me. Will +you write to me?" + +"No, sir." + +He laughed in spite of his vexation; she resented the laugh; he was +altogether too sure of his power. + +"You must not be so sure," she began. + +"I shall be just as sure as--_you_ please." + +"You think that I am very perplexing." + +"You are full of freaks and whims; you are a Mystic. Dr. Lake truly +named you. I used to think you a bundle of impulses, and now I find you +sternly adhering to a principle. If your whim be founded on principle, +and I verily believe it is, I honor you even when I am laughing at you." + +"Don't laugh at me; I am too miserable to bear that. Be patient with me +as if I were ill." + +"You are not strong enough to go from home. If you do not feel well, +will you write for me to come and bring you home?" + +"I am well enough." + +"Promise me, please." + +"I can not promise," she answered decidedly. + +They were neither of them in a mood for further talk; she felt more at +rest than she had felt for two years; there was nothing to think of, +nothing to be hurried about; she had a whole year to be happy in, and +then--she would be happy then, too. As for him--she could not see his +face, for they had turned into the cross-road, thickly wooded, that +opened into the clearing before the gates of Old Place. + +He spoke to his horse in his usual tone, "Gently, Charlie." He stooped +to wrap the robe more closely about her feet; as he raised himself, she +slipped her ungloved hand into his. "Don't be troubled about me, I will +not be troubled; I will not reason; but don't be sure; perhaps when the +year is over I shall not be satisfied." + +"Then you must take another year." + +"You will not be so patient with me another year; I shall not take +another year." + +"Tessa, you are a goose; but you are a darling, nevertheless." + +"You do not understand me," she said, withdrawing her hand. + +"I am too humble to expect ever to do that. You have never seen our +home. Is it too late to go over the place to-night?" + +"I will go with your mother some time; she has described every room to +me." + +"Who is that fellow that you were engaged to?" + +"He is not a fellow." + +"Who is he?" + +"Felix Harrison." + +"Ah!" Then after a pause, "Tell me the whole story." + +The whole story was not long; she began with his school-boy love, +speaking in short sentences, words and tone becoming more intense as she +went on + +"I did not mean to be so wrong; but I was so unhappy and he cared--" + +"What shall I do without you all winter?" + +"What have you done without me every winter?" she asked merrily. + +With an effort she drew herself away from the arm that would have +encircled her. Morbidly fearful of making another mistake, she would not +answer his words or his tone. + +"The witches get into me at night," she said, soberly, "and I say things +that I may regret in the sunlight." + +"It is not like you to regret speaking truth. Remember, I do not exact +any promise from you; but if the time ever come that you know you love +me, I want you to tell me so." + +"I will." + +He drove up under the maple trees, before the low iron fence, as he had +done on the last night of the old year; another old year was almost +ended; they stood holding each other's hand, neither caring to speak. + +Ralph Towne would not have been himself, if he had not bent and kissed +her lips; and she would not have been herself, had she not received it +gravely and gladly. After that it was not easy to go in among the +talkers and the lights; she stood longer than a moment on the piazza, +schooling herself to bear scrutiny, to answer with unconcern; still she +felt dizzy and answered the first questions rather at random. + +"Going around in the dark has set your wits to wool-gathering," said her +mother. + +"We waited tea," said Dinah. + +"You did not come alone, daughter?" asked her father. + +"No, sir. Dr. Towne brought me." + +"We are very hungry," said Mr. Hammerton. + +"We will talk over the book before chess, Gus, if you please. I have +some packing to do, and I am very tired." + +"How is Sue?" inquired her mother. + +"Very well." + +"Is she taking it hard?" + +"Perhaps. I do not know what hard is." + +"Is her mourning all ready?" + +"Yes'm." + +"A young widow is a beautiful sight," observed Mrs. Wadsworth +pathetically. + +"Probably some one will think so," said Mr. Hammerton, speaking quickly +to save Tessa from replying. + +"Take off your things, Tessa," said Dinah. "I want my supper." + +"It's _his_ night, isn't it?" asked Mr. Hammerton, teasingly; Dinah +colored, looked confused, and ran down-stairs to ring the tea-bell. + +The door-bell clanged sharply through the house as they were rising from +the table. "I was young myself once," remarked Mr. Hammerton. + +"I don't believe it," retorted Dinah, putting her hands instinctively up +to her hair. + +"You'll do, run along," laughed her father. "Oh, how old I feel to see +my little girls becoming women." + +"I should think Tessa would feel old," replied Mrs. Wadsworth, +significantly. + +"I do," said Tessa, rising. "Where is your criticism, Mr. Critic; I have +some packing to do to-night, so you may cut me to pieces before chess." + +"No matter about chess," said Mr. Wadsworth. + +"Yes, it is; I will not be selfish." + +"Then run up and talk over your bookish talk, mother and I will come up +presently." + +The sitting-room was cozy and home-like, even after the luxury of Mrs. +Towne's handsome apartment. "I don't want to go away," sighed Tessa, +dropping into a chair near the round black-and-green covered table. "Why +can't people stay at home always?" + +"Why indeed?" Mr. Hammerton moved a chair to her side and seating +himself carelessly threw an arm over the back of her chair. + +How many evenings they had read and studied in this fashion, with Dine +on a low stool, her curly head in her sister's lap. + +"They will never come again." + +"What?" asked Tessa opening the long, yellow envelope he had taken from +his pocket. + +"The old days when you and Dine and I will not want any one else." + +"True; Dine has left us already." + +"But you and I are content without her!" + +"Are we? I am not sure! Gus your penmanship is perfect; when I am rich, +you shall copy my books." + +"How rich?" + +"Oh, rich enough to give you all you would ask," she answered +thoughtlessly. "I expect that I shall have to undergo a process as +trying as vivisection; but I will not flinch; it is good for me." + +"Don't read it now; save it for the solitude of the country." + +"No, I am anxious to see it; you can be setting up the chess-men; I +don't want to take you away from father." + +With the color rising in his cheeks, he arose and moved the chess-board +nearer; standing before her, he began slowly to arrange the pieces. The +three large sheets were closely written; she read slowly, once breaking +into a laugh and then knitting her brows and drawing her lips together. + +"Are you not pleased? Am I not just?" + +"A critic is not a fault-finder, necessarily; you are very plain. I will +consider each sentence by itself in my solitude; you are a great help to +me, Gus. I thank you very much. You have been a help to me all my life." + +"I have tried to be," he answered, taking up a castle and turning it in +his fingers. + +"I will rewrite my book, remembering all your suggestions." + +"You remember that Tennyson rewrote 'Dora' four hundred and forty-five +times, that Victor Hugo declared that his six hundredth copy of +'Thanatopsis' was his best, and that George Sand was heard to say with +tears in her eyes that she wished she had rewritten 'Adam Bede' just +once more and you have read that Tom Brown Hughes--" + +"Go away with your nonsense! I told Dr. Towne that you were my critic +and that you knew every thing." + +"Do you tell him every thing?" he asked, letting the castle fall upon +the carpet. + +"That isn't every thing." + +"Will you play a game with me?" + +"No, thank you. I am too tired for any thing so tiresome." + +"You are ungrateful. Did I not teach you to play?" + +"You did not teach me to play when I am tired." + +"You have promised to write to me, haven't you?" he asked. + +"No, I haven't! If you only knew how many I _have_ promised; and Aunt +Theresa has a basket quilt cut out for me to make, sixty-four blocks! +How can you have the heart to suggest any thing beside?" + +"How many persons have you refused to write to?" + +"I just refused one." + +"Am I the only one you have refused?" + +"Oh, no," slipping the folded sheets into the envelope, "there is Mr. +Gesner and Dr. Greyson and Professor Towne and--" + +"Dr. Towne?" His uneasy fingers scattered several pawns over the +black-and-green covering. + +"Yes, and Dr. Towne! And he was very good about it, he only laughed." + +"Lady Blue, speak the truth." + +"About whom?" + +"The latter. I am not concerned about the others." + +"I told you the truth and you do not believe me. Don't you know that the +truth is always funnier than a fabrication?" + +"If you ask me, perhaps I will come down and stay over a Sunday with +you." + +"Will you? Oh, I wish you would! I expect to be homesick. Uncle Knox +will be delighted to have you to talk to." + +"I do not think that I shall travel fifty miles on a cold night to talk +to _him_." + +"Then I am sure that you will not to talk to me." + +"You do not know what I would do for you." + +"Yes, I do. Any thing short of martyrdom. Don't you want to go in and +see John Woodstock? He is a pretty boy. There come father and mother. +You will excuse me if I do not make my appearance again to-night; you +know I have been with Sue and I am so tired." + +"And you will not write to me?" + +"What for? You may read Dine's letters." + +"Tell me true, Tessa," he answered catching both her hands, "_did_ you +refuse to write to Dr. Towne?" + +"Yes, I did." + +"Why, may I ask?" + +"For the same reason that I refuse to write to you--no, that is not quite +true--" she added, "but it is because I don't want to write to either of +you." + +"Have all these years given me the right to ask you a question?" + +He still held both hands. + +She answered seriously, "Yes. You are all the big brother I have." + +"Then I will not ask it," dropping her hands and turning away. + +"Say good-by, then." + +"Good-by." + +"I have not said any thing to displease you, have I?" + +"You will not write to me?" + +"No, I can't. I would if I could. I will tell you--then you will +understand and not care--somebody--" + +"What right has somebody--" + +Mrs. Wadsworth entered laughing, Mr. Wadsworth was close behind. + +"Excuse me, sir; I can't stay to play to-night. Good night, Lady Blue. A +pleasant visit and safe return." + +An hour later Tessa was kneeling on the carpet before her open trunk +squeezing a roll of pencilled manuscript into a corner. + +A tap at the door was followed by a voice, "Daughter, may I come in?" + +"If you will not mind the confusion." + +He closed the door and seated himself on a chair near the end of the +trunk. + +"There is a confusion somewhere that I _do_ mind," he began nervously. + +She looked up in surprise. "Why, father, is there something that you +don't like? Don't you like it about Dine?" + +"Daughter, if you are so blind that you will not see, I must tell you. I +like it well enough about Dine, but I do not like it about _you_?" + +Was it about Dr. Towne? How could he object to him? For he could not be +aware of _her_ objection. + +"I am afraid that you are teasing Gus rather too much." + +"Teasing Gus! I never really teased him in my life. We have never +quarrelled even once." + +"I thought that women were quick about such things, but you are as blind +as a bat." + +"Such things?" She was making room for a glove box, a pretty one of +Russia leather that Gus had given her. "He never cares for what I say!" + +"How do you know that?" + +"How do I know?" she repeated in perplexity, making space in a corner +while she considered her reply. "Don't _you_ know why he can not be +teased by what I say and do?" + +"I know this--he has asked me if he may marry you some day." + +"_Me!_ You mean Dine. You can't mean me. I know it is Dine." + +"Oh, child," laughing heartily, "why should I mean Dine? Why should it +not be you?" + +"It must be Dine," she said positively. "Didn't he say Dine?" + +"Am I in my dotage?" + +"Couldn't you misunderstand?" + +"No, I could not. What is the matter with you, to-night? You act as if +you were bewildered." + +"So I am." + +"One evening, on the piazza, was it in May or June? I was not well and I +said so to him; and he answered by telling me that he had always thought +of you, that he had grown up hoping to marry you. Dine! Am I blind? Have +I been blind these ten years?" + +"Didn't he say any thing about Dine?" + +"We spoke of her, of course. I would not tell you, but I see how you are +playing with him; he will not intrude himself. O, Tessa, for a bright +girl, you are very stupid." + +"I am not bright; I am stupid." + +"This sisterly love is all very well, but a man can not bear to have it +carried too far. He is pure gold, daughter; he is worthy of a princess. +Now don't worry; you haven't done any harm. Go to bed and go to sleep; +you have had too much worry this last week." + +"I know it must be Dine." + +"If you did not look half sick, I would be angry with you. I thought +women were quick witted." + +"I suppose some are," she said slowly. "He will never ask me, never." + +"Why not?" he asked sharply. + +"Because--because--" + +"Because you haven't thought of it. If you do not like any one--and I +don't see how you can--you don't, do you?" + +"I don't--know." + +"There! There, dear, don't cry! Go to sleep and forget it." + +"I thought it was Dine. I have always thought that it was Dine." + +"Well, good night. Don't throw away the best man in the world. I have +known him ever since he wore dresses, and he is worthy--even of you. Put +out your light and go to sleep. Don't give him a heartache." + +"Oh, I won't, I won't--if I can help it!" + +"Don't have any whims. There, child, don't cry! Kiss me and go to +sleep." + +She did not cry; she was stunned and bewildered; it was too dreadful to +be true; even if she did love Ralph Towne she would not love him if it +would make unhappy this friend and helper of all her life! This new +friend should not come between them to make him miserable. Even if the +old dream about Ralph Towne _could_ come true, she would not accept his +love at the cost of Gus Hammerton's happiness. Was he not her right arm? +Was he not her right eye? She had never missed him because he had always +lived in her life; he was as much a part of her home as her father and +Dine; she would give up any thing rather than hurt him. Had she not +suffered with him when she thought that he was unhappy about Dine? She +had loved him so much that she had never thought of loving him; she had +been so proud that he had loved Dine. Was it his influence that had kept +her from loving Felix Harrison? Was he the hindrance that was coming +between her and Dr. Towne? Was she troubled because she could not honor +and trust Dr. Towne as she had unconsciously honored and trusted this +old, old friend? If the illusion about Ralph Towne had never been +dispelled, she would not have discovered that Gus Hammerton was "pure +gold" as her father had said. They were both miserable to-night because +of her--and she had permitted one of them to kiss her. Ralph Towne had +left her once to fight out her battle alone--he had not been the shadow +of a rock in her weary land--she could think of this now away from the +fascination of his presence; but, present or absent, there was no doubt, +no reasoning about the old friend; he had been tried, he was steadfast +and true. True, she had forgiven Ralph Towne; but her forgiveness had +not wrought any change in him. He was the Ralph Towne of a year ago, +with this difference that now he loved her. Had his love for her wrought +any change in him? Was he not himself? Would he not always be himself? +Was she satisfied with him if she could feel the need of change? + +A year ago would she have reasoned thus? Where love is, is there need of +reasoning to prove its existence, its depth or its power of continuance? +She knew that she loved God; she knew that she loved her father. If she +loved Ralph Towne, why did she not know that, also? + +Why must she reason? Why might she not _know_? She did not know that she +loved him. Did she know that she did _not_ love him? Wearied even to +exhaustion, her head drooped until it touched the soft pile in the open +trunk; there were no tears, not a sound moved her lips; she was very +glad that she was going away. + +If she might tell Gus, would he not talk it over to her and make it +plain? It would not be the first matter in which he had taught her to +discern between the wrong and the right. Was there a wrong and a right +in this choosing? + +The large tears gathered and fell. + +Ralph Towne could not help her; he would say caressingly, "Love me, and +end the matter." In her extremity he was not a helper. Would he ever be +in any extremity of hers? + +The tears fell for very weariness and bewilderment. What beside was +there to shed tears about? She was so weary that she had forgotten. + +A laugh in the hall below; the sound of a scuffle, another laugh, and +the closing of the street door. + +Those two children! + +Dinah burst into the room, still laughing. "Why, Tessa! All through! You +look as if you wanted to pack yourself up, too," she cried in a breezy +voice. "The candle is almost burnt down." + +"No matter. Don't get another." + +"Your voice sounds as if you were sick. Mother has been expecting you to +be too sick to go." + +"I shall not be sick," rising, and dropping the lid of her trunk. "Tell +me about the night you overheard Gus talking to father on the piazza." + +"I did tell you, didn't I? He did not mind because John came tonight; +didn't you hear him tease me? About that night? Oh, I was asleep, and +they were on the piazza; of course I don't know how long they had been +talking, nor what suggested it, but I heard him say,--really I've +forgotten just what, it was so long ago,--but father said that he was so +glad and happy about it, or it meant that. I suppose I may have missed +some of it. Poor old Gus said that he knew I did not care for any one +else. Isn't it touching? Poor fellow! And I didn't then. I never should +if I hadn't gone away and found John. Lucky for me, wasn't it? Gus never +looked at me as he did at you tonight, anyway; I guess he's +transferring." + +Long after midnight Tessa fell asleep; her last thought shaping itself +thus: + +"I can not reason myself into loving or not loving, any more than I can +reason the sun into shining or not shining." + +On her way to the train the next morning, she mailed a letter addressed-- + + _"Ralph Towne, M. D., + City."_ + +Her tender, passionate, truth-loving, bewildered heart had poured itself +out in these words: + + * * * * * + +"I am so afraid of leading you to think something that is not true; +something that I may have to contradict in the future. When I am with +you, I forget every thing but you; when I am alone, my heart rises up +and warns me that I may be making another mistake, that I only _think_ I +love you because I want to so much, and that I should only worry you +with my caprices and doubts if I should marry you. You have been very +patient with me, but you might lose your patience if I should try it too +far. I _will_ not marry you until I am _sure_; I must know of a +certainty that I love you with the love that hopes, endures, that can +suffer long and still is kind. You do not know me, I am hard and proud; +when I went down into the Valley of Humiliation because of believing +that you loved me when you did not, I was not gentle and sweet and +forgiving--I was hard and bitter; I hated you almost as much as I had +loved you. Now I must think it all through and live through all those +days, the days when I loved you and the days when I hated you, before I +can understand myself. I could marry you and we could live a life of +surface peace and satisfaction, and you might be satisfied in me and +with me; but if _I_ felt the need of loving you more than I did love +you, my life would be bondage. If the pride and hardness and +unforgivingness may be taken away and I _may_ love you and believe in +you as I did that day that you brought me the English violets, I shall +be as happy--no, a thousand times happier than I was then. But you must +not hope for that; it is not _natural_; it may be that of grace such +changes are wrought, but grace is long in working in proud hearts. You +are not bound to me by any word that you have spoken; find some one +gentle and loving who will love you for what you are and for what you +will be." + + + + +XXIII.--WHAT SHE MEANT. + + +In the weeks that followed, Tessa learned to the full the meaning of +_homesickness_. No kindness could have exceeded the kindness that she +hourly received from uncle and aunt and from the inmates of the cottage +over the way; still every night, or rather early every morning, she fell +asleep with tears upon her cheeks; she longed for her father, her +mother, for Dine and Gus, for Miss Jewett, for Nan Gerard, and even +poor, grief-stricken Sue; for Mrs. Towne's dear face and dear hands she +longed inexpressibly, and she longed with a longing to which she would +give no sympathy for another presence, an unobtrusive presence that +would not push its way, a presence with the aroma of humility, +gentleness, and a shy love that persisted with a persistence that +neither the darkness of night nor the light of day could dispel. + +Lying alone in the darkness in the strange, low room, with a fading glow +upon the hearth that lent an air of unreality to the old-fashioned +furniture, she congratulated herself upon having been brave and true, of +having withheld from her lips a draught for which she had so long and so +despairingly thirsted; she had been so brave and true that she must +needs be strong, wherefore then was she so weak? Sometimes for hours she +would lie in perfect quiet thinking of Mr. Hammerton; but thinking of +him as calmly as she thought about her father. There was no intensity in +her love for him, no thrill, save that of gratitude for his years of +brotherly watchfulness; she would have been proud of him had he married +Dine; his friendship was a distinction that she had worn for years as +her rarest ornament; he was her intellect, as her father was her +conscience, but to give up all the others for him, to love him above +father, mother, sister--to give up forever the hope of loving Ralph Towne +some day--she shuddered and covered her face with her hands there alone +in the dark. Cheery enough she was through the days, sewing for Aunt +Theresa and falling into her happiest talk of books and people, thoughts +and things, reading aloud to Uncle Knox, and every evening reading aloud +the pages of manuscript that she had written that day, and every +afternoon, laying aside work or writing, to run across to the cottage +for a couple of hours with Miss Sarepta. + +Miss Sarepta at her window in her wheelchair watched all day the black, +brown, or blue figure at her writing or sewing, and when the hour came, +saw the pencils dropped into the box, the leaves of manuscript gathered, +the figure rise and toss out its arms with a weary motion; then, in a +few moments the figure with a bright shawl over its head would run down +the path, stand a moment at the gate to look up and down and all around, +and then, with the air of a child out of school, run across the street +and sometimes around the garden before she brought her bright face into +the watcher's cosy, little world. + +Miss Sarepta's mother described Tessa as "bright, wide awake, and ready +for the next thing." + +Miss Sarepta told Tessa that while knowing that good things were laid up +for her, she had no thought that such a good thing as Tessa Wadsworth +was laid up for this winter's enjoyment and employment. + +It may be that the strain of the day's living added to the feverishness +of the night's yearnings; for when darkness fell and the wind sounded in +the sitting-room chimney, her heart sank, her hands grew cold, her +throat ached with repressed tears, and when she could no longer bear it, +the daily paper having been read aloud and a letter or two written, she +would take her candle and bid the old people as cheery a good night as +her lips could utter and hasten up-stairs to her fire on the hearth to +reperuse her letters and to dream waking dreams of what might be, and +when the fire burned low to lie awake in the darkness, till, spent in +flesh and in spirit, she would fall asleep. + +At the beginning of the third week, she took herself to hand; with a +figurative and merciless gripe upon each shoulder she thus addressed +herself: "Now, Tessa Wadsworth, you and I have had enough of this; we +have had enough of freaks and whims for one lifetime; you are to behave +and go to sleep." + +Behaving and going to sleep took until midnight with the first attempt, +and she dreamed of Dr. Lake and awoke crying. Was Sue crying, too? Sue +had loved her husband, his influence would color all her life, she might +yet become her ideal of a woman; _womanly_. Sue's hand had been in his +life; had not his hand with a firmer grasp tightened around her life? + +Tessa did not forget to be metaphysical even at midnight with the tears +of a dream on her eyelashes. + +Was every one she loved asleep, or had some one dreamed of her and awoke +to think of her? + +"God bless every one I love," she murmured, "and every one who loves +me." + +The next night by sheer force of will she was asleep before the clock +struck eleven, and did not dream of home or once awake until Hilda, the +Swedish servant, passed her door at dawn. + +Her letters through this time were radiant, of course. Mrs. Towne only, +with her perfect understanding of Tessa, detected the homesickness, or +heartsickness. Tessa was wading in deep waters; she did not need her, +else she would have come to her. She had learned that it was her +characteristic to fight out her battles alone. + +Had Ralph any thing to do with this? He had suddenly grown graver, not +more silent; in the morning his eyes would have a sleepless look, the +sunshine seemed utterly gone from them; once he said, apropos of +nothing, after a long fit of abstraction: "It is right for a man to pay +for being a fool and a knave, but it comes terribly hard." + +"I suppose it must," she had replied, "until he learns how God +forgives." + +In her next letter to Tessa, Mrs. Towne had written, "Do you know how +God forgives?" and Tessa had replied, "You and I seem to be thinking the +same thought nowadays, and nowanights, for last night it came to me that +loving _enough_ to forgive is the love that makes Him so happy." + +This letter was the only one of all written that winter that Mrs. Towne +showed to her son. It was not returned to her. Months afterward he +showed it to Tessa, saying that that thought was more to him than all +the sermons to which he had ever listened. "Because you didn't know how +to listen," she answered saucily, adding in a reverent tone, "I did not +understand it until I _lived_ it." + +The letter had been written with burning cheeks; if he might read it, +she would be glad; it would reveal something that she did not dare tell +him herself; but she had no hope that he would see it. + +"Tessa is not so bright as she was," observed Miss Sarepta's mother, +"she's more settled down; I guess that she has found out what she means; +it takes a deal of time for young women to do that." + + + + +XXIV.--SHUT IN. + + +It was a trial to Sarepta Towne that the sun did not rise and set in the +west, for in that case her bay window would have been perfect. + +Dinah had named this window "summer time:" on each side ivy was climbing +in profusion; on the right side stood a fuchsia six feet in height; +opposite this an oleander was bursting into bloom; a rose geranium and a +pot of sweet clover were placed on brackets and were Tessa's special +favorites; one hanging basket from which trailed Wandering Jew was +filled with oxalis in bloom, another was but a mass of graceful and +shining greens. + +In the centre of the window on a low table stood a Ward's case; into +this Dinah had never grown tired of looking; Professor Towne had +constructed it on his last visit at home, and one of the pleasures of it +to Miss Sarepta had consisted in the talks they had while planning it +together. Among its ferns, mosses, berries, and trailing arbutus they +had formed a grotto of shells and bits of rocks; the floor was bits of +looking-glass; tufts of eye-bright were mingled with the mosses and were +now in bloom, and Miss Sarepta was sure that the trailing arbutus would +flower before Tessa could bring it home to her from the woods. + +"This room is full of Philip and Cousin Ralph," Sarepta had said; "his +picture is but one of the things in it and in this house to remind me of +Cousin Ralph." + +"Sarepta breathes Philip," her mother replied. + +"We are twin spirits like Blaise and Jacqueline Pascal. Do you know +about them, Tessa?" + +"I know that he was a monk and she a nun." + +"That is like me, and not like Philip," said Miss Sarepta; "he shall not +be a monk because I am a nun!" + +"His wife will be jealous enough of you, though," said Mrs. Towne; "not +a mail comes that he does not send you something. How would she like +that?" + +"Philip could not love any one that would come between us. Tessa, do you +admire my brother as much as I wish you to do?" + +"I admire him exceedingly," said Tessa, looking up from her twenty-fifth +block of the basket quilt; "he is my ideal. I knew that I had found my +ideal as soon as I saw him; I did not wait to hear him speak." + +And that he was her ideal she became more and more assured, for in +February he spent a week at home and she had opportunity to study him at +all hours and in any hour of the day. He had lost his fancied +resemblance to Dr. Towne, or _she_ had lost it in thinking of him as +only himself. The long talks, during which she sat, at Miss Sarepta's +side, on a foot cushion, work in hand, the basket blocks, or some more +fanciful work for Miss Sarepta, she remembered afterward as one of the +times in her life in which she _grew_. She told Miss Sarepta that she +and her brother were like the men and women that St. Paul in his +Epistles sent his love to. "He ought to marry a saint like Madame Guyon; +I think that it would be easier to revere him as a saint than to marry +him. I can't imagine any woman forgiving him, or loving him because he +_needs_ her love; he stands so far above me, I could never think of him +as at my side and sometimes saying, 'Help me, Tessa,' or, 'What do _you_ +think?'" + +"Now we know your ideal of marriage," laughed Mrs. Towne. "Philip is a +good boy, but he sometimes needs looking after." + +"Stockings and shirt buttons!" + +"And other things, too. He is forgetful, and he's rather careless. How +much he is taken up with that reading class!" + +"In a monkish way," smiled Miss Sarepta. "He was full of enthusiasm +about Ralph, too, mother." + +"How is it, Miss Tessa, do you admire Dr. Towne as much as you do St. +Philip?" inquired the old lady with good-humored sarcasm. + +"He is not a saint," said Tessa, "he needs looking after in several +matters besides stockings and shirt buttons." + +"Philip talks about him! What is it that he says he is, Sarepta?" + +"In his profession just what he expected that he would be,--quick, quiet, +gentle, sympathetic, patient, persevering; he has thrown himself into it +heart and soul. Philip used to wonder if he would ever find his +vocation; his life always had a promise of good things--" + +"But he was slow about it; not quick like Philip; he should have begun +practice ten years ago. What has he been doing all this time?" + +"We can see the fruit of his doing, mother; it does not much matter as +to the doing itself. Don't you know that six years are given to the +perfecting even of a beetle?" + +"I don't know about beetles and things; I know that I used to think that +my boy would outstrip Lydia's boy." + +"Mother! mother!" laughed Sarepta, "you mind earthly things. I shall +never run a race with anybody. Can't you be a little proud of me?" + +Sarepta Towne had her brother's eyes, but her hair was brighter, with +not one silver thread among its short curls; her fair, fresh face was +certainly ten years younger than his. In summer her wrappers were of +white; in winter she kept herself a bird in gay plumage; always the +singing-bird, in white or crimson. When Philip Towne said "My sister," +his voice and eyes said "My saint." + +Once, after a silence, Tessa asked about her "Shut-ins." "How did it +come into your heart at first?" + +"It is a long story; first tell me what your heart has been about. It +has been painting your eyes darker and darker." + +"It is a very foolish heart then; it was only repeating something that I +learned once and did not then understand. I do not know that I can say +it correctly, but it is like this: + + "'God's generous in giving, say I, + And the thing which he gives, I deny + That He ever can take back again. + He gives what He gives: be content. + He resumes nothing given; be sure. + God lend? where the usurers lent + In His temple, indignant He went + And scourged away all those impure. + He lends not, but gives to the end, + As He loves to the end. If it seem + That He draws back a gift, comprehend + 'Tis to add to it rather, amend + And finish it up to your dream.'" + +"Well?" said Miss Sarepta. + +"Once,--a long time ago, it seems now,--He gave me something; it was love +for somebody; and then He took it--or I let it go, because it was too +much trouble to keep it; I did not like His gift, it hurt too much; I +was glad to let it go, and yet I missed it so; I was not worthy such a +perfect gift as a love that could be hurt in loving; I could love as I +loved all beauty and goodness and truth, but when I found that love must +hold on and endure, must hope and believe, must suffer shame and loss, I +gave it up. God was generous in giving; He gave me all I could receive, +and when He would have given me more, I shrank away from His giving and +said, 'It hurts too much. I am too proud to take love or give love if I +must be made humble first. I wanted to give like a queen, not stooping +from my full height, and I wanted to give to a king: instead, I was +asked to give--just like any common mortal to another common mortal, and +that after we had misinterpreted and misunderstood each other, and I had +written hard things of him all over my heart, and what he had thought +me, nobody knows but himself! And now I think, if I will, that I may +have the love again finished up to my dream; finished above any thing +that I knew how to ask or think, and it is altogether too good and +perfect a gift for me; so good that I can not keep it, I must needs give +it away." + +Tessa had told her story with quickened breath, not once lifting the +eyes that were growing darker and darker. + +Miss Sarepta's "thank you" held all the appreciation that Tessa wished. + +"And now," after another silence, for these two loved silences together, +"you want to know about my dear Shut-ins. Philip named them from the +words, 'And the Lord shut him in.' It began one day when I was sitting +alone thinking! I am often sitting alone thinking; but this day I was +thinking sad thoughts about my useless, idle life, and I had planned my +life to be such a busy life. There was nothing that I could do to help +along; I had to sit still and be helped; and I shouldn't wonder if I +cried a little. That was five years ago, we were living in the city +then; in the middle of my bemoanings and my tears, I spied the postman +crossing the street. How Philip laughed when I told him that I loved +that postman better than any man in all the world! That day he brought +me several lovely things: one of them a book from Cousin Ralph, and a +letter from Aunt Lydia; that letter is the beginning of my story. She +told me about a little invalid that she had found and suggested that I +should write one of my charming letters to her. Of course you know that +I write charming letters! So I wiped away my naughty tears and wrote the +charming letter! In a few days, my hero, the postman, brought the reply. +That was my first Shut-in letter. Bring me the album, I will show you +Susie." + +Tessa brought it and Miss Sarepta opened it on her lap to an +intelligent, serious, sweet face. + +"She has not taken a step for many years; she is among the youngest of +many children; her great love is love for children, she teaches daily +thirteen little ones. The one thing in her life that strikes me is her +_faithfulness_. There is nothing too little for her to be faithful in. +One of her great longings used to be for letters; oh, if the postman +would only bring her a letter! For a year or two I wrote every week, the +longest, brightest, most every-day letters I could think of. And one day +it came to me that if _we_ had such a good time together, why should we +not find some other to whom a letter or a book would be as a breath of +fresh air. I pondered the matter for a month or two, but I couldn't +advertise for an invalid, and none of my friends knew of any. One +morning I glanced through a religious paper, and tossed it aside, then +something moved me to pick it up again, and there she was! The one I +sought! That was Elsie. Look at her pale, patient face. For fourteen +years she has lived in one room. And hasn't she the brightest, most +grateful, happiest heart that ever beat in a frail body or a strong one? +Her poems are graceful little things; I will show you some of them. She +had been praying six months for a helpful friend, when she received my +first letter. Her letters are gems. You shall read a pile of them. And +she had a Shut-in friend, to whom I must write, of course. She is Mabel. +I have no picture of her. When she was well, they called her the +laughing girl; she has lain eleven years in bed!" + +"Oh, dear me!" sighed Tessa. + +"Don't sigh, child. She writes in pencil as she can not lift her head. I +call her my sunbeam. She often dates her letters 'In my Corner.' So +another year went on with my three Shut-ins. I forgot to cry about my +folded hands and useless life. One day it came into my mind to write a +sketch and call it, 'Our Shut-in Society'; to write all about Mabel and +Elsie and Sue, and send it to the paper in which I had found Elsie's +first article. + +"And that sketch! How it was read! I received letters from north, south, +east, and west concerning it. Was there really such a society, and were +there such happy people as Mabel, Elsie, and Susie? One who had not +spoken aloud for fourteen years would love to write to them; another who +had locked her school-room door one summer day, and come home to rest, +had been forced to rest through eight long years, and was so lonely, +with her sisters married and away; another, quite an old man, who had +lain for six years in the loft of an old log-cabin, was eager for a word +or a paper. How his letter touched us all! 'The others have letters, but +when the mail comes naught comes to me,' he wrote. But you will be tired +of hearing my long story; you shall see their letters; you must see +Delle's letters; she sits all day in a wheelchair, and has no hope of +ever taking a step; she has a mother and a little boy; the brightest +little boy! Her poems have appeared in some of our best periodicals; we +are something beside a band of sufferers, Miss Tessa; some of us are +literary! My most precious letters are from Elizabeth; her fiftieth +birthday came not long since; for ten years her home has been in one +room; she has written a book that the Shut-ins cry over. + +"And oh, we have a prisoner! A Shut-in shut up in state's prison. A +young man with an innocent, boyish face; he ran away from home when he +was a child and ran into state's prison because no one cared what became +of him. His letters are unaffected and grateful; he does want to be a +good boy! Thirty-six are on my list now; I would find more if I had +strength to write more; some of them have more and some less than I; +many of them have Shut-ins that I know nothing about. We remember each +other on holidays and birthdays! The things that postmen and country +mail-carriers have in their mail-bags are funny to see: flower seeds, +bits of fancy work, photographs, pictures, any thing and every thing! + +"They all look forward to mail-time through the night and through the +day. + +"And, speaking humanly, my share in it, all I receive and the little I +give, came out of my self-bemoanings and tears; my longing to be a +helper in some small way! + +"Now if you want to help me, you may cut some blocks of patch-work for +me. One of the Shut-ins is making a quilt to leave as a memorial to her +daughter, and I want to send my contribution to the mail to-night; and +you may direct several papers for me, and cover that book, 'Thoughts for +Weary Hours.' I press you into my service, you see." + +"Miss Sarepta, I am ashamed." + +"Shame is an evidence of something; go on." + +"I am ashamed that I am such a dreamer." + +"Philip says that you are a dreamer." + +"I care for my writing." + +"Mowers work while they whet their scythes," quoted Miss Sarepta. + + + + +XXV.--BLUE MYRTLE. + + +In March, Tessa found myrtle in bloom, and took a handful of the blue +blossoms mingled with sprays of the green leaves to Miss Sarepta. + +"Spring has come," she said dropping them on the open book in Miss +Sarepta's lap. + +"If spring has come, then I must lose you." + +"Every hand that I know in Dunellen is beckoning me homewards; my +winter's work is done." + +That evening--it was the sixth of March, that date ever afterward was +associated with blue myrtle and Nan Gerard--she was sitting at the table +writing letters; in the same chair and at the same place at the table +where Dinah had written her letter about Gus and her wonderful John; +Aunt Theresa was knitting this evening also, and Uncle Knox was asleep +in a chintz-covered wooden rocker with the big cat asleep on his knees. + +She had written a letter to Mabel and one to Elsie, lively descriptive +letters, making a picture of Miss Sarepta's book-lined, +picture-decorated, flower-scented room and a picture of Miss Sarepta, +also touching lightly upon her own breezy out-of-door life with its hard +work and its beautiful hopes. The third letter was a sheet to Mrs. +Towne; the sentence in ending was one that Mrs. Towne had been eagerly +and anxiously expecting all through the winter: "My ring reminds me of +my promise; a promise that I shall keep some day, perhaps." + +"Tessa, are you unhappy, child?" asked Aunt Theresa with a knitting +needle between her lips. + +"Unhappy! Why, auntie, what am I doing?" + +The tall lamp with its white china shade stood between them. Aunt +Theresa took the knitting needle from its place of safety and counted +fourteen stitches before she replied. + +"Sighing! When young people sigh, something must ail them. What do _you_ +have to be miserable about?" + +"I am not miserable." + +"Tell me, what are you miserable about?" + +"Sometimes--I am not satisfied--that is all." + +"I should think that that was enough. What are you dissatisfied about? +Haven't you enough to eat and to drink and clothes enough to wear? +Haven't you a good father and mother who wouldn't see you want for any +thing? What is it that you haven't enough of, pray?" + +"I do not know that I am wishing for any thing--to night. I am learning +to wait." + +"Yes, you are! You are wishing for something that isn't in this world, I +know." + +"Then I'll find it in heaven." + +"People don't sigh after heaven as a usual thing. You read too many +books, that's what's the matter with you. Reading too many books affects +different people in different ways; I've seen a good deal of girls' +reading." + +Tessa's pen was scribbling initials on a half sheet of paper. + +"I know the symptoms. Some girls when they read love-stories become +dissatisfied with their looks; they look into the glass and worry over +their freckles or their dark skins, or their big mouths or turn-up +noses; they fuss over their waists and try to squeeze them slim and +slender, and they cripple themselves squeezing their number four feet +into number two shoes. But you are not that kind. And some girls despise +their fathers and mothers because they can't speak grammar and pronounce +long words, and because they say 'care' for carry and 'empt' for empty! +And they despise their homes and their plain, substantial furniture. But +you are not that kind either. Your face is well enough, and your father +and mother are well enough, and your home is well enough." + +Tessa was scribbling Dunellen, then she wrote R. T. and Nan Gerard. + +"And you are not sighing for a lordly lover," continued Aunt Theresa, +with increasing energy "You don't want him to wear a cloak or carry a +sword. Your trouble is different! You read a higher grade of +love-stories, about men that are honorable and true, who would die +before they would tell a lie or say any thing that isn't so. They are as +gentle as zephyrs; they would walk over eggs and not crack them; they +are always thinking of something new and startling and deep that it +can't enter a woman's mind to conceive, and their faces have different +expressions enough in one minute to wear one ordinary set of muscles +out; and they never think of themselves, they would burn up and not know +it, because they were keeping a fly off of somebody else; they are so +high and mighty and simple and noble that an angel might take pattern by +them. And that is what troubles you. You read about such fine fellows +and shut the book and step out into life and break your heart because +the real, mannish man, who is usually as good as human nature and all +the grace he has got will help him be, isn't so perfect and noble as +this perfect man that somebody has made out of his head. You can't be +satisfied with a real human man who thinks about himself and does wrong +when it is too hard to do right, even if he comes on his bended knees +and says he's sorry and that he'll never do such a thing again. You want +to love somebody that you are proud of; you are too proud to love +somebody that is as weak as you are. And so you can't be satisfied at +all! Why _must_ you be satisfied?" + +"Why should I not be?" + +"For the best reason in the world; to be satisfied in any man, in his +love for you and in your love for him, would be--do you know what it +would be? It would be idolatry." + +Aunt Theresa's attention was given to her knitting; she did not see the +shining of Tessa's eyes. + +"Be satisfied with God, child, and take all the happiness you can get." + +Tessa's pen was making tremulous capitals. + +"Be satisfied _with_, if you can, but not _in_, some good man who +stumbles to-day and stands straight to-morrow; I fought it out on that +line once, and so I know all about it." + +This then was the experience that Dr. Towne had said that she must ask +for; had he guessed that it would be altogether on his side? + +This was it, and this was all. Uncle Knox's old eyes had a look for his +old wife that they never held for any other living thing, and as for +Aunt Theresa, how often had Tessa thought, "I want to grow old and love +somebody the way you do." + +_Might_ she be satisfied with God and love Ralph Towne all she wanted +to? + +"Why, Theresa," exclaimed Uncle Knox, opening his eyes and staring at +his wife, "I haven't heard you talk so much sentiment for thirty years." + +"And you will not in another thirty years. But Tessa was in a tangle--I +know eggs when I see the shells--and I had to help her out." + +A tap at the window brought Tessa to her feet. A neighbor had brought +the mail; she took the papers and letters with a most cordial "thank +you" and came to the table with both hands full. The papers she opened +and glanced through; the letters she took up-stairs to read. The +business-looking envelope she opened first; she read it once, twice, +then gave an exclamation of delight. Oh, how pleased her father would +be! Her manuscript had given such perfect satisfaction that, although +written for pictures, the pictures would be discarded and new ones made +to illustrate her story. Gus would congratulate her, and Miss Jewett; +this appreciation by the publisher was the crown that the winter's work +would always wear for her. With a long breath, she sighed, "Oh, what a +blessed winter this has been to me!" + +The long, white envelope was from Mrs. Towne, the chocolate from Sue, +the cream-colored from Dinah, the pale blue from Miss Jewett, the pink +from Nan Gerard, and the square white from Laura Harrison. Mr. Hammerton +had not once written; a kind message through her father or Dinah was all +evidence he had given of remembrance. Mrs. Towne's letter was opened +before the others. What would Dine or Miss Jewett or Laura think of +this? The faint perfume was the lady herself, so real was her presence +that Tessa felt her arms about her as she read. + +"Sue does not come to me as often as in the winter," she wrote; "the +Gesners, one and all, are proving themselves more alluring. Miss Gesner +will be a good friend to her. If you could hear her laugh and talk, you +would think of her as Sue Greyson and never as the widowed Mrs. Lake. +She is Dr. Lake's widow, certainly she is not his wife. Ralph growls +about it in his kind way, but I think that he did not expect any thing +deeper from her. Nan Gerard was with me all day yesterday; she was as +sweet and shy as a wild flower. Nan's heart is awake. Am I a silly old +woman? I dream of you every night. I would be a washer-woman and live in +Gesner's Row, if I might have you for my daughter, never to leave me. +Now I _am_ a silly old woman and I will go to bed." + +The perfumed sheet was passed to the reader's lips before the next +envelope was torn open. + +Dinah's letter was a sheet of foolscap; it was written as a diary. + +The first entry was merely an account of attending a concert with John; +the second stated in a few strong words the failure of a bank. Old Mr. +Hammerton had lost a large amount of money and had had a stroke of +paralysis. + +The third contained the history of a call from Sue; how tall and elegant +she looked in her rich mourning, and how she had talked about her +courtship and marriage all the time. + +The fourth day their father had had an attack of pain, but it had not +lasted as long as usual. + +The last page was filled in Dine's eager, story-telling style: + +"Just to think, Tessa, now I know the end of my romance. It was dark +last night just before tea, and I went into the front hall for something +that I wanted to get out of the hat-stand drawer. The sitting-room door +stood slightly ajar; I did not know that Gus was with father until I +heard his voice. I did not listen, truly I did not; after I heard the +first sentence I didn't dare stir for fear of making my presence known. +I moved off as easily and swiftly as I could, but I heard every word as +plainly as if I had been in the room. It is queer that I should overhear +the beginning and the ending of poor Gus's only romance, isn't it? I +heard him say, 'Every thing is changed in my plans; father is left with +nothing but his good name, my mother is aged and feeble, my sister is a +widow with a child; _her_ money is gone, too. I am the sole support of +four people. I could not marry, even if I desired to do so. And since I +have definitely learned that she does not think of me, and never has +thought of me, and that she thinks of some one else, the bachelor's life +will be no great hardship.' + +"I had got to the parlor door by that time, so, of course, I never can +know father's answer. But isn't it dreadful? I suppose that he is over +the disappointment, for his voice sounded as cool as usual; too cold, I +thought. I should have liked him better if he had been in a flutter. I +shall never tell any body but John. Poor old, wise old, dear old Gus! He +will pursue the even tenor of his unmarried way, and no one will ever +guess that he has had a romance. Perhaps Felix Harrison has had one, +too. Perhaps every body has." + +So it _was_ Dinah, after all. And she had fought her long, hard fights +all for nothing. + +It _was_ Dine, and now her father would understand; he would not think +her blind and stupid; he would not be disappointed that she had not +chosen his choice! + +And that it was herself that Gus Hammerton had loved, the wife of John +Woodstock always believed. And that it was herself, Tessa never knew; +for not knowing that he had stood at the window that night that Dr. +Towne had brought her home, and witnessed their parting at the gate, how +could she divine that "definitely learned that she does not think of +me," had referred to her? + +Mr. Wadsworth had listened in utter bewilderment, recalling Tessa's +repeated declaration that it was Dinah. "I _am_ in my dotage," he +thought; "for I certainly understood that he said Tessa." + +"My wish was with your wish," he said. + +"She will be better satisfied," Mr. Hammerton answered in his most +abrupt tone. "He is a fine man; I can understand his attraction for +her." + +Mrs. Wadsworth entered at that instant and the conversation was too +fraught with pain to both ever to be resumed; therefore it fell out that +Mr. Hammerton was the only one in the world who ever knew, beyond a +perhaps, which of the sisters he had asked of the father. + +That Tessa had not been influenced by his importunate and mistaken +urging, was one of the things that her father was thankful for to the +end of his days. + +"Poor Gus! The dear, brave boy," sighed Tessa over her letter. "And my +worry has only been to reveal to me that I can not reason myself into +loving or not loving." + +A paragraph in Nan Gerard's letter was dwelt long upon; then the +daintily written pink sheet dropped from her fingers and she sat bending +forward looking into the glowing brands until the lights were out +down-stairs and Hilda's heavy step had passed her door. + +"Oh, Naughty Nan!" she said rousing herself, "I hope that you love him +very, very much. Better than I know how to do!" + +The paragraph ran in this fashion: + +"I have had a very pretty present; I really believe that I like it +better than any thing that Robert ever gave me. It is a ring with an +onyx: on the stone is engraved two letters in monogram. You shall guess +them, my counsellor, and it will not be hard when I whisper that one of +them is T. I am very happy and very good. 'Nan's Experiment' is burnt up +and with it all my foolishness. 'Such as I wish it to be.' I think of +that whenever I look at my ring. Tell me all about your lovely Miss +Sarepta. I like to know how I shall have to behave before her. We are to +be married next month." + +Did Nan know the hurt and the hurt and the hurt of love? No wonder that +she was "shy" with Mrs. Towne. Why had not Mrs. Towne told her? Must she +write and congratulate Naughty Nan whose story was such as she wished it +to be? + +The letters that she had written that evening were on the bureau; the +sudden remembering of the line that she had written in Mrs. Towne's +brought her to her feet with a rush of shame like the old hot flashes +from head to foot; she seized the letter and rolling it up tucked it +down among the coals; it blazed, burning slowly, the flame curled around +the words that she had been saved just in time from sending; the words +that would never be written or spoken. + +The room was chilly and the candle had burnt out before she went to bed; +the lights opposite had long been out. The room was cold and dark and +strange; outside in the darkness the night was wild. + +It was too late; her conflict had lasted too long; her pride and disdain +had killed his love for her; perhaps he felt as she did in that time +when she had wanted some one to love her, and he had taken Naughty Nan +as she had taken Felix. + +She had lived it all through once; she could live it all through again; +she could have slept, but would not for fear of the waking. Oh, if it +would never come light, and she could lie forever shielded in darkness! +But the light crept up higher and higher into the sky, Hilda passed the +door, and Uncle Knox's heavy tread was in the hall below. + +Another day had come, and other days would always be coming; every day +life must be full of work and play, even although Dr. Towne had failed +in love that was patience; she had suffered once, because he was slow to +understand himself, and plainly he had suffered to the verge of his +endurance, because she was slow in understanding herself! + +The day wore on to twilight; she had worked listlessly; in the twilight +she laid her work aside, and went over to the cottage. + +"I have something to show you," said Miss Sarepta; "guess what my last +good gift from Philip is." + +"I did not know that he had any thing left to give you." + +"It is the last and best. A flower of spring!" From a thick envelope in +her work-basket, she drew out a photograph, and, with its face upward, +laid it in Tessa's hand. + +A piquant face: daring in the eyes, sweetness on the lips. + +"Nan Gerard!" cried Tessa, catching her breath with a sound like a sob. + +"Naughty Nan! And they are to be married here in this room, that I may +be bridesmaid." + +"Oh, how stupid I was!" + +"Why, had you an inkling of it?" + +"Several of them, if I had had eyes to see!" + +"It came last night, and I lay awake all night, thinking of the woman +that Philip will love henceforth better than he loves me." + +"Oh, how can you bear it?" Tessa knelt on the carpet at her side, with +her head on the arm of the chair. + +"I could not, at first. I could not now, if I did not love Philip better +than I love myself." + +So her sorrow had become Miss Sarepta's! She drew a long breath, and did +not speak. + +"Don't feel so sorry for me, dear. I have known that in the nature of +things,--which is but another name for God's will,--this must come. Even +after all the years, it has come suddenly. Will she love my brother?" + +"I am sure she will; more and more as the years go on!" + +"Every heart must choose for itself," said Miss Sarepta dreamily, "and +the choice of the Lord runs through all our choices." + +Tessa's lips gave a glad assent. + +A letter from Dinah that evening ended thus. "Father is not at all well; +I think that he grows weaker every day. To-day he said, 'Isn't it +_almost_ time for Tessa to come?'" + +At noon the next day she was in Dunellen. + + + + +XXVI.--ANOTHER MAY. + + +May came with blossoms, lilacs, and a birthday, she smiled all to +herself over last year's reverie; the anniversary of the day in which +she had walked homewards with Mr. Hammerton and accepted Felix in the +evening followed the birthday; a sad anniversary for Felix, she +remembered, for he had her habit of retrospection. + +The days slipped through his mind, Laura had told her; he would often +ask the day of the week or month. He had become quiet and melancholy, +seemingly absorbed in the interest of the moment. He had greeted Tessa +as he would have greeted any friend, at their last interview, and she +had left him believing that his future would not be without happiness. A +year ago to-day, Mr. Hammerton had said that a year made a difference, +sometimes. And this year! How the events had hurried into each other, +jostling against each other like good-humored people in a crowd! A year +ago to-day she had thought of Nan Gerard as the wife of Ralph Towne; +to-day she was sailing on the sea, Professor Towne's wife; just as +naughty as ever, but rather more dignified. A year ago to-night she had +held herself the promised wife of her old tormentor, Felix Harrison; +since that night all his future had become a blank, the strong man had +become as a little child; since that day Dine had found her wonderful +John; since that day Dr. Lake had had his heart's desire, and had been +called away from Sue, leaving her a widow; the hurrying year had taken +from Gus a long hope and had given him a future of hard work with meagre +wages. And Dr. Towne! But she could not trust herself to think of him. +They met as usual, not less often; he had grown graver since last year, +and had thrown himself heart and soul into his work: never +demonstrative, his manner towards her, had, if possible, become less and +less intrusive; but ever responsive, having nothing to respond to, now, +but a gentle deference, a shyness that increased; a stranger would have +said, meeting him with Tessa Wadsworth, that he was intensely interested +in her, but exceedingly in doubt of finding favor. + +But Tessa could not see this; she felt only the restraint and +chilliness. + +Once they were left suddenly alone together; he excused himself and +abruptly left her; clearly, he had no reply to make to her letter; his +love was worn out with her freaks and whims. + +"I deserve it," she said, taking stern pleasure in meting out justice to +herself. + +One afternoon in late May, she found herself on the gnarled seat that +the roots had braided for her; she had been gazing down into the brook +and watching a robin-redbreast taking his bath in it, canary-fashion; +she watched him until he had flown away and perched upon a post of the +Old Place meadow fence, then her eyes came back to the water, the +stones, and the weeds. + +"I always know where to find you!" The exclamation could be in no other +loud voice; she recognized Sue before she lifted her eyes to the tall, +black-draped figure. If Sue had had a sorrow, there was no trace of it +in voice or countenance. + +"Isn't it dusty? How I shall look trailing around in all this black +stuff! What do you always come here for? Do you come to meet somebody?" + +"It seems that I have come to meet you." + +"Don't you remember how you talked to me here that day? I did keep my +promise; I _was_ good to Gerald. Poor, dear Gerald! I have nothing to +reproach myself with." + +"Did mother send you here?" + +"She said that I would find you between the end of the planks and +Mayfield. Come through the grounds of Old Place with me. I want you to +see Mrs. Towne's flowers and a new arbor that Dr. Towne has been putting +up." + +"No, thank you," said Tessa rising and tossing away a handful of +withering wild flowers. + +"You don't know how lovely the place is. Dr. Towne is always thinking of +some new thing to do; I asked him if it were for that grand wife that he +has been waiting so long for, and, do you believe, he said 'Yes,' as +sincerely as could be. He looked up at his mother and smiled when he +said it, too. I believe they know something. Nan Gerard didn't get him +any way! Won't she have a lovely time travelling! I always did want to +go to Europe; Gerald never would have taken me. I can't believe that +he's dead, can you?" + +As Tessa was busy with her veil and did not speak, Sue rattled on. + +"Did you know that I've been making another visit at Miss Gesner's? They +call their place Blossom Hill, and it has been so sweet with blossoms." + +"Is she as lovely as ever?" + +"I don't know," said Sue, doubtfully; "sometimes I think that she is +stiff and proud; the truth is she doesn't like to have her old brother +pay attention to me. She thinks that he is too old a boy for such +nonsense; but _he_ doesn't think so! Good for me that he doesn't. What +are you walking so fast for? I went to drive with him every day after +business hours; we _did_ look stylish!" + +"With Miss Gesner, too?" queried Tessa, in a voice that she could not +steady. + +"No, indeed," laughed Sue, "and that's the beauty of it. What did we +want her along for? Of course we talked about Gerald; we talked a great +deal about him. I told him how kind he had been to me and how I adored +him and how I mourned for him. I am sure that I cried myself sick; Dr. +Towne gave me something one night to keep me from having hysterics! I +should have died of grief if Mrs. Towne hadn't taken me to Old Place; +she was like a mother, and _he_ was as kind as kind could be! It was +like the other time before I was engaged to Gerald; I couldn't believe +that it wasn't that time. The Gesners were kind, too; I thought at first +that Miss Gesner really loved me; but she began to be stiff after she +saw her brother kiss me. I couldn't help it; I told him that it was too +soon for such goings on." + +"O, _Sue!_" cried Tessa, wearily. "And he loved you so." + +"Gerald! Of course he did! But that's all past and gone! He can't expect +me never to have any good times, can he? He didn't leave me any money to +have a good time with! I'm too young to shut myself up and think of his +grave all the time. You and father are the most unreasonable people I +ever saw! Why, he thinks because he thinks of mother every day, and +wouldn't be married for any thing, that I must be that kind of a +mourner, too! It's very hard; nobody ever had so much trouble as I do. I +never used to like John Gesner, but you don't know how interesting he +can be. He took off my wedding ring one day and said it didn't fit. It +always was a little too large. Gerald said that I would grow into it," +she said, slipping it up and down on her finger and letting it drop on +the grass. + +"There!" with a little laugh as she stooped to look for it, "suppose I +could never find it. Is that what you call an omen, Tessa? Help me +look!" + +"No, let it be. Let it be buried, too." + +"There! I have found it. You needn't be so cross to me. I wonder why you +are cross to me. Gerald Raid once that you would be a good friend to me +forever." + +"I will, Susie," said Tessa, fervently. + +"You always liked Gerald. What did you like him for?" asked Sue, +curiously. + +As the answer was not forthcoming, Sue started off on a new branch of +the old topic. "Mr. John Gesner is going to Europe this fall, or in the +winter; he is going on business, but he says that if he had a wife to go +around with him that he would stay a year or two. Wouldn't that be +grand? Nan Gerard will have to be home when the Seminary opens, anyway. +It would be grand to travel for two years." + +"Why does not Miss Gesner go with him?" + +"Oh, she wouldn't leave Lewis. Lewis and Blossom Hill are her two idols. +Mr. John says that if he were married, he would build a new house right +opposite, and he asked me as we passed the grand houses which style I +liked best. There was one with porticoes and columns, I chose that. He +said that it could be built while he was away, and be all ready for him +to bring his bride home to. But you are not listening; you never think +of what I am saying," Sue said, in a grumbling, tearful voice. "My +friends are forever misunderstanding me. Gerald never misunderstood me. +What do you think Dr. Towne said to me? He said that when I am old, I +shall love Gerald better than any one; that what comes between will fall +out and leave that time. Won't it be queer? He said that women ought to +think love the best thing in the world. I cried while he was talking. I +can love any body that is kind to me. When I told John Gesner that, he +said, 'I will always be kind to you.' But you are not listening; I +verily believe that you care more for that squirrel than you do for me!" + +"See it run," cried Tessa. "Isn't it a perfect little creature? If you +will come and stay a week with me, we will take a walk every day." + +"I can't--now," Sue stumbled over her words. "Say, Tessa, Mr. Gesner has +given me a set of pearls. I can wear pearls in mourning, can't I?" + +"With your mourning, you can wear any thing." + +"Can I? I didn't know it. It's awful lonesome at home; lonesomer than it +ever was." + +"I would come and stay a week with you, but I do not like to leave +father; he is not so strong as he was last summer." + +"You wouldn't let Mr. Gesner come and spend the evening; I haven't asked +him, but I'm going to ask him the next time I see him." + +Dr. Greyson called for Sue late in the evening. "I have the comfort of +my old age hard and fast," he said; "she will never want to run away +from me again, will you, Susie?" + +"I don't know," said Sue, with a hard, uncomfortable laugh; "you must +keep a sharp lookout. I may be in Africa by this time next year." + + + + +XXVII.--SUNSET. + + +"Father is very feeble," said Mrs. Wadsworth one day in June. "I shall +persuade him to take a vacation. Lewis Gesner told him yesterday that he +must take a rest; do you notice how he spends all his evenings on the +sofa? I think that if Gus would come and play chess as he used to that +it would rouse him." + +The week of Mr. Wadsworth's vacation ran into two weeks and into a +month; Dr. Greyson fell into a friendly habit of calling daily; Mr. +Lewis Gesner and Mr. Hammerton came for a chat with him on the piazza as +often as every other day, sometimes one of them would pass the evening +beside his lounge in the sitting-room. Mr. Hammerton amused him by talk +of people and books with a half hour of politics thrown in; and Mr. +Gesner with his genial voice and genial manner helped them all to +believe that life had its warm corners, and that an evening all +together, with the feeble old man on the lounge an interested listener, +was certainly one of the cosiest. + +"Father, why have you kept Mr. Gesner to yourself all these years?" +Tessa asked after one of these evenings. + +"I would have brought him home before, if I had known that you would +have found him so charming." + +"He is my ideal of the shadow of a rock in a weary land," she answered; +"I do not wonder that his sister's heart is bound up in him. How can +brothers who live together be so different?" + +"John is well enough," said her father, "there's nothing wrong about +him." + +"He makes me _creep_," said Tessa, vehemently, thinking of a pair of +bracelets that Sue had brought to show her that day. + +Mr. Wadsworth lay silent for awhile, then opening his eyes gazed long at +the figures and faces that were all his world; Mrs. Wadsworth's chair +was at the foot of the lounge, the light from the lamp on the table fell +on her busy hands, leaving her face in shadow; Dinah was reading at the +table, with one hand pushed in among her curls; Tessa had dipped her pen +into the ink and was carelessly holding it between thumb and finger +before writing the last page of her three sheets to Miss Sarepta. + +"Oh my three girls!" he murmured so low that no one heard. + +Mrs. Wadsworth, in these days, was forgetting to be sharp, and hovered +over him and lingered around him as lovingly as ever Tessa did. + +"Doctor," said Tessa, standing on the piazza with Dr. Greyson late one +evening, "do you think that he may die suddenly?" + +"Yes." + +"Any time, when the pain comes?" + +"Any hour when the pain comes." + +"Does mother know?" + +"I think that she half suspects; she has asked me, and I have evaded the +question." + +"Does he know it?" + +"He has known it since March." + +Since he had wanted her to come home! + +"Perhaps he has told mother." + +"She would only excite him and hasten the end." + +"She can be quiet enough when she chooses. I am glad--oh, I am so glad--" + +"Is the doctor gone?" cried Dinah rushing out, "father wants him. He has +the pain dreadfully." + +The paroxysm was severe, but it passed away; Dr. Greyson decided to +remain through the night; he fell asleep in the sitting-room and was +awakened by Tessa's hand an hour before dawn. + +"Thank you, dear," said Mr. Wadsworth to his wife as she laid an extra +quilt across his feet. + +They were his last words. Tessa always liked to think of them. + +July, August, and September dragged themselves through sunny days and +rainy days into October. Tessa had learned that she could live without +her father. There was little outward change in their home, the three +were busy about their usual work and usual recreations; friends came and +went; Tessa wrote and walked; gave two afternoons each week to Mrs. +Towne, sometimes in Dunellen and sometimes at Old Place; ran in, as of +old, for a helpful talk with Miss Jewett, not forgetting that she must +be, what Dr. Lake had said,--a good friend to his wife. These were the +busy hours; in the still hours,--but who can know for another the still +hours? + +Mr. Hammerton and Mr. Lewis Gesner proved themselves to be invaluable +friends; Tessa's warm regard for Mr. Gesner, even with the shock that +came to her afterward, never became less; he ever remained her ideal of +the rock in the weary land. + +Two weeks after her father's funeral, she had stood alone one evening +towards dusk among her flowers: she had been gathering pansies and +thinking that her father had always liked them and talked about them. + +There was a sound of wheels on the grass and a carriage stood at the +opening in the shrubbery; the face into which she looked this time was +not worn, or thin, or excited; a dark face, with grave, sympathetic +eyes, was bending towards her. + +"I wish that I could help you," he said. + +"I know you do. No one can help me. I do not need help. I _am_ helped." + +"The air is sweet to-night." + +"And so still! Do you like my pansies?" + +"Yes." + +"Will you take them to your mother, and tell her that I will come +to-morrow." + +"I will tell her; but I will keep the pansies for myself, if you will +give them to me." + +She laid them in his hand with fingers that trembled. + +"Do they say something to me?" + +"They say a great deal to me!" + +"What do they say?" + +"I can not find a meaning for you. They must be their own interpreter." + +"But I may think that you gave them to me to keep as long as I live." + +"Yes; to keep as long as you live." + +"When you have something to say to me--something that you know I am +waiting to hear--will you say it, freely, of your own accord." + +"Yes, freely, of my own accord." + +"I regret to trouble you; but if you ever waited, you know that it is +the hardest of hard work." + +"I know," said Tessa, her voice breaking; "but you may not like what I +say." + +"Perhaps you will say what I like then." + +"I will if I _can_." + +What had she to say, freely, of her own accord? I think that it was the +knowledge of what she would say by and by when she was fully sure that +helped her to bear the loneliness of this summer and autumn. + +And thus passed the summer that she had planned for rest. November found +her making plans for winter. Her last winter's work had been sent to +her, one volume with its new illustrations, and the other, with but one +new picture; her father had looked forward to them; she sent copies to +Elsie, Mabel, and Sue, also to Felix Harrison and Mr. Hammerton; Miss +Jewett and Mrs. Towne made pretty and loving speeches over theirs; Tessa +wondered, why, when she had written them with all her heart, they should +seem so little to her now. + +"Where is your novel, Lady Blue," Mr. Hammerton, asked one evening. + +"I think that I shall live it first," she answered, seriously. "I +couldn't love my ideal well enough to put him into a book, and the +_real_ hero would only be lovable and commonplace, and no one would care +to read about him--no one would care for him but me." + +"It must be something of an experience to learn that one's ideal can not +be loved, and rather humiliating to find one's self in love with some +one below one's standard." + +"That's what life is for,--to have an experience, isn't it?" + +"It seems to be some people's experience," he said, looking as wise as +an owl, and as unsympathetic. + +November found Sue making plans, also. Her plans came out in this wise: +she called one morning to talk to Tessa; Tessa was sewing in her own +chamber, and Sue ran up lightly, as lightly as in the days before Gerald +Lake had come to Dunellen. + +"Busy!" she said blithely, her flowing crape veil fluttering at the +door. + +"Not too busy. Come in." + +Sue talked for an hour with her gloves on, then, carelessly, as she +described some pretty thing that the Professor's wife had brought from +over the sea, she drew the glove from her left hand, watching Tessa's +face. The quick color--the quick, indignant color--repaid the manoeuvre; +the wedding ring--the new wedding ring--was gone, and in its stead blazed +a cluster of diamonds. + +"You might as well say something," began Sue, moving her hand in the +sunlight. + +"I have nothing to say. I wonder how you dare come to me." + +"Why shouldn't I dare? I know it seems soon; but circumstances make a +difference, and Mr. Gesner has to go to Europe next month. He took the +other ring; I couldn't help it--I wouldn't have kept it safe with a lock +of his hair in a little box--but he said that I shouldn't have this +unless I gave him that." + +Tessa's head went down over her work; she had not wept aloud before +since she was a little girl, but now the sobs burst through her lips +uncontrolled. That ring that Dr. Lake had carried that day in the rain +not fourteen months ago! + +Sue sprang to her feet, then dropped back into her chair and wept in +sympathy, partly with a vague feeling of having done some dreadful +thing, partly with the fear that life in a foreign land might not be +wholly alluring; Mr. Gesner was kind, but poor Gerald had loved her so! + +"O, Tessa! Tessa! don't," she cried. "Stop crying and speak to me." + +"Go away from me. Go home. I will not speak to you." + +For a moment Sue waited, then she arose and moved towards the door, +standing another moment, but as Tessa did not turn or speak, she went +down-stairs, not lightly, hushed by the revelation of a grief that she +could not understand. + +[Illustration: "Good-by, Mystic; you and I will have our talk another +day," said Sue.] + + + + +XXVIII.--HEARTS ALIKE. + + +Early in December, in a snow-storm, Sue Lake was married to John Gesner. + +"Some things are incomprehensible," declared Mrs. Wadsworth, +plaintively, looking at the snow, "to think that she should marry an old +beau of mine. So soon, too. How a widow can ever think--" + +Tessa refused to see her married until the last moment. "You must be a +good friend to me through thick and thin," Sue coaxed, and Tessa went +the evening before; but the evening was long and silent, for Tessa could +not talk or admire Sue's outfit. The pretty brown and crimson chairs +were again wheeled before the back parlor grate; but when Sue went out +to attend for the last time to her father's lunch, there was no +hilarious entrance, and Tessa's tears dropped because they would not be +restrained. + +Sue's talk and laughter sounded through the hall; but Tessa could hear +only "Good-by, Mystic; you and I will have our talk another day." + +"Kiss me and say you are glad," prayed Sue, when they went up to Sue's +chamber to exchange white silk and orange blossoms for travelling +attire. "It's horrid for you to look like a funeral. Mrs. Towne looks +glum, and Miss Gesner had to cry!" + +The snow-flakes were falling and melting, as they were falling and +melting the day that Sue sang for Dr. Lake; there was a fire in the +air-tight to-day, and by some chance the low rocker had been pushed +close to the side of the white-draped bed. Sue seated herself in it to +draw on her gloves and for a last hurried, hysteric flow of words. + +"I'll write to you from Liverpool, Tessa. I hope that we sha'n't have +any storms; I might think that it was a judgment. I don't want to be +drowned; I want to see London and Paris and Rome. Isn't it queer for me +to be married twice before you are married once!" + +"You may be married three times before I am married once," said Tessa, +opening a bureau drawer to lay away an old glove box. + +"Oh, no, I sha'n't! I'll stay a rich widow, but it was distressed to +stay a poor one. Did I tell you that Stacey is married? I was so +delighted. He's got a good wife, too; real sober and settled down. So I +didn't do so much harm after all your fuming and fussing. I like to make +people comfortable when I can. And now we're happy all around just like +a book. I wonder what will become of you before I get back. I expect +that Dine will be married. John is as tickled as he can be! It's lovely +to be an old man's darling; I am to have my own way about every thing. +I'm glad that he wasn't a widower; I hate widowers!" + +A tap at the door summoned Sue. "Good-by, dear old room!" she cried +gayly. "You've seen the last of me. I hope that you will get every thing +you are waiting for, Tessa." + +As once before on Sue's wedding day, Tessa was taken home in Dr. Towne's +carriage. + +"I wonder if he knows," she said. + +"If he do it can not trouble him. He understood her." + +"I am beginning to understand what the hurt of love is." + +"What is it?" + +"Don't you know?" + +"I think that you are teaching me." + +"It is a lesson that we have learned together. I used to wonder why God +ever let us hurt each other; perhaps that is the reason, that we may +learn together what love is!" + +"Do not the students ever come to the end of the chapter and learn the +next lesson?" + +"I do not know what the next chapter is." + +"Perhaps if we study hard we may learn that together." + +"Great patience is needed to learn a lesson with me." + +"I have a great deal of patience." + +"I'm afraid that I haven't." + +"Having confessed our sins, suppose that we forget them." + +"I can't forget mine." + +"Can you forget mine?" + +She tried to speak, but the words stumbled on her lips. + +"Look up and answer me." + +She could not look up; she could not answer. + +"Tessa, say something." + +"Something," she said childishly between laughter and tears. + +After a moment, during which her glove had been unbuttoned and +rebuttoned and he had leaned back, holding the reins loosely, she spoke: + +"You _have_ been patient with me. I will not have any more whims or +fancies--I know now beyond any need of reasoning--" + +"What do you know?" + +"Something very happy." + +"And now shall we be as happy as Sue and her rich old lover?" + +"Do you see this ring?" touching the emerald. "It means that I must tell +your mother that I am satisfied, fully and entirely and thoroughly, +before I say 'Yes.'" + +"_Can_ you tell her that?" + +"Ask her and she will tell you." + +"Tessa, it has been a weary time." + +"I think that there must always be a weary time before two people +understand each other; I am so glad to have ours come before--" + +The sun set behind clouds on Sue's second wedding day. Tessa tried to +write, she tried to read, she tried to sew, she tried to talk to her +mother and Dine; but failed in every thing but sitting idle at one of +the parlor windows and looking out at the snow. There was a long evening +in the shabby parlor; quiet talk, laughing talk, and merry talk mingled +with half sentences, as many things both old and new were talked about. + +There were several happenings after this; one of them, of course, was +Dinah's marriage to her wonderful John; Tessa's wedding gift to her was +a deed of the house in which they had both been born. Another happening, +perhaps, as much in the nature of things as Dinah's marriage, although +the girls could not bring themselves to think so, was their mother's +marriage to Mr. Lewis Gesner. Tessa remembered her promise to her +father; she spoke no word against it, and by repeated chidings kept +Dinah's words and behavior within the limits of deference. + +Pretty little Mrs. Wadsworth was a radiant bride, and the bridegroom was +all that could be desired; Mrs. Wadsworth prudently concealed her +elation at having married a man richer than Tessa's husband and with a +residence far handsomer. Mr. Lewis Gesner became the kindest of husbands +and Miss Gesner was a model sister-in-law. + +On her own wedding day, one of Tessa's grateful thoughts was that her +father would rejoice to know that his "three girls" were in happy homes. +Miss Jewett's congratulation was a dower in itself: "Your fate was worth +waiting for, Tessa." + +"Another poor man undone through you, Lady Blue," said Mr. Hammerton. "I +might have known that you were growing up to do it." + +"Is Tessa married?" Felix asked in his slow way. "I hope that he will +take good care of her." + +Another happening was the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. John Gesner and son. +The baby had been born in Germany and could call his own name before he +came home to Blossom Hill. + +The name was a surprise to Tessa: "Theodore, because it has such a +pretty meaning," Sue told her. "His father wanted John or Lewis, but I +insisted; I said that I would throw the baby away if I couldn't name +him!" + +She petted him and was proud of his rosy face and bright eyes, but +confided to Tessa that he was a great deal of trouble, and that she +hated that everlasting "mamma, mamma." + +"I don't understand _you_, Tessa, you treat your little girl as if she +were a princess." + +That afternoon Tessa and the baby were alone on one of the balconies at +Old Place; baby in her betucked and beruffled white frock and white +shoes was taking her first steps alone, and baby's mother was kneeling +before her with both arms out-stretched to receive her after the +triumph. + +Baby's father stood in a window watching them; but for the eyes that, +just now, were like the woods in October his face would have been +pronounced grave; the white threads in his hair were beginning to be +noticeable, and before baby would be old enough to drive all around the +country with him, his hair would be quite white. + +"An earnest man with a purpose in his life," Dunellen said. + +"Must you go out again so soon?" + +Baby was crowing over her success, and the mother's arms were holding +her close. + +"There's a poor woman with a little baby that I must see to-night." + +"A girl-baby?" + +"Yes," smiling down at her, "a girl-baby." + +"Poor little girl-baby! _Poor_ little girl-baby!" she said, pressing her +lips to baby's hair. + +"What were you thinking when the baby ran into your arms just now?" + +"I was thinking," holding the beruffled little figure closer, "that it +isn't such a hard world, after all, for little girls to grow up in." + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline, by +Jennie M. 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