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diff --git a/40325-8.txt b/40325-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b5fec91..0000000 --- a/40325-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4989 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's True to a Type, Vol. II (of 2), by Robert Cleland - -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: True to a Type, Vol. II (of 2) - -Author: Robert Cleland - -Release Date: July 24, 2012 [EBook #40325] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRUE TO A TYPE, VOL. II (OF 2) *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Oxford University) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://books.google.com/books?id=pPYUAAAAQAAJ - (Oxford University) - - - - - - - TRUE TO A TYPE - - - - - - - TRUE TO A TYPE - - - - - BY - - R. CLELAND - - - - - IN TWO VOLUMES - - VOL. II. - - - - - WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS - - EDINBURGH AND LONDON - - MDCCCLXXXVII - - - _All Rights reserved_ - - - - - - - CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. - - CHAP. - - XX. PAUL AND VIRGINIA. - - XXI. IS SHE HERE? - - XXII. "WELL, PETER?" - - XXIII. "POOR SUSAN!" - - XXIV. "THEY MET, 'TWAS IN A CROWD." - - XXV. ROSE AND THE RING. - - XXVI. THE MOTHERS. - - XXVII. AN OBDURATE DAUGHTER. - - XXVIII. THEY HAVE IT OUT. - - XXIX. "IT IS ALL A MESS!" - - XXX. A CLOSE OBSERVER. - - XXXI. THE LADY PRINCIPAL. - - XXXII. "YOU MAY TRUST ME TO HOLD MY TONGUE!" - - XXXIII. SUSAN IS EQUAL TO THE EMERGENCY. - - XXXIV. MISS ROLPH IS SEVERE. - - XXXV. MILLICENT. - - - - - - TRUE TO A TYPE. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - PAUL AND VIRGINIA. - - -The storm exhausted itself at length. The thunder passed on westward, -the rain abated and ceased, the clouds parted and rolled away, leaving -the sky clear but paler for its agony of tears. It was now evening, -and the air felt fresh even to chilliness, for the temperature had -fallen a matter of fifteen degrees--from 90° to 70° or 75°. The party -stood round the fire with something not greatly removed from a shiver, -and warmed their hands. It was not actually cold, but the transition -had been sudden and violent, which came to the same thing. - -"And now to get back?" said Wilkie, looking at his watch. "The gong at -the beach is just going to sound for supper. I confess I feel peckish. -Should we not be thinking of a move, Blount?" - -Blount coughed. "There are rather many of us for my small boat, in the -present state of the weather. There is probably more wind, and -certainly more swell, than you would suppose from looking at the -landlocked channel down there. I fear we must postpone thoughts of -supper for the present." - -"If we delay, no one can say when we may get in. I don't see why we -should not make the attempt at once. We shall at least have daylight -to lessen our difficulties if we attempt it now. What do you say?" - -"I fear it is impossible. What do _you_ say, Jake?" - -Jake caught a look from his "boss," and understood. "No, sir-ree! you -won't reach Lippenstock to-night in that aar boat with a crew of six. -It 'ud be more'n a man's life is worth, with the sea as is on in the -bay now." - -"Suppose we go four, then. I could take charge of the young ladies." - -"We won't break up the party, neither Margaret nor I," said Rose. "You -might try the voyage with Jake, however, by yourself. You could tell -them at the beach to expect us for breakfast." - -Wilkie looked doubtfully to Jake; but Jake's eyes were averted. He had -pulled out his plug of tobacco, and was intent upon judiciously -whittling off the exact quantity for a chew. He had no idea of making -the voyage twice for the accommodation of one man, that man not being -the "boss," and one, besides, who did not seem over-likely to remember -to tip. Jake's look afforded little encouragement to make a proposal, -and that reminded Wilkie in time that the figure he himself would make -would not be heroic if he arrived alone at the beach and said that the -others were coming. He elevated his eyebrows into the British -equivalent of a Frenchman's plaintive shrug, and sighed, and resigned -himself to his fate. If he had even had some one to "spoon" with, it -would not have been so bad; but after his experience in that hut -during the hours of the thunderstorm, he realised that he was in the -position of one who at the last moment goes to a place of amusement, -and finds every desirable place ticketed "engaged." - -"Worse than Robinson Crusoe," he grumbled to himself, "for I've no man -Friday." - -"Then you would make the rest of us stand for the savages," laughed -Blount; "which is scarcely flattering. But keep up your heart, old -man; it might be worse. It is warm in here, at any rate--thanks to our -absent hosts the fishermen. We must not forget to leave something -behind in payment for the use of their wood-heap." - -"Why didn't they leave provisions when they were about it? Even a -ship-biscuit would be agreeable now." - -"And sugar and tea," laughed Margaret. "They might have left some -tea--and cups and saucers." - -Wilkie objected to being chaffed. He looked severe. "I feel almost -faint, I can tell you, Miss Naylor. Brain-workers, I suppose, are more -susceptible to physical privation than the generality," and his eye -rested on the other two gentlemen, as though they were instances in -point. "The brain is a delicate organ, and easily thrown out of gear. -It needs frequent nourishment at short intervals, to keep it in good -working order." - -"You will have to give your brain a rest to-night, then, Mr Wilkie, -and husband your fibre, as there is nothing here to renew it with--no -larder, even, except the sea down there. I am glad that, being a -woman, I have no brain to speak of. The exhaustion of its fibre won't -be noticed." - -"You've hit it, Margaret!" cried Blount--"without even caring--as you -so often do. Smart girl, and don't know it. The sea is our larder, -full of fish, and Jake has lines in the boat's locker. Let's go -fishing." - -"The boat will be wet after the rain," said Rose, "and I have had one -wetting already. I shall not go fishing, thanks; but I do not mind -looking among the rocks for limpets and mussels, and things. They tell -me they are good to eat, when people are very hungry." - -"Not a bad thing to do. Whoever likes, can fish from the boat; I shall -_shell_-fish on shore," chimed in Margaret. - -"To shell-fish is not wisely selfish," retorted Wilkie, with the air -of a wag. "How much more comfortable to sit in the boat hauling up -your fish, than go pottering and stumbling over slippery rocks with a -lapful of rubbish you won't be able to cook after you have got it! -while we could broil some fish nicely on the hot coals. Believe me, -it's better to be wisely selfish than to bother about worthless -shell-fish." - -"I don't think I am selfish; but you may end in becoming a punster if -you are not warned in time; and to show you are not selfish, you had -better go out with Jake, and we will all assist you to cook and eat -whatever you may be lucky enough to catch." - -Wilkie looked to the other two men, but both were reaching down hats -for the girls from lofty pegs where they had been hung. No one heeded -him, and he deemed it best to follow Jake, who had already gone down -to the boat and was preparing to launch it. If he was condemned to be -a supernumerary, it was better to be a useful and independent one -afloat, than merely in the way on shore; and he had his reward in a -calm and tranquil evening on the water, his self-love unfretted by the -view of less learned men preferred to himself, his hand bobbing -peacefully with his line, and his head in a cloud of soothing tobacco. -Occasionally he would get a bite, and hauled in his fish with the -consoling thought that there were some creatures whom he could catch, -and that the girls would not object to partake of his fish, however -they might disregard himself. - -The four remaining in the hut stood by the door and watched the -launching of the boat; then they likewise descended to the beach and -began to look among the rocks for shell-fish. But either there were -few to find, or the seekers were inattentive in their search, for they -did not find many, and soon wearying, abandoned even the pretence of -being useful. - -They wandered idly along in the purple light, now waning swiftly into -bluish grey and shadowy indistinctness. Of the wild and lonely scene -of half an hour ago, nothing was left but the dusky darkness of the -land lifting its solid outline against the tinted sky, where wan -transparent gleams of the departing day contended with the darkling -blue of night, and the dim sea escaping from the shadows of the -islands spread away to the horizon, to bound the low-down glimmer in -the southern sky. - -The talk had split itself into two separate strands, and the talkers -had drifted apart, each couple following the thread of its own -discourse, and oblivious to its divergence from the other. Joseph and -Rose were alone again. She was walking by his side, looking with level -gaze straight out before, to the distant line where sea and sky, -straining to meet each other, were yet parted where they touched, as -two who could not be united. She was thinking--or more, perhaps, she -was waiting--with head inclining forward and to her companion, while -his eyes sought the ground. His footsteps sounded irregular as he -walked, as though he were not at ease, but laboured with something to -be said, for which the word was difficult to find. He looked up more -than once as if about to speak, and then his eyes fell again without -his having spoken. She did not observe. Her eyes were on the horizon -and the light was dim. - -At length he clenched his hands, stopped short, and spoke abruptly. -His voice was low, but there was an intensity in the utterance, which -made her start although she had been expecting him to speak. - -"Rose! will you be my wife?... Why should I try to lead up easily to -what I meant to say? I am too much in earnest to be able to coin -phrases." - -She turned and looked at him. She did not look up shyly, but yet she -was not bold. Doubt, if there had been light enough to see, or if his -mind had been calm enough to observe, was the prevailing sentiment -which her face betrayed. She looked, and her lips grew tense, and then -she drew a heavy, deep, slow breath; and, like a sleep-walker obeying -an impulse apart from common consciousness or volition, she held out -her hand. - -He caught it in both of his, and raised it to his lips, and clasped it -as if he never would let it go; and the boiling blood went tingling -through his veins in a transport of tumultuous joy, which shook his -frame and made it vain for him to try to raise his voice. - -She thought she heard him whisper, "Rose! My own!" and straight the -tears began to gather in her eyes, and her breathing broke into a sob. -She thought, she was about to give way, and covered her face with the -other hand. And yet there was a stillness in her heart, as though it -were some one else--a looker-on--a curious and yet an approving -onlooker, but one who felt no joy at her being sought, no hope and no -elation, though it bade her accept. And then a despairing pang shot -through her. Was it impossible for her to love? But she would! She was -resolved to love--to love this man. She had read in him that he loved -her well. He was good and true; she more than liked or even respected -him. She was resolved to love as fondly and as faithfully as ever -woman had, if only to show----but she would not think of that--never -again. The past was buried. Let it lie. - -Joseph, in his own tumultuous exaltation, felt the trembling of her -hand. He heard her sob. He saw her cover her face as if to hide her -tears, and caught her in his arms, folding her in, and pressing her to -his heart in a tender transport. To dry those tears was now his -rightful privilege; and very tenderly and softly did he whisper in her -ear, bidding her calm herself and have no fear, for he loved and -worshipped her, and would devote his life to shelter her from care or -harm. - -And now the stars came out upon the night, looking down with friendly -understanding eyes, like beings of a higher sphere, approving the -troth-plight and bidding them be happy. They sat them down upon a -broad flat rock; her hand was nestling in his palm, and her form drawn -up against him within his encircling arm; and the silent peace of -night, tranquil and still beneath the keeping of the kindly stars, -wore in upon their agitated spirits, helping the fever in their blood -to cool. - -To realise that there is some one in accord, and all our own, who -shares desire and hope, our present and our future, to whom the inmost -thought might be revealed, if that were possible, without the -conventional disguises in which we hide while we converse with one -another, is a sensation of the rarest joy, but seldom known, and never -known for long. To Joseph, who had lived alone in heart, it was very -new and inexpressibly delightful. There were no words to image forth a -tithe of what he felt. Speech failed. He held her hand, and breathed -the pure delicious night in gasps of satisfaction: and it was all so -still and simple; only the outlined rocks against the sky, and -glimmering faint reflections of the stars on the dim water; no -troubling details or petty objects, no motion but the ceaseless -current of the universe, the noiseless unseen marching of the host of -heaven from east to west. He and his love were the only two in all the -mighty vault. For them the night was still, the air so sweet, the -stars so kind and friendly. They and the universe were in company and -at one in some mysterious way, and the peace of the universe flowed in -upon his soul. - -Rose sat in wonder at the intensity of the silence. How this man must -love her! It was sweet to be so loved, but it was solemn. She felt -small within his clasping arms. Her hand was laid in his, and nestled -in the tender warmth of its grasp, so strong and so protecting. He had -taken her for his very own, and she felt humble in the unworthiness of -the self he set such store on. She felt ashamed at the inward -stillness which could respond so coldly; but the feeling roused and -warmed her somewhat, and she was glad of it. She had striven to win -him. Honestly she had striven, if in a divided spirit, which made -her blush now to think of the depth and tenderness of the love which -she had won. But at least he should never have ground to suspect -half-heartedness. She would compel herself to love him more; and if -the reality fell short of what she felt she owed, at least the -expression should not fall short in fulness. She crept closer, and -strove to thaw away the numbing chill which hung about her heart, and -was so stubborn to dispel. He responded with a tightening clasp -against the strong warm throbbing of his breast, till she vibrated -with the pulses of his perfect love. She looked out across the sea, -and vowed to be more than he had hoped or dreamed, and felt still and -strengthened by the peace spread out around her. And so they sat, -together, and yet so far apart in feeling; and time went by without -their taking heed. - - * * * * * - -At length--they knew not when or how the idea came into their minds, -but probably it was because a star, appearing to have parted from the -rest, came down, and seemed to be pursuing an independent course, and -to outstrip its fellows, being only, when they looked a little later, -the lantern hung out upon a passing ship--they started from their -reverie and stood up. - -"The dew is falling; you will be chilled." It was Joseph who spoke. -"Let me button my coat round your shoulders. It is not thick or warm, -but at least it adds another fold of covering." - -"Thanks, but I am warm.... No; I do not want it. But you are kind to -mean giving it. Only you should not think that I would strip you of -your coat. Is it not time that we were turning back?" - -"Yes; we have strayed a long way from the hut. The ground is rough, -and it is so dark one cannot see where one steps. You will stumble. -Give me your hand, and let me lead." - -The unevenness of the ground, and the consequent stumbling among rocks -and boulders in the uncertain dimness, soon brought them back to the -level of everyday life; and when at length, after an hour of -floundering and groping, they came in sight of the fire-glow streaming -from the fishermen's shelter, they were completely themselves -again--gayer even than their wont, in the reaction from the deeper -feelings in which they had been lately steeped. - -They were the last of the party to come in. The others were already -round the fire, assisting with their advice the experienced Jake, who -was on his knees broiling fish upon the coals. They made a tolerable -supper, without bread or salt, Jake assuring Wilkie that, coming from -the sea, fish needed none, and that they would lie the lighter on his -"stommick" for lack of fixings. And then the girls were left alone, -and the men withdrew to the boat, under whose shelter they contrived -to sleep till morning, when they sailed from the desert island, each -with some memory or experience to mark it in his recollection for -life. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - IS SHE HERE? - - -The house was very quiet when Gilbert Roe met Maida and Mrs Denwiddie -at breakfast on the morning after his arrival. Only an invalid, one or -two old people, some dull ones who had no friends, and a few young -children with nurses, were scattered here and there at the deserted -tables. He adjusted his eyeglass and looked about. He saw as well as -other people; but, like them, he found the glass useful as a -demonstration on many occasions. - -"I thought," he said, "you told me the house was full. This is the -poorest showing I have come on yet for a seaside resort in August. Not -by any means a promising crowd to live in--and to-morrow is Sunday. -One can't well get away before Monday morning." - -"There was not a vacant place yesterday at this hour," Maida answered, -a little hurt. "That I can tell you. Can _you_ tell, Mrs Denwiddie, -what has become of them all?" - -"Did you not hear the fuss an hour ago or more? It woke me out of my -morning sleep. Such gabble and uproar I never did hear--slamming doors -and scuttling feet, everybody speaking at once, enough to wake the -dead. And when I got up and looked out, there they were, just starting -away in buggies and 'buses and rockaways, the whole lot of boarders it -seemed to me, and it just astonishes me to see so many left behind. -Jest those that couldn't go, I guess, or didn't care to go, because -there was nobody to mind them." - -"Where have they gone, then?" asked Maida. "As I went away, so to -speak, yesterday, I was taking no interest in the plans; but I am real -sorry for Gil----for Mr Roe's sake, that I did not know; and I wonder -you did not go with the rest, Mrs Denwiddie." - -"So I would, perhaps, if it had not been for promising to breakfast -along with you, under the circumstances;" and she looked most -knowingly into the other's eyes with her head on one side. But seeing -the humour was not appreciated, she went on--"though I don't know -either. I don't much hold with boat-rides, and there'll be sech a -crush! Jest think of a boat on the water in Lippenstock Bay a day like -this! for it's there they're gone to, and Fessenden's Island, for a -picnic. And won't they find they've had enough of their steamboat-ride -afore they're done with it! I went last summer, and I know." - -"We must resign ourselves to a quiet day on the sands, then," said -Maida, with a little sigh which expressed nothing but satisfaction. -"Let's go at once, Gilbert, before the heat comes on. There's a nice -grove down near the shore, about three miles along, and it'll be just -splendid to rest there about noon." - -"Three miles, Maidy--and three back! And how am I to go that far in -the heat?" exclaimed the widow. - -Maida opened her eyes, just a little. It was convenient to have her -aged friend--for so she was now for the first time disposed to -consider her--sit by her at table, and fend off curious remark; but to -have her make a third in her intercourse with Gilbert was more than -flesh and blood could be expected to bear. Her lips tightened, and -there was a quiver of the nostril suggestive of a sniff; but she took -care to make no emendation of her first proposal. - -"I think, now," said Mrs Denwiddie, "the best thing Mr Roe can do -would be to give us a ride along the sands in one of the landlord's -rockaways. He'd find it real smooth and pleasant for conversation." -She was indeed loath to part from "these two interestin' young -things," as she would have called them now, though twenty-four hours -earlier she would certainly have spoken of Maida as a forlorn old -maid; so completely will circumstances alter cases. The young man made -the difference--the old, old story which is always new. She was too -old herself for these sweet passages; but if she could no longer hope -to woo or be wooed, it was pleasant to assist at the wooing of some -one else. People do not cease to be hungry when they lose their teeth, -and a Barmecide banquet is better than no feast at all. Is not this -"the long-felt want," to quote the prospectus-writers, which finds -readers for the shoal of love-tales published every week? - -"I'm going for a smoke," Gilbert observed, after an interval in which -the play of knife and fork had absorbed their undivided attention; and -marshalling his companions out of the dining-room, he withdrew to the -male lounging-ground of the establishment. There he found the -"proprietor" and his clerk, each with a newspaper and a toothpick, -arranging themselves on three chairs apiece to ruminate on the -breakfast they had eaten, and to anticipate the meal which was to come -next. The day was _dies non_ with them, their customers being away at -the picnic, and they were promising themselves a morning of complete -repose. Gilbert's appearance was not particularly welcome; however, -they both favoured him with an inclination of the head, the proprietor -combining his with a flourish of his toothpick towards the regiment of -empty chairs, by way of inviting him to take a few and make himself at -home. - -He condescended to accept one of Gilbert's cigars; and finding -it good, he relaxed so far as to vouchsafe a reference from the paper -he was still reading, with regard to the state of politics in -"Bhoston,"--to which Gilbert replied, alluding in passing to affairs -in the West. Thereupon the proprietor woke up sufficiently to put one -of his feet to the ground, and proceeded to interrogate him as to -where was his home, what was his occupation, why was he travelling in -the East, &c. Having received all the particulars which his guest -seemed disposed to communicate, his interest subsided again, his leg -resumed the horizontal position, his eyes returned to his paper, and -his answers to Gilbert's efforts to converse became so brief and -indifferent that the latter gave it up, and pored over his own -newspaper in silence. The captain of a ship may be an important person -on his own deck, but his grandeur is nothing to that of a hotel -proprietor when his house is full. He is so accustomed to be spoken -fair by guests desiring improved accommodation and eccentric -et-ceteras, that he stiffens into an autocrat of the severest type. - -Gilbert smoked, and read till he grew tired of it, and then he got up -and sauntered away. He was becoming a bore unto himself, and longed -for other company. On the gallery near the entrance he espied Maida -hatted and gloved, awaiting an invitation to walk. She was alone; he -had only to signify his wish, and away they strolled along the sands. -It was not unpleasant, he found, now that the restlessness of his -spirit had been chastened by the proprietor's severe neglect, to be -looked up to, made of, and courted. His weed became more fragrant in -the freshness of the air and sunshine as they wandered along by the -water's-edge. Maida's low eager tones mingled agreeably with the -babble of the breakers coming on, curling and retreating respectfully -within some inches of his feet, and made him realise once more that he -was lord of the creation, and a very fine fellow indeed. - -Maida's flow of conversation trickled on without intermission. It was -wonderful, indeed, how she found so much to say; but the well of happy -feeling within yielded a steady flow of purling talk, not deep, -perhaps, but clear and cheerful, with opportunities for him to answer -if so it pleased him, yet able to babble along pleasantly if he said -nothing. She did not talk about herself, which might have grown -tedious, nor did she trouble him with questions about his own career. -He must tell her of that, she thought, when he chose, though she -longed to know. Her thoughts were back in the time when she used to -know him, and her talk was reminiscences, touched with the ideal -brightness which the days of our youth never assume till after they -are fled. - -Gilbert listened, remembering enough to verify her words; but yet it -seemed most different, as she described it, from what he had supposed. -It was like being told about some one else, especially when she -recalled their conversations in those ancient days. To think that he, -a weather-beaten worldling, shrewd, clear-headed, and cool, could -ever have been given up to fancies and enthusiasms such as she spoke -of--such as she seemed to cling to still! There had been no changes of -circumstance and position with her, to show things in new lights and -under new aspects; and so she had continued to serve the old gods. -They had flown away from him long ago, as birds escape from their -nesting-places when the sun is up. He knew them no more, immersed as -he was in the hurry of workaday life, and it seemed strange to have -them brought before him now. They were pretty and curious, but oh, so -narrow and mistaken! A moth may feel as he did, when, shown the -chrysalis out of which it crept, it realises how impossible it would -be for it to fold and compress itself again within the old limits. - -For one morning, the sensation of being made love to by Maida, and -being courted under the form of his older self, was distinctly -pleasurable, though mild. She thought all the world of him--that he -could see--and he would be kind to her by way of making some small -return, especially in the absence of any one else to amuse him. After -their early dinner, the house being still in its deserted condition, -he brought her into the billiard-room to teach her the game. It was -her first lesson, and she was eager to learn; but she could not do so -quickly enough to play with him that day, however many points he might -give her--so he tired of that, and then, being still in a gracious -mood, he remembered Mrs Denwiddie's suggestion of the morning, that he -should give them a drive, and he fulfilled her desire. Both ladies -enjoyed it immensely; and to crown their triumph, they found that the -picnickers had returned only a minute before them, and had the -gratification of alighting in state with their escort, in full view of -the whole houseful of guests. - -The thunderstorm which had reached Fessenden's Island an hour before, -came on shortly after; wherefore the remainder of the evening was -spent within doors, in the usual way, save that the company were more -disposed to sit still after their long day in the open air. Music, -singing, and conversation were the occupations at first; but the -quicksilver in Lucy Naylor and one or two more prevailed at last, and -by the time it grew dark the dance was in full force as on other -evenings. - -"Now!" said Maida to Gilbert. "Are there enough people for your idea -of being sociable, now? You are always the same old man, as fond of -company as ever. Do you remember the country-dances and cotillions at -Deacon Benson's? How we used to keep it up! And the walking home -afterwards in the early morning--with the grass running dew, and -taking the starch out of my flounces! But you don't remember that, I -guess. Ah, those parties! They were just too sweet to last. I have -never been at any, since, I cared so much for.... Do you know the -cotillion now as well as you used to? My! how you did know it! We -girls were always wishing to have you call the figures. Nobody could -ever guess what you were going to make us do next. It kept up the -interest, and was real exciting. When we'd expect to have 'ladies' -chain,' it would be 'set to partners,' or 'ladies in the centre,' or -'first gentleman to the right,' or something quite unexpected. They -don't dance cotillions here. I guess it's because they don't know how; -though they pretend it's because they've gone out, and the upper -circles don't dance them. It's all round-dancing here, except when -it's lancers; and then they don't call the figures, so I never know -what to do next." - -"Well, this is a round-dance. Come! No use sitting here the whole -night." - -"I'll try," said Maida, delighted to be taken out, but with a -misgiving. She did not dance often, and she felt doubtful whether she -would acquit herself to the satisfaction of her hero. "Not too fast, -please--not any faster than you can help. The waltz is apt to make me -giddy," she ejaculated as they started off; but then she was in -rapture, and said nothing more. Were not his arms around her? and was -it not he whom she held and clung to as the room began to swim, and -her sense of terra firma to grow vague and indistinct? - -"Don't hang on quite so altogetherly, Maida. And if you could keep -your feet to the ground, it would _look_ better, you know. You're more -hefty, as we used to say, than when you were a baby," Gilbert -observed, as they swung and revolved laboriously round the room; but -at length he got out of breath, and they had to stop. - -"Oh!" sighed Maida, with closed eyes, clinging to her partner for -support because she was giddy, and also, perhaps, because she liked to -do it. "I am quite run out! But it was lovely." - -"Come and sit down then, and rest," said the matter-of-fact Gilbert, -"and get back your breath;" which was not just the form of answer -which Maida had looked for. However, the music was ending and it could -not be helped. - -And now Gilbert, having done his duty by his old friend, thought it -was time for her to be of some little service to him in return. He -asked her to introduce him to some of the other young ladies whom he -might ask to dance; and she could not but consent. It seemed a strange -request to make, she thought, a strange desire to feel, when she was -by--so soon after returning from so long an absence! It was a -masculine caprice, she supposed. And those men! Who could understand -them? She could take care, however, that the ladies she presented him -to were not more than moderately endowed with beauty. And she did. One -cannot be expected to court misfortune--to introduce rivals to even -the most loyal of swains--to fetch a stick from the wood to break -one's own back with. Perhaps she rather overdid it, in fact; at least -Gilbert did not invite many of her beauties to dance, and when the -introductions were over he could not help saying, "What a homely lot -of friends you have, Maida! They must be awful good, if appearances -are as deceitful as folks say. Now there's a little girl over yonder, -a peart little filly, that it would be a real pleasure to dance with. -What's her name? Can you not introduce me there?" - -"I don't know her. She's a stuck-up little thing; and if I'm any judge -of girls, as I ought to be, there's not much in her. I hear them call -her Fanny Payson, and she belongs to Senator Deane's party--Deane of -Indiana, you know." - -"I knew Deane well; he lives part of the time in Chicago. Is his -family with him?" - -"Oh yes; but they put on airs, no end of. We poor New Hampshire folks -ain't good enough for them to know." - -Gilbert was not listening now. He had fallen into a brown study, and -presently without any explanation he left her. He wandered up and down -the rooms, wearing a look of impatient eagerness, and peering into -faces as though in search of some one. At length he darted forward to -the side of a lady standing up to dance. "Miss Deane," he whispered -hoarsely, "is she here?" - -Lettice turned. "You, Mr Roe?" Then, recovering from her surprise, she -assumed a manner of great coldness, and opening her eyes, as if in -wonder at his audacious intrusion, she limited her answer to a clearly -articulated "No." - -"Where is she? Pray tell! I----" - -He had stretched out his hand as if to lay hold on her skirt to detain -her; but with a motion of her hand she swept it beyond his reach, -saying severely, "I cannot tell you;" and then, in turning away, she -added, "Do not expose yourself in this public place;" and giving her -hand to her partner, she was whirled away among the dancers. - -Gilbert set his teeth, and a look of despairing woe passed across his -features. He traversed the crowded rooms once more, and then, too -miserable to remain, he went out upon the dripping galleries, where -darkness and the cooled and moistened air yielded a kind of -consolation. There he paced and smoked, till life grew bearable again, -though still ungenial, and then he went to his room and turned in. - -Maida sat where he had left her on the brink of the dance, and grew -very sad when he did not return to her side. What had she done to -offend or weary him? But at least he was not dancing--that was -something. Yet where could he be? A heaviness came over her spirits, -and she felt depressed for the first time in the last four-and-twenty -hours. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - "WELL, PETER?" - - -Next day was Sunday. Compared with other days at Clam Beach, it was -the same with a difference--leisure combined with fresh air, but -partaken of in a different form. Church was the recognised occupation; -but the churches were at Blue Fish Creek, four miles away, down the -coast in the other direction from Lippenstock. Omnibuses were in use -to convey the inmates, and everybody went, even the old people, the -dull ones, the invalid, and the young children. It was the only outing -which the dull people allowed themselves; there was nothing to pay for -the carriage exercise, and they never missed it. - -Mrs Naylor and Mrs Wilkie remained at home. They had had enough of -driving the day before, and found it agreeable now to sit still in the -deserted gallery, and absorb sunshine and fresh air in peace. At least -such was the state of Mrs Naylor's feelings. Not being a British -mother, she had considerable confidence in her daughter's ability to -take care of herself, so long, at least, as that pernicious young man -Walter Blount was away, and she had no ground to suspect his presence -on Fessenden's Island. Besides, she was aware now that the girl's -uncle had also been left behind, therefore she was safe, not to -mention Peter Wilkie, whose mother had been making herself ridiculous -on the subject all the previous evening. There was nothing very -compromising in the situation, so far as she could see; in fact, with -her desire to suppress the girl's kindness for Blount, she could -almost have wished there had been. It would have brought the other -young man up to the point of committing himself, and, with a little -maternal pressure, compelled her to accept him; and as she had quite -made up her mind that Margaret was to marry in Toronto, that pressure -would assuredly be forthcoming. - -Mrs Wilkie's motherly feelings were in a state of ebullition which -would not let her sit still. She would get up from her chair and pace -the gallery with irregular steps, puffing and sighing distractedly, -get tired and plump down again, pressing her hands together, and -sighing worse than before. Her boy was done for--bagged by a designing -girl. Speculatively and in the abstract, she was wont to express a -strong desire to see him married, whatever she may have felt; but the -ideal spouse had never yet appeared--or rather, whenever there seemed -a possibility of any fair one finding favour in his eyes, she began to -see objections, even if she had herself recommended the girl and -fancied that she would like him to marry her. Speculatively, she had -held Margaret Naylor in the highest esteem; actually, she found -herself detesting her with all her might. She had struck up quite a -friendship with her mother, and the fellow-boarders had differed only -as to which of the mothers was most desirous of being allied to the -other. Now, alas! her son's fate seemed to be decided. She must resign -the first place in his care, and had her supplanter been a seraph with -wings come straight down from heaven, she could not have accepted her -without a spasm of jealousy. - -"Cast upon a desert island," she muttered to herself, as she paced the -gallery. "A second Robinson Crusoe, with his man Friday. But it's not -a man Friday! It's worse; it's a girl Friday!--or rather, it's worse -than any Friday at all--it's the parrot! A gabbin', chatterin', -useless thing--all tongue and feathers, and not wan grain of sense in -its head. An empty, feckless, dressed-up doll, with nothing but the -face and the clothes to recommend her. How can men of intelleck be -such fools? And after all, it isn't much of a face even. I've -seen----" but here the soliloquy grew inaudible; only, judging by the -toss of her head, which set the little grey curls on her temples -a-dancing, it must have been what she had seen in her own mirror long -ago which was so much more admirable. - -She dropped into a chair near her companion, panting, and fanned -herself vehemently, complaining of the heat. It seemed to make her -hotter still to sit beside Mrs Naylor, in her present frame of mind. - -"Try to sit still, dear Mrs Wilkie. You will find it the best way to -get cool," Mrs Naylor said, very sweetly. "He will be sure to be home -very soon. My brother-in-law is with them, you know; and between two -gentlemen, they will be sure to contrive some means of getting away." - -Mrs Wilkie snorted, and fanned herself more vehemently than before, -relapsing into her late mutterings about Robinson Crusoe and the -desert island; but, disturbed as she was, she had presence of mind -enough to suppress the parrot, and complained of the heat and her -palpitations instead. - -Mrs Naylor grew positively nervous, and even began to feel an -anticipatory pity for her daughter, in the prospect of so tumultuous a -mother-in-law--when, quite unexpectedly, the truants drove up to the -door. - -"Peter, you rascal!" his mother exclaimed, jumping up and running -down-stairs to meet him. "You've nearly been the death of me;" and, to -demonstrate how much she had suffered, so soon as she came within -range of his supporting arms, she pressed both hands upon her -"palpitation," crying, "Oh!" and made as if she would fall. - -Peter caught her as intended, and supported her up to her room, not -soothing her, by any means, but scolding her roundly, in good set -terms; but then he had known her for many years, and understood her -idiosyncrasies. Doubtless his system was the right one. Soothing would -only have encouraged her to rave and do the scolding herself, till her -palpitations came on in earnest. He was an excellent son, whatever his -shortcomings in other respects might be; and there are constitutions -which require what their medical advisers might call "bracing -treatment," just as others agree with bland and soothing remedies. - -"Well, Peter?" she asked, with impatient eagerness, so soon as they -were closeted together, in complete forgetfulness of the scene which -she had been enacting the minute before--forgetting her incipient -faintness, and likewise the rough restoratives which had been applied. -"Have ye done it?" - -"Done what, mother?" - -"You know very well what I mean. Have ye promised to marry that girl -down-stairs?" - -"I have not." - -She heaved a great sigh of relief; but she went on with her catechism. -"How's that? I never saw ye more taken up with anybody. Ye stuck to -her like a burr the livelong day; and many were the envious glances I -saw some others casting after you two, as ye went dandering over the -hills like a pair of lovers. I was sure ye were nabbet--just grippet -and done for like a wired rabbit; and, says I to myself, there's wan -of the simple wans that love simplicity, and she's just inveigled him -into makin' her an offer." - -"She doesn't want to inveigle me. She is provided already. She did not -give me the chance to make a fool of myself, like your young friend in -the Proverbs, whom you are so fond of talking about. She availed -herself of my escort to bring her to a man she liked better than me; -that was all." - -"The besom! She took her use out of ye, and let ye slide? Do ye mean -to tell me that, Peter Wilkie? And are ye going to stand it? Have ye -nothing more to say than just stand like a gowk and own til it? Have -ye no spurrit left?" - -"Whisht, mother! and don't haver." - -"Whisht yourself! Do ye think I'm going to sit still and see a monkey -like that scancing at my son? She'd have the assurance, would she, to -take her use out of my boy, and throw him away when she was done, like -a socket gooseberry! My certie, but she'll rue it yet!" - -"She did nothing, mother. The girl is engaged, though we did not know -it. You would not have me cut in and break up an engagement?" - -"Ye might, if ye liked. Your poseetion would justifee you, and the -girl would be the gainer." - -"But I wouldn't, mother, if she was fond of some one else." - -"And who's the young man?" - -"You don't know him. He is a Mr Blount, who was staying here last -week, but he went away." - -"I never saw him, and ye know I have been a great deal with the girl's -mother. I'm thinking the attachment has not gone far, or I would have -seen him hanging about Mrs Naylor." - -"I do not think Mrs Naylor likes him, and that was why he came to the -island to meet her quietly." - -"Illeecitly? It'll be an illeecit amoor!" - -"Whisht, mother! and don't speak French. You are taking away the -girl's character without knowing it." - -"She deserves it, and more. To trifle with a Deputy Minister, and have -a sweetheart without telling her mother! I never heard the like. Ye're -well quit o' her, Peter." - -"I never had her. She would not look at me." - -"Set her up! But it will be my duty to say a quiet word to Mrs Naylor, -and enlighten her about her daughter's ongoings. It'll be good for the -hizzy, and a warning to her not to make use of gentlemen of poseetion -to serve her underhand ends." - -"You won't, mother. It is no concern of yours. We know nothing about -the Naylors' affairs. Let them settle their own hash." - -"I cannot but let a mother know about her daughter's ongoings. And oh, -but she's fond of her! It will stab her to the heart. But it may be -blessed to herself, for she's inclined to be rather high sometimes. -It's time she was learning a little humeelity." - -"If you do, you'll disgrace me. People will say it was because she -would not look at me that I went and betrayed the girl's meeting her -lover, out of pure spite. Her uncle was there, besides, so it is no -concern of ours. And again, I do not want her." - -"Of course not. But to think she would go walking away with you before -everybody, and laughing at you in her sleeve, to keep tryst with -another man! My blood just biles to think of it. I'd like to nip her -ears for her. But see if I don't give her a bit of my mind ere all's -done." - -"If you do, mother----" - -"Now, don't be clenchin' your fists at me, you unnatural boy. Just -your father over again. And a dour, cantankerous, wrongheaded gowk he -always was. He'd go out in the world and let them just trample on him, -and then he'd come home to his poor sufferin' wife, and play the -roaring lion. But he'd play another tune now, I warrant, if he could -get me back again. He'd be glad enough to have me, now he has to do -without me. And so with you, Peter, when you see me laid out stiff in -my coffin, ye'll be wishin' ye had used me better. Ah, my bonny man, -ye'll be wishin', when it's too late, ye had behaved different to your -fond old mother!" which was pathetic, and caused the speaker to wipe -her eyes. The effect on her son was different. - -"I wish you would let the old man alone," he said. "It would sound -better. Nobody knows anything about him here, and need not, if you -will but hold your tongue. Some day you will forget yourself; there -will be a washing of our family linen held in public, and nobody will -think the more of either you or me. As for the young lady, unless you -will promise to say nothing either to her or her mother, we pack up -everything tonight, and back we go to Canada to-morrow morning." - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - "POOR SUSAN!" - - -The subject of the foregoing discussion stole quickly and quietly up -to her room, unconscious of the angry passions she had unwittingly -aroused, intending to remain there till the people returned from -church, when she would meet her mother surrounded by strangers, and so -avoid the bad quarter of an hour which her conscience told her she -ought to expect. She had scarcely removed her hat, however, when the -door opened and her mother appeared, wearing a smile in which curious -impatience mingled with complacent certainty. The worthy lady had very -little doubt as to what she was going to be told, and was already -congratulating herself on her good management and good luck combined. - -"Good morning, mamma. How anxious you must have been! Did you think I -was lost? But, to be sure, uncle Joseph's being in the same -predicament would keep your mind at ease." - -Margaret had run forward to embrace her mother effusively, and was -speaking with unusual vivacity. There was so much to tell and so much -to leave untold, without hesitancy, which might betray that aught was -being kept back. She did not know how she was to manage, and like -other timid things when they find there is no escape, she rushed at -the danger as if she could encounter and overbear it. Anything seemed -preferable to expectancy, cowering and waiting to be fallen upon and -devoured. - -Her mother submitted to be kissed. It was the morning -routine-observance between her and her girls, but she had not patience -for prolonged embraces on the present occasion. - -"Tell me," she said, as soon as she could free herself from the -importunate endearments; "has he proposed?" - -"I almost think he has, to judge from his manner; and he looks so -happy." - -"You think? You do not know? Come, that is too ridiculous! What did he -say?" - -"I do not know what he said." - -"You don't? And you call yourself a grown-up girl?... That I should be -mother to such an _ingénue_!... You must be a fool!" - -"You do not imagine he would propose in open meeting, do you? I only -infer from her affectionateness to me when we were alone together last -night.... We slept in a fisherman's hut.... But she did not exactly -tell me anything.... And then he was so awfully attentive to her this -morning; ... and they seemed to understand each other so perfectly, -although both were rather quiet, and not particularly good company for -the rest of us." - -"Margaret Naylor! Am I to believe my ears? Do you mean to say you -have let that Hillyard girl cut you out?... You grown-up baby! When I -was your age, no girl should have done that to me--whether I wanted -the man or not. It's a disgrace to your womanhood, and your -upbringing--that means me--and your looks, and your spirit--if you had -any; but you have none, or you would not have allowed it. The way that -man stuck to you yesterday, and trotted away with you on that blessed -island!... And you to let another woman cut in and take him away from -you!... And people call you a clever girl! Hm!" - -"But what was I to do, mother? I could not go in for him myself. I -could not make him propose to me." - -"Why not, pray? Is he not good enough for you? What do you expect? Is -it a President of the United States you hope to captivate?" - -"I do not understand. He could not have been persuaded to do anything -so dreadful. And you, I am sure, whatever the surprise of this may -have stupefied you into saying, you would not have me want to be my -own aunt?" - -"What do you mean? Whom are you talking about?" - -"Uncle Joseph, to be sure. Whom else?" - -"Joseph? You must be dreaming." - -"I really think, however, he has proposed to Rose Hillyard, and been -accepted." - -"Impossible! Joseph marry! I never heard anything so preposterous." - -"Nevertheless, you will see now. I am sure he is in love I do not -think he spoke twice to me all the time we were upon the island--only -to Rose, and once or twice, when it was necessary, to Wa--W--to Mr -Wilkie, I ought to say." - -Margaret started and grew pale as she spoke, but her mother was too -intent upon the idea of Joseph's entanglement to observe the stumble. - -"My dear, he was blighted some years before you were born. There was a -time when I would have laughed at the notion of a blighted man. It -seemed one only fit to exist in a novel. Even the novels, some of -them, used to make fun of a blighted being. There was 'Mr Toots,' I -remember. But in the case of your uncle Joseph, the thing positively -occurred. His affections got a wrench some time very long ago,--I -never heard the particulars,--and he has never got over it to this -day. He might have had any woman in the country for the asking, any -time these twenty years--till lately, at least, when he began to grow -stout and grey, and, one would have thought, had given up all idea of -that sort of thing. There never was as good and soft-hearted a fellow -as Joseph, I do believe. You don't catch many of his fellow-men -playing such games of constancy, I promise you. His heart must have -been shattered. So different from other men's hearts, my dear, as -you'll find out! They seem generally to be made of india-rubber--able -to swell or contract any quantity, but there's no break in them. You -may jump on them, if they will let you; but you will not crush or -bruise them. Joseph is the exception to a universal rule--the best -brother-in-law and friend that ever lived. But you will not persuade -me that he would ask any one to marry him, after the dozen or more -fine women I have seen throw themselves at his head; and he never knew -it, I do believe. The idea of Joseph becoming entangled! There's no -constancy in man, if it turns out that _he_ has succumbed to a woman's -wiles. If what men call their heart has begun to sprout again with -him, it is an unbreakable article for sure.... But I will not believe -it: it would spoil my ideal of a perfect love." - -"Have you not noticed, mamma, how much he and Rose have been -together?" - -"Now you speak of it, he has certainly taken most unusual notice of -her--for him, that is. But think of the disparity in age!" - -"She saved him from drowning, remember." - -"That is enough to account for their striking up a fast friendship. -But _she_ is no forlorn damsel, and no pauper, evidently. She may -choose where she likes. Why should she take up with a man old enough -to be her father?" - -"I do not think anybody need look on Uncle Joseph as old. There are -very few young fellows to compare with him for activity or strength, -or niceness every way. And he is so well off, besides." - -"That maybe it. Poor Joseph! To be saved from the sea only to fall -into the hands of a designing fortune-hunter! But I hope you are -mistaken. It would be too sad; it would be dreadful! And you and Lucy, -my poor children, what a difference it will make in your prospects! -You will have to stand on your merits now, if this should chance to be -true. No longer the heiresses of wealthy Joseph Naylor!" - -"That is no reason why Uncle Joseph should not marry. We have lived -very comfortably on what papa left us." - -"You do not understand yet. Wait till you go to Ottawa or Toronto. You -will recognise the difference then." - -"I do not want to stand on anybody's merits but my own. I think I -shall be fond of Rose, after the first queerness of her being Uncle -Joseph's wife wears off." - -"You think so because you do not know the world. I know it, and I can -tell you you are wrong.... If once that woman is married to your -uncle, there will be no standing her.... And I won't!" And Mrs Naylor, -flushing an angry red, turned and left the room. The impending danger -to her own consequence had driven every other idea from her mind, and -she went without one word upon the subject she had come to discuss--to -wit, Peter Wilkie's attentions to her daughter, and how they had been -received. - -On the stair she met Joseph coming up as she went down. It required an -effort to pull herself together and meet him as usual, but she -succeeded; or perhaps he was too preoccupied to observe the constraint -of her manner as she wished him good-morning and proceeded on her way. -He turned in his course, and followed her into a parlour, empty like -the other rooms at that hour, owing to the absence of every one at -church. - -She sat down in a large chair before the open window, with the shady -gallery outside, and the fanning breeze blowing in from off the sea. -He drew up the nearest seat and placed himself beside her, looking at -his nails the while, but saying nothing. - -She watched him from under her eyelids. It was true, then, she feared, -what Margaret had been telling her, and it made her feel so angry and -vindictive that she would not even help him out of the difficulty of -breaking his news, by beginning the conversation. He sat, and she sat, -but they did not speak. Those nails of his must have had uncommon -attractions, or his thoughts had wandered away into pleasant fields, -and he had forgotten that speech was expected of him. - -She shuffled her feet beneath her gown and waited, growing more and -more impatient. The front of her dress was agitated by the drumming of -her slipper-toes, which would not keep still, yet proved an inadequate -vent for the impatience which devoured her. It grew intolerable, at -last, to have him beaming there upon his own finger-tips, and saying -never a word. A red spot came in either cheek; and steadying her voice -with a little cough into an uncertain tone, ready alike to grow -plaintive or indignant as occasion should arise, she spoke at last-- - -"How did you contrive to be left behind yesterday?" - -He started. His thoughts came back from their wool-gathering with a -leap. "Very simply. We stayed too long, I suppose, on the other side -of the island. Then the storm came on, and we took shelter in a -fisherman's hut. We sent a man to bid the steamer people wait. When he -reached the landing the steamer was gone." - -"That must have been hours after we left. We got home before the storm -overtook us." - -"You travelled faster than the storm, then. It was quite early, I -should say, when it came on us; though I cannot name the hour, having -forgot my watch." - -"Had nobody a watch? There were four of you." - -"I do not know. The fact is, I was interested in other things." - -"Such as--for instance----" - -"Well, I was---- But really, Susan, I cannot speak of it in this -cold-blooded way. The truth is, I--I have asked Rose Hillyard to marry -me." - -Mrs Naylor sat bolt-upright in her chair, and turned to look at him, -with the red spot burning in either cheek. She lifted her hands, but -whether she intended to clasp them or to do something else, was not -apparent. His unabashed assurance seemed to petrify her, for though -her lips were parted she did not speak. - -"And she has been so kind as to say yes.... Wish me joy, dear Susan, -of my happiness. It is more than I can believe to be possible." Before -she could protest, he had taken her hands in his and shaken them, and -was imprinting a kiss upon the flushed place on her cheek. - -"Let go, Joseph! You will suffocate me. This is more than---- This is -something---- You must be out of your senses." - -"Very nearly, Susan. I am the happiest man alive!" - -"She is not half your age." - -"She is twenty-five." - -"And you are forty-seven. May and December! How can you possibly get -on together?" - -"Where love is, Susan, what else matters?" - -"At your age, Joseph, you should have more sense than yield to such -raptures. You must know you are talking nonsense." - -"Come! you know better than that. It is your commonplace worldliness -that is nonsense; and you know it. You were once a bride yourself." - -"I was young then, Joseph. We get sense--or we should--as we grow -older." - -"Rose is young. Why may she not have fresh true feeling, just as you -had yourself?" - -"But has she? Does she go into raptures as you do, I wonder?" - -"One would not like a girl to display her feelings too openly before -marriage. You would call it boldness." - -"Has she any feeling to display? Can we expect her to have that kind -of feeling for a man who might be her father?" - -"My dear Susan, time will show. I bring love to the union enough for -both, and it will be strange if I do not make her happy. If you knew -the story of my youth--which you do not, and it is not needful that -you should--but you have known my later life; how I have been alone -while others have been making themselves tender ties and households. -Do you think it can be anything but dreary to feel that you have no -one to call your own--that you can shelter your whole family under -your hat-brim?" - -"What of your nieces? What of poor Caleb's children?" - -"You know I am fond of them, Susan. I do not think you will accuse me -of being a neglectful uncle or brother-in-law." - -"And yet you are going to cast us off, and put this stranger in our -places." - -"Not in your places. Why should it make any difference between us? The -girls like her." - -"That only shows their innocence and ignorance of the world, poor -things." - -"I do not see it, Susan. If it is their prospects you mean, they are -independent already; but you may rest assured they will both come in -for a slice, when my belongings come to be divided." - -"There! It only wanted that!" cried the sister-in-law, seizing the -opportunity to let off steam in a burst of indignation. "It only -wanted insult to heap upon the injury. You must fling your -testamentary intentions in my teeth, as if I were a mercenary person, -in case I should not feel crushed and humbled sufficiently under your -latest whim! Have I failed to keep up the family respectability and -position as I should? I am growing too old, I suppose, to be the Mrs -Naylor of Jones's Landing. Somebody younger must be found to lord it -over the people, and turn their heads with follies and expensive -notions they cannot afford; and I am to be the neglected dowager -living in retirement with my fatherless girls.... But she shall never -have it all her own way, Joseph Naylor, if _I_ can help it; and if she -has, it will be still worse for _you!_" And so saying, Susan got up -and flung out of the room, retiring to her chamber, where a full hour -elapsed before her heat subsided, and she was able to see how foolish -and unreasonable, not to say imprudent, she had been. - -Joseph, as was natural, saw it at once, but he was too happy to be -easily annoyed. He rose as she did, stepped out on the gallery, and so -away, merely whispering to himself, half aloud-- - -"Poor Susan! It must be a disappointment, and hard to bear. But she is -not half as bad and worldly as she pretends. She will be ashamed and -sorry enough when next we meet. My cue is to forget this little -tantrum altogether." - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - "THEY MET, 'TWAS IN A CROWD." - - -It was long before Gilbert Roe could go to sleep, and the occupants of -adjoining chambers had abundant opportunity to sympathise with him. He -could not rest peacefully in his bed, and was driven to get up and -pace his room after his neighbours had retired. He thought he would -smoke, but could not find a light, so groped his way down passages and -staircases, where only a lamp was left burning here and there, -stumbling over boots at bedroom-doors, and arousing echoes in the -slumbering house, to ask for matches from the night-watchman. -Returned to his room he could not sit and smoke, but must go out upon -the gallery, marching up and down through the night-watches, till -every sleeper lay awake counting his footfalls and wishing him a -cripple. Towards morning he succeeded in growing drowsy, and turned -in, and this time slept till it was late. Maida joined him at the -breakfast-table, wishing him good morning with an easy intimacy of -proprietorship, which provoked him for some reason which did not -appear. However, her company was a relief after the weary solitude of -his midnight vigil, and in spite of himself he relaxed and grew -sociable. - -"Come to church, Gilbert?" she said, when breakfast was over; and he, -having nothing better to do, consented. They walked leisurely along -the sands, as did also a good many of the younger company, who -objected to being mewed up in an omnibus. - -"Let us step out a little," said Gilbert, "and join those folks in -front." - -"It is too warm for stepping out much," she answered. "We have a long -walk before us. If we hurry we will be flushed and crumpled, and not -fit to be seen, when we go into church. And it is a close little place -at the best." - -"Never mind. We can stop outside when we get there; but let's be -cheerful in the meantime. I see Miss Deane in that crowd on in front. -Come, let's join them." - -"Oh yes! and that little Fanny Payson you were so set on dancing with -last night," Maida answered, a little crossly. "You'll have to take to -surf-bathing if you want to get in with that crowd. I think them real -frivolous, myself, and mighty conceited and stuck-up. My father might -have been a senator too, by now, if he had lived. He ran for Congress -the year I was born; and if he did not get sent there, it was none of -his fault." - -"Never mind, Maida; you may go to Congress yourself yet, when -the woman's suffrage law passes. But you must take to wearing -glasses"--she had dropped using her goggles, I must observe, since -Gilbert's appearance--"to show that you have intellect. Intellect, -short-sight, and high culture, all run together, like a three-abreast -Russian team. If it wasn't for their short-sightedness they would drop -the high culture altogether, for they would see it don't pay in this -country. We have only a few professors and scientists all told, you -see. Three or four dozen women could marry them all, and the rest of -the men don't care to be kept humble all the time, by living with -wives who know more than themselves. That's why so many spectacled -women go lecturing. It's because nobody wants to marry them." - -"To hear you talk, Gilbert, one would say you were just dreadful. You -do not really mean, I'm sure, that you believe a woman makes a better -wife for being ignorant or a fool. What companionship can there be -between an intelligent man and an empty-headed doll? And perhaps you -are not aware, but it is a fact, that the most successful female -lecturers are married women; and very poorly off their families and -invalid husbands would be, if they could not earn money that way." - -"Maybe, Maida; I do not know from personal knowledge. I do not attend -many lectures, and I never heard a female lecture in my life; but if -you think the average man don't like what you call a doll--which, I -suppose, means a nice, soft, pretty little thing, who believes she is -not clever, and lets other women trample on her, as regards science -and things--you never were more mistaken in your life. Lots of smart -men find them the best company in the world; and--well--I know for a -fact that a woman may be no end of smart, and the very best of -company, though she don't read poetry, and knows nothing about the -'ologies.'" - -"Natural intelligence, you mean, without any advantages of education. -To be sure, you find that in many a farmhouse--the kind of woman who -scrapes and saves to send all her sons to college, and sees one of -them elected President of the United States, and has her likeness in -all the illustrated papers. But if she had had culture, think what -such a woman would have become!" - -"She would have become a female lecturer. The men would have been -afraid of her. She would never have been married, never had a son, and -never got her likeness into the magazines as mother of a President. -When men marry, they hope, at least, to be boss at home: and few have -the conceit to tackle a female steam-engine, expecting to be able to -break her in to quiet paces." - -"But in cities you want culture to keep up your place in the -community. A poorly educated woman must be a drag on her husband's -social advancement." - -"Not a bit of it. Our first families in Chicago and elsewhere, in this -country, and in every other, are noways remarkable for culture. -Sometimes it's money raises them, sometimes it's because their fathers -were of first families before them, or their friends. Culture may help -now and then--it's a distinction in its way, just like beauty or -talent; but there must be money, you bet! You country folks talk a -heap of nonsense about the help culture is, to rising in the world; so -do the newspapers, though they should know better. They think they -have it themselves, you see, so they crack it up for their own sakes." - -"Oh, Gilbert! I am sorry to hear you speak like that. You used to -think very differently." - -"Because I did not know any better, and I believed what I read in -print. We're not a highly cultured lot in the cities, I can tell -you--we successful folks, I mean. How could we be? It takes all we -can do to keep ourselves ahead of our neighbours. If we were to divide -ourselves between business and politics, or business and culture, we -would have to take a back seat in the community. It is not so much -special talent that is wanted, for getting on, as entireness. A man -must pour his whole self into the one groove, if he is to make a hit. -The whole of a very ordinary fellow is more, you see, and therefore -surer to win, than part of one of your superior people dabbling in -half-a-dozen different pursuits. Remember that, when you come to many, -Maida; and if you want to stand high, choose a man of one idea, and -that one his business." - -"I know better than that, Gilbert," Maida answered, looking up in his -eyes with a fond but rather watery smile. She felt wounded by the -advice, but she took comfort, in that he was by her side while he -spoke, and could not mean it. It was only a man's thoughtless -speech--his rough way of being playful. For had he not kept faithful -through ten long years--long after she herself had ceased to expect or -hope? Had he not come back to her? and was not his presence the -strongest refutation of his worldly and cynical words? - -And now, having gained, unconsciously to Maida, upon the party whose -appearance had started their discussion, she found they were abreast. -Gilbert drew towards them, leaving her somewhat apart, as if he would -join them. - -"Good morning, Miss Deane," he said to Lettice, who was next him. - -"Good morning, Mr Roe," she answered very coldly, passing behind -Walter Petty immediately after, and becoming engrossed in conversation -with Lucy Naylor, who walked on his other side. - -Gilbert bit his lip, and Maida could not forbear a smile, to see with -the corner of her eye--for she would not turn her head--his chilling -reception by those he had been so eager to overtake, as if in -preference to her own company. They were all in close discussion now, -and completely ignored his presence. The distance widened between him -and them, while Maida walked straight forward; and not being minded to -walk alone, he was compelled, with something of a crestfallen air, to -return to her side. - -Maida was not ill-natured. She betrayed no sign of having perceived -his discomfiture, and exerted herself to talk in a livelier way than -her wont, till he should recover from his mortification. She felt that -she was generous in doing this, and the neglect of the others seemed -to bind him to her by a rivet the more; so that her spirits rose, and -completely shook off the depression which his seeming weariness of her -company had been bringing on. He felt grateful in his turn that she -should so well cover his retreat, and enable him to bear up under the -snub he had been subjected to; the consequence being that they reached -Blue Fish Creek on terms of demonstrative good-fellowship, sang from -one hymn-book in church, and walked home by the sands again in cordial -intimacy. - -"Jest look at them two interestin' young things!" Mrs Denwiddie -observed to her neighbour, as she pointed them out from the omnibus -window. "Ain't they fond, now! It makes me feel better to look at -them. It's kind of hard, you see, for us worldly-minded Americans, -sometimes, to believe about Adam and Eve and their innocent ongoings -mentioned in Scripter. There's nothing makes me so 'feared of turning -into one of them sceptics the ministers are so down on, as that -history; when I see the way young men and gals get on together, with -never a thought but dollars and cents and sich. 'There ain't one of -them as 'ud eat an apple as he knows'll disagree with him, jest to -please his Betsy, nowadays,' I thought. But there!--you see an -instance of what faithful love'll do. Jest look at them on the sands -there, wanderin' along! They might be babies gatherin' shells, with -their little spades in their hands." - -"Do you mean the Montpelier schoolma'am?" the friend replied. "'Pears -to me always like as she was jest vinegar--with her blue glasses and -her knitting. I see she has left the glasses at home to-day--guess -it's to get a better look at her young man. Wonder what he thinks of -her? His taste must be pecooliar." - -"They're true lovers, them two, believe me, Mrs Strange. If they -ain't, there's none sich. It's more'n ten years since they were -engaged, and he's been away all that time, to make his pile, and she's -been a-waitin' and a-workin' till he could come back to her, and never -a complaint. It's not a week yet, since she told me all about it, and -not a man would she listen to, in all that time, out of pure -faithfulness." - -"There's few would try to shake her constancy, I'm thinkin'," said Mrs -Strange; but her companion was too busy talking to heed her, and -continued-- - -"Think of the young man keepin' her image before his mind's eye all -them years! and the world so full of gals, and temptations of all -kinds." - -Lettice Deane, returning home in the same omnibus, sat opposite. She -raised her eyebrows, looking in the speaker's face, her nostrils -quivered, and the corners of her mouth, and then she buried her face -in her handkerchief and laughed silently; or, at least, so thought Mrs -Denwiddie, who returned her look with one of blackest indignation, -calling her, in her own mind, "A sassy brat, and that stuck-up as no -self-respectin' woman would demean herself by taking account of." - -And the modern illustrations of Adam and Eve walked cheerfully -homeward along the sands. It was indeed Eden to one of them--an Eden -such as she had never hoped to enter, so bright that she could not -think what she had done to earn it. As for the other, it did not -appear exactly what were his thoughts, but he was cheerful, and -perfectly kind and attentive to his companion. - -At dinner, Gilbert and Maida were early in their places. They had -earned an appetite by their long walk, and were duly hungry. Gilbert's -soup was before him, his spoon was lifted half-way to his mouth, when -the voices of a party in high spirits entering the room reached his -ear. The tone of a familiar voice among the others drew his attention, -and he raised his eyes. Senator Deane and his wife headed their party, -advancing up the room; behind came Lettice and Rose Hillyard. Gilbert -started, and the spoon slipped from his fingers and fell back in the -plate with a clatter which resounded through the room. - -Rose's eye was drawn in the direction, and she saw him. She grew pale -to the lips and faltered, with a stop and a half-turn, as though she -would leave the room; then her colour flooded back and mounted to her -brow, her lips grew hard and set, and with a flash of the eye she -turned away her head and walked proudly forward to her place; taking -care that her back should be turned to the object which had disturbed -her. - -Gilbert's blood had rushed into his face when their eyes met, but he -grew pale when she turned away, and he did not very speedily recover -himself. His soup was taken away untasted, and he refreshed himself -with ice-water instead. - -Maida was filled with tender solicitude, and he would have been -overwhelmed with her inquiries and suggestions, if he had been -attending to what she said; but it scarcely seemed as if he were. "Was -it a qualm? Was he faint? Did he feel better now? Perhaps his heart -was weak, and he had over-exerted himself in the sun. She would never -forgive herself for taking him so long a walk. Would he not try some -wine?" which last was an ill-advised question, seeing they were then -in the State of Maine, where strong drink is not partaken of in -public. Not that an innkeeper's guests must go without--far from it; -but they must imbibe their stimulants _sub rosâ_, though the -concealment is merely of a conventional kind. - -Gilbert ate very little dinner, and poor Maida never taxed her skill -to interest and enliven, with less success than during that meal. -Her companion attempted to eat one thing and another, and he drank -ice-water, but he had become deaf as the adder which refuses to hear -the voice of the charmer. He parted from her at the dining-room door, -saying he would go in search of brandy, as he really felt ill; and -Maida ended the Sunday which had begun so brightly, in solicitude and -wretchedness. She might have had as much sympathy as she pleased from -her elderly friend, but the unending Denwiddie babble was more than -she could endure. It was easier to be alone and nurse her anxiety. -There was a foreboding on her spirit which she could not define, a -clouding over of the future and its dawning hopes, which she felt but -could not explain. Nothing had happened, so far as she knew, but she -felt a frost in the air, which had been so warm and bland, and it was -nipping the blossoms in her poor fool's paradise. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - ROSE AND THE RING. - - -When Rose was left alone with Margaret in the fisherman's hut, she sat -down upon a bench before the fire and gazed into the embers, falling -into a reverie in which ideas not all pleasurable chased each other as -fitfully as the leaping flames which licked the new-laid log, as if -searching for a spot on which they might fasten and take hold. Her -companion sat by and wondered at her silence. She had been so gay a -little before, while the men were still with them, and now her lips -were tightly closed, and there came an angry frown upon her brow. That -changed into a look of triumph and disdain, which faded in its turn -into one almost soft and pitiful; and that in time gave place to one -of sadness, and she sighed, and her features fell into the desponding -look of one who bids adieu to hope. She moved impatiently, as if to -shake off brooding thoughts which were settling down to oppress and -stifle her--as some stricken animal might struggle to beat back the -greedy kites swooping down to tear their prey, ere death had prepared -the feast. She roused herself with an effort, and turned to speak. - -"You have had a good time, Margaret, have you not?" - -"Perhaps I might say the same to you, Rose. You were very long of -returning from your stroll. But I will not deny that I am glad we -missed the boat." - -"You might tell a blind man that, my dear. The rest of us can see it. -I admire your taste. He is a good fellow, I am sure, and handsome; and -devoted too, if signs tell anything." - -"We have known each other all our lives--at least, since I was quite a -little girl. It must be five years that we have known one another -now." - -"A long time." - -"But you will promise me, Rose dear, not to say anything to anybody -when we get back? Nobody knows that he came here. Still, Uncle Joseph -is here too--my guardian as well as my uncle, you know--and you are -here, another girl to keep me in countenance, so there is nothing Mrs -Grundy can disapprove. If he and you had not joined us, I should not -have missed the steamer, you may be sure; or if I had--but that is no -matter. - - * * * * * - -"Mamma is very fond of him, you must know--or she used to be. But she -is afraid of our becoming engaged, and she has been bothering, ever -since we came to Clam Beach.... Uncle Joseph is safe, I am sure, -though he will not acknowledge that he approves. I know he will not -cause trouble. So it all rests with you, dear. Promise me. You will -not make mischief? A careless word might do it, you see. But you will -forget his being here? It is Jake's boat, you know, we are to go home -in tomorrow morning.... He is a fisherman, you know, who fortunately -was here when the storm overtook us." - -"I know, dear. We won't spoil sport, I promise you; and we will help -you all we can--all _I_ can, I ought to say. What right have I to -promise for your uncle? I am talking nonsense. What help can I--I -declare my mind is astray--I must be growing sleepy. Let us see how we -are to dispose ourselves for the night. They are to call us at -daylight, you know, and it must be late." - -Margaret had shot an intelligent glance at Rose when that "we" slipped -out unawares. Her lips parted in a smile at the endeavour to correct -it. She understood it all. Rose changed colour, though she said -nothing more; but both were unwontedly affectionate when they said -good night, and composed themselves to sleep. - -The early morning saw the party afloat again on the bay, under all the -sail their boat would carry, making straight for Lippenstock, and in -the best of spirits. Even Peter Wilkie was gay; there was breakfast in -prospect, and a bath, at Lippenstock. As for the others, the present -was enough, and they did not waste thought upon the future: cutting -smoothly through the glassy tide which babbled at their prow, fanned -by cool airs, and seated where it was best to be, exchanging short -sentences in undertones, with long and pleasant gaps of silence in -between. If any brow betrayed a line of discontent, it was Blount's. -Things had not ended altogether as he had hoped or wished. When he had -hired Jake and his boat, he had thought that perhaps he should meet -Margaret wandering by herself, that he might persuade her to an -elopement, and sail away; and this was all which had come of it. They -were sailing, indeed, but the "away" was only for Margaret, while he, -"poor devil," as he told himself with deep compassion, must stay -behind at Lippenstock. However, there would be other chances, more -excursions and merrymakings at which he might surreptitiously assist, -and some time win his point. She was worth it, as he told himself, -lying gazing up in her face, while her eyes roved idly across the -dancing water; and even if it should come to her mother's ears that he -had been on the island that night, the news would aid his hopes, -rather than hinder. It would incite her to worry the girl worse than -ever, and Margaret was not of the kind to be worried for long. There -was the look in her nostril of one who could take the bit in her teeth -and bolt, if fretted too far by injudicious reining. - -Rose and Joseph sat behind the other two, Rose calmly, even -impassively perhaps, accepting the assiduous little cares of which it -seemed as if Joseph could not lavish enough. At last he took her hand, -lying nerveless on her lap, and began to examine it. - -"Take off your glove, dearest," he whispered; "I want to measure your -finger. How can I feel secure of this treasure I so little deserve, -till I have fettered it with a link? When I see my ring upon your -hand, I shall feel better assured that we are indeed engaged." - -There came a line of faint contraction between her eyebrows, which was -scarcely a frown. It may have been mere impatience, or perhaps it was -dread or remorse. - -"Not now," she said abruptly, withdrawing her hand and looking away to -the harbour, which was wearing near. "My glove is tight; my hands feel -hot and swollen this morning. Another time," and drew a quick short -breath which seemed half a sob. Then turning round to him, as though -she feared he might feel vexed, she added, with a doubtful smile, -"There's time enough, you know. We shall be at the wharf before I -could draw it on again;" and then, hurried and constrained, plunged -into voluble expression of such commonplaces as occurred to her. - -Joseph felt chilled, though he told himself there was no ground for -feeling so. It seemed as if the first thin cloud had come between him -and the sun, the sun so lately risen, in whose beams he had been -warming his poor starved heart. He had little to answer to the -commonplaces; they ran themselves out ere long, and both were lapsing -into silence when they reached the shore. - -The party of four which drove from Lippenstock was not a very -talkative one; in fact, if the truth were told, all were more or less -sleepy. The hour was still on the early side of noon; but when the day -begins between three o'clock and four, for persons whose waking hour -is seven--when those persons, instead of breaking their fast when they -get up, spend hours in the keen morning air and on the water before -breakfast, a heaviness supervenes, and the system of the individual -makes it late in the day, however early be the time which the clock -may indicate. Wilkie, as was not unnatural, began to feel the -expedition something of a bore. He had not been admired so much by the -ladies, or consulted by the men, as to compensate for irregular meals -or hours, and indifferent repose on the open shore. Margaret had -parted from Walter, and for her the pleasure was over--something to -remember and think about, but all of the past. Rose was pensive and -very still, though it did not appear from her behaviour of what nature -were her thoughts. Joseph was yet under the influence of that chilling -sensation which had fallen on him in the boat--a creeping melancholy -which stole on him in spite of every consideration which good sense -could suggest, the reaction perhaps from his transports of the night -before. He found himself sinking into despondent broodings, from which -every now and then he would awaken with a start, and tip up his horses -with an unnecessary flick of the whip. How much these dumb servants -have to bear from the wayward moods of their masters, and how many an -unmerited cut descends upon their patient sides! - -Rose spent the remainder of the morning in her room, sitting listless -and despondent where she had sunk on entering it. There was no eye -present before whom she must hang out the veils and disguises of -conventional life. Her head hung forward on her breast, her hands lay -folded on her lap. The light had faded from her eyes, her features -were drawn and set, and she looked as unlike a promised bride, a woman -who, of her own free will, has accepted an offer of marriage, as it -was possible to imagine. - -The man was all she could desire, she told herself. The disparity in -their years did not once present itself to her mind. She felt very -friendly to him, liked him, respected him; but she could not love. -"Could she ever love any one?"--that was the miserable thought which -rose before her mind; and she was no inexperienced maid whose heart -still sleeps, to fool herself into the belief that such liking as hers -was the mysterious visitant she had read about in books, and awaited -to descend and stir the waters of her being. It was duty, not love, -which she was taking to her breast. She knew it, and looked forward to -her life in the greyness of the coming years with an overflowing sense -of pity. But she did not falter or think of drawing back. No; she -would go on with it, and do her duty, and no one should ever know. But -it was pitiful, all the same; though it must be--for she would have it -so. Here in her solitary chamber there needed no disguise; and she -looked hopelessly around her, wondering if there could be any escape, -or if this weary part she was undertaking to play would last for long. -It might last for fifty years, she thought, looking down at her hands. -How shapely and strong they looked--so firm, and with so full a tide -of vigorous life tingling in every pulse! And the ring--she remembered -the morning's episode in the boat. It was not there yet; the jeweller -had not begun to make it. How it would scorch, that little hoop of -gold and brilliants, and confine and shackle her! There was respite -for the present, but it would not be for long--and she scarcely -desired that it should be. - -The gong sounded sooner than she could have believed. She must go down -and face the world again, and play her part; but there was consolation -even in this. It showed how quickly time could wear away. The years, -be they ever so grey, would run their course with the same even and -imperceptible current, and there would be an end at last. She rose to -resume the armour of conventional life. She bathed her temples, -smoothed her hair before the glass, and arrayed herself as usual; -and when the next gong sounded, she was once more her ordinary -self--bright, proud, and confident, without a sign of care, or -seemingly a wish left unfulfilled. - -The Deanes had heard of her return, and were awaiting her in the -drawing-room to go down to dinner. Lettice and the rest bantered her -on her escapade. - -"Staying out o' nights, Miss Rose," the Senator cried, jocosely. "And -without a latch-key! What next?" - -The next, for her, was to meet Gilbert Roe's eyes looking straight -into her own. It was like the sudden onslaught of an ambushed foe, on -a band marching in careless order. They form square if they can, and -stand to their arms. It was well for her she had so recently looked to -her armour. The shock to her nerves was severe, but her spirit rose in -defiance. She recovered, without betraying herself before the crowded -room, and was more than usually gay all through dinner. It was a -relief, however, when the repast was ended, and she could saunter with -Lettice along the sands away from curious eyes, and feel at ease. - -"What a shock it must have been to you, Rose! I meant to have given -you warning, but you came down so late, and the old folks were so -hungry and impatient, that there was no chance.... However, you bore -up splendidly--and now, it is over." - -"Yes, I am glad it is over; and glad I did not know beforehand." - -"If he is a gentleman, he will go first thing to-morrow morning." - -"It is no matter whether he goes or stays." - -"To think of his assurance! He came to me in the parlour, last night -when I was dancing, to ask if you were here." - -"Yes?" and there was a tone of softening in Rose's voice as she said -it. - -"But you may be sure I gave him no satisfaction." - -Rose sighed a little, but not audibly. - -"This morning, again, when we were walking to church, what does he do, -do you think, but join me?--which, after the setting down I had given -him last night, was really more than a girl could be expected to -stand." - -Rose looked interested now and softened. "And? Well?" she said. - -"Well, I just treated him as he deserved; would have nothing to do -with him; got round to the other side of my escort, and ignored him -altogether." - -Rose's sigh was audible this time. - -"But you need not pity him, Rose, dear; or not much, at any rate. He -is not inconsolable; and, what is better, he has a consoler. And such -a one! You could not imagine an odder belle for the dashing Bertie Roe -we can remember. He is no longer hypercritical as to good looks, I can -tell you." - -"Who is it?" - -"Whom would you suppose? You know the washed-out little Yankee -schoolma'am with the blue goggles? That's her!" - -"You must be mistaken." - -"So I was sure myself, at first. But no. I came home from church in -the omnibus, and an old thing sat opposite me, who takes a most -motherly interest in the pair--a friend of the schoolma'am. You should -have heard her talk about them! It was just too altogether rich and -comical. She says the sweet young things have been faithfully attached -for the last ten years. To think of Bertie's constancy, you know! And -they are going to be married. And in the meantime they spend their -time gathering shells and grubbing in the sand together, for she -mentioned their having little spades." - -"They are most welcome," cried Rose, impatiently. "Do not let us -bother about them any more." There was an angry colour in her cheek, -and fire in her eye, and the sound of her voice grated harshly. - -Lettice began to wonder if her story had been judicious, or -well-timed. She was Rose's stanch friend and partisan, willing to do -or think whatever Rose might like best. It was in espousing Rose's -side that she felt hostile to Gilbert; but she began to doubt, now, if -what she had been telling appeared to Rose as droll as to herself. And -yet every one said that Rose had such a sense of humour! - -There was silence between the friends. They no longer sauntered, but -stepped out quickly, Rose hurrying the pace with strides of varying -length, till Lettice had difficulty in keeping up with her. Each fibre -of her frame was strung into fierce activity. She even snatched the -fan, hanging idly from her waist, as if its dangling were a -provocation. She opened and closed it rudely once or twice, till some -of the slender ribs gave way and got entangled; then, with an -impatient gesture, caught it by both ends and broke the thing across, -and flung it from her. And then she stopped, with the empty chain -between her fingers, and turned to her companion with a short, dry -laugh. - -"You will say I am in one of my tempers, Lettie, dear. You are good to -bear with me.... You are out of breath, too. Come, let's walk slower. -I have something to tell you." - -"Something nice, Rose? What is it, dearest?" - -"Pray, not that tender sympathetic tone, Lettice, 'an you love me,' as -they say in the theatre, or you will drive me wild. What is there to -condole about?... Nothing that I can see. If people who are strangers -to me--whom I have said a hundred times I will have none of--want to -marry, what is it to me?" - -"Nothing, dear, nothing," Lettice answered soothingly. "Nothing -whatever to you." - -"It is less than nothing; for I am going to be married myself--at -least I am engaged. Wish me joy, dear. You are the first to be told." - -"You are? I knew you would be, from the first. You liked him the first -day you saw him. Indeed I wish you happiness. I am quite sure you will -be happy, dear." And they embraced; or Lettice did, at least. Rose -submitted rather than joined in the caress, and there was a look of -deep self-pity in her face, as if she doubted about the happiness -which her friend foretold. Her eyes moistened, and then, with a start -which was half a sob, she recovered herself, and put her arm through -her friend's, and turned homewards. - -"And how did it happen, dear? Tell me all about it." - -"The usual way, dear; though people do say these things are never done -twice alike. You have some experience, yourself, about it, I fancy; -though you are so good to the poor fellows, that you never betray -them, or divulge their disappointment." - -"It is bad enough for them to be refused, without being laughed at -into the bargain.... But tell me about the accepting, at least. I have -no experience of that. Is it not hard to say yes, and not feel the -least bit ashamed of one's self?" - -"One does not remember one's own part in the tragedy so well. One -grows bewildered at such a time. I am not sure that one knows exactly -what one says or does. But the gentleman seems to understand. That is -the main point." - -"And what did _he_ say then?... I declare, Rose, you are telling me -nothing!" - -"He said scarcely anything. I did not think a man could say so little, -to mean so much. It was the way he did it--the way he was so -still--the sound of his voice--his touch. He meant it all, Lettie, so -deeply. It was in that he was so strong. One seemed to feel it in the -air about him. It was overwhelming. And oh, dear, I feel so small and -worthless beside the earnestness of that man's love! I feel humbled, I -am so little worthy of love like his." - -"The proof that you are worthy, is his having given it to you.... I -declare!" The last exclamation had escaped her involuntarily. Her -roving eyes had alighted on the figures of Gilbert Roe and Maida -Springer together upon the sands at a distance. - -Rose lifted her eyes from the ground, which they had sought while she -was making her confidences, and turned them in the direction to which -Lettice was looking. She saw, and the view communicated a shock, which -thrilled through all her frame. Again her colour rose, and her teeth -were set, and she grasped the arm of her friend. The pathetic drooping -of her eyelids had vanished, and the lights beneath them flashed like -living coals. She said nothing, but she quickened her steps--they had -turned, some time before, when her mood had changed from fiery to -pathetic--and now they were back within the shadow of the hotel, -extending itself to the eastward and the south as day declined. - -Upon the gallery, along beyond the entrance, she saw Joseph Naylor, -with his feet on the balusters and his chair tilted back, a newspaper -before him and a cigar between his teeth, enjoying the tranquil -afternoon. "I shall go in now, Lettice, dear; but do not let me drag -you indoors so early. There is something I wanted to mention to Mr -Naylor, and there he is, above and disengaged." - -Lettice strolled away and soon found other company. Rose hurried -forward alone, her eyes still flashing and her cheek aflame. There was -no one on the gallery but Naylor, no one on the ground below looking -up or taking heed; the moment was as private as though they had been -again on Fessenden's Island. - -"I fear I vexed you this morning in the boat," she said, coming upon -him unexpectedly where he sat. - -He looked up from his paper, let it fall, and sprang to his feet, -throwing his cigar away. "Impossible, my dearest, even if you were to -try. You have made me the very happiest man alive." - -"But I was cross, though I did not mean it, and refused to take off my -glove. It is off now. There!" and she held out her hand. "I have been -looking for an opportunity to make it up. I was sleepy and out of -sorts, I think." - -"No wonder, with no bed to sleep in last night. But do not dream of -apologising. You shall be cross with me whenever it so shall please -you, and not a word to be said in amends when you are minded to -relent." - -"You will spoil me; it is not safe to be too worshipful with women. -There is the finger you were good enough to want to measure." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - THE MOTHERS. - - -Joseph was a happy man that evening. He was going to testify for the -first time the pride and glory within him, by presenting a _cadeau_ to -his promised bride. How should he contrive that it might be rich and -rare enough to express his worship, and be worthy of the object? Could -he have fetched down a star--one of those which last night had beamed -so kindly on their espousal--that might perhaps have been enough; but -less than a star out of heaven seemed all inadequate. The writing-room -of the hotel was too open and profane a place for him to sit in, while -he indited his order to Tiffany the jeweller, for such a purpose. He -made them carry store of stationery to his room. And then about the -post. Did no mail go out to-night? The clerk reminded him rebukingly -that it was Sunday. They never sent to the Junction on Sunday nights, -and no one in serious-minded New England would wish them to do it. -"Ten dollars for a messenger to go at once," was Joseph's sole reply, -as he followed the stationery to his room, to be overtaken before he -had gone many steps by the porter and the bell-boy, both eager to -break the Sabbath at the price he had named. - -Senator Deane, lounging by the clerk's desk, turned to Mr Sefton with -a remarkably knowing look. "Canada Pacific. You bet! Something up. -Telegraph clerk away for the day. Something important." - -Sapphires, diamonds, and precious stones danced before the mind's eye -of Joseph Naylor. How pale and small and poor they seemed to him! How -could enough of them to testify his love, be collected on so trivial -an object as a finger-ring? "Spare no expense," he wrote, offering an -unusual price, and expressing his willingness to double it if needful. -"Only let it be the best." The ring from Cleopatra's finger would have -been too poor. And so the order was sent, and Tiffany of New York, -having assured himself of the writer's sufficiency, sent a clerk with -designs to wait on so lavish-minded a client. - -The clerk arrived in due time, was closeted in long consultation, and -on leaving could not but mention to the clerk of the house the -princely order he had taken. The house-clerk listened with pride. It -was a credit to Clam Beach; and in fancy he saw scores of fashionable -damsels arriving with heaps of luggage, all hoping to be objects of a -like munificence. He mentioned the circumstance, in confidence, to -each male guest who came to him for cigar-lights; the males, as was to -be expected, repeated it to the females, and soon there was not a soul -in the house who had not heard the news. It was the common talk with -every one but Joseph. He, good man, never doubted the closeness of his -secret. He had not breathed a word, but to his sister-in-law, and she -would not circulate the report. She had been behaving to him like an -injured woman ever since his telling her; but she had not lost hope, -he suspected, promising herself, on the contrary, that it would end in -nothing; and therefore would not help to assure it by spreading the -news. - -Those were happy days for Joseph. What plunging in the early bracing -surf! What morning walks upon the sands! What shady lounges in the -afternoon! And then the cheerful evenings in the parlours, or the -quiet of the galleries on starlit nights! He was with her continually, -drinking in sweet influence from her presence, and striving to attune -himself to her changeful moods. - -Yes; her moods were certainly becoming very changeful--liable to -abrupt transitions from a stillness which seemed almost despondent, -and so different from anything he had seen in her before their -engagement, to a gaiety which at times grew feverish and even forced. -She had grown restless, too, of late, unable or unwilling to remain -long in one place, or engaged in one pursuit. Suddenly, in the hottest -of the afternoon, she would start up and rouse her drowsy intimates to -play lawn-tennis; and ere the game was half played out, she would -declare herself sick of it, and beg some bystander to take her place. - -Joseph looked on in tender sympathy. It was what was to be expected, -he told himself, and would soon wear off. The free young life was -chafing at first beneath the yoke she had herself assumed--the filly, -unbroke to harness, was galled by the collar; but soon she would -settle down to steady running. He must humour her for the present. And -what delight there was in doing it! And she was always kind to him, -and showed that she appreciated his thoughtfulness and forbearance by -many a grateful look and little speech. He only wished that he had -more to bear and to do for her sake; he was so richly rewarded when -the humour changed, and her mood became remorseful. Then, as if she -could not sufficiently express herself to him, she would relieve her -feelings by caresses and endearments to his nieces. She was fast -friends with them now, especially with Margaret, even to the length of -exciting a little pique in Lettice Deane. - -And Margaret had need of sympathy and backing, and all the friendship -she could secure. Her mother "was going on just dreadful," as she -expressed it with more force than elegance to her sister Lucy, who, -however, observed a judicious neutrality, agreeing so far with the -maternal desire to settle Margaret in Toronto, as being a much jollier -place for herself to live in than Jones's Landing. - -Mrs Naylor's perturbation of spirit on receiving her brother's -intelligence lasted two full days, during which there seemed nothing -else worth thinking about. The world itself seemed coming to an end, -and what did anything matter? After that, it began to occur to her -that there were other interests in life--her own, for instance. If -Joseph was going to bring home a wife to Jones's Landing, the place -would be insupportable. She must remove to Ottawa or Toronto; and that -she might do her duty there in bringing out Lucy properly--so she -phrased it to herself in summoning her moral forces to her -assistance--it was indispensable that Margaret should have an -established position. With that, it began to strike her that Wilkie no -longer hovered near them, and that Ann Petty was become the recipient -of the attentions which last week had been bestowed on Margaret. His -mother, even, it almost seemed, had begun to hold aloof; and yet the -supposition was too preposterous. That a half-bred old thing like -that, should think to take up and lay down at pleasure, her--Mrs -Naylor of Jones's Landing! What were things coming to? The creature -must have heard of Joseph's fatuous engagement--the mercenary, horrid, -vulgar old woman! And she was vulgar. Mrs Naylor saw it clearly enough -now, though last week she had looked quite kindly on her social -solecisms as being so racy and original. But at least she was not so -crushed and humbled yet that "the Wilkie woman" might trample on her -with impunity. The creature should have a lesson, if Mrs Naylor could -give her one, and be taught her place. To think that a Naylor--a -daughter of hers--should be trifled with and all but compromised by -a--a what was she to call him?--a clerk in a public office--something -not much better than a schoolmaster--merely because she, the mother, -had kindly taken some notice of him! That nice quiet young Petty must -be brought on, if only to show the futility of such an idea. -Encouragement was all he wanted, and Margaret should give him that, or -she would know why. She did not blame the girl now for being -impervious to the other--indeed, his mother's impertinence had made -her glad of it--but she would insist on her being civil to Petty. -There must be no more nonsense. As for the old woman, she must have it -out with her, and let her know her place. - -An opportunity arose in the heat of the afternoon, when some -irrepressibles of the younger set played lawn-tennis, and such of the -elders as were not asleep looked on. The shade at that hour was -confined to a limited space, and thither the lady spectators carried -their camp-stools, and pressed one another more closely than the state -of the weather made quite agreeable. Mrs Wilkie was the last to place -herself, and it happened that she took ground at Mrs Naylor's side, -who had planned her place nicely, to be in shadow, and yet be the last -of her row, so as to be free at least on one side. - -"Mrs Wilkie?" she said, turning in surprise and displeasure, which she -made no attempt to conceal. "Would you not be more comfortable farther -back? It is less crowded, and the shadow is broader." - -"I'll do," Mrs Wilkie answered determinedly, unfurling an umbrella, -which interfered considerably with Mrs Naylor's view. "If people would -sit closer, there would be room enough. I see no reason for leading -people to sit behind, and those of no poseetion at all taking room for -two." - -"But your umbrella intercepts any little air there is." - -"I need it to keep off the sun." - -"I declare I shall suffocate! Pray take it down." - -"I won't! Why should I? Sit behind there; or go round to the front of -the house. You'll get it all to yourself." - -"Really--Mrs Wilkie--but what else can one expect?" and she sighed -with contemptuous resignation. - -Mrs Wilkie bridled, with a little snort, moved her stool an inch or -two nearer, and held the umbrella in provoking proximity to Mrs -Naylor's eye. - -"These promiscuous gatherings are dreadful," moaned Mrs Naylor. "This -is the reward one may expect for not taking care whom we allow to -slide into our intimacy." Then, in a very superior tone, she added, "I -must beg of you to put down that umbrella." - -"You may beg till you're tired, ma'am; my umbrelly is going to stay as -it is. To hear some people, out of little, country, back-door -settlements! Ye would not think that it was a shanty among the stumps, -they lived in at home. The pint of an umbrelly needn't trouble them so -much. Does she think people are to be put about by sich as she? Her -and her daughter setting up to trifle with gentlemen of intelleck and -poseetion, forsooth! Yes, ma'am, ye may look! and be as mad as ye -like. It's shame ye should be thinking of yourself and your girls--two -sassy, underhand, designing brats!" - -"My good woman, what can you possibly know about me and my daughters? -Were you ever in your life under the same roof with gentlefolks, -before you came to Clam Beach?" - -Mrs Wilkie grew hot with indignation to hear herself addressed as a -"good woman." It is a mystery to the male mind why this should be so, -but it is undeniable that when one lady is minded to put the last -indignity upon another, she speaks of her as a "woman." The only -analogous trait--and we commend it to those with a turn for natural -history--appears in coloured circles, where, as the most crushing -retort in a scolding-match, the disputants are wont to apostrophise -each other as "you black nigger." But this is digression. - -Mrs Wilkie grew hot and indignant at being called a woman. It confused -and silenced her. The thread of her ideas was broken, and she was not -equal to a prompt rejoinder. But she was not going to give in on that -account--being, indeed, more angry than before. It was to avenge a -slight to her son that she had started on the war-path, and now the -insult to herself added fuel to her wrath. She pressed her lips -tightly together, and moved closer to Mrs Naylor, as the readiest way -of being provoking. - -"Where are you crushing to?" cried the other. "Would you force me into -Mrs Petty's lap?" and then, after a pause, "unmannerly woman!" This -time the word failed of its effect. "Woman" used as a missile is no -better than a bomb-shell or a torpedo. It goes off but once. It passed -unheeded, and Mrs Wilkie rejoined-- - -"You're great upon the manners to-day. Ye'll be making manners to Mrs -Petty, as ye made them to me wance, to try if ye can inveigle her son -into the clutches of your little-worth daughter?" - -"What do you mean?" cried the other, angrily. - -"Just what I say. But ye may save yourself the trouble. The girl's -well able to fish on her own account. She has a beau of her own on the -sly. What do ye think of that? I thought I'd make ye wince, for all -your airs and pretensions! She had a young man waiting for her on the -island. And never said a word to ye about it, I'm thinking? And then, -to have the assurance to take Mr Wilkie away stravaiging with her, -like a toy dog, before the eyes of all the company! Ye may well start -and look affronted." - -Mrs Naylor did start, but the assault was so outrageous that she could -not but show fight. - -"Your son was disappointed, I presume, that he could not have Miss -Naylor's undivided attention; and so, when he comes home, he -circulates idle tattles to her disadvantage. Is that conduct becoming -a gentleman? I should say it was an act of the kind of person whom -gentlemen call a cad." - -Peter Wilkie, who had heard his mother's voice wax louder, looked -round to where they sat. The angry looks of both ladies told him all. -He hastened towards them, and if anything more had been needed to -incriminate his poor old mother, her guilty and frightened looks at -his approach would have sufficed. She pressed her hand to her side and -rolled her eyes. - -"Your palpitations, mother?" he said. "You have been exerting yourself -in the heat. Come up-stairs to your room and lie down." He gave her -his arm, and led her away looking like a bold child detected in a -misdemeanour. She did not appear again in public till the cool of the -evening, when she presented a penitent and crestfallen aspect, very -different from her warlike demeanour on the tennis-ground. - -Mrs Naylor's spirit sank almost as rapidly as her foe's. Now that the -stir of battle was at an end, she could sit and make up her list of -killed and wounded. Whether the enemy had taken flight or been -withdrawn from the contest, this was a grievous blow which she had -dealt at parting. She had been pluming herself on her skilful -management of Margaret's affairs; and it now appeared that she had -managed nothing, and the objectionable attachment was like to be too -much for her. But the girl should not have her way, if she could help -it. She would keep a sharper eye on her than ever. It was that -pernicious young Blount's going away which had thrown her off her -guard. But her eyes were opened now, and she would watch; and -meanwhile she would rate Margaret soundly, and bring her to a sense of -the turpitude of her behaviour. - -She did so, and Margaret had to expiate in much weariness of spirit -her happy little outbreak on Fessenden's Island. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - AN OBDURATE DAUGHTER. - - -Margaret had a bad quarter of an hour that afternoon, when the -lawn-tennis was over. She felt no misgiving as she went up-stairs. The -danger had been got over, she thought, on Sunday morning, when her -mother started off in full career upon the other scent. What a happy -circumstance was Uncle Joseph's engagement! She positively loved Rosa -now for having accepted him. And Rose herself was so dear a girl, the -very nicest aunt whom Joseph could have found her; binding him closer -to them, if that were possible, instead of estranging him as another -might have done. It was therefore an altogether unexpected shock when -her mother, following her into her room, closed and fastened the door, -and in a voice which shook with anger, demanded of her what she meant. - -"Mean, mother dear? I do not understand you." - -"You know perfectly what I mean, you double, deceitful girl!" - -Margaret understood now. The tempest, delayed for a while, was upon -her. She hung her head, and bent like a willow before the blast. - -"You may well cower," her mother cried, pacing up and down. Her spirit -boiled, to think that she had been so duped--she, the wise one, the -manager--and she could neither sit nor stand still, in her vehement -indignation. - -"That I should be mother of a girl whose name can be mentioned -as I have heard you spoken of this day! Shameless, deceitful, -unwomanly--oh!" Words failed her as she stood with clenched hands and -eyes of wrath, which might have turned the other to stone, had she -dared look up and meet them. - -"Say that it is not true! Tell me that woman has lied!--that there was -no man with you on the island but your uncle and her detestable son! - -"You do not answer me? Speak! Let me hear that there is not a word of -truth in her horrid insinuations. I will even say that I am not sorry -you would have none of such a woman's son;" and here her voice veered -round into the minor key. "I shall not press you to think of _him_. -His mother is no better than a common scold. Do you hear me, Margaret? - -"You will not speak? Is it that you cannot deny the scandalous things -she has been saying?--that you could plan a surreptitious meeting, -upon a lonely island, with a man? - -"What will people say? It could have been but a chance that your uncle -was there to save appearances. Have you no thought for your character? -Is every scurrilous beldame to bandy your name about?--and have the -right to do it? Have you no womanly pride? and will you drag your -innocent young sister in the mire with you?--and your too trusting -mother? What have we done that you should expose us to public scorn? - -"Ah me! that I should have lived for this! How could you do it? To -dig your mother's grave before her eyes! Say that you did not mean -it!--that it was thoughtlessness!--that you listened to the voice of a -tempter!--that you will not do it again! He is a serpent, Margaret. - -"You do not answer me? Ah! my poor heart! How it throbs!" and she -pressed her side, and sank into a chair. "You will kill me, Margaret, -with shame and grief. A mother cannot survive such undutifulness. My -blood will cry at you from the ground! What peace can you ever hope to -know, when you have killed your mother?" and here her handkerchief -came into use. She covered her face and sobbed. - -Margaret was greatly moved. Her eyes were full. She durst not speak, -even if she would; she must have broken down had she attempted it. She -was distressed to see her mother shedding tears. To be threatened -with her early death was terrible. She would do anything to calm -her--anything else, at least, whatever it might cost herself. But she -had given her promise to Walter--poor Walter! whom her mother used to -be so fond of. How could she take it again? It was no longer hers. She -could only stand in despair and shame, and see her mother weep herself -back into composure. - -Mrs Naylor's composure returned all the sooner, that nothing seemed -likely to come of her having yielded to her feelings. She pulled the -handkerchief from her reddened eyes, and with a concluding sob which -was partly a sniff of impatience, put it back in her pocket. - -"I declare, Margaret," she cried, "you are harder than flint! One -might as well cry at a slate roof as you. It just runs off without -softening you in the least. You are obdurate. You have no feeling, and -no heart. The momentary indulgence of a headstrong whim is all you -think of. Consequences to your family, or even yourself, you never -dream of considering. But you shall not ruin yourself, however much -you may desire it, even if I have to lock you up. You will please to -understand that you are to remain by me from this time on, and not to -leave me without permission. You have made me ill enough with your -undutifulness to enable me to tell people quite honestly that I am -poorly, and need your care. Now, understand! If you leave my side -without my sending you, I shall follow and bring you back before the -assembled company; and I fancy, although you are impervious to higher -considerations, you will not wish to be the laughing-stock of the -hotel. If you leave me, I shall come and fetch you back, and there -will be a scene, I promise you. - -"Now do not stand there biting your lips in dumb rebellion; I am not -done yet. I do not insist on your encouraging Mr Wilkie; in fact, -after the setting down I have given his mother, I do not suppose he -will venture to intrude on us. But mind what you are about with young -Mr Petty. I will not have him repulsed or trifled with. It was pitiful -to see how forlornly he crept about the steamboat on our return from -the island, after your outrageous behaviour in leaving him all alone. -If he should be willing to overlook the slight, I insist on your -behaving properly to him for the future. With his talents and his -interest, he will be Attorney-General one day; so mind what you are -about." - -Margaret felt too well sat upon to venture a reply. She had dared say -nothing while her mother held forth at large, and now that she had -talked herself out of breath, she feared to tempt her to break out -anew; but like others who have been silenced without being convinced, -she only wanted time and opportunity to return to her old paths. -Though sat upon, she was neither broken nor crushed. It is a state of -things which in the present day is not unfrequent. Rulers having grown -to take things easily, allow the subject to have his head, until he -goes too far. Then they put on authority with a spurt, find it irksome -to themselves, and take it off again too soon. It is only systematic -repression which need hope to prevail, and the arm which applies that, -must never grow weary or relax. - -Margaret sat disconsolately at her mother's elbow that evening, and -felt like a martyr, while her fancies flew away in pursuit of Walter -Blount. "Poor fellow! he was thinking of her, no doubt--walking the -streets of Lippenstock, and feeling so lonely. How dreadful this -separation must be to him! But she would be true. She could never love -another. She would not try. She would never marry any one else, -however they might try to force her. No; she would pine--she was sure -she would--grow pale and thin; and nobody would mind her after that. -By-and-by she would grow old, and have poor health; and she would -still be single, with nothing to think about but her own faithfulness, -and how happy she might have been if her misguided friends would have -allowed it. And then her mother would be sorry, when it was too late; -but she would forgive her, and tend her declining years to the last. -What a beautiful touching martyr life it would all make! but so -terribly dull." She pictured to herself a desolate hearth, with not a -creature to keep her company but a stupid cat upon a footstool -blinking at the fire, and herself in spectacles and a cap, knitting or -making clothes for the poor, beneficent to everybody, but sadly moped -herself--and all for Walter! She grew consoled in thinking about it. -It was as good as a play--at least a dull one. The others were -beginning to dance, now; but she would not dance, though her mother -had given her leave when Walter Petty came to ask her. She had a -headache, she said; and now she knew she must refuse every one else -that evening. What of that? It was making a sort of commencement of -the life she saw in store for her in the future. Poor girl! - -A mood so doleful does not last, however, when we are young and -healthy. It grew tantalising to Margaret to see the others enjoying -themselves, and made her feel neglected; and she welcomed Rosa when -Joseph brought her to sit beside his family, and accustom Mrs Naylor -to the prospect of a sister-in-law. The jeweller's clerk having -divulged that he had ordered a magnificent ring for a lady, it was -useless to affect reserve. He accepted the people's congratulations -calmly, as his due; and his sister-in-law, making a virtue of -necessity, endeavoured to do so likewise. Mrs Deane was in the little -knot by Mrs Naylor's sofa--good-natured people who did not believe in -her ailments, but had no objection to humouring her, and found the -fixed centre of an invalid's couch convenient in that fortuitous -concourse of atoms. Mrs Naylor engrossed herself with Mrs Deane, -Rose's chaperon, that her feeling towards Rose herself might be less -apparent. It was oppressive to go on talking pleasantly to one whom -she would have liked to address in quite other terms, had it been -permissible. Wherefore Rose fell out of the conversation and turned to -Margaret, with whom she had more in common. - -"How are you here, Margaret? You have neither sung, played, nor -danced. What is the matter?" - -"Mamma is poorly. She needs some one by to fetch her smelling-bottle -and keep her company when other people go away." She said it with much -sobriety and demureness of manner, but the act of saying appeared to -dissolve the little which remained of her self-restraint. She bent -forward and took Rose's hand, adding in an undertone, "She knows. She -has been told about the island. She is coming between us. Wants to -break off everything. But she can't! I will not give him up. I will -have nothing to say to any one else. Oh Rose! what am I to do? I -cannot live if I do not see him sometimes. What shall I do?" - -Rose's eyes were roving far away, as were her thoughts; she was -looking over Margaret's head, as Margaret leant forward and whispered. -By a distant doorway stood a group of men, and her eyes turned -dreamily and of themselves in that direction. The group parted to let -two ladies enter, an elder and a younger one. The latter addressed a -gentleman in passing, and carried him away between herself and her -friend from his fellow-loungers. Rose coloured and started, then, -meeting Margaret's look of surprise, she controlled herself-- - -"Forgive me, Margaret. My thoughts were wool-gathering; I scarcely -caught your words." - -Margaret repeated her words without surprise. She had observed how -absent-minded Rose had grown, her varying moods, her starts and -flushings, and sudden growings pale; but then she was engaged to Uncle -Joseph, and doubtless these were symptoms of the delightful malady she -laboured under herself, though she hoped that she concealed her own -little tumults of the spirit more successfully. - -Rose was all attention and eager interest now--quite vehemently -interested, it really seemed. - -"Your happiness for life is at stake, Margaret. I will not stand by -and see you robbed of the man of your choice. And he is so nice! -Joseph thinks all the world of him, I know. I see Joseph coming this -way. We must devise something for you. My own idea is that you should -get married at once. It will be easier to reconcile your mother -afterwards. But here he is." - -Joseph sat down beside his affianced, and she was so eager to speak to -him that he was delighted. He too had observed her fits of absence, -and had attributed them to the same cause as Margaret; but he wondered -that they did not begin to subside as the idea of her engagement grew -familiar. She was eager enough now. How pleasant it was! And it was in -Margaret she was interesting herself, which was "nice" in her. - -Mrs Naylor observed the eagerness, and was disgusted. It was -positively indelicate, she thought, for a girl not yet married to make -such open advances before a roomful of people. "Poor Joseph! What a -fool he was! And how he would suffer for it by-and-by! A bold, forward -girl!" - -Joseph and Rose went on talking, regardless of that same Susan and -anything she might think. Joseph was averse to interfering; but Rose -talked him over, which, as this was the first time she had asked him -to do her a favour, was not difficult. And then, his views on many -subjects were different now from what they had been not long before. -True love had grown more precious in his eyes, and poor Susan's wisdom -perhaps less so, since she had expressed her disapproval of his -matrimonial scheme. - -"Well, Margaret," he said, sitting down between her and Rose, with a -hand laid upon the hands of each, "we have made up our minds to help -you if we can; but I think you should try and get away quietly, and -avoid fuss. I will try and smooth matters with your mother after you -are gone. So try and manage it quietly." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - THEY HAVE IT OUT. - - -The next three or four days produced nothing remarkable. Margaret -remained in close attendance on her mother, who did her best to make -her feel like a naughty child. Her only solace was Rose's sympathy; -but notwithstanding it, she felt at times most dreadfully wicked, and -always depressed and contrite. Only the thought of Walter's loneliness -at Lippenstock kept her true; and she did contrive to send him little -notes, and to receive through Rosa notes in return, notwithstanding -the sharp eye which her mother kept upon her movements. - -Rose herself continued feverish and uncertain enough to occasion -surprise to all her friends. She, so light-hearted and brave, so -bright and clever--that she should appear in the character of -tremulous and wistful maid, on the fulfilment of what had seemed her -dearest wish! She was as kind and intimate with Joseph as ever; and he -told himself that he had nothing to complain of, that he must remember -their difference in age, and that with time they would grow nearer to -one another. But still he felt a barrier between them--a reserve which -all his ardour failed to surmount--an unresponsive silence when his -raptures strove to fit themselves to words, which chilled him in spite -of his assurances to himself that all was well. In desultory -conversation she would be as bright as ever; but as he strove to lead -up to converse more close, he found himself checked he knew not how; -for she did not repulse, she only failed to respond. Her favourite -topic to converse on was Margaret's attachment: on that she would warm -even to enthusiasm, and run on at any length, till he almost felt it -in his heart to grow jealous of his favourite niece. - -Lettice Deane was the only one who had a clue to Rose's strangeness. -She felt sorry for her and greatly surprised, blaming Roe, -notwithstanding her declaration that he was nothing to her; and vowed -that his conduct in hanging on at the Beach, was ungentlemanlike, and -altogether abominable. - -Roe himself seemed as feverish and ill at ease as the lady. He took -little interest in the society of the other men, and seemed to submit -to the company of Maida rather than court it. Maida felt that he was -growing moody on her hands, and that their intimacy was not -progressing. "Yet why did he stay on?" she asked herself. "There was -no one else in the house for whom he seemed to care." She must learn -to be more devoted and winning, she thought, and get over this -constraint on his part, which she felt was growing up between them; -but she did not see very clearly how she was to set about it. He -detested forward women and bold women--he often said so--and was -severely critical when they sat together on the galleries looking down -on the young people upon the sands, who, after the manner of their -kind, had a way of assorting themselves in couples as they took their -evening strolls. - -It was arranged that on a certain day there should be a "clam-bake" on -the sands at Blue Fish Creek. It was to be an affair on a gigantic -scale. The keepers of half-a-dozen establishments along the coast had -got it up. Bushels innumerable of clams were to be roasted around a -huge bonfire; an ox was to be roasted whole; and the seaside visitors, -cloyed with innkeepers' fare and indoor luxury, were for once to dine -uncomfortably on the sands, upon slices of half-raw beef and platefuls -of scorched shell-fish. As a slice of lemon gives savour to insipid -veal, so a rough and indigestible banquet in the open air revives a -relish in jaded guests for the daily superfluity of everything, which -hotel dinners provide. There was to be a dance in the town hall -afterwards, and the company would drive home in the dark. All Clam -Beach was to go, as a matter of course; even the valetudinarian Mrs -Naylor resolved to venture. Margaret took care that Walter should -know, and--for why indulge in useless mystery?--they were to make -their push for freedom on that return journey. - -The affair came off as designed. The weather was propitious, the -guests hungry, in high spirits, and more numerous even than had been -expected. They seated themselves in parties on the sands. The Naylors -and Deanes naturally sat together, along with the Pettys and -Wilkies--Ann Petty beside Peter Wilkie, and Walter Petty next -Margaret; Ann feeling a little ashamed and altogether proud, at -having, as she thought, taken away the other's young man; while -Walter, poor lad, confronted Peter in triumph. His fortunes, he felt, -were mending. The two mothers cast glances of wrathful scorn at each -other between the legs of the black waiters running assiduously round -within the ring. It was the only amusement open to them at their time -of life, in the intervals between plying knife and fork. - -Margaret, looking over the people's heads, descried far away the manly -form she most desired to see. Her plot was going to work, but -meanwhile she must take care to lull suspicion in her mother's mind. -The way to do that was being civil to her companion. She exerted -herself and made the poor lad really happy--feeling ashamed and -burdened the while, at her appalling treachery, and really sorry for -the young fellow, who was so kind and nice, and who admired her so -openly. - -At length the repast was ended. Everybody had eaten as many clams as -seemed expedient. The company rose up and sauntered away, leaving the -waiters free to clear off the relics of the feast. Joseph took Rose's -arm and drifted apart from the rest as quietly as he could contrive. -It was not to eat shell-fish in public that he had consented to dine -uncomfortably on a sandheap. Rose would have been content to be less -exclusively private, and looked round to see if she could not beckon -Margaret to join them; but Margaret, between Walter Petty and her -mother, was walking another way, so she accepted the inevitable with a -good grace, and strove to interest herself in her companion. A few -wind-bent trees maintained a struggling existence not far off upon a -slope of sun-parched turf coming down upon the shore, with morsels of -grateful shade; and thither they bent their steps. - -"I am glad _that_ part of the enjoyment is through," Joseph was -saying. "It gives one cramps all over, that sitting on the ground all -crumpled up, and eating things. But apparently there must be eating, -if it is a party of pleasure." - -"Please, sir, there is a parcel for you at the kitchen tent--sent on -as you ordered. The man says you must sign a receipt." It was a waiter -who spoke, puffing and fanning his shining black face, and grinning -with all his teeth, while he held his hand convenient for the expected -tip. - -"Ha! Come, has it?" and Joseph smiled in return, slipping the dollars -in the ready palm, and dismissing the messenger well pleased. - -"Let me settle you comfortably beneath yon tree, dearest; and then -will you excuse me till I run after the fellow? I shall not be a -minute gone. You will wait for me there, will you not?" - -"Go back at once; I can do that much for myself, and will wait there -as you say." - -And so they parted, Joseph making all haste in one direction, while -Rose walked leisurely forward in the other. She had almost reached the -trees, her sunshade open before her, her eyes upon the sand. - -"At last!" and a figure stood between her and the light. "I have been -waiting, Rose, for a chance like this." - -Rose started at the voice. A thrill ran through her, and the sunshade -fell aside, as though the arm which held it were benumbed. Immediately -in front of her stood Gilbert Roe. The flaming red and white chased -one another across her face, but her eye looked steadily in his. - -"Sir!" she cried, with indignant emphasis; but she said no more, her -lips closed tightly, and her eyebrows straightened in a frown. - -"They tell me you are going to be married, Rose? You must hear me this -once. I am resolved to have it out with you." - -She threw back her head, and her nostrils quivered in pride. The angry -blood suffused her temples now; there was no paleness and no sign of -fear. "Allow me to pass," she answered, haughtily. - -"Not till you hear me, Rose. I mean to save you from yourself." - -"What right have you to interfere with me?" - -"The strongest; the right of one who loves you." - -"You have _no_ right! The law denies it. It gives me freedom. You -shall not interfere." - -"Calm yourself, Rose. I cannot live without you. And more, you never -will be happy but with me." - -"Bah! you are too long of finding it out. I am free, and I shall keep -my liberty as far as you are concerned. I have tried you, and know you -to my cost. It is over now. The law has cried quits between us." - -"It cannot, Rose! Think of the old time in Canada!--the evenings when -we sang together, and talked in the porch--the walks between the -corn-fields--the afternoons in the orchard--and the promises we made. -Can you ever forget them?" - -"How dare you remind me of them? Have you no decent shame? You might -wish the ground to open and let you through, rather than hear those -old days named, and be reminded how you have outraged a trusting -girl!" - -"I have been true to my vows, Rose. I make no merit of it; I could not -have been otherwise. It was my glory and delight to fulfil them." - -"And you did it admirably! certainly. It was in fulfilment of them, I -suppose, that you made fierce love to that silly Horatia Simpkins, -under my very nose, and before the eyes of her own husband? If it had -even been a handsome woman, or one not absolutely a fool, the slight -might have been less unpardonable. But with her!" - -"What else could I have done?--the way you went on with her -husband--that conceited ass Rupert. Would you have had me stand by, -like a gawk, with my thumb in my mouth, assenting to your outrageous -flirtation, which nearly drove his poor little silly wife out of her -wits with jealousy? She is not as clever, perhaps, as you are, but at -least she is fond of her husband!" - -Rose coughed impatiently and stamped her foot. The adversary must be -admitted to have scored one by that thrust. - -"Is a woman to give up the amusements of social life--the little -conventional pleasantnesses of society--because she happens to have -lent a too trusting ear, and yielded to the man who wanted to marry -her? Does she grow plain and old and stupid from the day she becomes a -wife? Is she no more to find pleasure in being liked and admired? Life -is not over when she comes back from church: she is still as human as -she was before--wants a little of the diversions she has learnt to -like, and needs a continuance of the devotion her suitor taught her -to expect. You are hideously jealous, Gilbert. You should have been -born a Turk, with a harem built out in the back-yard, beside the -chicken-house, to lock up your wife in." - -It was the first time she had used his name. Gilbert noted it and took -courage. - -"You know you wanted me to be jealous when you took up with that -ninny--and you wanted to tease his wife. You succeeded. She thought -you had stolen her husband's affection--or what represents it, in -him--and she was not going to submit quietly to the robbery. She -thought to make reprisals, and so laid siege to your husband in -return. I am not sure but she got the revenge she wanted. You cannot -deny that you were absurdly jealous." - -"Absurdly? Yes; laugh at me! I deserve it for allowing you to address -me. You consider me a fool. You have said as much before, and you said -other things as well, which were even worse. You insulted me with -suspicion, and used expressions as if I were improper. You know you -did! Bertie Roe!... You never loved me really, I do believe--not as -you made me expect you would--not as a girl should be loved, who gives -up her life and everything to be married to a man. You behaved like a -barbarian! Deny it if you dare!" - -"I do deny it, Rose. Could I stand by and see you play the fool with a -contemptible duffer, before the eyes of all Chicago?--see people in -ball-rooms and theatres follow you with their eyes, nudge each other, -and exchange glances, and shrug, as if to say, 'another young wife -taking the turn downhill'?" - -"You are insulting!--but I might have expected it. 'Cruelty and -desertion' were the words in the decree." - -"I dare you to lay your hand upon your heart and say that I was cruel. -I merely remonstrated--and then you scolded.... You know you did, -Rose. You made home unbearable. I had to leave the house." - -"You outraged my feelings. Was I to accept your insinuations of -improper conduct as a polite compliment, or an everyday commonplace of -domestic conversation?... You did not strike me, I admit--the man in -you would restrain you from that; but you did worse!--the things you -said." - -"Could I see people taking away your character by a shrug without -giving you warning? Could I tell you about it, as something amusing -and to your credit?" - -"It was yourself who goaded me on to do whatever I did. And then to -insult and desert me!" - -"I did not desert you. I merely took rooms down town, leaving you in -sole possession of the house until you should come to your senses.... -You did not believe that I had deserted you; but you wanted to make me -beg pardon and come back as if I had been to blame." - -"And so you _were_ to blame! The Court has decided that, and granted -me my divorce." - -"And has your divorce, then, made you happy? Would you have filed your -petition, if you had expected to have it granted? You thought I would -have come and prayed you to withdraw it. I let you take your course. -Was I wrong?" - -"You knew you had no defence--had no case to plead--that I was right. -You let judgment go by default." - -"Did you imagine that I would plead?--have all our little -altercations, which would have sounded so pitiful in Court, raked out -and exposed before a crew of newspaper reporters, to be read and -chuckled over by the people going home in the tram-cars? Did you -imagine that I would attempt to keep you bound, if you wanted to break -loose from the marriage tie? I would not have you, if I could, against -your will." - -"You are very magnanimous, and I--of course I am the -opposite--everything bad, and frivolous, and foolish. I wonder you -should have troubled yourself to address against her will so poor a -creature." - -"I have been waiting here all these days, Rose, in hopes of getting -speech of you. You are not bad, or frivolous, or foolish. You are the -only woman I have ever cared for, or ever shall. We have been--not -very wise, shall I call it?--headstrong and obstinate, and neither -would give in; and both, if I may venture to say it, have been -miserable in consequence. Forget and forgive, Rose. Let's try again, -begin the game anew, and profit by sad experience. It is for that I -have been waiting here--to prevent this marriage of yours, if the -people say true, which will make both you and me miserable for ever." - -"You are kind; but do you not exaggerate? My marriage at least will -not leave you inconsolable. You have secured the consoler already. -I wish you joy of her. May she make you as happy as you deserve, -and----" But here, to her own astonishment--for Rose had felt proud of -her bravery and calmness throughout the interview--there came a spasm -in her throat, which choked her utterance. The corners of her mouth -began to droop, and her eyes sought the ground. - -"Do you mean Maida Springer? This is worse than Horatia Simpkins! I am -sure I have not flirted with Maida. Come, if you like, and ask her; -she is sitting under that tree. She is an acquaintance of very old -standing; that is all. She taught my uncle's children long ago, when I -was a lad. We saw each other constantly when I was home from Harvard -at the vacation. But there is nothing between us--never was. Come, ask -her yourself. She is sitting behind this nearest tree: she will be the -first to wish us joy." - -He took Rose's hand to lead her to the spot, and Rose had moved a step -or two before she had recovered self-command enough to resist. The -tree was very close. Whoever sat behind it must have overheard the -conversation, for both had been too intent to keep their voices low. -Rose shrank from meeting the listener. She stopped short, and looked -timidly where the eavesdropper was said to be. - -There seemed little which need make her feel uneasy. A woman's -figure--or was it only a bundle of summer clothing? so limp and -collapsed it seemed--lay crouched and huddled together against the -bole. The hat was pushed aside, the head bowed between the knees, and -two slender hands spread out before it to exclude the light. The hair -had come unfastened, and fell in wisps down to the ground, swaying and -quivering in the sobbing tremor which shook the woman's frame. - -Rose drew away her hand. "It is too late to talk, Bertie. We have -chosen our roads in life, and we must keep them. But we will think -more kindly of one another now. I am engaged, as you know. I did it -freely, and I must keep my word. I will not spoil the life of -another--of a man who is as fond of me as this one, and so good and -true. We will forgive one another--will we not?--and learn from sad -experience more forbearance in our future lots. There he is coming. I -shall go and meet him. Goodbye. We must not meet again." - -She went, leaving Gilbert elated at his success, but dissatisfied with -its incompleteness, and a little doubtful how he ought to return to -Maida Springer. They had been reclining rather aimlessly behind the -tree, when he looked up and saw Rose almost upon them, and alone. It -seemed to be now or never, if he was to have speech with her. He -bounded to his feet without a word to his companion, and her own ears -must soon have told her why. It felt decidedly awkward to return to -Maida; yet what was he to do? He could not follow Rose without -imperilling such way as he had made back to her favour, by inducing -perhaps an ugly scene with Naylor; and having brought Maida there, he -must fetch her back to her friends. It was an uncomfortable task, but -it had to be performed. He hardened his soul, expecting to hear -something unpleasant, composed his features, and turned round to the -tree. - -He might have spared his anxiety. The tree was deserted. No one was -near. Far up the slope the flutter of a white gown and streaming blue -veil might be discerned between the trees, in swift retreat, and -Gilbert found that Maida had saved him the unpleasantness of an -explanation. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - "IT IS ALL A MESS!" - - -It fell hard upon Rose to have to meet Joseph again so immediately -after the passage she had gone through with Gilbert Roe--to pass, with -scarce a pause in which to brace herself together, from the lover of -her youth into the presence of the man to whom she had chosen to -transfer her regard. She had fooled herself in her pique into the -belief that she had trodden down and stamped out the last spark of -kindness for the husband who had been, as she told herself, so hard -and cruel and insulting--the man who could let her untie their -marriage bond, without showing a sign or offering a word of -remonstrance. He was nothing to her now--she had been saying it within -herself ever since their separation--or if anything, only her -aversion. She had been persuading herself that she was an injured -woman, and that it was righteous resentment which she had been nursing -against the unfeeling tyrant who had blighted her early wifehood. She -had resolved that she would never speak to him again, nor even name -him; that she would pluck out the very memory of her first and foolish -love--have done with him for ever, and begin anew. (As if our past, -the foundation of our present, could ever be obliterated!) - -When he forced himself upon her so unexpectedly, the anger smouldering -through her year of unmolested separation, the regret and -disappointment grown sour in concealment and suppression, and turned -by silence and defeated pride into what had seemed an inextinguishable -hatred, had burst into a flame of fiercest indignation. It had burst -into flame, but how pitifully soon it had burnt low! It had been but a -fire of straw, blazing up for a moment and sinking as quickly as it -rose; leaving nothing behind, nothing but the emptiness of separation. -The grievances and wrongs and barriers piled up so high between them, -where were they gone to? Vanished utterly away. There had been a -leaping flame and a whirling puff of smoke, and the ground was clear -between them--clear save for the ashes of happiness destroyed for -ever! And there she stood, naked and exposed before her own eyes and -his, stripped of her false pretexts, a vain and headstrong fool, who -in very wantonness had made bonfire of their wedded happiness! - -And yet her indignation had seemed so just, her wrongs so deep and -unforgivable! How speedily her wrath had oozed away before a few -words! words not of contrition, scarce even of reproach, but only -common-sense, and spoken by the old dear voice! Where were the bitter -memories now? How could she be so false to herself? Where was her -pride?--that stanch support against which she had been wont to set her -back, ready to outface the world? It had bent and broken, like a -worthless reed, before a few words of the man against whom she had -invoked its aid. "Bertie!" She had resolved to obliterate the memory -of that name; and yet it had passed her lips, and the old caressing -sweetness of the sound was in her ears, and would not go away. - -It was not half an hour since the mere sight of him had hardened her -with hate, and made her feel strong, if yet unhappy. Now, she was weak -as water. If she had stayed, she would have given way and yielded--she -could not tell to what--but to anything the old sweet strong influence -in that voice had chosen to command her. But she had escaped, and she -was still free, and she would keep her liberty, whatever it might cost -her peace. At least she thought so. - -What would they say, those sympathising friends who had come to her in -her conflict, with their well-meant phrases of support, and told her -she had done so wisely, and shown so brave a spirit? What would they -say to see her lower the lance and go back again to the bondage of her -tyrant? How could she face their pity at her weakness? And then there -were the others, who had disapproved of her conduct--had advised her -to submit, yield something, and make it up; and when she would not, -had turned away from knowing her. They would call her repentant, and -perhaps would turn again to countenance her reformation! That would be -more intolerable even than the pitying surprise of her stancher -friends. No; she must follow out the road she had entered on. There -could be no returning upon the lost steps. And she had so nearly -yielded. It startled her to find she was so weak. She must build a -barrier between the old life and the new, which could neither be -surmounted nor thrown down. - -Joseph was close upon her now. He had not been very long away, but he -did not seem in her eyes exactly as he had seemed before. It was not -half an hour that he had been gone, yet he looked more ordinary than -she had supposed him. The redundancy of waistcoat, or rather of waist, -offended her sense of symmetry as it had not done before; and if he -had been just a little taller! Bertie was six-feet-one, and gracefully -slim, and chestnut-haired, while the other's locks were darkening, as -the leaves grow dark before the autumn tints begin to light them up -with the rustiness that comes before decay. It was the difference -between thirty and forty-seven. What a fool she was to notice such -things, and at such a time, when the very contrary was what she would -have wished to notice! She told herself so with vehemence, and bit her -lip, as if that would make her mind it better; but she went on -noticing all the same. When the eye has been turned for a little on -the sun, what a poor, dim, purblind thing does the light of a candle -afterwards appear! - -Joseph came on with swinging elastic strides, impatient to be with -her, irradiated with a joyful pride, and beaming on her with smiles of -confidence irrepressible. - -"If he would only have been tranquil!" she thought. This exuberance -seemed so utterly out of place. It was a discord in the bland and -half-parental warmth which, she told herself, would have been correct -in view of their disparity of age. "It was bad taste. There was even -an element of ridicule in a venerable Cupid of forty-seven exerting -himself to gambol before her like one of those boy Loves with wings -the artists picture. She had not thought so half an hour ago, but we -live and change so quickly at times. He was too solid for that sort of -thing, and she felt sorry to see him attempt it, for she really -respected and liked him." - -"You grew tired of waiting, Rose?" - -"Why would he call her by her name just then?" she asked herself, -forgetting that he had been doing so habitually for a week past, and -that she had encouraged him to do it. - -"And came to meet me? Forgive me, dearest. I could not help it. Your -own disinclination to be kept waiting, must plead for my impatience to -get my little parcel, that I might present it. I made the hotel people -promise to send it after us, if it should arrive this forenoon. It has -come, but the express man would not part with it till I had signed the -receipt. Then the rascal went to refresh himself, and I had quite a -hunt to find him. However, it is all right now. Shall we turn back and -get under the shadow of the trees?" - -"As you like," Rose answered, a little dully. - -Joseph tore off the wrappings of his parcel as they walked along, -laying bare the little ring-case. He opened it, and the merry little -stones within, catching the sunbeams, cast them back in a dazzling -gleam beyond his expectation. - -Rose saw and shuddered. The glancing ray seemed to pierce her with a -cold sharp pang, like the thrust of steel. It was the token of her -engagement; and that, of a sudden, and without her being aware of an -alteration in her mind, had grown distasteful. - -"And now, my dearest, will you let me fit it in its place. It is not -worthy your acceptance; but then, what is? Still it is pretty, is it -not? And seeing that you were kind enough to accept myself, you will -let me slip on my ring. It is an earnest of the other you have -promised to let me give you." - -"Not now, Mr----dear Joseph, I mean." How unreadily his name came to -her lips! and half an hour since she had used it freely--had even -liked to use it in a very friendly way, as leading up to the more -intimate connection which was to be established between them. What a -rift between the now and then! - -"Do you not like it, dear?" Joseph asked, in a disappointed tone. "I -said it was not worthy either of your acceptance or of my love; but -still, I confess I thought it pretty, and I hoped you would have worn -it." - -"Oh, as to that--yes, by all means. It is a lovely ring, the very -handsomest I ever saw. Any one might feel proud to wear it on its own -merits; but you know how whimsical we women are. It is a whim which I -have taken, that I will not put on a ring to-day." - -"Let me persuade you out of it, dearest. Let me overbear the whim." He -took her hand in his, drew off the glove, and reverently pressed his -lips upon the fingers, while she stood looking listlessly and sadly in -his face. He took the engagement-finger and attempted to slip on the -ring without more ado; but at the touch of it Rose started and drew -away her hand with a shrinking cry, while Joseph strove to retain it, -and still attempted to slip on the ring. - -"It must not be, at least not yet a while, Joseph. I have something -which I must tell you, that will make a difference between us. It -would be unfair to you not to tell you in time, what may influence -your feelings with regard to an engagement between us. And meanwhile, -I give you back your promise, that you may be free to do as you will, -after you have heard me." - -"You shall not give it back, Rose. I will not accept it. And more, I -hold _you_ to your promise still. Nothing which you can tell me will -induce me to give you back yours." - -"Not if you heard dreadful things against me?" - -"I would not believe them. I know you too well for that. What do you -take me for?" - -"I take you for a noble-minded man. It is that which troubles me. I am -not worth your caring for." - -"You are my own, a part of my very self." - -"You would not say so if you knew--that I have been married -before!--if you were told that I am a divorced woman!" - -"I would not believe them." - -"But it is true." - -"What a villain the man must have been!--what a fool!--to cast away -the flower he was unworthy to have worn! But, my poor darling, if this -is so, you have the deeper need of my protecting care." - -"But it was I who divorced--him!" - -"You have been cruelly used, then. Ah, what you must have suffered! It -shall be all the more my care to make you forget your unhappiness. -Forget it you shall. Let's say no more about it." - -"But I must. You do not know how poor a thing you have anchored your -heart to--how fickle and headstrong and vain a creature I have been! I -petitioned for a divorce from my husband." - -"And you got it. Is not that a proof that you were in the right?--when -the law granted your demand? What you must have come through! But it -shall be mine to make you forget." - -"He--filed no rejoinder, as they call it He let the law take its -course." - -"He did not, because he could not. The law has relieved you from an -unworthy mate. Forget it, my poor darling. Forget _him_. We have the -future before us. Forget all the past." - -"He refused to plead; but I am not so sure that he could not have -pleaded successfully if he had chosen to do it. My petition was an -outrage to him." - -"Do not think it. A woman is not driven to take such a step without -sufficient grounds." - -"That is what the judge said; but--ah me!--I do not know." - -"What has called up these morbid fancies in your mind, Rose? You were -cheerful an hour ago." - -"He--has spoken to me. When you were gone he came to me--and things -seem different now. I am not so sure that I was right, as I used to -be." - -"The sneaking villain! Who is he? Where is he? To come molesting the -woman he has wronged, so soon as my back was turned! Kicking is too -good for such a hound. Where is he?" - -"You must not ask. What would people say of me, if you and he were to -meet?... But I am upset; my head is splitting. I do not know what I am -saying, or what I do. I will go back to the village inn and lie down." - -"We can drive back to Clam Beach. No one will miss us. Come." - -"I want to be alone, and think. Do not come with me. Yonder is Lettice -Deane; bring me to her, and then let me leave you." - -Lettice was following her own amusement in her own way. She was -holding a kind of auction of her smiles as she walked upon the sands -between Mr Sefton and Peter Wilkie, who vied with each other to -engross her attention, flashing speeches across her, to her infinite -diversion, in their efforts to extinguish one another. It was amusing, -but she cared nothing for either, and was mischievously ready to -disgust them both alike, by yielding to Rose's petition for her -company back to the village. - -"Is your head _very_ bad, Rose, dear?" she asked, full of sympathy, as -soon as they were alone. "It must be, to take you away from him so -soon after his present. Or is it a sort of necessary discipline?--in -case of his growing too confident on the head of it? Let me see it. -Everybody knows that the express man was sent after you here. What! -you have not put it on yet? I declare, I think you are rigorous. You -owed him the satisfaction of seeing you wear it, I think, seeing how -much it cost." - -"I have not got it. I could not accept it to-day. I have been trying -to have an explanation and tell him everything. He--the other--dropped -upon me suddenly when I was alone and not expecting him, and we -talked--and, oh Lettice! I am in a maze. What am I to do? It seems to -be I won't and I will with me, all the time. I can't do both, and I -won't do either. I am distracted, Lettice. I must go to bed and try to -think." - -"Who-o-o----!" Lettice could not whistle as some girls can; but that -long-drawn masculine expression of--of everything at once--of the fat -having fallen in the fire, with general loss, trouble, and confusion, -seemed the only adequate and appropriate one for the occasion, and she -framed her lips and voice to the nearest equivalent. - -"And what will you do, dear?" she said, after a considerable pause. - -"Don't bother me with questions, Lettie. I do not know in the very -least. I shall go to bed, and try to sleep, and to forget everything. -If one could only forget for always! How good it would be! I am in a -mess. And all from having my way, and getting everything I thought I -wanted. It is all a mess! an irretrievable muddle. Whatever I may do, -it will be sure to be wrong. Oh Lettie! take warning in time; and -don't let your little tempers run away with you, as mine have done -with me." - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - - A CLOSE OBSERVER. - - -When Rose and Lettice went their way, the three cavaliers found their -occupation gone. They stood an instant looking after the retreating -fair, then turned to face one another; but there was no satisfaction -in view of the witnesses of their discomfiture--each felt small, -rather, and perhaps a little ridiculous. The only plaster for their -grazed self-love was absence from the witnesses; and accordingly each -turned on his heel, going off in quest of some new interest, and -diverging as widely from the other two as was possible. - -Joseph strolled despondently back toward the stunted grove, to which -twice already he had bent his steps, but had not reached. He had borne -up bravely enough under Rose's disclosure at the moment. In the thick -of the fight one generally does bear up. The excitement of combat -stirs the blood, and blows fall scarcely heeded on him who struggles -hard to have his way. It is when the battle is over, that the wounds -begin to smart, when the stricken have leisure to feel them. And -Joseph was wounded sore. It crushed him to think that anything could -be said in derogation of the peerless one whom he had found to fit -into' the long-vacant shrine, where the beloved of his youth had sat, -and whose memory, still hovering there, had made it a holy place. -There seemed impiety in associating the new avatar of his love with -the ribald vulgarities of the divorce court, in dragging the blossom -of his worship through its noisome mire. Yet was she the less precious -because her lines had fallen haplessly? Does a jewel lose worth for -having fallen in the kennel? He told himself this, and repeated it -over and over. He vowed that her need of sympathy and support, was a -claim the more upon his honour, and that the claim should be -satisfied; but still it was painful to think that the name of his wife -to be, had been bandied from mouth to mouth as one of the motley crew -who shock chaste ears with their clamour to be relieved from -obligations which if was their own free choice to undertake. It dimmed -the bright promise of that future in which he had been basking so -unsuspiciously, but it should not appal him. He would steadfastly look -forward to all being well; his own faith and hope would of themselves -contribute to a happy consummation; and for Rose, how much she must -have suffered!--how much she needed him! - -He had reached the grove at last. His feet were on the turf, and he -was strolling upwards through the trees, buried in deep and not too -sweet reflections. - -"Alone, Joseph?" There was much in the tone to irritate. It contained -a suggestion of pity, combined with the "I thought as much," or "I -told you so," with which intimate friends are wont to rub up our -little sorenesses, and make them smart. It was his sister-in-law who -spoke--Susan--who already had expressed her disapproval of his -intended change in life, and who could not be expected to regret any -little unsmoothness in the current of his love. She had risen from a -corner of shade in which she had been encouraging the faltering -advances of Walter Petty to closer intimacy with her girl Margaret. -The two seemed fairly well tackled in conversation, now, and she felt -free to devote a little attention to Joseph and his concerns. She took -his arm, and accommodated her pace to his for a little turn, ignoring -the sudden tightening of his features into an impatient frown. - -"'The course of true love,' &c.--you know the rest, Joseph. Where -there is disparity, one must be prepared for little _contretemps_. One -cannot expect young girls to accommodate themselves at once to the -steady jog-trot of their seniors. They would not be so attractive, I -daresay, if one could. She certainly----" - -"What are you talking about, Susan?" - -"You do not know, eh? Or rather you think I do not know? I have seen -everything--more than you have yourself. I was sitting up here in the -shade, when you were called away a while ago." - -"Yes, I was called away. It was annoying, I confess; but I got back -when I had completed my little matter of business. I see nothing in -that which calls for your condolence." - -"Of course not, dear Joseph. It was far too cleverly arranged for -that. She certainly is clever--an accomplished actress. I only hope it -may answer, and that you may not find her out to be too clever by -half. A good many people have seen as well as me. It was very well -done--quite dramatic, in fact; or rather, pantomimic--for they were -far too judicious to raise their voices and be overheard." - -"Enough, Susan. I detest insinuations. Who are they whose private -affairs you have been watching and prying into? Do you know that you -have been accusing yourself of eavesdropping, mitigated only by your -inability to hear what was said? It is scarcely the pursuit I should -have expected a ladylike person to take up." - -"You are rude, Joseph; but I forgive you. One must not expect people -to accept disenchantment with an equable mind." - -"You speak riddles. I am in no mood for guessing them." - -"Just what I say. You are upset, Joseph, and I am truly sorry." - -"I am not upset. I am perfectly well and happy, Susan. It is you who -are absurd. You have your girls' hands to dispose of. It is occupation -enough for any woman. See you do it wisely; and leave me to bestow my -own in peace. I decline your interference." - -"You are blind, Joseph. There are a score of people in this wood. -Every one of them must have seen. It is only you, the one who ought to -know, who have not, and do not know. I insist on telling you. You may -not like it, but it is my duty." - -"Always a duty--when a woman wants to be provoking." - -"I forgive the gibe. The young person you have chosen to devote -yourself to, has a lover." - -"Certainly. The lady you stigmatise as a person has me; and I mean to -marry her." - -"You and another. Ha! you did not know that! I can read it in your -face. Your back was scarcely turned, when out there bounced from -behind a tree--a man!--that tall slim young fellow you must have -noticed at the Beach any time this last week. He has been devoting -himself to that little spare woman with the blue veil whom nobody -seems to mind. People said they were engaged, and wondered at one with -his good looks bestowing himself so cheaply. Well, as I was saying, -out he bounced upon Miss--what's her name?--Miss Hillyard; and I can -tell you their interview was an animated one. How the colour of both -came and went! There must a great deal have taken place between them. -How he gesticulated! She was comparatively calm. He is an ardent -fellow, I can tell you, Joseph. Better have an eye on him." - -Joseph did not know exactly what to say. He felt himself disloyal in -listening; but still he was interested, and if he waited to hear more, -he fancied he should be better able to defend Rose. - -"The lady he had left--her with the blue veil--seemed to take her -squire's sudden desertion in very bad part. She started and looked -shocked at his departure, then bent forward where she sat, and looked, -and listened. They were within a few yards of her, and she must have -heard all that passed. The disillusion must have been terrible. I saw -her head bow lower and lower, as though all fortitude were deserting -her; and soon she seemed utterly crushed. She buried her head in her -lap, and clasped her hands above it--a most pitiable spectacle. - -"But that was not the worst. He certainly must be a man without pity -or a spark of feeling. He actually had the cruelty to lead the other a -little to one side, where she could have a view of the discarded -rival. Was it not barbarous? This was too much for the other. It stung -her into something like proper self-respect. As soon as the other -turned away--and I will do the Hillyard girl the justice to say that -she betrayed no sign of gratification at her rival's confusion--she -jumped to her feet with a little cry, tied on her hat, and ran away up -the hill, as if to hide herself among the trees. Then Miss Rose seemed -suddenly to remember about you. She dismissed her admirer with the -peremptory assurance of an old hand, who knows exactly what she means -to do, and strolled calmly across the sands to meet you coming back to -her. She must have managed very well. I saw her leaning on your arm as -friendly as possible--a clever girl, but a sad handful, I should -imagine, for the man whose doubtful fortune it may be to get her for a -wife." - -"And now you have done, Susan, with your romance? Let me congratulate -you on your talent for 'putting that and that together,' and producing -a coherent fiction from true premisses, which might do credit to the -author of the 'Arabian Nights.'" - -"And pray, if the premisses are true, and nothing of my own is added, -how can you venture to suppose that my inferences are astray? You are -infatuated, Joseph Naylor." - -"My good creature, the young lady has told me of this interview with -the tall young man which you have described so graphically. It must -indeed have been exciting and full of emotion, but you have entirely -failed to catch its true import; and, as far as I can see, there is no -reason why you should understand it, either you or any of the twenty -other eavesdroppers you mention, who have been gratuitously -interesting themselves in what does not concern them. Miss Hillyard is -suffering from violent headache in consequence of what occurred, and -has returned to the village to lie down. On second thoughts, I believe -I shall follow her, and try if she will not let me drive her back to -the Beach at once. That will be better than encountering the twenty -pairs of curious eyes during the evening, who will want to watch her -every movement, and piece a romance out of every time she looks at her -watch. Goodbye, Susan. Accept thanks for kind intentions on my -account; but do, pray, be more charitable in future. Good-bye, -Margaret. I am going back at once, and shall be asleep when you get -home. Kiss me good-night, child." - -Margaret rose to pay the dutiful salute. Joseph kissed her on the -cheek, and finding his lips so conveniently near her ear, he -whispered-- - -"Walter's buggy will be the first in the line. He will be waiting. Get -down before the others. Jump in; and God bless you!" - -Margaret changed colour violently. Her mother, looking on, was -surprised to see an embrace from an old uncle, produce signs of -emotion. "It must be because of the young man sitting by," she thought -sapiently, and drew happy auguries from the circumstance. Those close -observers are so often astray! - -When Joseph reached the inn at Blue Fish Creek, he sent up a little -note to Rose, asking if she would not rather come home now in quiet, -than wait through the racket of the evening, to be followed by a -riotous journey after dark with the rest in their overflowing high -spirits. Rose consented, and they drove home forthwith. - -How different were Joseph's feelings now, from what they had been in -the morning! Then, everything was bathed in sunshine and hope. The -bare supposition that aught could go amiss did not once cross his -mind. Now, he could not say what had befallen him, but a cloud had -come down and enveloped him, and blotted out the future, and every -certainty from his view, chilling his hopes and even his desires as -with an untimely frost. The ring lay forgotten in his pocket. It did -not occur to him to offer it again. If he had, the probability is that -it would have been accepted, though perhaps without the enthusiasm -which would have made the acceptance of value in his eyes. - -Another phase of feeling had arisen in Rose's mind since her walk with -Lettice. Her friend had betrayed a presentiment, that now Gilbert had -had speech of her, he would win her back; and Rose revolted at the -idea of figuring before her friends as a repentant naughty child. No; -she had made her choice, and she would show that she could hold to it. -She might not be happy in the future, but at least she could be -steadfast. And truly, the man beside her as she drove, so truthful and -so good, deserved all the duty and devotion she could devote to him. -If she did not love as once she might have loved, at least he should -never know it. She would be but the more dutiful on that account; she -would even--what seemed the hardest thing of all to her headstrong -nature--even obey him. - -She was very near to him then, if Joseph had but known; but he did -not. The old doubleness between his wife of long ago, and this heir to -her place in his regard, had arisen anew within him, and it was still -the older god who held the shrine. He felt regretfully tender and -considerate to his companion by his side, but the enthusiasm of the -morning was wanting. - -They spoke little to one another as they travelled along. Rose was -pale and had a splitting headache, and Joseph was consideration -itself. He forbore to disturb her, assisted her to alight when they -arrived at Clam Beach, and expressed a hope that she would be better -in the morning, when they parted and she went up-stairs. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - THE LADY PRINCIPAL. - - -The Principal of the Female College of Montpelier sat in her -room--office, call it, or study--her seat of authority, absorbed in -business. Her table was littered with papers; the waste-paper basket -overflowed with them. There was ink before her, a pen in her hand. Her -cap sat crooked on her head; her whitened hair was rumpled. The too -active cerebration within had no doubt disturbed the external trimness -of her dome of thought, as phrenologists used to tell us that it -worked ridges and hollows in the bones of the skull. She was deep in -thought. Her grey, intellectual features were tightened in the effort, -and her eye roved vacantly in space in search of those choice forms -which had long made her style the model of literary expression in -Montpelier. - -She had spent the morning in compounding a syllabus, or a -compendium--matters in the manufacture of which she was unrivalled. -Now she was considering her address on female self-culture, shortly to -be delivered before the Institute of Emancipated Woman, with a list of -the hundred books which should form the inseparable companions of -every female aspirant to Breadth of View. Her eye wandered to the -terrestrial globe at her elbow--a symbol of her learned office, handed -down from her predecessors in more simple-minded times; and she -reviewed the distinguished literary reputations in remote places and -times--the less vulgarly popular or comprehensible, the better for her -purpose. - -Ha! there was the Nile--Egypt--Manetho! A most respectable name -Manetho, and not too much said about him. The only difficulty was, -were his works extant? She was not sure, and her encyclopædia was too -old an edition to make it worth while looking up. Her eye moved -eastward: India? _eureka!_ The Rig Veda,--Max Müller and the 'Asiatic -Review'! She had read all about it in Littel's 'Living Age,' the -pirate's treasure-house. - -The Rig Veda should head her list. She had not read it, to be sure; -but neither had those whom she addressed, and they would not be able -to read it, if they were to try--in the original, at least, and she -intended to pour scorn upon the use of translations; but it looked -well at the head of a list, showed comprehensiveness in the lecturer, -and ensured respect from the omniscient critic of the 'Montpelier -Review.' - -The 'Zend-Avesta' made a handsome second; but as she did not desire to -smother her audience under the load of erudition, she considerately -offered it as an alternative to the Rig Veda. "A Saga" came next--she -did not specify which. Her familiarity with Scandinavian literature -was not intimate enough to particularise; but as not one of her -audience would know anything about it, that made little difference. -Being minded that nothing she said should savour of the too familiar, -she gave Klopstock the first place in her German list rather than -Goethe; and for the same reason Marlowe led off her English -dramatists, with Shakespeare far down among the ruck. Then there were -Hegel and Haekel, with permission to add the 'Critique of Pure Reason' -for those who relished intellectual nut-cracking. There was to have -been a name or two from every tribe and tongue in Europe; but in her -ignorance she could think of no Russian but Turguenief; and when she -came to the Lapps, Finns, Liths, and Basques, they had no literary -representative whom she had ever heard of. After that she took up a -publisher's list and filled up the remaining sixty places at random. -What did it matter? People would read what they liked or understood. -If they did not understand, it could not influence them one way or -other. She knew as well as you or I do, reader, that wheat is not -grown on pure sand; that loams, clays, moulds, each produce a -vegetation limited by their capacity; that everything will not grow -everywhere, and that, if it could, it would not be worth much. But -while the public laboured under the fad of comprehensiveness, she -recognised that she, its servant, must be comprehensive too, or her -employer would pay her off and get some one else who was up to its -standard. No one person could read, or, if they could, would care to -read, a tenth part of the literature upon her list; but that she -considered the one useful element in what she was about. It introduced -a moral influence. It would keep her audience humble--an end not -always easy to achieve where that audience is feminine, and more -richly endowed with aspiration than with solid learning--and show them -how much there still was which they did not know, notwithstanding -their acquirements. - -There came a timid knock at the door, and a second, which the -Principal heard; and laying down her pen she sat bolt-upright and -said, "Come in." - -It was Maida Springer who entered. - -At the sight of her subordinate looking crushed and wan, the -Principal's aspect softened. Her impatience of interruption gave place -to those motherly instincts which nestled sweet and fresh about her -heart, though usually sheltered and concealed from an uncongenial -world under the dry husk of her superior-woman-hood. - -"You--Maida?... I had almost given up hope of seeing you again. But -have you been sick? You do not look much benefited by your stay at the -shore--rather the other way." - -Maida looked down. "I am well, Miss Rolph. I arrived by the -night-train. I suppose that accounts for my--for my want of looks," -and she sighed; but more for the want of looks, than for herself. - -"Did my letter miscarry? It is nearly a fortnight since I wrote." - -Maida coloured. "I got it, Miss Rolph, and I am come to thank you. I -know I should have written at once; but--I meant to come instead. -Indeed I started, but--when----" Her voice died away. She looked down -more than she had done before, and her colour deepened. - -"What was it, my dear? What prevented your coming?" - -Maida lifted her head, drew a long breath, and raised her eyes to Miss -Rolph's face. Then the impossibility of uttering what there was to -tell arose before her. She bowed her head till the hat-brim and the -wisp of blue veil came down between her eyes and those of the -Principal. She strained down her arms before her, locked the fingers -of both hands together, and was speechless. - -Miss Rolph was scarcely pleased that her kindly meant interest should -be put aside; but she was not the woman to obtrude unwelcome sympathy. -She stiffened back to business, and observed with manifest coldness of -voice-- - -"Your neglect may prove prejudicial to your interests, I fear; though -perhaps not. It would have been great advancement for you, and quite a -distinguished position, if you had been able to give the course on -political economy and sociology. You would have been the first woman -in this State to enter that important field. You would have made a -name, and become a leader in our sex's emancipation. On the other -hand, I admit that I felt a misgiving as to whether your character was -yet sufficiently formed for the post. The long ages of woman's -subordination have communicated a weakness of moral fibre to the -individual of today, which it requires maturity of years, experience, -and study, to overcome. I have feared at times that I detected some -remains of the old-fashioned missishness in your character, not yet -subdued. A year or two longer in your present duties may be -advantageous. I have arranged with Dr Langenwoert from Boston to -lecture three times a-week next term. After that--who knows?--but it -depends on yourself. The Committee believes, as you are aware, that -female education should be confided to women alone. You have been -appointed a professorial assistant _pro tem_. to Dr Langenwoert. Avail -yourself of your opportunities. Study his methods; and who knows but -you may succeed him?" - -"Oh, Miss Rolph, how good you are! Forgive my seeming -thanklessness,--but, indeed--oh, Miss Rolph!" - -Maida came forward and took the Principal's hand. Her voice was too -tremulous to be trusted; her eyes were brimming full. She had entered -that room feeling so lonely, desolate, and without a friend; and here, -in her professional chief, with whom her intercourse had been limited -to what related to her duties, was a woman who cared for her, bestowed -consideration, and was kind. She could have kissed the hand--she would -fain have kissed the lips which had spoken to her kindly; but Miss -Rolph was so very superior a woman, so above and beyond female -weakness!--and what was that which she had said just now about -_missish?_ - -Miss Rolph wheeled round on her pivoted chair, and looked with her -clear, cool eyes in the other's face. - -"Maida Springer, you are in trouble! Tell me what it is. Am not I a -woman? Confide in me. I know you have no mother. I would try to advise -you as she might have done, though perhaps I am not quite old enough -for that." - -She might have spared the last observation, being fifty-five, while -Maida was but thirty; but, good lady, though undeniably superior, she -was still a woman. - -Maida's eyes overflowed. This was kindness unexpected. - -"Take a chair, my dear. Draw up close to me, and tell me all." And -when Maida drew close, she laid a hand upon her shoulder, and one -soothingly upon the fingers wringing themselves into knots in -perturbed irresolution. - -"I would--I would! But how? I cannot speak of it!" - -"When people have done no wrong, there is nothing they need fear to -tell--to a friend. Injuries and mistakes often seem lessened when we -can bring ourselves to speak about them. A burden shared presses with -but half the weight it did before. Confide in me, Maida, Unburden your -trouble." - -Maida's tears flowed freely. She made no effort to restrain them. They -softened the dry crust of misery which encased her spirit. Her head -inclined to her consoler. So did her heart in tender gratitude. She -caressed the soothing hand, but still the pent-up words refused to -come. Miss Rolph waited in silence, but found at length that she must -assist if the explanation was to be made. - -"You said, Maida, that you intended to come instead of answering my -letter--that you started?" - -"I did. I was at Narwhal Junction waiting for the train, when I met a -very old friend on the platform--going to Clam Beach, just as I was -coming away. I could not resist going back with my old friend, it was -so long since we had met. And after that, the matter of the sociology -class escaped my memory." - -"Very strange. Is Clam Beach a scene of such rackety dissipation that -people forget their private affairs? I had inferred from your -descriptions that it was quite retired--a place to rest in." - -"My friend and I had not met for years. The meeting engrossed me." - -Miss Rolph glanced in Maida's face, one sharp short glance, like an -inquisitive bird, and with the flicker of a smile which did not spread -beyond the corner of her mouth, inquired-- - -"And did--she?--your friend, take as engrossing an interest in you, my -dear? Such friendships are rare, as well as precious." - -"I did not say 'she,' Miss Rolph. It was a gentleman." - -"I imagined as much, my dear; but you were so hampered by your noun of -epicene gender, that I thought it best to be rid of it." - -Maida blushed. "Oh, Miss Rolph! What will you think of me?--of my -fitness as a pioneer in Woman's cause?" - -"Think, my dear? That you are a woman like the rest of us. This was a -feature in your nature that seemed missing. The absence of a universal -weakness does not necessarily argue strength. It may arise from -insensibility, and merely show an incomplete nature. I think better of -you, perhaps. Go on." - -"I had known him long ago. My first situation, when I began to teach, -was in his uncle's house. He was a student at Harvard, but spent his -vacations at home with us. His cousins were mere children; his uncle -and aunt had their own affairs; I was his sole companion. He taught -me much. It was a happy time. We were both young, fresh and hopeful, -and--well---- He is the only young man I ever saw much of. He expected -to make his fortune right away, and we---- But I cannot speak of -it.... - -"That was ten years ago. We corresponded--for the first year or so. -After that we lost sight of one another. I came to Montpelier; he--was -making his fortune. He recognised me on the platform at Narwhal -Junction. I was so pleased to find that he remembered me. He asked if -I was married, and he told me that he was not. He went back with me to -Clam Beach--or so I thought. Perhaps I ought to put it the other way, -and say that it was I who went with him; but at any rate we went -together, and we were together there all the time. He knew nobody but -myself, and he did not care to make acquaintances, it seemed; and he -stayed on, though at first he had spoken of leaving in two days. -And so it appeared to me--is there not some excuse for me, Miss -Rolph?--that we were taking up our intimacy just where we had laid it -down before." - -"Ah!" said Miss Rolph. The bird-like look of the philosophic -investigator had left her features now, and she was listening with -genuine interest. She had still a heart, away down deep below her -theories and professional fads, and there was perennial interest for -her in a kindness between man and woman; which may have been unworthy -of her position, but was as salt to preserve her nature sound and -wholesome. - -"What is his name, my dear? One follows a story so much better for -knowing the names." - -"Roe--Gilbert Roe. Has it not a pleasant sound?" - -Miss Rolph's eyelids quivered in a momentary start. Then she looked -down into her lap, compressing her lips, and making as if she would -show no sign till all was told. - -"He stayed on more than a week. He is there now, I daresay. He was -with me constantly--sat beside me at table. People said it was a sure -case, and congratulated me; and I--well--what else could I think? I -believed them. Looking back now, with my insight cleared by what came -after, I am bound to own that he said nothing in all that time. When I -tried to hark back to the community of feeling that had subsisted -between us long ago, he disregarded and passed it by. I am not -accusing him of behaving badly, remember. It is my own foolish -credulity alone which I have to blame; and oh, Miss Rolph, what -humiliation it has brought on me! It hunted me away home here. I dared -not, for shame, go back to Clam Beach, even to bring away my things." - -"I do not follow." - -"We went one day--it was yesterday, but it seems like years since, for -the gulf of misery I have waded across since then. There was a -clam-bake at Blue Fish Creek, and we were there. Everybody was there. -We were sitting apart in a shady place, waiting till the heat would -temper down. He was smoking or reading the paper, I forget which. All -of a sudden he jumped up and left me. I looked round. He was -addressing a lady who seemed unwilling to hear him. She tried to pass -on without noticing him. She had taken no notice of him at the Beach, -though they had been living under the same roof for a week. He -persisted in accosting her, and angry words passed between them. She -said she was free of him. He would not admit it." - -"Who was the lady?" - -"A Miss Hillyard of Chicago or somewhere. I am not acquainted with -her." - -"That is my niece! The Gilbert Roe you speak of must be her husband." - -"Husband? Ah! that may explain the cruelty of what he did next. And it -was cruel and humiliating to me! And there need have been no occasion -for it, if he had told me at the first that he was married. She -taunted him with my friendship. I heard her. And he--was it manly of -him?--he actually proposed to bring her to me, to ask if there was -anything between us more than old acquaintanceship!" Maida's voice -rose into a cry as she said it. She clenched her hands; and cheeks, -brow, neck, grew scarlet, and then she buried her face in her -handkerchief and sobbed. - -"It must be Rose, my niece, and her husband. I would believe anything -that could be told me of them. There never were two such ill-regulated -young things brought together, I do believe--so fond, so foolish, so -obstinate and wayward. There never was such a fiasco as their married -life has proved. Both handsome, both clever, both well off, and each, -I believe, most truly attached to the other; yet neither would forbear -to gratify a whim, neither would submit to be crossed in the smallest -trifle by the other. They squabbled away for not much over a year, and -then the Divorce Court came in and parted them. A pair of unruly -children! It was whipped they should have been, and made promise to -kiss and be friends. Instead of that, they are divorced and -discredited for life, and nothing good need be expected ever to happen -to either of them any more. These ill-considered changes in our -customs are deplorable. It is good to rescue the downtrodden from -oppression, but only evil can come of confounding liberty with -licence." - -"Perhaps you may be mistaken," Maida answered, looking up and drying -her eyes. It consoled her to hear her affronters soundly scolded, even -in their absence. "Hillyard is no such uncommon name. This lady passed -for unmarried at the hotel, and they say she is engaged to be married -to a gentleman from Canada. Yes, by the by, it was to remonstrate -about that, that Mr Roe spoke to her." - -"So the Divorce Court, even, does not end their squabbles! Whom was -she said to be engaged to?" - -"A Mr Naylor--a real nice gentleman, and devoted to her. Every one was -talking about the beautiful presents of jewellery he had ordered her -from New York." - -"Naylor? What is he like?" - -"He is real nice, I should say, by his looks, and very rich. He has -some nieces with him, well dressed and real aristocratic. Belong to -the first families, I guess, and quite thick with all the first people -at the Beach. No culture to speak of, but high-strung--very!" - -"How old is this Mr Naylor, should you suppose? and what is he like? -Is he a tall man, now, for instance?" - -"He is not tall--no. Thick-set, almost stout; a heap shorter than -Gil----Mr Roe. Middle-aged. His hair is beginning to turn. Not old, -though certainly not young, but with a nice kindly face, and real -cheerful. I hope she will stick to him. It would be real distressing -if she were to jilt him, and I don't see what call a divorced husband -can have to interfere. What were divorces made for, if not to keep bad -husbands from bothering?" - -Miss Rolph had been moving uneasily in her chair. She stood up now, -looking agitated but very firm. - -"I believe I know this Mr Naylor. The engagement must be broken off -without an hour's delay. The idea is horrible!... I thought I had done -with this awful girl. When she left her husband, and refused to listen -to right principle and common decency, I washed my hands of her. But -this---- It is an unimaginable horror! When does the next train leave -for Clam Beach, I wonder? How do you go?" - -"You cannot go to-night You will not be able to connect," Maida -answered in some disgust. The idea of Naylor's coming in and securing -the lady, and leaving Roe forlorn, which she had begun to conjure up, -was distinctly consoling. She did not like to think of the energetic -Miss Rolph intervening to upset the pleasing possibility. - -Miss Rolph spread out a map. "There is Lippenstock, a station where -all trains stop, close by. I can book for there, and drive over in the -evening." - -Maida sighed. "If you go, Miss Rolph, would you kindly mention to Mrs -Denwiddie that I am here? You know her, I daresay; you seem to know -every one at the Beach. Say I got a telegram--say anything. She is -sure to be thinking something dreadful about my going away so -sudden-like--without a word, or taking away my things." - -Miss Rolph, in her agitation, looked round on Maida. She could not -help smiling, notwithstanding her anxiety. The world is filled with -such a tangle of conflicting interests, and each of us has room in his -little brain only for the few which connect with himself. - -"I do not know the lady, my dear; but I shall mention at the office -that you were suddenly called home. I will settle your bill, and bid -them pack up and forward your things." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - - "YOU MAY TRUST ME TO HOLD MY TONGUE!" - - -The dance at Blue Fish Creek was a success of its kind--the kind which -might be expected. It was held in the "town hall," a sort of loft -above the station of the village fire-engine, the one large room of -the place; used on Sundays as a church by some sect which had not -attained to a meeting-house of its own, as a singing-school on winter -nights when the younger villagers grew tired of remaining at home, and -as general place of gathering where the people met to discuss politics -or to be entertained by itinerant players. - -The hall was crowded and very hot. Three fiddles supplied the -squeaking music of catgut in agony, while the young and active -disported themselves amid clouds of dust of their own raising. The -dances were complicated and strange, being of the kind in which an -earlier generation loved to take exercise; but the motley crowd was -happy--poussetted, chassied, and performed feats which I can neither -name nor spell, with a will. - -Margaret Naylor had had a great deal of young Petty's company, and was -rather weary of him. From the moment when her uncle had bidden her -farewell, her attention to the young man's conversation had begun to -wander. Exert himself as he might, he failed to interest her, and he -grew depressed himself in consequence. In the hall he persuaded her to -dance once, but she refused point-blank when he ventured to ask her -again. He felt dispirited, and soon withdrew from the festive throng, -going out into the night, which had fallen dark and starless, and -wandering round within hearing of the fiddles and the stamping feet, -like a Peri shut out of Paradise--detesting the sounds of mirth in -which he had no share, but unable to drag himself away. Even tobacco, -that silent comforter of the miserable, failed to soothe him, and he -hung around the entrance of the hall, to which he had no desire to -return. - -It was growing late. The stablemen had put the horses to the vehicles -for the home-going, and ranged them in double row to await the -breaking up of the gathering; but still the fiddlers plied the cruel -bow upon the screeching catgut, and still the steady tramp of the -dancers went on as briskly as ever. Petty lighted a fresh cigar, and -told himself that his time of waiting had nearly expired. As the -thought formed itself, a figure passed him coming down from the hall. -It was muffled, so far as the lightness of summer attire would admit. -Something was drawn over the head which made it unrecognisable as it -passed quickly from under the dim lamp on the stairs into the darkness -without. It stood for an instant accustoming itself to the gloom. He -could see it turn about as if looking for an expected object. There -was an omnibus provided with a lantern in the line of vehicles, which -weakly illumined a little circle around it, and lent a few feeble -indications as to more distant objects. The figure looked around -again, and then, in a tremulous voice raised little above a whisper, -it uttered the one word "Walter!" - -Walter Petty's heart bounded into his throat, and beat tumultuously, -like a startled bird, against his ribs. This was an altogether -unexpected turn. She--there was no question as to who she was, when -once that dear voice sounded--she called him by his name! It was her -first time to do it, and he had not dared to hope she ever would. The -cigar was tossed into the gutter in a twinkling, and he was at her -side, too deeply moved to trust himself to speak. - -That was unnecessary. Her own excitement compelled her to take the -word. - -"Oh quick, Walter! If mamma should miss me, and come out in search! -What a commotion! Hurry! quick!... The buggy in front?--is it not?... -You have everything ready of course? Oh hurry!" - -Petty was puzzled What was she up to? Yet it did not matter what. It -was right, or she would not do it. And if there was danger, he would -be at her side. She flew to the front of the line, he striding, almost -running, beside her. She was in the buggy in an instant. He followed. -The reins were in his hands. The stable-boy let go the horse's head. -They were away. - -Away, but whither? Home, of course. Where else could she desire to go? -Yet why so much mystery? such anxiety to escape, and steal away? It -must be that detestable Wilkie, who had been so intrusive at -Fessenden's Island. She had been staving him off for a week back, he -thought he had observed. Now her mother was forcing him on her, and -she had run away. What a fine spirited girl! Yet why did all the -mothers run after that cad Wilkie? He was not a gentleman even, and -yet Walter's own mother had been encouraging his attentions to his -sister Ann. A pretty brother-in-law to bring into a family! And to -think the fellow should presume to have two strings to his bow! And -such strings! It made this jolly clatter of hoofs and wheels, this -careering headlong through the night, even more delightful, if that -were possible, to think of the other man left behind and biting his -nails in disappointment. - -"Quicker, Walter! quicker! Are we safely away, do you think? Can they -overtake us?" How close she nestled to his side! How strong and -protecting he felt! How heroic, as he peered out in the darkness, -between the ears of his horse, to see if all were clear! The horse -could see the way and take the turns, Walter could not. His driving -was an act of faith; he could but sit and peer, and feel the horse's -mouth, and be alert against a stumble or anything which might befall. -Not seeing, he could not guide. It was late, fortunately, and there -were no other travellers on the road. The night air blew past them -fresh and exhilarating, and the soft pressure of his companion -nestling to his side was an unspeakable delight. She seemed -agitated--unduly, as it appeared to him; but then a woman is a tender -thing, he thought, and how tender and solicitous he would be of this -one, if she gave him the right! He could feel her tremble, and she -spoke short ejaculatory sentences from time to time; not as if she -wanted him to answer--and what was there he could say?--but merely to -relieve her high-wrought feelings. - -"I did not think I could have done it, Walter. Only for you I could -have broke away. I feel quite wicked. But surely even mamma has no -right to come in between you and me; and now she certainly must not." - -Walter Petty agreed with the conclusion, but was at a loss to divine -the premisses through which it was arrived at. However, they were -going down a steep hill, his faculties were on the stretch as they -jolted down in the darkness, and he had to support the horse, -momentarily in danger of a stumble or upset upon the loose stones -which encumbered the way. He did not answer, and Margaret was growing -accustomed to the situation and recovering her composure. - -They passed a wayside tavern whose windows still showed light, -standing at a crossing where four ways met. Margaret recognised it, -and the next moment observing that they turned to the right, she -exclaimed-- - -"Walter! That is Mollekin's; you should have turned to the left for -Narwhal Junction. If you keep on as we are going, we shall be at Clam -Beach in fifteen minutes." - -"Or ten, dear Margaret," Walter answered. - -Margaret bounded up in her seat and drew away. Had Walter not clutched -at her gown in time, she must have fallen out. - -"Mr Petty! How come _you_ to be here? What trap--what trick is this?" - -"You brought me yourself, Miss Naylor. I have complied with your -wishes as far as I have known how. You called me. You seemed to want -my service. I was proud to be of use." - -"You? I was to have met---- I did not call you, Mr Petty. How could -you suppose it? I am not intimate with you. We are common -acquaintances. That is all. What right had you to intrude? You have -done me an irreparable injury. I should not have expected this of -you." - -"You came out of the hall in haste, Miss Naylor. You spoke to me. You -said 'Walter.' I obeyed. I supposed you wanted to get home." - -"You----" Margaret did not finish the sentence. Why should she betray -herself? she thought. He seemed to have no suspicion as to her -intentions. Why should she enlighten him? As he had frustrated her -design, her best course was to leave him in his delusion. It would -prevent gossip in the hotel. She would acquiesce in his supposition, -seeing that her scheme to get away was balked for the present. "I did -not know you in the dark, Mr Petty; I thought you were some one else. -But it is all right. I have been driven nearly crazy by those jarring -fiddles, and the dust and heat. Thanks for your kind readiness to -oblige. I am dizzy with headache. I shall go to my room at once, and -be asleep before the rest get home." - -There was a clatter of hoofs behind them. Margaret drew her wraps over -her head, and cowered low in her seat. Was she pursued? Was she -overtaken? A little in front shone the lights of the hotel. How -welcome they were now! A horseman dashed past at full gallop. He leapt -down at the hotel door, and when the buggy drew up, Walter Blount was -there to receive Margaret on alighting. - -"You took away my buggy, Mr Petty," he observed, when that gentleman's -countenance came within the circle of light streaming from the hotel -door. "However, you have brought it safely here. Accept my thanks. I -will relieve you now." Then turning to Margaret, "Now, dearest! in -again!" He followed her, and to Petty's astonishment, the pair were -gone. - -Joseph Naylor, lounging on the gallery hard by, had seen the passage. -He came forward and laid his hand on Petty's arm, as, standing -stock-still in his bewilderment, he peered into the darkness after the -vanished buggy. - -"A strange part you seem to have played in those young folk's -comedy--a tantalising part, and laughable, if people knew about it. -But we will not tell them, will we? They have been long engaged. Mamma -was adverse, perhaps unreasonable. But she will come round. We won't -interfere, to spoil sport. Will we, Petty?" - -Walter looked round rather ruefully. "You may trust to my holding my -tongue, Mr Naylor. My own part in it has not been so distinguished -that I need wish it known." - -The runaways were on the road to Lippenstock. Walter Blount had spent -the evening in the hall ready to follow Margaret as she went out. He -had missed her, and waited on, till the party broke up not long after. -Then he had found that his buggy was gone, and not seeing the lady, -surmised she might be in it--might have got in to await him, and -allowed the horse to bolt. He had difficulty in procuring a horse to -follow, but in the end succeeded in bribing the man to take a leader -out of one of the omnibuses, under a storm of reproaches from the -outraged passengers, and had galloped to the Beach in hopes of -overtaking and reclaiming his missing "rig"; and he had succeeded, -recovering both outfit and passenger. - -"Oh, Walter! what luck!" cried Margaret. "I thought that ridiculous Mr -Petty had spoiled everything. His name is Walter, it seems; and when I -called you, he answered. He should have known I would not call him by -his name. We must hurry, though. Everybody will know, now, as soon as -they get home. I see we are on the road to Lippenstock." - -"Yes. Why should we risk meeting them, even in the dark? But I do not -think young Petty will say anything. He seems a decent fellow who -would not do a shabby thing; and he is not likely to tell an adventure -in which he plays so ridiculous a part. To carry away a lady for -another man!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - - SUSAN IS EQUAL TO THE EMERGENCY. - - -Mrs Naylor was late of coming down-stairs next morning, but she took -no special notice of Margaret's not having come to inquire for her, -further than to prepare herself with a taunt at undutiful children -against the moment when they should meet. Her empty chair at dinner, -however, told that something was amiss; and Lucy could give no -information, further than that Margaret had not slept at Clam Beach -the previous night. - -"Not slept? What do you mean? Have you been keeping this from me all -these hours? Why did you not tell me at once?" - -"Because you make such a fuss, mamma. It was as much as my peace for -all day was worth to disturb you." - -"You take it coolly. You must know where she is?" - -"No indeed, mamma. She was under your own wing when I saw her last. -You sat on one side of her, and Mr Petty on the other. If she has -broken away at last from such close _surveillance_, it is not very -surprising." - -"Has your sister run away, my dear?" asked Mrs Wilkie across the table -of Lucy. Then, turning her eyes defiantly on the mother, with whom, -since their last set-to, she could scarcely be said to be on speaking -terms, she added, "I gave you warning, ma'am, about certain on-goings; -and ye were scarcely ceevil to me on the head of it. Who's right now? -I'd like to know." - -"Whist, mother!" said her son, pulling at her gown under the table. -"Let people settle their own hash." - -"They would have mixed my son up in their hash, and done for him, if -they could. I'll show them I see through them and their pretensions, -now when they're fand out, and know what a little-worth crew they -are." - -Joseph Naylor overheard, and could not restrain a smile, which excited -the indignation of his sister-in-law almost beyond control. - -"I remember your polite expressions, ma'am," she said; "but there are -distinctions which make a difference. The gentleman you then chose to -speak of disrespectfully, coupling his name with Miss Naylor's in a -most unwarrantable manner, is fifth son of a deputy-lieutenant and -Custos Rotulorum in Memicombshire, England. You have not been used to -meet gentlemen of his station, and had better not refer to them. -Ignorance becomes ridiculous when it forces itself into notice." - -"The fifth son of a tirlie-wirlie, is he, ma'am? I think little of -that. I'd have ye know that my son has a tirlie-wirlie of his own, if -it's a cairidge ye mean. The fifth son of people with a cairidge isn't -much. He'd have to ride outside on the dickie beside the driver, I'm -thinking." - -Mrs Naylor was dumb. It is useless to retort on people who do not, or -who will not, understand. - -At that moment a telegram was brought to Joseph. He tore it open, read -it, and handed it to his sister-in-law. - -"This is from Margaret," he whispered. "Control yourself, and do not -give the people room to snigger at your expense." - -The telegram was dated Gorham, New Hampshire. It ran: "Married at -eleven this morning. Margaret Blount." - -Mrs Naylor read, and but for the sudden flushing of her features, -controlled herself from any outward betrayal of displeasure. It is the -one unmixed good which comes of living in public, that people are -compelled to suppress their manifestations of feeling; and, driven by -stress of circumstances to seem calm, the more speedily become so -really. Reason, unimpeded by emotion, which is nourished on its own -manifestations, comes sooner to the rescue, and shows how few -miscarriages are worth the distress we are apt to give ourselves over -them. In pretending before observers to make light of a -disappointment, we involuntarily give heed to our own words, and come -to think less of it than otherwise we should have done. Mrs Naylor's -mind, instead of dwelling on her provocation, was forced to conceal -the wound from the impertinently curious, and thereby dividing itself -upon two views of the subject--the grievance and its concealment--was -less disturbed by either. - -The first idea which came distinct to the surface, through her mental -perturbation, was an appreciation of her own good sense; and her good -fortune, in having boasted, immediately before having received this -news, of her son-in-law's high connections. Now that the young man was -indissolubly knotted to her family, and she must make the most of him, -the Custos Rotulorum, with his ancestral hall in Memicombshire, was -the sheet-anchor of his claim to consequence. If it was an ideal -claim, instead of the grossly real one she had desired for her -daughter's husband, it was infinitely finer in kind; and she prepared -to take it up, and brandish it vigorously, to cow and overpower -impressible minds, and suppress colonial pretension. - -She began to feel quite imperial, after a little trying, and when -dinner was over, had come to feel that a Custos Rotulorum made an -infinitely finer father-in-law for her girl than all the judges in the -Dominion rolled into one could have done. When the ladies gathered -up-stairs, therefore, she played her best card, under the -circumstances, with quite a good heart; she showed them her telegram, -and claimed their congratulations. She talked effusively of "an old -attachment"--"two romantic children, who could not bring themselves to -profane the interchange of their holy vows, with the garish -vulgarities of orange-blossoms and Brussels lace, bride's-maids, -breakfast, and speechifying, but had resolved to go away by themselves -and be married in peace." "She had been persuaded to keep their secret -and say nothing." "They were away on their wedding tour, now; but she -was still under promise to reveal no more." "They might have gone to -California or to visit the Custos Rotulorum," she would not say which, -but she let it be inferred that it was England and the ancestral hall, -to which their happy steps were bent. - -The ladies thus unexpectedly called on for congratulations paid them -at once--they could not help themselves; but they paid them perhaps a -little grudgingly, feeling injured at having been balked of the -preliminary tattle. Had it been sympathy and condolence which Mrs -Naylor claimed, they could have opened their hearts much more freely. -They could have mingled a tear or two quite comfortably with hers, and -felt deeply interested in the new sensation; but that two young people -should go away and get married, without telling anybody, and then that -it should turn out a right, proper, and desirable union, was treating -them very badly, in the dearth just then of pleasurable excitement. - -Joseph Naylor was the only person who fully enjoyed the scene, as he -walked upon the gallery with Rose, and looked in through the open -windows. What a remarkable woman was this sister-in-law of his, to be -sure! and how little he had been aware of those reserves of strength -and quickness which she was now displaying to such good purpose! -Accustomed in the family circle to have her way, and to overbear -opposition with petulance, peevishness, indignation, or convenient ill -health, as best suited, it had not occurred to him that for once she -could act like a sensible woman and bravely accept the inevitable. He -had dreaded an explosion, a scene, perhaps a fainting-fit and general -commotion, when in helpless trepidation he had handed her that -telegram; and here she was, with a smiling face, claiming felicitation -on the overthrow of her plans and wishes, and actually taking credit -for a result which had worked itself out in defiance of her -opposition. - -"There is not an acrobat in Barnum's circus," he said, "who could have -turned a somersault as neatly. I could not have believed our Susan -capable of so sudden a change of front. A woman of her talent and -resource is hid away and completely lost in a small place like Jones's -Landing." - -Rose agreed with him, and was vastly interested in the whole affair. -She dwelt on it, recurred to the different points and stages, -discussed, analysed, and combed out every detail separately to its -greatest length. It gratified Joseph that she should concern herself -so warmly in his family affairs, but he would have been glad if her -interest had been sooner satisfied. She contrived that the -conversation should not progress, as it naturally would have done, -from Margaret's love-passages to their own. Even the night on -Fessenden's Island was not able, as Joseph had felt confident that it -would be, to withdraw her thoughts from the runaways to their own -tender affairs. When he endeavoured to transfer the interest, she -returned with renewed curiosity to ask where Margaret and Blount first -met, and from that digressed still further, to demand full particulars -of his circumstances, birth, and parentage. She was as charmingly -companionable as she always had been; Joseph loved and adored as he -always did; but he could not draw her on to the closer and more -personal topic on which he yearned to hold converse. - -That topic--their engagement--was one to which this afternoon she had -an insuperable, and, as she told herself, an unreasonable repugnance -to reopen at the present moment. Come it must, eventually, and she -would welcome it; but not to-day. A shadow was upon her, the shadow of -Bertie Roe, an influence to which she was resolved that she would not -yield, but which yet had power to cast an unattractiveness and dimness -over all beside. She had broken with that man for ever, had she not? -but she had spoken with him, in dismissing him, and the converse of -all the world beside had lost its relish. She felt, but would not own -it. Had she not announced openly her new engagement? and was she, like -some poor-spirited slave, to break it off and go back, because her old -tyrant had chosen to lift his finger? What would her friends, the -world, the free-thinking and strong-minded who had applauded her -spirit, say to see her go back to bondage and resume her chains? She -chafed to think of it, and tried to lash herself into new anger -against her husband. And she had felt so strong in her resolve, all -through the bygone week! To think that a few words, and a little -pleading, should have weakened her like this! She was growing unworthy -of her former self. How dim and indistinct her wrongs had grown since -yesterday, when that sweet insidious voice had taken on itself to -explain them away! Why had she listened?... And until yesterday, the -sight of the woman he was always walking with had made her strong; but -that crouching figure under the tree, seen yesterday, who could fear -that? How feel jealous of aught so forlorn? There was a little triumph -in it, that Bertie should have been brought so low; but she missed the -tonic and strengthening influence which had been thus dispelled. She -was resolved to resist, to have done with Bertie Roe; but there was a -strange diffidence of the strength within her, which she would not -acknowledge to herself, but still was aware of, foreboding general -collapse. - -Trying to keep up this waning strength, she worked hard at being -interested in Joseph and his family, especially in the family; that -was the easier subject of the two, and it avoided comparisons, -dangerous at this moment--comparison of years, of stature and physical -endowment, which told against him. - -And so Joseph and Rose worked out this day in ostensible amity and -intimacy, but with an inward doubt burrowing and working like hidden -currents in spring beneath the ice, eating it away, and honeycombing -the solid mass, which still looks huge and immovable as ever; and will -continue so to seem, till comes the end, and with a crash the massive -structure crumbles and melts and disappears. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - - MISS ROLPH IS SEVERE. - - -It was growing late at night. The proprietor and his clerk had -concluded the labours of the day, and were arranging with the -house-steward the bill of fare for the morrow. The male guests were -up-stairs in the parlours with the ladies, or else had secluded -themselves to play poker in private rooms, in accordance with the -rigorous house-rule against gambling. Gilbert Roe alone paced the -lower corridor, smoking cigar after cigar, which failed to soothe -him--restless and woebegone, waiting on for he knew not what, unable -to tear himself from the dreariest quarters in which he had ever -sojourned. - -He was not popular with the men. He took no interest in their -amusements, having other cares at this time, and they voted him -unsociable and of no account. Since Maida's disappearance, the few -lady guests with whom he was acquainted had asked him where she was; -and on his declaring that he did not know, they had turned away with a -frightened and suspicious glance, as though they suspected him of -having made away with her. He wandered about the house like another -Cain, suspected, dreaded, and shunned, as though there were a mark of -warning and of evil on his brow; but he would not go away while Rose -remained an inmate of the house. He had an impression that there was -an influence within her doing battle on his behalf--he had detected -her furtive glances more than once wandering towards him, and averted -again ere he could meet them, and he would not go away; but the -waiting was inexpressibly dreary in the meantime. - -The rumble of wheels was heard outside; a vehicle stopped before the -door. The porter, drowsing in his corner, started to his feet and ran -down to carry in baggage, and the landlord followed to inspect the -untimely arrival. It was a tall spare lady, dressed in black, who -walked straight to the desk and registered herself, "Principal Rolph, -Female College, Montpelier;" then asked to have Miss Springer's bill -made out, that she might settle it, and desired that lady's effects to -be packed up and forwarded. - -Having finished her business with the clerk, she turned to follow the -bell-boy to her appointed chamber, and met Roe straight in the eye, as -he wearily paced the tiles, counting the minutes in their lagging -flight, till his hour should arrive for turning in. - -"Bertie Roe! Ha! you may well look guilty and ashamed to face me. You -did not expect to see me here, I reckon." - -He held out his hand to her, though his look on meeting was scarcely -one of welcome. - -"We will dispense with hand-shaking, all things considered. We can -neither of us be very pleased to see the other; but you need not pass -on. I mean to speak my mind to you before I let you go." - -"Speak on, Miss Rolph. It is natural you should feel strongly against -me. I will not even tell you that it was not my fault. That would seem -like casting reflections where I promised and still wish to defend." - -"That sounds proper enough; but I have more against you than you -think--another instance of your misconduct. What possesses you, Bertie -Roe, to go prowling and ravening about the world like this?--blighting -the lives and devastating the affections of trusting women? Why do you -do it? What pleasure can you feel in crushing a girl's self-respect, -and making her feel shameless and a fool?" - -"She does not feel one bit like a fool, Miss Rolph; and her -self-respect is not crushed at all. Far from wishing to crush her, I -am ready to humble myself, and take the blame of what I did not bring -about, and, heaven knows, had no wish should happen." - -"Then you did not wish Maida Springer to run away as she did? If she -had stayed, would you have proposed to marry her? You took a curious -way to show your intentions." - -"Maida Springer! What have I to do with _her?_ And what have _you_ to -do with Maida Springer?" - -"She is a particular friend of mine. I have a high opinion of Maida -Springer, and I think you have behaved to her like a ruffian." - -"We are old friends. I have always wished her well, and she wishes me -well, I am sure. An unkind word has never passed between us, and we -have been constantly together for--let me see--all the time I have -been staying here." - -"I know that; and when a single man devotes himself in that open way -to an unmarried woman, what does it mean, if not marriage? Was it -honourable of you, Bertie Roe, to behave like that?" - -"I do not consider myself a single man, Miss Rolph. I never -shall--unless--unless--which God forbid!" - -"Did you tell her you did not consider yourself single?" - -"How could I, Miss Rolph? Do you think a man is made of wood and -leather?" - -"Then you left her to believe that you were single, Bertie Roe; and -you should be ashamed of yourself. You told her--I have it from -herself--that you were not married." - -"Neither am I, Miss Rolph. The Divorce Court has annulled my -marriage." - -"You have behaved dishonourably, Bertie; and with callous cruelty -besides, from what she told me, in betraying her weakness as you did, -to the other. It was not a manly act, let me tell you. I expected -better things of you." - -"How could I know, or even suspect? Do you take me for so conceited an -ass that I must needs suppose every woman I converse with is in love -with me?" - -"That will not do, Bertie. You are not such a stripling as not to know -that girls expect to marry, that society forbids them to make the -advance, and that if a man pays them undivided and conspicuous -attention, they are entitled to believe that he means something." - -"I never thought of that, Miss Rolph. If you will believe me, there is -but one woman in the world I can ever feel towards in that way." - -"And a pretty way you took to show your love!--deserted her--judgment -by default--'cruelty and desertion'!" - -"What could I do? She would not listen to reason. I could not let her -name be dragged through the law reports in company with those of all -the worst people in the State. No; you must acknowledge, Miss Rolph, -that I showed forbearance and consideration there, at least. What -would the charming little tempers we both remember have looked like, -after being carded out and hackled by a pair of foul-mouthed lawyers? -They would have made her a laughing-stock to the whole country. I know -I was right in letting judgment go by default, though it went sorely -against my grain to do it." - -"And now you see the consequence. She is engaged to marry another -man." - -"But you will not let her, Miss Rolph? You will insist on her giving -me another chance. I am confident she will never be fond of any one -else as she was fond of me, and still is in her heart, if she would -listen to its promptings." - -"That you may bicker together incessantly, and quarrel anew?--like a -pair of spoilt children, to be a scandal to decent people?" - -"Ah! that is over, you may rely, Miss Rolph. I venture to assert that -we have both suffered too deeply in our separation ever to let the -bond, if it should be renewed, fret us again. Such patience as we -shall have with one another, will be a sight to see. You will help us -to make it up, Miss Rolph? Your advice goes a long way with her." - -"I fear not. I have tried ere now, and had my interference declined -with thanks. I cannot attempt to make it up between you and her. In -fact I had resolved to wash my hands of her altogether; but for other -reasons, this new engagement of hers must be broken off, though I -shall not approach _her_ on the subject--in the first instance, at -least. I shall go to the gentleman." - -"Only break it off, dear Miss Rolph, and you have my lifelong -gratitude--and hers too, though it seems a bold assertion; but I have -seen signs of relenting, and I believe it is pride, and the fear of -being laughed at, which chiefly keep up the estrangement." - -"We shall see, Bertie; but you do not deserve it," said Miss Rolph, -attempting to keep up the rigour of her first words, though the -friendliness of her nod and smile at parting belied the pretence. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - - MILLICENT. - - -Next morning, Joseph Naylor was disturbed in the act of shaving by the -intelligence that a lady desired to see him, and that she was waiting -his coming down-stairs in one of the parlours. - -"A lady? Who is it? What does she want?" he inquired of the black boy -who brought the message. - -"Principal of the Female College at Montpelier, sah." - -"Never heard of the institution. Some one drumming up for pupils, I -suppose. My nieces are rather old to put to school. They would not go -if I tried to put them. Why does she not apply to their mother? Susan -never did allow me to interfere about the schools--or anything else, -for that matter, when she could manage without me." - -He finished his dressing quickly, however, and hastened down-stairs. - -In the parlour stood a tall, grey woman, clad in black, awaiting him. -He advanced with a low bow and a look of inquiry. The lady looked -earnestly in his face, coming forward to meet him with extended hand. - -"You do not know me, Joseph?" - -Joseph stared in surprise at so intimate a form of address; yet there -was a tone in the voice which seemed not unfamiliar, though he could -not connect it in his memory with any particular time, place, or -person. - -"I am changed, of course,"--it was still the lady who spoke,--"but so -are you. Try if you cannot recall. It is five-and-twenty years since -we last met." - -"You have the advantage, ma'am." - -"My name is Millicent Rolph. You know me now?" - -"You? Do you mean that you are Lina's sister?" - -"I am, Joseph--your sister-in-law. You cannot have forgotten our last -meeting at the old home in New Orleans?" - -"I can never forget the last time I met Millicent Rolph; but I trace -no resemblance between you and her. She was a woman of thirty, -dark-haired, large, handsome; you--do not resemble her." - -"She was thirty twenty-five years ago, and you were twenty-two. The -years have left their mark upon us both. I cannot but be changed. I -have come through the troubles of a lifetime. There was the war, and -mother's death, and the ruin of our affairs in New Orleans; and there -have been trials and much hard work since then, to change me into the -spare, elderly, white-haired woman you see now. You are changed too, -though life has dealt less harshly, I should judge. Yet I recognised -you at once, though I had prayed that I might not--that you might -prove to be another man, bearing by accident the name of my -brother-in-law.... We were such friends once, Joseph, in the long ago. -Sitting under the shade of the magnolias in the dear old garden, with -Lina between us----" - -"Have done, Millicent! I confess now that it is you. I recognise your -voice. But do not stir up old memories. They haunted me like ghosts -for more than twenty years. It is only recently that I have been able -to lay them.... Let them lie. You weighed me down with misery enough -when last we met. Do not refer to it. I had rather we had not met now. -It is like reopening a grave, even to hear you speak. It brings back -all I would forget--all I have been cheating myself into believing -that I had buried and got rid of at last." - -"I can understand the feeling." - -"What can I do to serve you? Tell me; but let us part at once. I will -do anything, but I cannot stand here listening. Your voice is heavy -with memories like forebodings; my heart sinks at the very sound. -Speak, and let me leave you. What do you want?" - -"I want nothing, Joseph--nothing for myself. It is for your own sake I -am come, and it tears my heart to say the things I have to tell you." - -"You said something like that when you acted so cruelly before, you -and your mother; but you did not spare me." - -"I am come to warn you, Joseph, against this marriage you propose to -make." - -"You are? Have you not injured me enough in my affections already? Are -five-and-twenty years of widowhood not enough to have inflicted on one -who never knowingly offended you? What wrong have I done you, that you -should persecute me like this?" - -"Joseph, I always loved you like a sister. It crushes me to be made -the herald of your disappointments; but I have no choice." - -"I will not listen to you. You shall not put me from Rose as you did -from Lina. Let me pass." - -"You cannot marry Rose. You must stop and hear me;" and she planted -herself between him and the door. - -"Then I must escape by the window; and there she is, standing at the -farther end of the gallery. How spirited and sweet she looks--how like -our Lina!... Millicent, you will pity, and not come in between? Look, -she sees us! She starts. She is coming to us with that pretty shyness -which seems half defiance. One would think she knew you well, -Millicent?" - -"She does, Joseph. Listen to her when we meet; it will save a world of -painful explanation." - -Rose came forward, not very quickly, though pride forbade her -faltering. She held her head erect, and her colour was heightened; but -her eyes were far from steady, and for all her endeavours to outface -the situation, betrayed an inclination to seek the ground. - -"You here, Aunt Millicent? I did not know that you and Mr Naylor were -acquainted." - -"_Aunt_ Millicent? Are you two related, then?" gasped Joseph, his -nether jaw falling. - -"She is your own daughter, Joseph Naylor! It was to tell you so that I -sought you out--to preserve you from the hideous mistake you were -about to make. But oh! it breaks my heart that I should be your -messenger of evil tidings again." - -Joseph leant against the window-jamb, looking very pale, and uttering -a sigh so deep that it sounded like a moan. - -"Do you mean that she is Lina's child?" he said, after a pause. - -"Yes; and yours." - -"I never was told that I had a child. You might have told me that, -when you told the rest." - -"Would it have been easier, think you, to bear the loss of Lina, if -you had been told that we were keeping you from your child? If we had -told you of her birth, perhaps you might have claimed her. Lina must -have learnt everything. She would have died of shame and remorse." - -"When was the child born?" - -"The day the news reached us of her father's loss at sea; her birth -was hastened by the news. The mother nearly died. She fell out of one -fainting-fit into another, till exhausted nature could endure no more. -For days her life hung trembling in the balance, and then the sight of -the baby turned the scale. There was something to live for--something -that seemed part of you. We took them North. The baby throve, and for -her sake poor Lina took heart and tried to live." - -"And you deprived the child even of its father's name?" - -"Hillyard adopted her. Lina had no other family. She lived five years -only after that marriage." - -"Why did you not restore her to me when her mother died?" - -"We could not, Joseph: the world is so big. Where were we to look for -you? You came no more to New Orleans. By-and-by the war drove us -North, and reduced us to poverty. Mother died. I went to live with -Hillyard and bring up the child. He was devoted to her. They were -everything to one another. It would have been cruelty to interfere." - -"You seem to have had pity for every one but me, Millicent. Could this -Hillyard's rights in the child compare with mine?" - -"You had gone out of our lives, Joseph. We knew--that is, I -knew--little about your family, except that they lived somewhere up in -Canada. That was too far away for us, living in New Orleans, to take -much interest in. Afterwards, when I lived with Hillyard in Canada, -near Sarnia, I did not remember, or know how to set about inquiring." - -"You might have been more considerate, Millicent. You have had a care -for every one but me. I do not deny that you do your duty in -interfering to prevent me from marrying my own daughter; but you -should have begun sooner. To find an intended wife changed into a -daughter is--is--is a shock!" - -"You will bear it, Joseph, like the man you are. In any case, you -could not have married this headstrong girl: she is another man's -wife." - -Rose flushed, but said nothing. She and her Aunt Millicent had been -accustomed to each other's contradictious speeches all through life. -It was Joseph who came to the rescue of his new-found daughter. - -"You should not speak so, Millicent, of your sister's child. You may -not hold with divorces in general, but you should keep quiet in this -case. If the law of her country declares her single, there is no -gainsaying it." - -"That is just where the impediment stands, Joseph; for I have taken a -lawyer's advice. She is a single woman in the United States, and a -married one in British territory. She was married at Sarnia in Canada. -She is Bertie Roe's wife wherever British law prevails, seeing that -she was granted her divorce on grounds which a British court will not -allow. See the scrape your daughter is in! and use a father's -authority to send her back to her husband." - -Rose tried to grow angry. She turned upon her aunt with a frown, to -repudiate the proposal and declare she would never go back. But the -words failed her; a strange, sweet weakness stole through every limb. -She felt conquered without knowing how, or desiring to know why. She -covered her face and burst into tears. - -Millicent saw her opportunity. While father and daughter were still -struggling with themselves to regain composure, she sent for Roe, -presented him to his father-in-law, and explained the legal position -of his relation to his wife. - -The wife kept her face concealed in her handkerchief, but she relented -so far as to let Bertie take her hand. To all expostulation she -declared that she could not do more. "Was she to make herself the -laughing-stock of the house? She was on American ground, where -Millicent herself acknowledged she was free; and she would remain so, -or go right away from everybody, if they teased her any more." - -It was concluded at length that they should return to Canada that very -day. Roe, Mrs Naylor, Lucy, and Millicent, accompanied Rose and her -father; and Blount and Margaret were telegraphed to meet them at -Jones's Landing. There, away from the curious eyes of fellow-guests -who had been witnesses, if unconscious ones, of their little comedy, -the party at once fell into their readjusted relations with one -another. Joseph, with a grown-up and married daughter, naturally took -the position of benevolent patriarch and head of the family. He -associated Blount in his business, thereby securing that his niece -should not be carried away into the wilds, and contenting his -sister-in-law Susan, who thereafter maintained in private to Lucy that -she had carried her point after all, notwithstanding the seeming -defeat; as, but for the stand which she had made against Margaret's -living in the woods, it never would have occurred to Joseph to provide -for Blount, and settle the pair beside her at Jones's Landing. - -From the moment Rose got into the railway at Narwhal Junction, she -slid contentedly back into Mrs Roe. No one ever again alluded to an -estrangement between the married pair, and Jones's Landing was left in -total ignorance that their married life had ever been other than the -even, trustful, and happy existence which it had now become. The two -seemed never apart, never weary of each other's society, yet never in -each other's way in fulfilling the duties of social life. The only -separation which took place between them was when Gilbert returned to -Chicago to wind up his affairs there, preparatory to settling in -Canada beside his father-in-law. Rose shrank from meeting again the -aiders and abettors who had encouraged her matrimonial escapades, of -which she was now thoroughly ashamed, as well as the friends who had -disapproved of her conduct. Having sealed a peace with her husband, -she was fain to forget that they had ever been divided. Scenes and -persons associated with the estrangement had become alike detestable -to her; she wished never to see or hear of them again. The only -occasion on which she has ever recurred to that miserable year of her -life was when, about twelve months after their establishment at -Jones's Landing, she came unexpectedly upon Bertie writing a letter, -with a case containing jewellery lying open on the desk beside him. - -"What a lovely bracelet, Bertie!" - -He looked up, colouring and confused, and drew the blotting-paper -across his letter. - -"And you are writing! To whom, pray? Sending valuable presents to -ladies, and not a word to your wife. There was a time--when,--but -never mind. Who is it you are writing to?" - -"It is--but you never heard the name--Mrs Langenwoert." - -"No. Where did you know her?" - -"Do you remember the little schoolma'am at Clam Beach?--the last -lady you did me the honour to be jealous of? She is to be married -to-morrow." - - - - THE END. - - - - PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's True to a Type, Vol. II (of 2), by Robert Cleland - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRUE TO A TYPE, VOL. II (OF 2) *** - -***** This file should be named 40325-8.txt or 40325-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/3/2/40325/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (Oxford University) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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