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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Aikenside, by Mary J. Holmes
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Aikenside
+
+Author: Mary J. Holmes
+
+Release Date: February 16, 2003 [eBook #6954]
+[Most recently updated: July 1, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AIKENSIDE ***
+
+
+
+
+Aikenside
+
+by Mary J. Holmes
+
+Author of “Maggie Miller,” “Dora Drane,” “English Orphans,” “The
+Homestead on the Hillside,” “Meadowbrook Farm,” “Lena Rivers,”
+“Rosamond,” “Cousin Maude,” “Tempest and Sunshine,” “Rector of St.
+Marks,” “Mildred,” “The Leighton Homestead,” “Miss McDonald”
+
+
+Contents
+
+ CHAPTER I. THE EXAMINING COMMITTEE.
+ CHAPTER II. MADELINE CLYDE.
+ CHAPTER III. THE EXAMINATION.
+ CHAPTER IV. GRANDPA MARKHAM.
+ CHAPTER V. THE RESULT.
+ CHAPTER VI. CONVALESCENCE.
+ CHAPTER VII. THE DRIVE.
+ CHAPTER VIII. SHADOWINGS OF WHAT WAS TO BE.
+ CHAPTER IX. THE DECISION.
+ CHAPTER X. AT AIKENSIDE.
+ CHAPTER XI. GUY AT HOME.
+ CHAPTER XII. A GENEROUS LETTER.
+ CHAPTER XIII. UNCLE JOSEPH.
+ CHAPTER XIV. MADDY AND LUCY.
+ CHAPTER XV. THE HOLIDAYS.
+ CHAPTER XVI. THE DOCTOR AND MADDY.
+ CHAPTER XVII. WOMANHOOD.
+ CHAPTER XVIII. THE BURDEN.
+ CHAPTER XIX. LIFE AT THE COTTAGE.
+ CHAPTER XX. THE BURDEN GROWS HEAVIER.
+ CHAPTER XXI. THE INTERVAL BEFORE THE MARRIAGE.
+ CHAPTER XXII. BEFORE THE BRIDAL.
+ CHAPTER XXIII. LUCY.
+ CHAPTER XXIV. FINALE.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+THE EXAMINING COMMITTEE.
+
+
+The good people of Devonshire were rather given to quarreling—sometimes
+about the minister’s wife, meek, gentle Mrs. Tiverton, whose manner of
+housekeeping, and style of dress, did not exactly suit them; sometimes
+about the minister himself, good, patient Mr. Tiverton, who vainly
+imagined that if he preached three sermons a week, attended the
+Wednesday evening prayer-meeting, the Thursday evening sewing society,
+officiated at every funeral, visited all the sick, and gave to every
+beggar who called at his door, besides superintending the Sunday
+school, he was earning his salary of six hundred per year.
+
+Sometimes, and that not rarely, the quarrel crept into the choir, and
+then, for one whole Sunday, it was all in vain that Mr. Tiverton read
+the psalm and hymn, casting troubled glances toward the vacant seats of
+his refractory singers. There was no one to respond, unless it were
+good old Mr. Hodges, who pitched so high that few could follow him;
+while Mrs. Captain Simpson—whose daughter, the organist, had been
+snubbed at the last choir meeting by Mr. Hodges’ daughter, the alto
+singer—rolled up her eyes at her next neighbor, or fanned herself
+furiously in token of her disgust.
+
+Latterly, however, there had come up a new cause of quarrel, before
+which every other cause sank into insignificance. Now, though the
+village of Devonshire could boast but one public schoolhouse, said
+house being divided into two departments, the upper and lower
+divisions, there were in the town several district schools; and for the
+last few years a committee of three had been annually appointed to
+examine and decide upon the merits of the various candidates for
+teaching, giving to each, if the decision were favorable, a little slip
+of paper certifying their qualifications to teach a common school.
+Strange that over such an office so fierce a feud should have arisen;
+but when Mr. Tiverton, Squire Lamb and Lawyer Whittemore, in the full
+conviction that they were doing right, refused a certificate of
+scholarship to Laura Tisdale, niece of Mrs. Judge Tisdale, and awarded
+it to one whose earnings in a factory had procured for her a thorough
+English education, the villagers, to use a vulgar phrase, were at once
+set by the ears, the aristocracy abusing, and the democracy upholding
+the dismayed trio, who, as the breeze blew harder, quietly resigned
+their office, and Devonshire was without a school committee.
+
+In this emergency something must be done, and, as the two belligerent
+parties could only unite on a stranger, it seemed a matter of special
+providence that only two months before, young Dr. Holbrook, a native of
+modern Athens, had rented the pleasant little office on the village
+common, formerly occupied by old Dr. Carey, now lying in the graveyard
+by the side of some whose days he had prolonged, and others whose days
+he had surely shortened. Besides being handsome, and skillful, and
+quite as familiar with the poor as the rich, the young doctor was
+descended from the aristocratic line of Boston Holbrooks, facts which
+tended to make him a favorite with both classes; and, greatly to his
+surprise, he found himself unanimously elected to the responsible
+office of sole Inspector of Common Schools in Devonshire. It was in
+vain that he remonstrated, saying he knew nothing whatever of the
+qualifications requisite for a teacher; that he could not talk to
+girls, young ones especially; that he should make a miserable failure,
+and so forth. The people would not listen. Somebody must examine the
+teachers and that somebody might as well be Dr. Holbrook as anybody.
+
+“Only be strict with ’em, draw the reins tight, find out to your
+satisfaction whether a gal knows her P’s and Q’s before you give her a
+stifficut. We’ve had enough of your ignoramuses,” said Colonel Lewis,
+the democratic potentate to whom Dr. Holbrook was expressing his fears
+that he should not give satisfaction. Then, as a bright idea suggested
+itself to the old gentleman, he added: “I tell you what, just cut one
+or two at first; that’ll give you a name for being particular, which is
+just the thing.”
+
+Accordingly, with no definite idea as to what was expected of him,
+except that he was to find out “whether a girl knew her P’s and Q’s,”
+and was also to “cut one or two of the first candidates,” Dr. Holbrook
+accepted the office, and then awaited rather nervously his initiation.
+He was not easy in the society of ladies, unless, indeed, the lady
+stood in need of his professional services, when he lost sight of _her_
+at once, and thought only of her disease. His patient once well,
+however, he became nervously shy and embarrassed, retreating as soon as
+possible from her presence to the covert of his friendly office, where,
+with his boots upon the table and his head thrown back in a most
+comfortable position, he sat one April morning, in happy oblivion of
+the bevy of girls who must, of course, ere long-invade his sanctum.
+
+“Something for you, sir. The lady will wait for an answer,” said his
+“chore boy,” passing to his master a little three-cornered note, and
+nodding toward the street.
+
+Following the direction indicated, the doctor saw, drawn up near his
+door, an old-fashioned one-horse wagon, such as is still occasionally
+seen in New England. A square boxed, dark green wagon, drawn by a
+sorrel horse, sometimes called by the genuine Yankee “yellow,” and
+driven by a white-haired man, whose silvery locks, falling around his
+wrinkled face, gave to him a pleasing, patriarchal appearance, which
+interested the doctor far more than did the flutter of the blue ribbon
+beside him, even though the bonnet that ribbon tied shaded the face of
+a young girl. The note was from her, and, tearing it open, the doctor
+read, in the prettiest of all pretty, girlish handwriting:
+
+“Dr. Holbrook.”
+
+Here it was plainly visible that a “D” had been written as if she would
+have said “Dear.” Then, evidently changing her mind, she had with her
+finger blotted out the “D,” and made it into an oddly shaped “S,” so
+that it read simply:
+
+“Dr. Holbrook—Sir: Will you be at leisure to examine me on Monday
+afternoon, at three o’clock?
+
+
+“MADELINE A. CLYDE.
+
+
+“P. S.—For particular reasons I hope you can attend to me as early as
+Monday. M. A. C.”
+
+
+Dr. Holbrook knew very little of girls, but he thought this note, with
+its P. S., decidedly girlish. Still he made no comment, either verbal
+or mental, so flurried was he with knowing that the evil he so much
+dreaded had come upon him at last. Had it been left to his choice, he
+would far rather have extracted every one of that maiden’s teeth, than
+to have set himself up before her like some horrid ogre, asking what
+she knew. But the choice was not his, and, turning to the boy, he said,
+laconically, “Tell her to come.”
+
+Most men would have sought for a glimpse of the face under the bonnet
+tied with blue, but Dr. Holbrook did not care a picayune whether it
+were ugly or fair, though it did strike him that the voice was
+singularly sweet, which, after the boy had delivered his message, said
+to the old man, “Now, grandpa, we’ll go home. I know you must be
+tired.”
+
+Slowly Sorrel trotted down the street, the blue ribbons fluttering in
+the wind, while one little ungloved hand was seen carefully adjusting
+about the old man’s shoulders the ancient camlet cloak which had done
+duty for many a year, and was needed on this chill April day. The
+doctor saw all this, and the impression left upon his mind was, that
+Candidate No. 1 was probably a nice-ish kind of a girl, and very good
+to her grandfather. But what should he ask her, and how demean himself
+toward her? Monday afternoon was frightfully near, he thought, as this
+was only Saturday; and then, feeling that he must be ready, he brought
+out from the trunk, where, since his arrival in Devonshire, they had
+bean quietly lying, books enough to have frightened an older person
+than poor little Madeline Clyde, riding slowly home with grandpa, and
+wishing so much that she’d had a glimpse of Dr. Holbrook, so as to know
+what he was like, and hoping he would give her a chance to repeat some
+of the many pages of geography and “Parley’s History,” which she knew
+by heart. How she would have trembled could she have seen the
+formidable volumes heaped upon his table and waiting for her. There
+were French and Latin grammars, “Hamilton’s Metaphysics,” “Olmstead’s
+Philosophy,” “Day’s Algebra,” “Butler’s Analogy,” and many others, into
+which poor Madeline had never so much as looked. Arranging them in a
+row, and half wishing himself back again to the days when he had
+studied them, the doctor went out to visit his patients, of which there
+were so many that Madeline Clyde entirely escaped his mind, nor did she
+trouble him again until the dreaded Monday came, and the hands of his
+watch pointed to two.
+
+“One hour more,” he said to himself, just as the roll of wheels and a
+cloud of dust announced the approach of something.
+
+Could it be Sorrel and the square-boxed wagon? Oh, no; far different
+from grandfather Clyde’s turnout was the stylish carriage and the
+spirited bays dashing down the street, the colored driver reining them
+suddenly, not before the office door, but just in front of the white
+cottage in the same yard, the house where Dr. Holbrook boarded, and
+where, if he ever married in Devonshire, he would most likely bring his
+wife.
+
+“Guy Remington, the very chap of all others whom I’d rather see, and,
+as I live, there’s Agnes, with Jessie. Who knew she was in these
+parts?” was the doctor’s mental exclamation, as, running his fingers
+through his hair and making a feint of pulling up the corners of his
+rather limp collar, he hurried out to the carriage, from which a
+dashing looking lady of thirty, or thereabouts, was alighting.
+
+“Why, Agnes, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Remington, when did you come?” he
+asked, offering his hand to the lady, who, coquettishly shaking back
+from her pretty, dollish face a profusion of light brown curls, gave
+him the tips of her lavender kids, while she told him she had come to
+Aikenside the Saturday before; and hearing, from Guy that the lady with
+whom he boarded was an old friend of hers, she had driven over to call,
+and brought Jessie with her. “Here, Jessie, speak to the doctor. He was
+poor dear papa’s friend,” and a very proper sigh escaped Agnes
+Remington’s lips as she pushed a little curly-haired girl toward Dr.
+Holbrook.
+
+The lady of the house had spied them by this time, and came running
+down the walk to meet her rather distinguished visitor, wondering, it
+may be, to what she was indebted for this call from one who, since her
+marriage with the supposed wealthy Dr. Remington, had rather cut her
+former acquaintances. Agnes was delighted to see her, and, as Guy
+declined entering the cottage just then, the two friends disappeared
+within the door, while the doctor and Guy repaired to the office, the
+latter sitting down in the very chair intended for Madeline Clyde. This
+reminded the doctor of his perplexity, and also brought the comforting
+thought that Guy, who had never failed him yet, could surely offer some
+suggestions. But he would not speak of her just now; he had other
+matters to talk about, and so, jamming his penknife into a pine table
+covered with similar jams, he said: “Agnes, it seems, has come to
+Aikenside, notwithstanding she declared she never would, when she found
+that the whole of the Remington property belonged to your mother, and
+not your father.”
+
+“Oh, yes. She got over her pique as soon as I settled a handsome little
+income on Jessie, and, in fact, on her too, until she is foolish enough
+to marry again, when it will cease, of course, as I do not feel it my
+duty to support any man’s wife, unless it be my own, or my father’s,”
+was Guy Remington’s reply; whereupon the penknife went again into the
+table, and this time with so much force that the point was broken off;
+but the doctor did not mind it, and with the jagged end continued to
+make jagged marks, while he continued: “She’ll hardly marry again,
+though she may. She’s young—not over twenty-six—-
+
+“Twenty-eight, if the family Bible does not lie; but she’d never
+forgive me if she knew I told you that. So let it pass that she’s
+twenty-six. She certainly is not more than three years your senior, a
+mere nothing, if you wish to make her Mrs. Holbrook;” and Guy’s dark
+eyes scanned curiously the doctor’s face, as if seeking there for the
+secret of his proud young stepmother’s anxiety to visit plain Mrs.
+Conner that afternoon. But the doctor only laughed merrily at the idea
+of his being father to Guy, his college chum and long-tried friend.
+
+Agnes Remington—reclining languidly in Mrs. Conner’s easy-chair, and
+overwhelming her former friend with descriptions of the gay parties she
+had attended in Boston, and the fine sights she saw in Europe, whither
+her gray-haired husband had taken her for a wedding tour—would not have
+felt particularly flattered, could she have seen that smile, or heard
+how easily, from talking of her, Dr. Holbrook turned to another theme,
+to Madeline Clyde, expected now almost every moment. There was a merry
+laugh on Guy’s part, as he listened to the doctor’s story, and, when it
+was finished, he said: “Why, I see nothing so very distasteful in
+examining a pretty girl, and puzzling her, to see her blush. I half
+wish I were in your place. I should enjoy the novelty of the thing.”
+“Oh, take it, then; take my place, Guy,” the doctor exclaimed, eagerly.
+“She does not know me from Adam. Here are books, all you will need. You
+went to a district school once a week when you were staying in the
+country. You surely have some idea, while I have not the slightest.
+Will you, Guy?” he persisted more earnestly, as he heard wheels in the
+street, and was sure old Sorrel had come again.
+
+Guy Remington liked anything savoring of a frolic, but in his mind
+there were certain conscientious scruples touching the justice of the
+thing, and so at first he demurred; while the doctor still insisted,
+until at last he laughingly consented to commence the examination,
+provided the doctor would sit by, and occasionally come to his aid.
+
+“You must write the certificate, of course,” he said, “testifying that
+she is qualified to teach.”
+
+“Yes, certainly, Guy, if she is; but maybe she won’t be, and my orders
+are, to be strict—very strict.”
+
+“How did she look?” Guy asked, and the doctor replied: “Saw nothing but
+her bonnet. Came in a queer old go-giggle of a wagon, such as your
+country farmers drive. Guess she won’t be likely to stir up the bile of
+either of us, particularly as I am bullet proof, and you have been
+engaged for years. By the way, when do you cross the sea again for the
+fair Lucy? Rumor says this summer.”
+
+“Rumor is wrong, as usual, then,” was Guy’s reply, a soft light
+stealing into his handsome eyes. Then, after a moment, he added: “Miss
+Atherstone’s health is far too delicate for her to incur the risks of a
+climate like ours. If she were well acclimated, I should be glad, for
+it is terribly lonely up at Aikenside.”
+
+“And do you really think a wife would make it pleasanter?” Dr Holbrook
+asked, the tone of his voice indicating a little doubt as to a man’s
+being happier for having a helpmate to share his joys and sorrows.
+
+But no such doubts dwelt in the mind of Guy Remington. Eminently fitted
+for domestic happiness, he looked forward anxiously to the time when
+sweet Lucy Atherstone, the fair English girl to whom he had become
+engaged when, four years before, he visited Europe, should be strong
+enough to bear transplanting to American soil. Twice since his
+engagement he had visited her, finding her always lovely, gentle, and
+yielding. Too yielding, it sometimes seemed to him, while occasionally
+the thought had flashed upon him that she did not possess a very
+remarkable depth of intellect. But he said to himself, he did not care;
+he hated strong-minded women, and would far rather his wife should be a
+little weak than masculine, like his Aunt Margaret, who sometimes wore
+bloomers, and advocated women’s rights. Yes, he greatly preferred Lucy
+Atherstone, as she was, to a wife like the stately Margaret, or like
+Agnes, his pretty stepmother, who only thought how she could best
+attract attention; and as it had never occurred to him that there might
+be a happy medium, that a woman need not be brainless to be feminine
+and gentle, he was satisfied with his choice, as well he might be, for
+a fairer, sweeter flower never bloomed than Lucy Atherstone, his
+affianced bride. Guy loved to think of Lucy, and as the doctor’s
+remarks brought her to his mind, he went off into a reverie concerning
+her, becoming so lost in thought that until the doctor’s hand was laid
+upon his shoulder by way of rousing him, he did not see that what his
+friend had designated as a go-giggle was stopping in front of the
+office, and that from it a young girl was alighting.
+
+Naturally very polite to females, Guy’s first impulse was to go to her
+assistance, but she did not need it, as was proven by the light spring
+with which she reached the ground. The white-haired man was with her
+again, but he evidently did not intend to stop, and a close observer
+might have detected a shade of sadness and anxiety upon his face as
+Madeline called cheerily out to him: “Good-by, grandpa. Don’t fear for
+me; I hope you have good luck;” then, as he drove away, she ran a step
+after him and said; “Don’t look so sorry, for if Mr. Remington won’t
+let you have the money, there’s my pony, Beauty. I am willing to give
+him up.”
+
+“Never, Maddy. It’s all the little fortin’ you’ve got. I’ll let the old
+place go first;” and, chirruping to Sorrel, the old man drove on, while
+Madeline walked, with a beating heart, to the office door, knocking
+timidly.
+
+Glancing involuntarily at each other, the young men exchanged meaning
+smiles, while the doctor whispered softly: “Verdant—that’s sure. Wonder
+if she’ll knock at a church.”
+
+As Guy sat nearest the door, it was he who held it ajar while Madeline
+came in, her soft brown eyes glistening with something like a tear, and
+her cheeks burning with excitement as she took the chair indicated by
+Guy Remington, who unconsciously found himself master of ceremonies.
+
+Poor little Madeline!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+MADELINE CLYDE.
+
+
+Madge her schoolmates called her, because the name suited her, they
+said; but Maddy they called her at home, and there was a world of
+unutterable tenderness in the voices of the old couple, her
+grandparents, when they said that name, while their dim eyes lighted up
+with pride and joy when they rested upon the young girl who answered to
+the name of Maddy. Their only daughter’s only child, she had lived with
+them since her mother’s death, for her father was a sea captain, who
+never returned from his last voyage to China, made two months before
+she was born. Very lonely and desolate would the home of Grandfather
+Markham have been without the presence of Madeline, but with her there,
+the old red farmhouse seemed to the aged couple like a paradise.
+
+Forty years they had lived there, tilling the rather barren soil of the
+rocky homestead, and, saving the sad night when they heard that Richard
+Clyde was lost at sea, and the far sadder morning when their daughter
+died, bitter sorrow had not come to them; and, truly thankful for the
+blessings so long vouchsafed them, they had retired each night in peace
+with God and man, and risen each morning to pray. But a change was
+coming over them. In an evil hour Grandpa Markham had signed a note for
+a neighbor and friend, who failed to pay, and so it all fell on Mr.
+Markham, who, to meet the demand, mortgaged his homestead; the recreant
+neighbor still insisting that long before the mortgage should be due,
+he certainly would be able himself to meet it. This, however, he had
+not done, and, after twice begging off a foreclosure, poor old
+Grandfather Markham found himself at the mercy of a grasping,
+remorseless man, into whose hands the mortgage had passed. It was vain
+to hope that Silas Slocum would wait. The money must either be
+forthcoming, or the red farmhouse be sold, with its few acres of land.
+Among his neighbors there was not one who had the money to spare, even
+if they had been willing to do so. And so he must look among strangers.
+
+“If I could only help,” Madeline had said one evening when they sat
+talking over their troubles; “but there’s nothing I can do, unless I
+apply for our school this summer. Mr. Green is committeeman; he likes
+us, and I don’t believe but what he’ll let me have it. I mean to go and
+see;” and, ere the old people had recovered from their astonishment,
+Madeline had caught her bonnet and shawl, and was flying down the road.
+
+Madeline was a favorite with all, especially with Mr. Green, and as the
+school would be small that summer, the plan struck him favorably. Her
+age, however, was an objection, and he must take time to see what
+others thought of a child like her becoming a schoolmistress. Others
+thought well of it, and so before the close of the next day it was
+generally known through Honedale, as the southern part of Devonshire
+was called, that pretty little Madge Clyde had been engaged as teacher,
+she receiving three dollars a week, with the understanding that she
+must board herself. It did not take Madeline long to calculate that
+twelve times three were thirty-six, more than a tenth of what her
+grandfather must borrow. It seemed like a little fortune, and blithe as
+a singing bird she flitted about the house, now stopping a moment to
+fondle her pet kitten, while she whispered the good news in its very
+appreciative ear, and then stroking her grandfather’s silvery hair, as
+she said:
+
+“You can tell them that you are sure of paying thirty-six dollars in
+the fall, and if I do well, maybe they’ll hire me longer. I mean to try
+my very best. I wonder if ever anybody before me taught a school when
+they were only fourteen and a half. Do I look as young as that?” and
+for an instant the bright; childish face scanned itself eagerly in the
+old-fashioned mirror, with the figure of an eagle on the top.
+
+She did look very young, and yet there was something womanly, too, in
+the expression of the face, something which said that life’s realities
+were already beginning to be understood by her.
+
+“If my hair were not short I should do better. What a pity I cut it the
+last time; it would have been so long and splendid now,” she continued,
+giving a kind of contemptuous pull at the thick, beautiful brown hair
+on whose glossy surface there was in certain lights a reddish tinge,
+which added to its beauty.
+
+“Never mind the hair, Maddy,” the old man said, gazing fondly at her
+with a half sigh as he remembered another brown head, pillowed now
+beneath the graveyard turf. “Maybe you won’t pass muster, and then the
+hair will make no difference. There’s a new committee-man, that Dr.
+Holbrook, from Boston, and new ones are apt to be mighty strict.”
+
+Instantly Maddy’s face flushed all over with nervous dread, as she
+thought: “What if I should fail?” fancying that to do so would be an
+eternal disgrace. But she should not. She was called by everybody the
+very best scholar in school, the one whom the teachers always put
+forward when desirous of showing off, the one whom Mr. Tiverton, and
+Squire Lamb, and Lawyer Whittemore always noticed so much. Of course
+she should not fail, though she did dread Dr. Holbrook, wondering much
+what he would ask her first, and hoping it would be something in
+arithmetic, provided he did not stumble upon decimals, where she was
+apt to get bewildered. She had no fears of grammar. She could pick out
+the most obscure sentence and dissect a double relative with perfect
+ease; then, as to geography, she could repeat whole pages of that,
+while in the spelling-book, the foundation of a thorough education, as
+she had been taught, she had no superiors, and but a very few equals.
+Still she would be very glad when it was over, and she appointed
+Monday, both because it was close at hand, and because that was the day
+her grandfather had set in which to ride to Aikenside, in an adjoining
+town, and ask its young master for the loan of three hundred dollars.
+
+He could hardly tell why he had thought of applying to Guy Remington
+for help, unless it were that he once had saved the life of Guy’s
+father, who, as long as he lived, had evinced a great regard for his
+benefactor, frequently asserting that he meant to do something for him.
+But the something was never done, the father was dead, and in his
+strait the old man turned to the son, whom he knew to be very rich, and
+who he had been told was exceedingly generous.
+
+“How I wish I could go with you clear up to Aikenside! They say it’s so
+beautiful,” Madeline had said, as on Saturday evening they sat
+discussing the expected events of the following Monday. “Mrs. Noah, the
+housekeeper, had Sarah Jones there once, to sew, and she told me all
+about it. There are graveled walks, and nice green lawns, and big, tall
+trees, and flowers—oh! so many!—and marble fountains, with gold fishes
+in the basin; and statues, big as folks, all over the yard, with two
+brass lions on the gateposts. But the house is finest of all. There’s a
+drawing-room bigger than a ballroom, with carpets that let your feet
+sink in so far; pictures and mirrors clear to the floor—think of that,
+grandpa! a looking-glass so tall that one can see the very bottom of
+their dress and know just how it hangs. Oh, I do so wish I could have a
+peep at it! There are two in one room, and the windows are like doors,
+with lace curtains; but what is queerest of all, the chairs and sofas
+are covered with real silk, just like that funny, gored gown of
+grandma’s up in the oak chest. Dear me! I wonder if I’ll ever live in
+such a place as Aikenside?”
+
+“No, no, Maddy, no. Be satisfied with the lot where God has put you,
+and don’t be longing after something higher, Our Father in heaven knows
+just what is best for us; as He didn’t see fit to put you up at
+Aikenside, ’tain’t noways likely you’ll ever live in the like of it.”
+
+“Not unless I should happen to marry a rich man. Poor girls like me
+have sometimes done that, haven’t they?” was Maddy’s demure reply.
+
+Grandpa Markham shook his head.
+
+“They have, but it’s mostly their ruination; so don’t build castles in
+the air about this Guy Remington.”
+
+“Me! Oh, grandpa, I never dreamed of Mr. Guy!” and Madeline blushed
+half indignantly. “He’s too rich, too aristocratic, though Sarah said
+he didn’t act one bit proud, and was so pleasant, the servants all
+worship him, and Mrs. Noah thinks him good enough for the Queen of
+England. I shall think so, too, if he lets you have the money. How I
+wish it was Monday night, so we could know sure!”
+
+“Perhaps we both shall be terribly disappointed,” suggested grandpa,
+but Maddy was more hopeful.
+
+She, at least, would not fail, while what she had heard of Guy
+Remington, the heir of Aikenside, made her believe that he would accede
+at once to her grandpa’s request.
+
+All that night she was working to pay the debt, giving the money
+herself into the hands of Guy Remington, whom she had never seen, but
+who came up in her dreams the tall, handsome-looking man she had so
+often heard described by Sarah Jones after her return from Aikenside.
+Even the next day, when, by her grandparent’s side, Maddy knelt
+reverently in the small, time-worn church at Honedale, her thoughts, it
+must be confessed, were wandering more to the to-morrow and Aikenside,
+than to the sacred words her lips were uttering. She knew it was wrong,
+and with a nervous start would try to bring her mind back from decimal
+fractions to what the minister was saying; but Maddy was mortal, and
+right in the midst of the Collect, Aikenside and its owner would rise
+before her, together with the wonder how she and her grandfather would
+feel one week from that Sabbath day. Would the desired certificate be
+hers? or would she be disgraced forever and ever by a rejection? Would
+the mortgage be paid and her grandfather at ease, or would his heart be
+breaking with the knowing he must leave what had been his home for so
+many years? Not thus was it with the aged disciple beside her—the good
+old man, whose white locks swept the large lettered book over which his
+wrinkled face was bent, as he joined in the responses, or said the
+prayers whose words had over him so soothing an influence, carrying his
+thoughts upward to the house not made with hands, which he felt assured
+would one day be his. Once or twice, it is true, thoughts of losing the
+dear old red cottage flitted across his mind with a keen, sudden pang,
+but he put it quickly aside, remembering at the same instant how the
+Father he loved doeth all things well to such as are His children.
+Grandpa Markham was old in the Christian course, while Maddy could
+hardly be said to have commenced as yet, and so to her that April
+Sunday was long and wearisome. How she did wish she might just look
+over the geography, by way of refreshing her memory, or see exactly how
+the rule for extracting the cube root did read, but Maddy forebore,
+reading only the Pilgrim’s Progress, the Bible, and the book brought
+from the Sunday school.
+
+With the earliest dawn, however, she was up, and her grandmother heard
+her repeating to herself much of what she dreaded Dr. Holbrook might
+question her upon. Even when bending over the washtub, for there were
+no servants at the red cottage, a book was arranged before her so that
+she could study with her eyes, while her small, fat hands and dimpled
+arms were busy in the suds. Before ten o’clock everything was done, the
+clothes, white as the snowdrops in the garden beds, were swinging on
+the line, the kitchen floor was scrubbed, the windows washed, the best
+room swept, the vegetables cleaned for dinner, and then Maddy’s work
+was finished. “Grandma could do all the rest,” she said, and Madeline
+was free “to put her eyes out over them big books if she liked.”
+
+Swiftly flew the hours until it was time to be getting ready, when
+again the short hair was deplored, as before her looking-glass Madeline
+brushed and arranged her shining, beautiful locks. Would Dr. Holbrook
+think of her age? Suppose he should ask it. But no, he wouldn’t. If Mr.
+Green thought her old enough, surely it was not a matter with which the
+doctor need trouble himself; and, somewhat at ease on that point,
+Madeline donned her longest frock, and, standing in a chair, tried to
+discover how much of her pantalets was visible.
+
+“I could see splendidly in Mr. Remington’s mirrors,” she said to
+herself, with a half sigh of regret that her lot had not been cast in
+some such place as Aikenside, instead of there beneath the hill in that
+wee bit of a cottage, whose rear slanted back until it almost touched
+the ground. “After all, I guess I’m happier here,” she thought.
+“Everybody likes me, while if I were Mr. Guy’s sister and lived at
+Aikenside, I might be proud and wicked, and—”
+
+She did not finish the sentence, but somehow the story of Dives and
+Lazarus, read by her grandfather that morning, recurred to her mind,
+and feeling how much rather she would rest in Abraham’s bosom than
+share the fate of him who once was clothed in purple and fine linen she
+pinned on her little neat plaid shawl, and, tying the blue ribbons of
+her coarse straw hat, glanced once more at the formidable cube root,
+and then hurried down to where her grandfather and old Sorrel were
+waiting for her.
+
+“I shall be so happy when I come back, because it will then be over,
+just like having a tooth out, you know,” she said to her grandmother,
+who bent down for the good-by kiss without which Maddy never left her.
+“Now, grandpa, drive on; I was to be there at three,” and chirruping
+herself to Sorrel, the impatient Madge went riding from the cottage
+door, chatting cheerily until the village of Devonshire was reached;
+then, with a farewell to her grandfather, who never dreamed that the
+man whom he was seeking was so near, she tripped up the flagging walk,
+and, as we have seen, soon stood in the presence of not only Dr.
+Holbrook, but also of Guy Remington.
+
+Poor, poor little Madge!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+THE EXAMINATION.
+
+
+It was Guy who received her, Guy who pointed to a chair, Guy who seemed
+perfectly at home, and, naturally enough, she took him for Dr.
+Holbrook, wondering who the other black-haired man could be, and if he
+meant to stay in there all the while. It would be very dreadful if he
+did, and in her agitation and excitement the cube root was in danger of
+being altogether forgotten. Half guessing the cause of her uneasiness,
+and feeling more averse than ever to taking part in the matter, the
+doctor, after a hasty survey of her person, withdrew into the
+background, and sat where he could not be seen. This brought the short
+dress into full view, together with the dainty little foot, nervously
+beating the floor.
+
+“She’s very young,” he thought; “too young, by far,” and Maddy’s
+chances of success were beginning to decline even before a word had
+been spoken.
+
+How terribly still it was for the time, during which telegraphic
+communications were silently passing between Guy and the doctor, the
+latter shaking his head decidedly, while the former insisted that he
+should do his duty. Madeline could almost hear the beatings of her
+heart, and only by counting and recounting the poplar trees growing
+across the street could she keep back the tears. What was he waiting
+for, she wondered, and, at last, summoning all her courage, she lifted
+her great brown eyes to Guy, and said, pleadingly:
+
+“Would you be so kind, sir, as to begin?”
+
+“Yes, certainly,” and electrified by that young, bird-like voice, the
+sweetest save one he had ever heard, Guy knocked down from the pile of
+books the only one at all appropriate to the occasion, the others being
+as far beyond what was taught in the district schools as his classical
+education was beyond Madeline’s common one.
+
+Remembering that the teacher of whom he had once been for a week a
+pupil, in the town of Framingham, had commenced operations by
+sharpening a lead pencil, so he now sharpened a similar one,
+determining as far as he could to follow that teacher’s example. Maddy
+counted every fragment as it fell upon the floor, wishing so much that
+he would commence, and fancying that it would not be half so bad to
+have him approach her with some one of those terrible dental
+instruments lying before her, as it was to sit and wait as she was
+waiting. Had Guy Remington reflected a little, he would never have
+consented to do the doctor’s work; but, unaccustomed to country usages,
+especially those pertaining to schools and teachers, he did not
+consider that it mattered which examined that young girl, himself or
+Dr. Holbrook. Viewing it somewhat in the light of a joke, he rather
+enjoyed it; and as the Framingham teacher had first asked her pupils
+their names and ages, so he, when the pencil was sharpened
+sufficiently, startled Madeline by asking her name.
+
+“Madeline Amelia Clyde,” was the meek reply, which Guy quickly
+recorded.
+
+Now, Guy Remington intended no irreverence; indeed, he could not tell
+what he did intend, or what it was which prompted his next query:
+
+“Who gave you this name?”
+
+Perhaps he fancied himself a boy again in the Sunday school, and
+standing before the railing of the altar, where, with others of his
+age, he had been asked the question propounded to Madeline Clyde, who
+did not hear the doctor’s smothered laugh as he retreated into the
+adjoining room.
+
+In all her preconceived ideas of this examination, she had never
+dreamed of being catechised, and with a feeling of terror as she
+thought of that long answer to the question, “What is thy duty to thy
+neighbor?” and doubted her ability to repeat it, she said: “My
+sponsors, in baptism gave me the first name of Madeline Amelia, sir,”
+adding, as she caught and misconstrued the strange gleam in the dark
+eyes bent upon her, “I am afraid I have forgotten some of the
+catechism; I did not know it was necessary in order to teach school.”
+
+“Certainly, no; I do not think it is. I beg your pardon,” were Guy
+Remington’s ejaculatory replies, as he glanced from Madeline to the
+open door of the adjoining room, where was visible a slate, on which,
+in huge letters, the amused doctor had written “Blockhead.”
+
+There was something in Madeline’s quiet, womanly, earnest manner which
+commanded Guy’s respect, or he would have given vent to the laughter
+which was choking him, and thrown off his disguise. But he could not
+bear now to undeceive her, and, resolutely turning his back upon the
+doctor, he sat down by that pile of books and commenced the examination
+in earnest, asking first her age.
+
+“Going on fifteen,” sounded older to Madeline than “Fourteen and a
+half,” so “Going on fifteen” was the reply, to which Guy responded:
+“That is very young, Miss Clyde.”
+
+“Yes, but Mr. Green did not mind. He’s the committeeman. He knew how
+young I was,” Madeline said, eagerly, her great brown eyes growing
+large with the look of fear which came so suddenly into them.
+
+Guy noticed the eyes then, and thought them very bright and handsome
+for brown, but not so bright or handsome as a certain pair of soft blue
+orbs he knew, and feeling a thrill of satisfaction that sweet Lucy
+Atherstone was not obliged to sit there in that doctor’s office to be
+questioned by him or any other man, he said: “Of course, if your
+employers are satisfied it is nothing to me, only I had associated
+teaching with women much older than yourself. What is logic, Miss
+Clyde?”
+
+The abruptness with which he put the question startled Madeline to such
+a degree that she could not positively tell whether she had ever heard
+that word before, much less could she recall its meaning, and so she
+answered frankly, “I don’t know.”
+
+A girl who did not know what logic was did not know much, in Guy’s
+estimation, but it would not do to stop here, and so he asked her next
+how many cases there were in Latin!
+
+Maddy felt the hot blood tingling to her very fingertips, the
+examination had taken a course so widely different from her ideas of
+what it would probably be. She had never looked inside a Latin grammar,
+and again her truthful “I don’t know, sir,” fell on Guy’s ear, but this
+time there was a half despairing tone in the young voice usually so
+hopeful.
+
+“Perhaps, then, you can conjugate the verb _Amo,_” Guy said, his manner
+indicating the doubt he was beginning to feel as to her qualifications.
+
+Maddy knew well what “conjugate” meant, but that verb _Amo_, what could
+it mean? and had she ever heard it before? Mr. Remington was waiting
+for her; she must say something, and with a gasp she began: “I amo,
+thou amoest, he amoes. Plural: We amo, ye or you amo, they amo.”
+
+Guy looked at her aghast for a single moment, and then a comical smile
+broke all over his face, telling poor Maddy plainer than words could
+have done, that she had made a most ridiculous mistake.
+
+“Oh, sir,” she cried, her eyes wearing the look of the frightened hare,
+“it is not right. I don’t know what it means. Tell me, teach me. What
+is it to amo?”
+
+To most men it would not have seemed a very disagreeable task, teaching
+young Madeline Clyde “to amo,” as she termed it, and some such idea
+flitted across Guy’s mind, as he thought how pretty and bright was the
+eager face upturned to his, the pure white forehead, suffused with a
+faint flush, the cheeks a crimson hue, and the pale lips parted
+slightly as Maddy appealed to him for the definition of “amo.”
+
+“It is a Latin verb, and means ‘to love’” Guy said, with an emphasis on
+the last word, which would have made Maddy blush had she been less
+anxious and frightened.
+
+Thus far she had answered nothing correctly, and, feeling puzzled to
+know how to proceed, Guy stepped into the adjoining room to consult
+with the doctor, but he was gone. So returning again to Madeline, Guy
+resumed the examination by asking her how “minus into minus could
+produce plus.”
+
+Again Maddy was at fault, and her low-spoken “I don’t know” sounded
+like a wail of despair. Did she know anything, Guy wondered, and
+feeling some curiosity now to ascertain that fact, he plied her with
+questions philosophical, questions algebraical, and questions
+geometrical, until in an agony of distress Maddy raised her hands
+deprecatingly, as if she would ward off any similar questions, and
+sobbed out:
+
+“Oh, sir, no more. It makes my head so dizzy. They don’t teach that in
+common schools. Ask me something I do know.”
+
+Suddenly it occurred to Guy that he had gone entirely wrong, and
+mentally cursing himself for the blockhead the doctor had called him,
+he asked, kindly:
+
+“What do they teach? Perhaps you can enlighten me?”
+
+“Geography, arithmetic, grammar, history, and spelling-book,” Madeline
+replied, untying and throwing off her bonnet, in the vain hope that it
+might bring relief to her poor, giddy head, which throbbed so fearfully
+that all her ideas seemed for the time to have left her.
+
+This was a natural consequence of the high excitement under which she
+was laboring, and so, when Guy did ask her concerning the books
+designated, she answered but little better than before, and Guy was
+wondering what he should do next, when the doctor’s welcome step was
+heard, and leaving Madeline again, he repaired to the next room to
+report his ill success.
+
+“She does not seem to know anything. The veriest child ought to do
+better than she has done. Why, she has scarcely answered half a dozen
+questions correctly.”
+
+This was what poor Maddy heard, though it was spoken in a low whisper;
+but every word was distinctly understood and burned into her heart’s
+core, drying her tears and hardening her into a block of marble. She
+knew that Guy had not done her justice, and this helped to increase the
+torpor stealing over her. Still she did not lose a syllable of what was
+saying in the back office, and her lip curled scornfully when she heard
+Guy remark: “I pity her; she is so young, and evidently takes it so
+hard. Maybe she’s as good as they average. Suppose we give her the
+certificate.”
+
+Then Dr. Holbrook spoke, but to poor, dazed Maddy his words were all a
+riddle. It was nothing to him—who was he that he should be dictating
+thus? There seemed to be a difference of opinion between the young men,
+Guy insisting that out of pity she should not be rejected; and the
+doctor demurring on the ground that he ought to be more strict. As
+usual, Guy overruled, and seating himself at the table, the doctor was
+just commencing: “I hereby certify—” while Guy was bending over him,
+when the latter was startled by a hand laid firmly on his arm, and
+turning quickly he confronted Madeline Clyde, who, with her short hair
+pushed from her blue-veined forehead, her face as pale as ashes, save
+where a round spot of purplish red burned upon her cheeks, and her eyes
+gleaming like coals of fire, stood before him.
+
+“He need not write that,” she said, huskily, pointing to the doctor,
+“It would be a lie, and I could not take it. You do not think me
+qualified. I heard you say so. I do not want to be pitied. I do not
+want a certificate because I am so young, and you think I’ll feel
+badly. I do not want—”
+
+Her voice failed her, her bosom heaved, and the choking sobs came thick
+and fast, but still she shed no tear, and in her bright, dry eyes there
+was a look which made both those young men turn away involuntarily.
+Once Guy tried to excuse her failure, saying she no doubt was
+frightened. She would probably do better again, and might as well
+accept the certificate, but Madeline still said no, so decidedly that
+further remonstrance was useless. She would not take what she had no
+right to, she said, but if they pleased she would wait there in the
+back office until her grandfather came back; it would not be long, and
+she should not trouble them.
+
+Guy brought her the easy-chair from the front room and placed it for
+her by the window. With a faint smile she thanked him and said: “You
+are very kind,” but the smile hurt Guy cruelly, it was so sad, so full
+of unintentional reproach, while the eyes she lifted to his looked so
+grieved and weary that he insensibly murmured to himself: “Poor child!”
+as he left her, and with the doctor repaired to the house, where Agnes
+was impatiently waiting for them. Poor, poor little Madge! Let those
+smile who may at her distress; it was the first keen disappointment she
+had ever had, and it crushed her as completely as many an older person
+has been crushed by heavier calamities.
+
+“Disgraced for ever and ever,” she kept repeating to herself, as she
+tried to shake off the horrid nightmare stealing over her. “How can I
+hold up my head again at home where nobody will understand just how it
+was; nobody but grandpa and grandma? Oh, grandpa, I can’t earn that
+thirty-six dollars now. I most wish I was dead, and I am—I am dying.
+Somebody—come—quick!”
+
+There was a heavy fall, and while in Mrs. Conner’s parlor Guy Remington
+and Dr. Holbrook were chatting gayly with Agnes, a childish figure was
+lying upon the office floor, white, stiff, and insensible.
+
+Little Jessie Remington, tired of sitting still and listening to what
+her mamma and Mrs. Conner were saying, had strayed off into the garden,
+and after filling her chubby hands with daffodils and early violets,
+wended her way to the office, the door of which was partially ajar.
+Peering curiously in, she saw the crumpled bonnet, with its ribbons of
+blue, and, attracted by this, advanced into the room, until she came
+where Madeline was lying. With a feeling that something was wrong,
+Jessie bent over the prostrate girl, asking if she were asleep, and
+lifting next the long, fringed lashes drooping on the colorless cheek.
+The dull, dead expression of the eyes sent a chill through Jessie’s
+frame, and hurrying to the house she cried: “Oh, Brother Guy,
+somebody’s dead in the office, and her bonnet is all jammed!”
+
+Scarcely were the words uttered ere Guy and the doctor both were with
+Madeline, the former holding her tenderly in his arms, while he
+smoothed the short hair, thinking even then how soft and luxuriant it
+was, and how fair was the face which never moved a muscle beneath his
+scrutiny. The doctor was wholly self-possessed. Maddy had no terrors
+for him now. She needed his services, and he rendered them willingly,
+applying restoratives which soon brought back signs of life in the
+rigid form. With a shiver and a moan Madeline whispered: “Oh, grandma,
+I’m so tired,” and nestled closer to the bosom where she had never
+dreamed of lying.
+
+By this time both Mrs. Conner and Agnes had come out, asking in much
+surprise who the stranger could be, and what was the cause of her
+illness. As if there had been a previous understanding between them,
+the doctor and Guy were silent with regard to the recent farce enacted
+there, simply saying it was possible she was in the habit of fainting;
+many people were. Very daintily, Agnes held up and back the skirt of
+her rich silk as if fearful that it might come in contact with
+Madeline’s plain delaine; then, as it was not very interesting for her
+to stand and see the doctor “make so much fuss over a young girl,” as
+she mentally expressed it, she returned to the house, bidding Jessie do
+the same. But Jessie refused, choosing to stay by Madeline, whom they
+placed upon the comfortable lounge, which she preferred to being taken
+to the house, as Guy proposed.
+
+“I’m better now, much better,” she said. “Leave me, please. I’d rather
+be alone.”
+
+So they left her, all but Jessie, who, fascinated by the sweet young
+face, climbed upon the lounge and, laying her curly head caressingly
+against Madeline’s arm, said to her: “Poor girl, you’re sick, and I am
+so sorry. What makes you sick?”
+
+There was genuine sympathy in that little voice, and it opened the
+pent-up flood beating so furiously, and roused Maddy’s heart. With a
+cry as of sudden pain she clasped the child in her arms and wept out a
+wild, stormy fit of weeping which did her so much good. Forgetting that
+Jessie could not understand, and feeling it a relief to tell her grief
+to some one, she said, in reply to Jessie’s oft repeated inquiries as
+to what was the matter: “I did not get a certificate, and I wanted it
+so much, for we are poor, and our house is mortgaged, and I was going
+to help grandpa pay it.”
+
+“It’s dreadful to be poor!” sighed little Jessie, as her waxen fingers
+threaded the soft, nut-brown hair resting in her lap, where Maddy had
+lain her aching head.
+
+Maddy did not know who this beautiful child was, but her sympathy was
+very sweet, and they talked together as children will, until Mrs.
+Agnes’ voice was heard calling to her little girl that it was time to
+go.
+
+“I love you, Maddy, and I mean to tell brother about it,” Jessie said,
+as she wound her arms around Madeline’s neck and kissed her at parting.
+
+It never occurred to Maddy to ask her name, so stupified she felt, and
+with a responsive kiss she sent her away. Leaning her head upon the
+table, she forgot all but her own wretchedness, and so did not see the
+gayly-dressed, haughty-looking lady who swept past the door,
+accompanied by Guy and Dr. Holbrook. Neither did she hear, or notice,
+if she did, the hum of their voices as they talked together for a
+moment, Agnes asking the doctor very prettily to come up to Aikenside
+while she was there, and bring his ladylove. Engaged young men like Guy
+were so stupid, she said, as with a merry laugh she sprang into the
+carriage; and, bowing gracefully to the doctor, was driven rapidly
+toward Aikenside.
+
+Rather slowly the doctor returned to the office, and after fidgeting
+for a time among the powders and phials, summoned courage to ask
+Madeline how she felt, and if any of the fainting symptoms had
+returned.
+
+“No, sir,” was all the reply she gave him, never lifting up her head,
+or even thinking which of the two young men it was speaking to her.
+
+There was a call just then for Dr. Holbrook, and leaving his office in
+charge of Tom, his chore boy, he went away, feeling slightly
+uncomfortable whenever he thought of the girl to whom he felt that
+justice had not been done.
+
+“I half wish I had examined her myself,” he said. “Of course she was
+excited, and could not answer; beside, hanged if I don’t believe it was
+all humbug tormenting her with Greek and Latin. Yes; I’ll question her
+when I get back, and if she’ll possibly pass, give her the certificate.
+Poor child; how white she was, and what a queer look there was in those
+great eyes, when she said: ‘I shall not take it.’”
+
+Never in his life before had Dr. Holbrook been as much interested in
+any female who was not sick as he was in Madeline, and determining to
+make his call on Mrs. Briggs as brief as possible, he alighted at her
+gate, and knocked impatiently at her door. He found her pretty sick,
+while both her children needed a prescription, and so long a time was
+he detained that his heart misgave him on his homeward route, lest
+Maddy should be gone, and with her the chance to remedy the wrong he
+might have done her.
+
+Maddy was gone, and the wheel ruts of the square-boxed wagon were fresh
+before the door when he came back. Grandpa Markham had returned, and
+Madeline, who recognized old Sorrel’s step, had gathered her shawl
+around her and gone sadly out to meet him. One look at her face was
+sufficient.
+
+“You failed, Maddy?” the old man said, fixing about her feet the warm
+buffalo robe, for the night wind was blowing cool.
+
+“Yes, grandpa, I failed.”
+
+They were out of the village and more than a mile on their way home
+before Madeline found voice to say so much, and they were nearer home
+by half a mile ere the old man answered back:
+
+“And, Maddy, I failed too.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+GRANDPA MARKHAM.
+
+
+Mrs. Noah, the housekeeper at Aikenside, was slicing vegetable oysters
+for the nice little dish intended for her own supper, when the head of
+Sorrel came around the corner of the building, followed by the
+square-boxed wagon containing Grandpa Markham, who, bewildered by the
+beauty and spaciousness of the grounds, and wholly uncertain as to
+where he ought to stop, had driven over the smooth-graveled road around
+to the front kitchen door, Mrs. Noah’s spacious domain, as sacred as
+Betsey Trotwood’s patch of green.
+
+“In the name of wonder, what codger is that? and what is he doing
+here?” was Mrs. Noah’s exclamation, as she dropped the bit of salsify
+she was scraping, and hurrying to the door, called out: “I say, you,
+sir, what made you drive up here, when I’ve said over and over again,
+that I wouldn’t have wheels tearing up turf and gravel?”
+
+“I—I beg your pardon. I lost my way, I guess, there was so many
+turnin’s, I’m sorry, but a little rain will fetch it right,” grandpa
+said, glancing ruefully at the ruts in the gravel and the marks on the
+turf.
+
+Mrs. Noah was not at heart an unkind woman, and something in the
+benignant expression of grandpa’s face, or in the apologetic tone of
+his voice, mollified her somewhat, and without further comment she
+stood waiting for his next remark. It was a most unfortunate one, for
+though as free from weakness as most of her sex, Mrs. Noah was terribly
+sensitive as to her age, and the same census-taker would never venture
+twice within her precincts. Glancing at her dress, which was this
+leisure afternoon much smarter than usual, grandpa concluded she could
+not be a servant; and as she seemed to have a right to say where he
+should drive and where he should not, the meek old man concluded she
+was a near relation of Guy—mother, perhaps; but no, Guy’s mother was
+dead, as grandpa well knew, for all Devonshire had heard of the young
+bride Agnes, who had married Guy’s father for money and rank. To have
+been mistaken for Guy’s mother would not have offended Mrs. Noah
+particularly; but how was she shocked when Grandpa Markham said:
+
+“I come on business with Squire Guy. Are you his gran’marm?” “His
+gran’marm!” and Mrs. Noah bit off the last syllable spitefully. “Bless
+you, man, Squire Guy, as you call him, is twenty-five years old.”
+
+As Grandpa Markham was rather blind, he failed to see the point, but
+knew that in some way he had given offense.
+
+“I beg your pardon, ma’am; I was sure you was some kin—maybe an a’nt.”
+
+No, she was not even that; but willing enough to let the old man
+believe her a lady of the Remington order, she did not explain that she
+was simply the housekeeper, she simply said:
+
+“If it’s Mr. Guy you want, I can tell you he is not at home, which will
+save your getting out.”
+
+“Not at home, and I’ve come so far to see him!” grandpa exclaimed, and
+in his voice there was so much genuine disappointment that Mrs. Noah
+rejoined, quite kindly:
+
+“He’s gone over to Devonshire with the young lady his stepmother.
+Perhaps you might tell your business to me; I know all Mr. Guy’s
+affairs.”
+
+“If I might come in, ma’am,” he answered, meekly, as through the open
+door he caught glimpses of a cheerful fire. “It’s mighty chilly for
+such as me.” He did look cold and blue, Mrs. Noah thought, and she bade
+him come in, feeling a very little contempt for the old-fashioned
+camlet cloak in which his feet became entangled, and smiling inwardly
+at the shrunken, faded pantaloons, betokening poverty.
+
+“As you know all Squire Guy’s affairs,” grandpa said, when he was
+seated before the fire, “maybe you could tell whether he would be
+likely to lend a stranger three hundred dollars, and that stranger me?”
+
+Mrs. Noah stared at him aghast. Was he crazy, or did he mean to insult
+her master? Evidently neither. He seemed as sane as herself, while no
+one could associate an insult with him. He did not know anything. That
+was the solution of his audacity, and pityingly, as she would have
+addressed a half idiot, Mrs. Noah made him understand how impossible it
+was for him to think her master would lend to a stranger like him.
+
+“You say he’s gone to Devonshire,” grandpa said, softly, with a quiver
+on his lip when she had finished. “I wish I’d knew it; I left my
+granddarter there to be examined. Mabby I’ll meet him going back, and
+can ask him.”
+
+“I tell you it won’t be no use. Mr. Guy has no three hundred dollars to
+throw away,” was Mrs. Noah’s rather sharp rejoinder.
+
+“Wall, wall, we won’t quarrel about it,” the old man replied, in his
+most conciliatory manner, as he turned his head away to hide the
+starting tear.
+
+Grandfather Markham’s heart was very sore, and Mrs. Noah’s harshness
+troubled him. He could not bear to think that she really was cross with
+him, besides that he wanted something to carry Maddy besides
+disappointment, so by way of testing Mrs. Noah’s amiability and
+pleasing Maddy, too, he said, as he arose: “I’m an old man, lady, old
+enough to be your father.” Here Mrs. Noah’s face grew brighter, and she
+listened attentively while he continued: “You won’t take what I say
+amiss, I’m sure. I have a little girl at home, a grandchild, who has
+heard big stories of the fine things at Aikenside. She has a hankerin’
+after such vanities, and it would please her mightily to have me tell
+her what I saw up here, so maybe you wouldn’t mind lettin’ me go into
+that big room where the silk fixin’s are. I’ll take off my shoes, if
+you say so.”
+
+“Your shoes won’t hurt an atom; come right along,” Mrs. Noah replied,
+now in the best of moods, for, except her cup of green tea with
+raspberry jam and cream, she enjoyed nothing more than showing their
+handsome house.
+
+Conducting him through the wide, marbled hall, she ushered him into the
+drawing-room, where for a time he stood perfectly bewildered. It was
+his first introduction to rosewood, velvet, and brocatelle, and it
+seemed to him as if he had suddenly been transported to fairy-land.
+
+“Maddy would like this—it’s her nature,” he whispered, advancing a step
+or two, and setting down his feet as softly as if stepping on eggs.
+
+Happening to lift his eyes before one of the long mirrors, he spied
+himself, wondering much what that “queer-looking chap” was doing there
+in the midst of so much elegance, and why Mrs. Noah did not turn him
+out! Then mentally asking forgiveness for this flash of pride, and
+determined to make amends, he bowed low to the figure in the glass,
+which bowed as low in return, but did not reply to the very
+good-natured remark: “How d’ye do—pretty well, to-day?”
+
+There was a familiar look about the round cape of the camlet cloak, and
+Grandpa Markham’s face turned crimson as the truth burst upon him.
+
+“How ’shamed of me Maddy would be,” he thought, glancing sidewise at
+Mrs. Noah, who had witnessed the blunder, and was now looking from the
+window to hide her laughter.
+
+Grandpa believed she did not see him, and comforted with that
+assurance, he began to remark upon the mirror, saying “it made it
+appear as if there was two of you,” a remark which Mrs. Noah fully
+appreciated. He saw the silk chairs, slyly touching one to see if it
+did feel like the gored, peach-blossom dress worn by his wife forty-two
+years ago that very spring. Then he tried one of them, examined the
+rare ornaments, and came near bowing again to the portrait of the first
+Mrs. Remington, so natural and lifelike it looked standing out from the
+canvas.
+
+“This will last Maddy a week. I thank you, ma’am. You have added some
+considerable to the happiness of a young girl, who wouldn’t disgrace
+even such a room as this,” he said, as he passed into the hall.
+
+Mrs. Noah received his thanks graciously, and led him to the yard,
+where Sorrel stood waiting for him.
+
+“Odd, but clever as the day is long,” was Mrs. Noah’s comment, as,
+after seeing him safe out of her yard, she went back to her vegetable
+oysters boiling on the stove.
+
+Driving at a brisk trot through the grounds, Sorrel was soon out upon
+the highway; and with spirits exhilarated by thoughts of going home, he
+kept up the trot until, turning a sudden corner, his master saw the
+carriage from Aikenside approaching at a rapid rate. The driver, Paul,
+saw him too, but scorning to give half the road to such as Sorrel and
+the square-boxed wagons, he kept steadily on, while Grandpa Markham,
+determined to speak with Guy, reined his horse a little nearer, raising
+his hand in token that the negro should stop. As a natural consequence,
+the wheels of the two vehicles became interlocked, and as the powerful
+grays were more than a match for Sorrel, the front wheel of Grandpa
+Markham’s wagon was wrenched off, and the old man precipitated to the
+ground; which, fortunately for him, was in that locality covered with
+sand banks, so that he was only stunned for an instant, and thus failed
+to hear the insolent negro’s remark: “Served you right, old cove; might
+of turned out for gentlemen;” neither did he see the sudden flashing of
+Guy Remington’s eye, as, leaping from his carriage, he seized the
+astonished African by the collar, and, hurling him from the box,
+demanded what he meant by serving an old man so shameful a trick and
+then insulting him.
+
+All apology and regret, the cringing driver tried to make some excuse,
+but Guy stopped him short, telling him to see how much the wagon was
+damaged, while he ran to the old man, who had recovered from the first
+shock and was trying to extricate himself from the folds of his camlet
+cloak. Nearby was a blacksmith’s shop, and thither Guy ordered his
+driver to take the broken-down wagon with a view to getting it
+repaired.
+
+“Tell him I want it done at once.” he said, authoritatively, as if he
+well knew his name carried weight with it; then, turning to grandpa, he
+asked again if he were hurt.
+
+“No, not specially—jolted my old bones some. You are very kind, sir,”
+grandpa replied, brushing the dust from his pantaloons and then
+involuntarily grasping Guy’s arm for support, as his weak knees began
+to tremble from the effects of excitement and fright.
+
+“That darky shall rue this job,” Guy said, savagely, as he gazed
+pityingly upon the shaky old creature beside him. “I’ll discharge him
+to-morrow.”
+
+“No, young man. Don’t be rash. He’ll never do’t again; and sprigs like
+him think they’ve a right to make fun of old codgers like me,” was
+grandpa’s meek expostulation.
+
+“Do, pray, Guy, how long must we wait here?” Agnes asked, impatiently,
+leaning back in the carriage and partially drawing her veil over her
+face as she glanced at Grandpa Markham, but a look from Guy silenced
+her; and turning again to grandpa, he asked:
+
+“What did you say? You have been to Aikenside to see me?”
+
+“Yes, and I was sorry to miss you. I—I—it makes me feel awkward to tell
+you, but I wanted to borrow some money, and I didn’t know nobody as
+likely to have it as you. That woman up to your house said she knowed
+you wouldn’t let me have it, ’cause you hadn’t it to spare. Mebby you
+haven’t,” and grandpa waited anxiously for Guy’s reply.
+
+Now, Mrs. Noah had a singular influence over her young master, who was
+in the habit of consulting her with regard to his affairs, and nothing
+could have been more unpropitious to the success of grandpa’s suit than
+the knowing she disapproved. Beside this, Guy had only the previous
+week lost a small amount loaned under similar circumstances. Standing
+silent for a moment, while he buried and reburied his shining patent
+leather boots in the hills of sand, he said at last: “Candidly, sir, I
+don’t believe I can accommodate you. I am about to make repairs at
+Aikenside, and have partially promised to loan money on good security
+to a Mr. Silas Slocum, who, ‘if things work right,’ as he expressed it,
+intends building a mill on some property which has come, or is coming,
+into his hands.”
+
+“That’s mine—that’s mine, my homestead,” gasped grandpa, turning white
+almost as his hair blowing in the April wind. “There’s a stream of
+water on it, and he says if he forecloses and gets it he shall build a
+mill, and tear our old house down.”
+
+Guy was in a dilemma. He had not asked how much Mr. Markham wanted, and
+as the latter had not told him, he naturally concluded it a much larger
+sum than it really was, and did not care just then to lend it.
+
+“I tell you what I’ll do,” he said, after a little. “I’ll drop Slocum a
+note to-night saying I’ve changed my mind, and shall not let him have
+the money. Perhaps, then, he won’t be so anxious to foreclose, and will
+give you time to look among your friends.”
+
+Guy laid a little emphasis on that last word, and looking up quickly
+grandpa was about to say: “I am not so much a stranger as you think. I
+knew your father well;” but he checked himself with the thought: “No,
+that will be too much like begging pay for a deed of mercy done years
+ago.” So Guy never suspected that the old man before him had once laid
+his sire under a debt of gratitude. The more he reflected the less
+inclined he was to lend the money, and as grandpa was too timid to urge
+his needs, the result was that when at last the wheel was replaced, and
+Sorrel again trotting on toward Devonshire, he drew after him a sad,
+heavy heart, and not once until the village was reached did he hear the
+cheery chuckle with which his kind master was wont to encourage him.
+
+“Poor Maddy! I dread tellin’ her the most, she was so sure,” grandpa
+whispered, as he stopped before the office door, where Maddy waited for
+him.
+
+But Maddy’s disappointment was keener than his own, and so after the
+sorrowful words, “and I failed, too,” he bent himself to comfort the
+poor child, who, leaning her throbbing head against his shoulder,
+sobbed bitterly, as in the soft spring twilight they drove back to the
+low red cottage where grandma waited for them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+THE RESULT.
+
+
+It was Farmer Green’s new buggy and Farmer Green’s bay colt which,
+three days later than this, stopped before Dr. Holbrook’s office. Not
+the square-boxed wagon, with old Sorrel attached; the former was
+standing quietly in the chip-yard behind the low red house, while the
+latter with his nose over the barnyard fence, neighing occasionally, as
+if he missed the little hands which had daily fed him the oatmeal he
+liked so much, and which now lay hot and parched and helpless upon the
+white counterpane Grandma Markham had spun and woven herself. Maddy
+might have been just as sick as she was if the examination had never
+occurred, but it was natural for those who loved her to impute it all
+to the effects of excitement and cruel disappointment, so there was
+something like indignation mingling with the sorrow gnawing at the
+hearts of the old couple as they watched by their fever-stricken
+darling. Farmer Green, too, shared the feeling, and numerous at first
+were his mental animadversions against that “prig of a Holbrook.” But
+when Maddy grew so bad as not to know him or his wife, he laid aside
+his prejudices, and suggested to Grandpa Markham that Dr. Holbrook be
+sent for.
+
+“He’s great on fevers,” he said, “and is good on curin’ sick folks,”
+so, though he would have preferred some one else should have been
+called, confidence in the young doctor’s skill won the day, and grandpa
+consented.
+
+This, then, was the errand of Farmer Green, and with his usual
+bluntness, he said to the recreant doctor, who chanced to be at home:
+
+“Wall, you nigh about killed our little Madge t’other day, when you
+refused the stifficut, and now we want you to cure her.”
+
+The doctor looked up in surprise, but Farmer Green soon explained his
+meaning, making out a most aggravated case, and representing Maddy as
+wild with delirium.
+
+“Keeps talkin’ about the big books, the Latin and the Hebrew, and even
+the Catechism, as if such like was ’lowed in our school. I s’pose you
+didn’t know no better; but if Maddy dies, you’ll have it to answer for,
+I reckon.”
+
+The doctor did not try to excuse himself, but hastily took down the
+medicines he thought he might need, and stowed them carefully away. He
+had expected to hear from that examination, but not in this way, and
+rather nervously he made some inquiries, as to how long she had been
+ill, and so forth.
+
+Maddy’s case lost nothing by Mr. Green’s account, and by the time the
+doctor’s horse was ready, and he on his way to the cottage, he had
+arrived at the conclusion that of all the villainous men outside the
+walls of the State’s prison, he was the most villainous, and Guy
+Remington next.
+
+What a cozy little chamber it was where Maddy lay, just such a room as
+a girl like her might be supposed to occupy, and the bachelor doctor
+felt like treading upon forbidden ground as he entered the room so rife
+with girlish habits, from the fairy slippers hung on a peg, to the
+fanciful little workbox made of cones and acorns. Maddy was asleep, and
+sitting down beside her, he asked that the shawl which had been pinned
+across the window might be removed so that he could see her, and thus
+judge better of her condition. They took the shawl away, and the
+sunlight came streaming in, disclosing to the doctor’s view the face
+never before seen distinctly, or thought about, if seen. It was ghastly
+pale, save where the hot blood seemed bursting through the cheeks,
+while the beautiful brown hair was brushed back from the brow where the
+veins were swollen and full. The lips were slightly apart, and the hot
+breath came in quick, panting gasps, while occasionally a faint moan
+escaped them, and once the doctor heard, or thought he heard, the sound
+of his own name. One little dimpled hand lay upon the bedspread, but
+the doctor did not touch it. Ordinarily he would have grasped it as
+readily as if it had been a piece of marble, but the sight of Maddy,
+lying there so sick, and the fearing he had helped to bring her where
+she was, awoke to life a curious state of feeling with regard to her,
+making him almost as nervous as on the day when she appeared before him
+as candidate No. 1.
+
+“Feel her pulse, doctor; they are faster most than you can count,”
+Grandma Markham whispered; and thus entreated, the doctor took the soft
+hand in his own, its touch sending through his frame a thrill such as
+the touch of no other hand had ever sent.
+
+Somehow the act reassured him. All fear of Maddy vanished, leaving
+behind only an intense desire to help, if possible, the young girl
+whose fingers seemed to cling around his own as he felt for and found
+the rapid pulse.
+
+“If she could awaken,” he said, laying the hand softly down and placing
+his other upon her forehead, where the great sweat drops lay.
+
+And, after a time, Maddy did awaken, but in the eyes fixed, for a
+moment, so intently on him, there was no look of recognition, and the
+doctor was half glad that it was so. He did not wish her to associate
+him with her late disastrous disappointment; he would rather she should
+think of him as some one come to cure her, for cure her he would, he
+said to himself, as he gazed into her childish face and thought how sad
+it was for such as she to die. When first he entered the cottage he had
+been struck with the extreme plainness of the furniture, betokening
+that wealth had not there an abiding place, but now he forgot
+everything except the sick girl, who grew more and more restless,
+talking of him and the Latin verb which meant “to love,” she said, and
+which was not in the grammar.
+
+“Guy was a fool and I was a brute,” the doctor muttered, as he folded
+up the bits of paper whose contents he hoped might do much toward
+saving Maddy’s life.
+
+Then, promising to come again, he rode rapidly away, to visit other
+patients, who, that afternoon, were in danger of being sadly neglected,
+so constantly was their young physician’s mind dwelling upon the
+little, low-walled chamber where Maddy Clyde was lying. As night closed
+in she knew them all, and heard that Dr. Holbrook had been there
+prescribing for her. Turning her face to the wall, she seemed to be
+thinking; then, calling her grandmother to her, she whispered: “Did he
+smooth my hair back and say, ‘poor child?’”
+
+Her grandmother hardly thought he did, though she was not in the room
+all the time, she said. “He had stayed a long while and was greatly
+interested.”
+
+Maddy had a vague remembrance of such an incident, and in her heart
+forgave the doctor for his rejection, thinking only how handsome he had
+looked, even while tormenting her with such unheard of questions, and
+how kind he was to her now. The sight of her grandfather awakened a new
+train of ideas, and bidding him to sit beside her, she asked if their
+home must be sold. Maddy was not to be put off with an evasion, and so
+grandpa told her honestly at last that Slocum would foreclose, but not
+while she was sick; he had been seen that day by Mr. Green, and had
+promised so much forbearance.
+
+This was the last rational conversation held with Maddy for many a
+week, and when next morning the doctor came, there was a look of deep
+anxiety upon his face as he watched the alarming symptoms of his
+delirious patient, who talked incessantly, not of the examination now,
+but of the mortgage and the foreclosure, begging the doctor to see that
+the house was not sold, to tell them she was earning thirty-six dollars
+by teaching school, that Beauty should be sold to save their dear old
+home. All this was strange at first to the doctor, but the rather
+voluble Mrs. Green, who had come to Grandma Markham’s relief,
+enlightened him, dwelling with a kind of malicious pleasure upon the
+fact that Maddy’s earnings, had she been permitted to get a
+“stifficut,” were to be appropriated toward paying the debt.
+
+If the doctor had hated himself the previous day when he from the red
+cottage gate, he hated himself doubly now as he went dashing down the
+road, determined to resign his office of school inspector that very
+day. And he did.
+
+Summoning around him those who had been most active in electing him, he
+refused to officiate again, assuring them that if any more candidates
+came he should either turn them from his door or give them a
+certificate without asking a question.
+
+“Put anybody you like in my place,” he said; “anybody but Guy
+Remington. Don’t for thunder’s sake take him.”
+
+There was no probability of this, as Guy lived in another town, and
+could not have officiated had he wished. But the doctor was too much
+excited to reason upon anything save Madeline Clyde’s case. That he
+perfectly understood; and during the next few weeks his other patients
+waited many times in vain for his coming, while he sat by Maddy’s side
+watching every change, whether for the worse or better. Even Agnes
+Remington was totally neglected; and so one day she sent Guy down to
+Devonshire to say that as Jessie seemed more than usually delicate, she
+wished the doctor to take her under his charge and visit her at least
+once a week. The doctor was not at home, but Tom said he expected him
+every moment. So seating himself in the armchair, Guy waited until he
+came.
+
+“Well, Hal,” he began, jocosely, but the joking words he would have
+uttered next died on his lips as he noticed the strange look of
+excitement and anxiety on the doctor’s face. “What is it?” he asked.
+“Are all your patients dead?”
+
+“Guy,” and the doctor came closely to him, whispering huskily, “you and
+I are murderers in the first degree. Yes; and both deserve to be hung.
+Do you remember that Madeline Clyde whom you insulted with your logic
+and Latin verbs? She’d set her heart on that certificate. She wanted
+the money, not for new gowns and fooleries mind, but to help her old
+grandfather pay his debts. His place is mortgaged. I don’t understand
+it; but he asked some old hunks to lend him the money, and the miserly
+rascal, whoever he was, refused. I wish I had it. I’d give it to him
+out and out. But that’s nothing to do with the girl—Maddy they call
+her. The disappointment killed her, and she’s dying—is raving crazy—and
+keeps talking of that confounded examination. I tell you, Guy, my
+inward parts get terribly mixed up when I hear her talk, and my heart
+thumps like a trip-hammer. That’s the reason I have not been up to
+Aikenside. I wouldn’t leave Maddy so long as there was hope. I did not
+tell them this morning. I couldn’t make that poor couple feel worse
+than they are feeling; but when I looked at her, tossing from side to
+side and picking at the bedclothes, I knew it would soon be over—that
+when I saw her again the poor little arms would be still enough and the
+bright eyes shut forever. Guy, I couldn’t see her die—I don’t like to
+see anybody die, but her, Maddy, of all others—and so I came away. If
+you stay long enough, you’ll hear the bell toll, I reckon. There is
+none at Honedale Church, which they attend. They are Episcopalians, you
+see, and so they’ll come up here, maybe. I hope I shall be deafer than
+an adder.”
+
+Here the doctor stopped, wholly out of breath, while Guy for a moment
+sat without speaking a single word. Jessie, in his hearing, had told
+her mother what the sick girl in the doctor’s office had said about
+being poor and wanting the money for grandpa, while Mrs. Noah had given
+him a rather exaggerated account of Mr. Markham’s visit; but he had not
+associated the two together until now, when he saw the whole, and
+almost as much as the doctor himself regretted the part he had had in
+Maddy’s illness and her grandfather’s distress.
+
+“Doc,” he said, laying his hand on the doctor’s arm, “I am that old
+hunks, the miserly rascal who refused the money. I met the old man
+going home that day, and he asked me for help. You say the place must
+be sold. It never shall, never. I’ll see to that, and you must save the
+girl.”
+
+“I can’t, Guy. I’ve done all I can, and now, if she lives, it will be
+wholly owing to the prayers that old saint of a grandfather says for
+her. I never thought much of these things until I heard him pray; not
+that she should live anyway, but that if it were right Maddy might not
+die. Guy, there’s something in such a prayer as that. It’s more
+powerful than all my medicine swallowed at one grand gulp.”
+
+Guy didn’t know very much about praying then, and so he did not
+respond, but he thought of Lucy Atherstone, whose life was one hymn of
+prayer and praise, and he wished she could know of Maddy, and join her
+petitions with those of the grandfather. Starting suddenly from his
+chair, he exclaimed, “I’m going down there. It will look queerly, too,
+to go alone. Ah, I have it! I’ll drive back to Aikenside for Jessie,
+who has talked so much of the girl that her lady mother, forgetting
+that she was once a teacher, is disgusted. Yes, I’ll take Jessie with
+me, but you must order it; you must say it is good for her to ride,
+and, Hal, give me some medicine for her, just to quiet Agnes, no matter
+what, provided it’s not strychnine.”
+
+Contrary to Guy’s expectations, Agnes did not refuse to let Jessie go
+for a ride, particularly as she had no suspicion where he intended
+taking her, and the little girl was soon seated by her brother’s side,
+chatting merrily of the different things they passed upon the road. But
+when Guy told her where they were going, and why they were going there,
+the tears came at once into her eyes, and hiding her face in Guy’s lap
+she sobbed bitterly.
+
+“I did like her so much that day,” she said, “and she looked so sorry,
+too. It’s terrible to die!”
+
+Then she plied Guy with questions concerning Maddy’s probable future.
+“Would she go to heaven, sure?” and When Guy answered at random, “Yes,”
+she asked, “How did he know? Had he heard that Maddy was that kind of
+good which lets folks in heaven? Because, Brother Guy,” and the little
+preacher nestled closely to the young man, fingering his coat buttons
+as she talked, “because, Brother Guy, folks can be good—that is, not do
+naughty things—and still God won’t love them unless they—I don’t know
+what, I wish I did.”
+
+Guy drew her nearer to him, but to that childish yearning for knowledge
+he could not respond, so he said:
+
+“Who taught you all this, little one?—not your mother, surely.”
+
+“No, not mamma, but Miriam, the waiting-maid we left in Boston. She
+told me about it, and taught me to pray different from mamma. Do you
+pray, Brother Guy?”
+
+The question startled the young man, who was glad his coachman spoke to
+him just then, asking if he should drive through Devonshire village, or
+go direct to Honedale by a shorter route.
+
+They would go to the village, Guy said, hoping that thus the doctor
+might be persuaded to accompany them. This diverted Jessie’s mind, and
+she said no more of praying; but the first tiny grain was sown, the
+mustard seed, which should hereafter spring up into a mighty tree, the
+indirect result of Maddy’s disappointment and almost fatal illness.
+They found the doctor at home and willing to go with them. Indeed, so
+impatient had he become listening for the first stroke of the bell
+which was to herald the death he deemed so sure, that he was on the
+point of mounting his horse and galloping off alone, when Guy’s
+invitation came. It was five miles from Devonshire to Honedale, and
+when they reached a hill which lay halfway between, they stopped for a
+few moments to rest the tired horses. Suddenly, as they sat waiting, a
+sharp, ringing sound fell on their ears, and grasping Guy’s knee, the
+doctor said, “I told you so; Madeline Clyde is dead.”
+
+It was the village bell, and its twice three strokes betokened that it
+tolled for somebody youthful, somebody young, like Maddy Clyde. Jessie
+wept silently, but there were no tears in the eyes of the young men, as
+with beating hearts they sat listening to the slow, solemn sounds which
+came echoing up the hill. There was a pause; the sexton’s dirgelike
+task was done, and now it only remained for him to strike the age, and
+tell how many years the departed one had numbered.
+
+“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten;” Jessie
+counted it aloud, while every stroke fell like a heavy blow upon the
+hearts of the young men, who a few weeks ago, knew not that such as
+Maddy Clyde had ever had existence.
+
+How long it seemed before another stroke, and Guy was beginning to hope
+they’d heard the last, when again the dull, muffled sound came floating
+on the air, and Dr. Holbrook’s black, bearded lip half quivered as he
+now counted aloud, “one, two, three, four, five.”
+
+That was all; there it stopped; and vain were all their listenings to
+catch another note. Fifteen years, and only fifteen had passed over the
+form now forever still.
+
+“She was fifteen,” Guy whispered, remembering distinctly to have heard
+that number from Maddy herself.
+
+“I thought they told me fourteen, but of course it’s she,” the doctor
+rejoined. “Poor child, I would have given much to have saved her.”
+
+Jessie did not talk; only once, when she asked Guy, if it was very far
+to heaven, and if he supposed Maddy had got there by this time.
+
+“We’ll go just the same,” said Guy. “I will do what I can for the old
+man;” and so the carriage drove on, down the hill, across the
+meadow-land, and past a low-roofed house whose walls inclosed the
+stiffened form of him for whom the bell had tolled, the boy, fifteen
+years of age, who had been the patient of another than Dr. Holbrook.
+
+Maddy was not dead, but the paroxysm of restlessness had passed, and
+she lay now in a heavy sleep so nearly resembling death that they who
+watched, waited expectantly to see the going out of her last breath.
+Never before had a carriage like that from Aikenside stopped at that
+humble cottage, but the neighbors thought it came merely to bring the
+doctor, whom they welcomed with a glad smile, making a way for him to
+pass to Maddy’s bedside. Guy preferred waiting in the carriage until
+such time as Grandpa Markham could speak with him, but Jessie went with
+the doctor into the sick room, startling even the grandmother, and
+causing her to wonder who the richly-dressed child could be.
+
+“Dying, doctor,” said one of the women, affirmatively, not
+interrogatively; but the doctor shook his head, and holding in one hand
+his watch he counted the faint pulse beats as with his eye he measured
+off the minute.
+
+“There are too many here,” he said. “She needs the air you are
+breathing,” and in his singular, authoritative way, he cleared the
+crowded room of the mistaken friends who were unwittingly breathing up
+Maddy’s very life.
+
+All but the grandparents and Jessie; these he suffered to remain, and
+sitting down by Maddy, watched till the long sleep was ended. Silently
+and earnestly the aged couple prayed for their darling, asking that if
+possible she might be spared, and God heard their prayers, lifting, at
+last, the heavy fog from Maddy’s brain, and waking her to life and
+partial consciousness. It was Jessie who first caught the expression of
+the opening eyes, and darting forward, she exclaimed, “She’s waked up,
+Dr. Holbrook. She will live.”
+
+Wonderingly Maddy looked at her, and then as a confused recollection of
+where they had met before crossed her mind, she smiled faintly, and
+said:
+
+“Where am I now? Have I never come home, and is this Dr. Holbrook’s
+office?”
+
+“No, no; it’s home, your home, and you are getting well,” Jessie cried,
+bending over the bewildered girl. “Dr. Holbrook has cured you, and Guy
+is here, and I, and—”
+
+“Hush, you disturb her,” the doctor said, gently pulling Jessie away,
+and himself asking Maddy how she felt.
+
+She did not recognize him. She only had a vague idea that he might be
+some doctor, but not Dr. Holbrook, sure; not the one who had so puzzled
+and tortured her on a day which seemed now so far behind. From the
+white-haired man kneeling by the bedside there was a burst of
+thanksgiving for the life restored, and then Grandpa Markham tottered
+from the room, out into the open air, which had never fallen so
+refreshingly on his tried frame as it fell now, when he first knew that
+Maddy would live. He did not care for his homestead; that might go, and
+he still be happy with Maddy left. But He who had marked that true
+disciple’s every sigh, had another good in store, willing it so that
+both should come together, even as the two disappointments had come
+hand in hand.
+
+From the soft cushions of his carriage, where he sat reclining, Guy
+Remington saw the old man as he came out, and alighting at once, he
+accosted him pleasantly, and then walked with him to the garden, where,
+on a rustic bench, built for Maddy beneath the cherry trees, Grandpa
+Markham sat down to rest. From speaking of Madeline it was easy to go
+back to the day when Guy had first met grandpa, whose application for
+money he had refused.
+
+“I have thought better of it since,” he said, “and am sorry I did not
+accede to your proposal. One object of my coming here to-day was to say
+that my purse is at your disposal. You can have as much as you wish,
+paying me whenever you like, and the house shall not be sold. Slocum, I
+understand, holds the mortgage. I will see him to-morrow and stop the
+whole proceeding.”
+
+Guy spoke rapidly, determined to make a clean breast of it, but grandpa
+understood him, and bowing his white head upon his bosom, the big tears
+dropped like rain upon the turf, while his lips quivered, first with
+thanks to the Providence who had truly done all things well, and next
+with thanks to his benefactor.
+
+“Blessings on your head, young man, for making me so happy. You are
+worthy of your father, and he was the best of men.”
+
+“My father—did you know him?” Guy asked, in some surprise, and then the
+story came out, how, years before, when a city hotel was on fire, and
+one of its guests in imminent danger from the locality of his room, and
+his own nervous fear which made him powerless to act, another guest
+braved fearlessly the hissing flame, and scaling the tottering wall,
+dragged out to life and liberty one who, until that hour, was to him an
+utter stranger.
+
+Pushing back his snowy hair, Grandfather Markham showed upon his temple
+a long, white scar, obtained the night when he periled his own life to
+save that of another. There was a doubly warm pressure now of the old
+man’s hand, as Guy replied, “I’ve heard that story from father himself,
+but the name of his preserver had escaped me. Why didn’t you tell me
+who you were?”
+
+“I thought ’twould look too much like demanding it as a right—too much
+like begging, and I s’pose I felt too proud. Pride is my besetting
+sin—the one I pray most against.”
+
+Guy looked keenly now at the man whose besetting sin was pride, and as
+he marked the cheapness of his attire, his pantaloons faded and short,
+his coat worn threadbare and shabby, his shoes both patched at the
+toes, his cotton shirt minus a bosom, and then thought of the humble
+cottage, with its few rocky acres, he wondered of what he could be
+proud.
+
+Meantime, for Maddy, Dr. Holbrook had prescribed perfect quiet, bidding
+them darken again the window from which the shade had been removed, and
+ordering all save the grandmother to leave the room and let the patient
+sleep, if possible. Even Jessie was not permitted to stay, though Maddy
+clung to her as to a dear friend. In a few whispered words Jessie had
+told her name, saying she came from Aikenside, and that her Brother Guy
+was there, too, outdoors, in the carriage. “He heard how sick you were
+at Devonshire, this morning, and drove right home for me to come to see
+you. I told him of you that day in the office, and that’s why he
+brought me, I guess. You’ll like Guy. I know all the girls do—he’s so
+good.”
+
+Sick and weary as she was, and unable as yet to comprehend the entire
+meaning of all she heard, Maddy was conscious of a thrill of pride in
+knowing that Guy Remington, from Aikenside, was interested in her, and
+had brought his sister to see her. Winding her feeble arms around
+Jessie’s neck, she kissed the soft, warm cheek, and said, “You’ll come
+again, I hope.”
+
+“Yes, every day, if mamma will let me. I don’t mind it a bit, if you
+are poor.”
+
+“Tut, tut, little tattler!” and Dr. Holbrook, who, unseen by the
+children, had all the while been standing near, took Jessie by the arm.
+“What makes you think them poor?”
+
+In the closely-shaded room Maddy could see nothing distinctly, but she
+heard Jessie’s reply: “Because the plastering comes down so low, and
+Maddy’s pillows are so teenty, not much bigger than my dolly’s. But I
+love her; don’t you doctor?”
+
+Through the darkness the doctor caught the sudden flash of Maddy’s
+eyes, and something impelled him to lay his cool, broad hand on her
+forehead, as he replied, “I love all my patients;” then, taking
+Jessie’s arm, he led her out to where Guy was waiting for her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+CONVALESCENCE.
+
+
+Had it not been for the presence of Dr. Holbrook, who, accepting Guy’s
+invitation to tea, rode back with him to Aikenside, Mrs. Agnes would
+have gone off into a passion when told that Jessie had been “exposed to
+fever and mercy knows what.”
+
+“There’s no telling what one will catch among the very poor,” she said
+to Dr. Holbrook, as she clasped and unclasped the heavy gold bracelets
+flashing on her white, round arm.
+
+“I’ll be answerable for any disease Jessie caught at Mr. Markham’s,”
+the doctor replied.
+
+“At Mr. Who’s? What did you call him?” Agnes asked, the bright color on
+her cheek fading as the doctor replied:
+
+“Markham—an old man who lives in Honedale. You never knew him, of
+course.”
+
+Involuntarily Agnes glanced at Guy, in whose eye there was, as she
+fancied, a peculiar expression. Could it be he knew the secret she
+guarded so carefully? Impossible, she said to herself; but still the
+white fingers trembled as she handled the china and silver, and for
+once she was glad when the doctor took his leave, and she was alone
+with Jessie.
+
+“What was that girl’s name?” she asked, “the one you went to see?”
+
+“Maddy, mother—Madeline Clyde. She’s so pretty. I’m going to see her
+again. May I?”
+
+Agnes did not reply directly, but continued to question the child with
+regard to the cottage which Jessie thought so funny, slanting away
+back, she said, so that the roof on one side almost touched the ground.
+The window panes, too, were so very tiny, and the room where Maddy lay
+sick was small and low.
+
+“Yes, yes, I know,” Agnes said at last, impatiently, weary of hearing
+of the cottage whose humble exterior and interior she knew so much
+better than Jessie herself.
+
+But this was not to be divulged; for surely the haughty Agnes
+Remington, who, in Boston, aspired to lead in society into which, as
+the wife of Dr. Remington, she had been admitted, and who, in
+Aikenside, was looked upon with envy, could have nothing in common with
+the red cottage or its inmates. So when Jessie asked again if she could
+not visit Maddy on the morrow, she answered decidedly: “No, daughter,
+no. I do not wish you to associate with such people,” and when Jessie
+insisted on knowing why she must not associate with such people as
+Maddy Clyde, the answer was: “Because you are a Remington,” and as if
+this of itself were of an unanswerable objection, Agnes sent her child
+from her, refusing to talk longer on a subject so disagreeable to her
+and so suggestive of the past. It was all in vain that Jessie, and even
+Guy himself, tried to revoke the decision. Jessie should not be
+permitted to come in contact with that kind of people, she said, or
+incur the risk of catching that dreadful fever.
+
+So day after day, while life and health were slowly throbbing through
+her veins, Maddy waited and longed for the little girl whose one visit
+to her sick room seemed so much like a dream. From her grandfather she
+had heard the good news of Guy Remington’s generosity, and that, quite
+as much as Dr. Holbrook’s medicines, helped to bring the color back to
+the pallid cheek and the brightness to her eyes.
+
+She was asleep the first time the doctor came after the occasion of
+Jessie’s visit, and as sleep, he said, would do her more good than
+anything he might prescribe, he did not awaken her; but for a long
+time, as it seemed to Grandma Markham, who stood very little in awe of
+the Boston doctor, he watched her as she slept, now clasping the
+blue-veined wrist as he felt for the pulse, and now wiping from her
+forehead the drops of sweat, or pushing back her soft, damp hair. It
+would be three days before he could see her again, for a sick father in
+Cambridge needed his attention, and after numerous directions as to the
+administering of sundry powders and pills, he left her, feeling that
+the next three days would be long ones to him. Dr. Holbrook did not
+stop to analyze the nature of his interest in Maddy Clyde—an interest
+so different from any he had ever felt before for his patients; and
+even if he had sought to solve the riddle, he would have said that the
+knowing how he had wronged her was the sole cause of his thinking far
+more of her and of her case than of the thirty other patients on his
+list. Dr. Holbrook was a handsome man, a thorough scholar, and a most
+skillful physician; but ladies who expected from him those little
+polite attentions which the sex value so highly generally expected in
+vain, for he was no ladies’ man, and his language and manners were
+oftentimes abrupt, even when both were prompted by the utmost kindness
+of heart. In his organization, too, there was not a quick perception of
+what would be exactly appropriate, and so, when, at last, he was about
+starting to visit Maddy again, he puzzled his brains until they fairly
+ached with wondering what he could do to give her a pleasant surprise
+and show that he was not as formidable a personage as her past
+experience might lead her to think.
+
+“If I could only take her something,” he said, glancing ruefully around
+his office. “Now, if she were Jessie, nuts and raisins might answer—but
+she must not eat such trash as that,” and he set himself to think
+again, just as Guy Remington rode up, bearing in his hand a most
+exquisite bouquet, whose fragrance filled the medicine-odored office at
+once, and whose beauty elicited an exclamation of delight even from the
+matter-of-fact Dr. Holbrook.
+
+“I thought you might be going down to Honedale, as I knew you returned
+last night, so I brought these flowers for your patient with my
+compliments, or if you prefer I give them to you, and you can thus
+present them as if coming from yourself.”
+
+“As if I would do that,” the doctor answered, taking the bouquet in his
+hand the better to examine and admire it. “Did you arrange it, or your
+gardener?” he asked, and when Guy replied that the merit of
+arrangement, if merit there were, belonged to himself, he began to
+deprecate his own awkwardness and want of tact. “Here I have been
+cudgeling my head this half hour trying to think what I could take her
+as a peace offering, and could think of nothing, while you—Well, you
+and I are different entirely. You know just what is proper—just what to
+say, and when to say it—while I am a perfect bore, and without doubt
+shall make some ludicrous blunder in delivering the flowers. To-day
+will be the first time really that we meet, as she was sleeping when I
+was there last, while on all other occasions she has paid no attention
+whatever to me.”
+
+For a moment Guy regarded his friend attentively, noticing now that
+extra care had been bestowed upon his toilet, that the collar was fresh
+from the laundry, and the new cravat tied in a most unexceptionable
+manner, instead of being twisted into a hard knot, with the ends
+looking as if they had been chewed.
+
+“Doc,” he said, when his survey was completed, “how old are
+you—twenty-five or twenty-six?”
+
+“Twenty-five—just your age—why?” and the doctor looked with an
+expression so wholly innocent of Guy’s real meaning that the latter,
+instead of telling why, replied:
+
+“Oh! nothing; only I was wondering if you would do to be my father.
+Agnes, I verily believe, is more than half in love with you; but, on
+the whole, I would not like to be your son; so I guess you’d better
+take some one younger—say Jessie. You are only eighteen years her
+senior.”
+
+The doctor stared at him amazed, and when he had finished said with the
+utmost candor: “What has that to do with Madeline? I thought we were
+talking of her.” “Innocent as the newly-born babe,” was Guy’s mental
+comment, as he congratulated himself on his larger and more varied
+experience.
+
+And truly Dr. Holbrook was as simple-hearted as a child, never dreaming
+of Guy’s meaning, or that any emotion save a perfectly proper one had a
+lodgment in his breast as he drove down to Honedale, guarding carefully
+Guy’s bouquet, and wishing he knew just what he ought to say when he
+presented it.
+
+Maddy had gained rapidly the last three days. Good nursing and the
+doctor’s medicines were working miracles, and on the morning when the
+doctor, with Guy’s bouquet, was riding rapidly toward Honedale, she was
+feeling so much better that in view of his coming she asked if she
+could not be permitted to receive him sitting in the rocking-chair,
+instead of lying there in bed, and when this plan was vetoed as utterly
+impossible, she asked, anxiously:
+
+“And must I see him in this nightgown? Can’t I have on my pink gingham
+wrapper?”
+
+Hitherto Maddy had been too sick to care at all about her personal
+appearance, but it was different now. She did care, and thoughts of
+meeting again the handsome, stylish-looking man who had asked her to
+conjugate _amo_ and whom she fully believed to be Dr. Holbrook, made
+her rather nervous. Dim remembrances she had of some one gliding in and
+out, and when the pain and noise in her head was at its highest, a
+hand, large, and, oh! so cool had been laid upon her temples, quieting
+their throbbings and making the blood course less madly through the
+swollen veins. They had told her how kind, how attentive he had been,
+and to herself she had said: “He’s sorry about that certificate. He
+wishes to show me that he did not mean to be unkind. Yes; I forgive
+him: for I really was very stupid that afternoon.”
+
+And so, in a most forgiving frame of mind, Maddy submitted to the snowy
+robe which grandma brought in place of the coveted gingham wrapper, and
+which became her well, with its daintily-crimped ruffles about the neck
+and wrists. Those wrists and hands! How white and small they had grown!
+and Maddy sighed, as her grandmother buttoned together the wristbands,
+to see how loose it was.
+
+“I have been very sick,” she said. “Are my cheeks as thin as my arms?”
+
+They were not, though they had lost some of their symmetrical
+roundness. Still there was much of childish beauty in the young, eager
+face, and the hair had lost comparatively none of its glossy
+brightness.
+
+“That’s him,” grandma said, as the sound of a horse’s gallop was heard,
+and in a moment the doctor reined up before the gate.
+
+From Mrs. Markham, who met him in the door, he learned how much better
+she was; also how “she has been reckoning on this visit, making herself
+all a-sweat about it.”
+
+Suddenly the doctor felt returning all his old dread of Maddy Clyde.
+Why should she wrong herself into a sweat? What was there in that visit
+different from any other? Nothing, he said to himself, nothing; and yet
+he, too, had been more anxious about it than any he had ever paid.
+Depositing his hat and gloves upon the table, he followed Mrs. Markham
+up the stairs, vaguely conscious of wishing she would stay down, and
+very conscious of feeling glad; when just at Maddy’s door and opposite
+a little window, she espied the hens busily engaged in devouring the
+yeast cakes, with which she had taken so much pains, and which she had
+placed in the hot sun to dry. Finding that they paid no heed to her
+loud “Shoo, shoos,” she started herself to drive them away, telling the
+doctor to go right on and to help himself.
+
+The perspiration was standing under Maddy’s hair by this time, and when
+the doctor stepped across the threshold, and she knew he really was
+coming near her, it oozed out upon her forehead in big, round drops,
+while her cheeks glowed with a feverish heat. Thinking he should get
+along with it better if he treated her just as he would Jessie, the
+doctor confronted her at once, and asked:
+
+“How is my little patient to-day?”
+
+A faint scream broke from Maddy’s lips, and she involuntarily raised
+her hands to thrust the stranger away. This black-eyed, black-haired,
+thick-set man was not Dr. Holbrook, for he was taller, and more slight,
+while she had not been deceived in the dark brown eyes which, even
+while they seemed to be mocking her, had worn a strange fascination for
+the maiden of fourteen and a half. The doctor fancied her delirious
+again, and this reassured him at once. Dropping the bouquet upon the
+bed, he clasped one of her hands in his, and without the slightest idea
+that she comprehended him, said, soothingly:
+
+“Poor child, are you afraid of me—the doctor, Dr. Holbrook?” Maddy did
+not try to withdraw her hand, but raising her eyes, swimming in tears,
+to his face, she stammered out:
+
+“What does it mean, and where is he—the one who—asked me—those dreadful
+questions? I thought that was Dr. Holbrook.”
+
+Here was a dilemma—something for which the doctor was not prepared, and
+with a feeling that he would not betray Guy, he said:
+
+“No; that was some one else—a friend of mine—but I was there in the
+back office. Don’t you remember me? Please don’t grow excited. Compose
+yourself, and I will explain all by and by. This is wrong. ’Twill never
+do,” and talking thus rapidly he wiped away the sweat, about which
+grandma had told him.
+
+Maddy was disappointed, and it took her some time to rally sufficiently
+to convince the doctor that she was not flighty, as he termed it; but
+composing herself at last, she answered all his questions, and then, as
+he saw her eyes wandering toward the bouquet, he suddenly remembered
+that it was not yet presented, and placing it in her hands, he said:
+
+“You like flowers, I know, and these are for you. I——”
+
+“Oh! thank you, thank you, doctor; I am so glad. I love them so much,
+and you are so kind. What made you think to bring them? I’ve wanted
+flowers so badly; but I could not have them, because I was sick and did
+not work in the garden. It was so good in you,” and in her delight
+Maddy’s tears dropped upon the fair blossoms.
+
+For a moment the doctor was sorely tempted to keep the credit thus
+enthusiastically given; but he was too truthful for that, and so
+watching her as her eyes glistened with pleased excitement, he said:
+
+“I am glad you like them, Miss Clyde, and so will Mr. Remington be. He
+sent them to you from his conservatory.”
+
+“Not Mr. Remington from Aikenside—not Jessie’s brother?” and Maddy’s
+eyes now fairly danced as they sought the doctor’s face.
+
+“Yes Jessie’s brother. He came here with her. He is interested in you,
+and brought these down this morning.”
+
+“It was Jessie, I guess, who sent them,” Maddy suggested, but the
+doctor persisted that it was Guy.
+
+“He wished me to present them with his compliments. He thought they
+might please you.”
+
+“Oh! they do, they do!” Maddy replied. “They almost make me well. Tell
+him how much I thank him, and like him too, though I never saw him.”
+
+The doctor opened his lips to tell her she had seen him, but changed
+his mind ere the words were uttered. She might not think as well of
+Guy, he thought, and there was no harm in keeping it back.
+
+So Maddy had no suspicion that the face she thought of so much belonged
+to Guy Remington. She had never seen him, of course; but she hoped she
+would some time, so as to thank him for his generosity to her
+grandfather and his kindness to herself. Then, as she remembered the
+message she had sent him, she began to think that it sounded too
+familiar, and said to the doctor:
+
+“If you please, don’t tell Mr. Remington that I said I liked him—only
+that I thank him. He would think it queer for a poor girl like me to
+send such word to him. He is very rich, and handsome, and splendid,
+isn’t he?”
+
+“Yes, Guy’s rich and handsome, and everybody likes him. We were in
+college together.”
+
+“You were?” Maddy exclaimed. “Then you know him well, and Jessie, and
+you’ve been to Aikenside often? There’s nothing in the world I want so
+much as to go to Aikenside. They say it is so beautiful.”
+
+“Maybe I’ll carry you up there some day when you are strong enough to
+ride,” the doctor answered, thinking of his light buggy at home, and
+wondering he had not used it more, instead of always riding on
+horseback.
+
+Dr. Holbrook looked much older than he was, and to Maddy he seemed
+quite fatherly, so that the idea of riding with him, aside from the
+honor it might be to her, struck her much as riding with Farmer Green
+would have done. The doctor, too, imagined that his proposition was
+prompted solely from disinterested motives, but he found himself
+wondering how long it would be before Maddy would be able to ride a
+little distance, just over the hill and back. He was tiring her all out
+talking to her; but somehow it was very delightful there in that sick
+room, with the summer sunshine stealing through the window and falling
+upon the soft reddish-brown head resting on the pillows. Once he fixed
+those pillows, arranging them so nicely that grandma, who had come in
+from her hens and yeast cakes, declared “he was as handy as a woman,”
+and after receiving a few general directions with regard to the future,
+“guessed, if he wasn’t in a hurry, she’d leave him with Maddy a spell,
+as there were a few chores she must do.”
+
+The doctor knew that at least a dozen individuals were waiting for him
+that moment; but still he was in no hurry, he said, and so for half an
+hour longer he sat there talking of Guy, and Jessie, and Aikenside, and
+wondering he had never before observed how very becoming a white
+wrapper was to sick girls like Maddy Clyde. Had he been asked the
+question, he could not have told whether his other patients were
+habited in buff, or brown, or tan color; but he knew all about Maddy’s
+garb, and thought the dainty frill around her slender throat the
+prettiest “puckered piece” that he had ever seen. How, then, was Dr.
+Holbrook losing his heart to that little girl of fourteen and a half?
+He did not think so. Indeed, he did not think anything about his heart,
+though thoughts of Maddy Clyde were pretty constantly with him, as
+after leaving her he paid his round of visits.
+
+The Aikenside carriage was standing at Mrs. Conner’s gate when he
+returned, and Jessie came running out to meet him, followed by Guy,
+while Agnes, in the most becoming riding habit, sat by the window
+looking as unconcerned at his arrival as if it were not the very event
+for which she had been impatiently waiting, Jessie was a great pet with
+the doctor, and, lifting her lightly in his arms, he kissed her
+forehead where the golden curls were clustering and said to her:
+
+“I have seen Maddy Clyde. She asked for you, and why you do not come to
+see her, as you promised.”
+
+“Mother won’t let me,” Jessie answered. “She says they are not fit
+associates for a Remington.”
+
+There was a sudden flash of contempt on the doctor’s face, and a gleam
+of wrath in Agnes’ eyes as she motioned Jessie to be silent, and then
+gracefully received the doctor, who by this time was in the room. As if
+determined to monopolize the conversation, and keep it from turning on
+the Markhams, Agnes rattled on for nearly fifteen minutes, scarcely
+allowing Guy a chance for uttering a word. But Guy bided his time, and
+seized the first favorable opportunity to inquire after Madeline.
+
+She was improving rapidly, the doctor said, adding: “You ought to have
+seen her delight when I gave her your bouquet.”
+
+“Indeed,” and Agnes bridled haughtily; “I did not know that Guy was in
+the habit of sending bouquets to such as this Clyde girl. I really must
+report him to Miss Atherstone.”
+
+Guy’s seat was very near to Agnes, and while a cloud overspread his
+fine features, he said to her in an aside:
+
+“Please say in your report that the worst thing about this Clyde girl
+is that she aspires to be a teacher, and possibly a governess.”
+
+There was an emphasis on the last word which silenced Agnes and set her
+to beating her French gaiter on the carpet; while Guy, turning back to
+the doctor, replied to his remark:
+
+“She was pleased, then?”
+
+“Yes; she must be vastly fond of flowers, though I sometimes fancied
+the fact of being noticed by you afforded almost as much satisfaction
+as the bouquet itself. She evidently regards you as a superior being,
+and Aikenside as a second Paradise, and asking innumerable questions
+about you and Jessie, too.”
+
+“Did she honor me with an inquiry?” Agnes asked, her tone indicative of
+sarcasm, though she was greatly interested as well as relieved by the
+reply:
+
+“Yes; she said she heard that Jessie’s mother was a beautiful woman,
+and asked if you were not born in England.”
+
+“She’s mixed me up with Lucy. Guy, you must go down and enlighten her,”
+Agnes said, laughing merrily and appearing more at ease than she had
+before since Maddy Clyde had been the subject of conversation.
+
+Guy did not go down to Honedale—but fruit and flowers, and once a
+bottle of rare old wine, found their way to the old red cottage, always
+brought by Guy’s man, Duncan, and always accompanied with Mr.
+Remington’s compliments. Once, hidden among the rosebuds, was a
+childish note from Jessie, some of it printed and some in the uneven
+hand of a child just commencing to write.
+
+It was as follows:
+
+“DEAR MADDY: I think that is such a pretty name, and so does Guy, and
+so does the doctor, too. I want to come see you, but mamma won’t let
+me. I think of you ever so much, and so does Guy, I guess, for he sends
+you lots of things. Guy is a nice brother, and is most as old as mamma.
+Ain’t that funny? You know my first ma is dead. The doctor tells us
+about you when he comes to Aikenside. I wish he’d come oftener, for I
+love him a bushel—don’t you? Yours respectfully,
+
+
+“JESSIE AGNES REMINGTON.
+
+
+“P. S.—I am going to tuck this in just for fun, right among the buds,
+where you must look for it.”
+
+
+This note Maddy read and reread until she knew it by heart,
+particularly the part relating to Guy. Hitherto she had not
+particularly liked her name, greatly preferring that it should have
+been Eliza Ann, or Sarah Jane; but the knowing that Guy Remington
+fancied it made a vast difference, and did much toward reconciling her.
+She did not even see the clause, “and the doctor, too.” His attentions
+and concern she took as a matter of course, so quietly and so
+constantly had they been given. The day was very long now which did not
+bring him to the cottage; but she missed him much as she would have
+missed her brother, if she had had one, though her pulse always
+quickened and her cheeks glowed when she heard him at the gate. The
+inner power did not lie deeper than a great friendliness for one who
+had been instrumental in saving her life. They had talked over the
+matter of her examination, the doctor blaming himself more than was
+necessary for his ignorance as to what was required of a teacher; but
+when she asked who was his proxy, he had again answered, evasively: “A
+friend from Boston.”
+
+And this he did to shield Guy, whom he knew was enshrined in the little
+maiden’s heart as a paragon of all excellence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+THE DRIVE.
+
+
+Latterly the doctor had taken to driving in his buggy, and when Maddy
+was strong enough he took her with him one day, himself adjusting the
+shawl which grandma wrapped around her, and pulling a little farther on
+the white sunbonnet which shaded the sweet, pale face, where the roses
+were just beginning to bloom again. The doctor was very happy that
+morning, and so, too, was Maddy, talking to him upon the theme of which
+she never tired, Guy Remington, Jessie and Aikenside. Was it as
+beautiful a place as she had heard it was, and didn’t he think it would
+be delightful to live there?
+
+“I suppose Mr. Guy will be bringing a wife there some day when he finds
+one,” and leaning back in the buggy Maddy heaved a little sigh, not at
+thoughts of Guy Remington’s wife, but because she began to feel tired,
+and thus gave vent to her weariness.
+
+The doctor, however, did not so construe it. He heard the sigh, and for
+the first time when listening to her as she talked of Guy, a keen throb
+of pain shot through his heart, a something as near akin to jealousy as
+it was possible for him then to feel. But all unused as he was to the
+workings of love he did not at that moment dream of such an emotion in
+connection with Madeline Clyde. He only knew that something affected
+him unpleasantly, prompting him, for some reason, to tell Maddy Clyde
+about Lucy Atherstone, who, in all probability, would one day come to
+Aikenside as its mistress.
+
+“Yes, Guy will undoubtedly marry,” he began, just as over the top of
+the easy hill they were ascending horses’ heads were visible, and the
+Aikenside carriage appeared in view. “There he is now,” he exclaimed,
+adding quickly: “No, I am mistaken, there’s only a lady inside. It must
+be Agnes.”
+
+It was Agnes driving out alone, for the sole purpose of passing a place
+which had a singular attraction for her, the old, red cottage in
+Honedale. She recognized the doctor, and guessed whom he had with him,
+Putting up her glass, for which she had no more need than Jessie, she
+scrutinized the little figure bundled up in shawls, while she smiled
+her sweetest smile upon the doctor, showing to good advantage her white
+teeth, and shaking back her wealth of curls with the air and manner of
+a young coquettish girl.
+
+“Oh, what a handsome lady! Who is she?” Maddy asked, turning to look
+after the carriage now swiftly descending the hill.
+
+“That was Jessie’s mother, Mrs. Agnes Remington,” the doctor replied.
+“She’ll feel flattered with your compliment.”
+
+“I did not mean to flatter. I said what I thought. She is handsome,
+beautiful, and so young, too. Was that a gold bracelet which flashed so
+on her arm?”
+
+The doctor presumed it was, though he had not noticed. Gold bracelets
+were not new to him as they were to Maddy, who continued:
+
+“I wonder if I’ll ever wear a bracelet like that?”
+
+“Would you like to?” the doctor asked, glancing at the small white
+wrist, around which the dark calico sleeve was closely buttoned, and
+thinking how much prettier and modest-looking it was than Agnes’
+half-bare arms, where the ornaments were flashing.
+
+“Y-e-s,” came hesitatingly from Maddy, who had a strong passion for
+jewelry. “I guess I would, though grandpa classes all such things with
+the pomps and vanities which I must renounce when I get to be good.”
+
+“And when will that be?” the doctor asked.
+
+Again Maddy sighed, as she replied: “I cannot tell. I thought so much
+about it while I was sick, that is, when I could think; but now I’m
+better, it goes away from me some. I know it is wrong, but I cannot
+help it. I’ve seen only a bit of pomp and vanity, but I must say that I
+like what I have seen, and I wish to see more. It’s very wicked, I
+know,” she kept on, as she met the queer expression of the doctor’s
+face; “and I know you think me so bad. You are good—a Christian, I
+suppose?”
+
+There was a strange light in the doctor’s eye as he answered, half
+sadly: “No, Maddy, I am not what you call a Christian, I have not
+renounced the pomps and vanities yet.”
+
+“Oh, I’m so sorry,” and Maddy’s eyes expressed all the sorrow she
+professed to feel. “You ought to be, now you’ve got so old.”
+
+The doctor colored crimson, and stopping his horse under the dim shadow
+of a maple in a little hollow, he said:
+
+“I’m not so very old, Maddy; only twenty-five—only ten years older than
+yourself; and Agnes’ husband was more than twenty years her senior.”
+
+The doctor did not know why he dragged that last in, when it had
+nothing whatever to do with their conversation; but as the most trivial
+thing often leads to great results, so far from the pang caused by
+Maddy’s thinking him so old, was born the first real consciousness he
+had ever had that the little girl beside him was very dear, and that
+the ten years difference between them might prove a most impassable
+gulf. With this feeling, it was exceedingly painful for him to hear
+Maddy’s sudden exclamation:
+
+“Oh, oh! over twenty years—that’s dreadful. She must be most glad he’s
+dead. I would not marry a man more than five years older than I am.”
+
+“Not if you loved him, and he loved you very, very dearly?” the doctor
+asked, his voice low and tender in its tone.
+
+Wholly unsuspicious of the wild storm beating in his heart, Maddy
+untied her white sunbonnet, and, taking it in her lap, smoothed back
+her soft hair, saying, with a long breath: “Oh! I’m so hot,” and then,
+as just thinking of his question, replied: “I shouldn’t love him—I
+couldn’t. Grandma is five years younger than grandpa, mother was five
+years younger than father, Mrs. Green is five years younger than Mr.
+Green, and, oh! ever so many. You are warm, too; ain’t you?” and she
+turned her innocent eyes full upon the doctor, who was wiping from his
+lips the great drops of water, induced not so much by the heat as by
+the apparent hopelessness of the love he now knew was growing in his
+heart for Maddy Clyde. Recurring again to Agnes, Maddy said: “I wonder
+why she married that old man? It is worse than if you were to marry
+Jessie.”
+
+“Money and position were the attractions, I imagine,” the doctor said.
+“Agnes was poor, and esteemed it a great honor to be made Mrs.
+Remington.”
+
+“Poor, was she?” Maddy rejoined. “Then maybe Mr. Guy will some day
+marry a poor girl. Do you think he will?”
+
+Again Lucy Atherstone trembled on the doctor’s lips, but he did not
+speak of her—it was preposterous that Maddy should have any thoughts of
+Guy Remington, who was quite as old as himself, besides being engaged,
+and with this comforting assurance the doctor turned his horse in the
+direction of the cottage, for Maddy was growing tired and needed to be
+at home.
+
+“Perhaps you’ll some time change your mind about people so much older,
+and if you do you’ll remember our talk this morning,” he said, as he
+drove up at last before the gate.
+
+Oh, yes! Maddy would never forget that morning or the nice ride they’d
+had. She had enjoyed it so much, and she thanked him many times for his
+kindness, as she stood waiting for him to drive away, feeling no tremor
+whatever when at parting he took and held her hand, smoothing it
+gently, and telling her it was growing fat and plump again. He was a
+very nice doctor, much better than she had imagined, she thought, as
+she went slowly to the house and entered the neat kitchen, where her
+grandmother sat shelling peas for dinner, and her grandfather in his
+leathern chair was whispering over his weekly paper.
+
+“Did you meet a grand lady in a carriage?” grandma asked, as Maddy sat
+down beside her.
+
+“Yes; and Dr. Holbrook said it was Mrs. Remington, from Aikenside, Mr.
+Guy’s stepmother, and that she was more than twenty years younger than
+her husband—isn’t it dreadful? I thought so; but the doctor didn’t seem
+to,” and in a perfectly artless manner Maddy repeated much of the
+conversation which had passed between the doctor and herself, appealing
+to her grandma to know if she had not taken the right side of the
+argument.
+
+“Yes, child, you did,” and grandma’s hands lingered among the light
+green peas in her pan, as if she were thinking of an entirely foreign
+subject. “I knows nothing about this Mrs. Remington, only that she
+stared a good deal at the house as she went by, even looking at us
+through a glass, and lifting her spotted veil after she got by. She may
+have been as happy as a queen with her man, but as a general thing
+these unequal matches don’t work, and had better not be thought on.
+S’posin’ you should think you was in love with somebody, and in a few
+years, when you got older, be sick of him. It might do him a sight of
+harm. That’s what spoilt your poor Great-uncle Joseph, who’s been in
+the hospital at Worcester goin’ on nine years.”
+
+“It was!” and Maddy’s face was all aglow with the interest she always
+evinced whenever mention was made of the one great living sorrow of her
+grandmother’s life—the shattered intellect and isolation from the world
+of her youngest brother, who, as she said, had for nearly nine long
+years been an inmate of a madhouse.
+
+“Tell me about it,” Maddy continued, bringing a pillow, and lying down
+upon the faded lounge beneath the window.
+
+“There is no great to tell, only he was many years younger than I. He’s
+only forty-one now, and was thirteen years older than the girl he
+wanted. Joseph was smart and handsome, and a lawyer, and folks said a
+sight too good for the girl, whose folks were just nothing, but she had
+a pretty face, and her long curls bewitched him. She couldn’t have been
+older than you when he first saw her, and she was only sixteen when
+they got engaged. Joseph’s life was bound up in her; he worshiped the
+very air she breathed, and when she mittened him, it almost took his
+life. He was too old for her, she said, and then right on top of that
+we heard after a little that she married some big bug, I never knew
+who, plenty old enough to be her father. That settled it with Joseph;
+he went into a kind of melancholy, grew worse and worse, till we put
+him in the hospital, usin’ his little property to pay the bill until it
+was all gone, and now he’s on charity, you know, exceptin’ what we do.
+That’s what ’tis about your Uncle Joseph, and I warn all young girls of
+thirteen or fourteen not to think too much of nobody. They are bound to
+get sick of ’em, and it makes dreadful work.”
+
+Grandma had an object in telling this to Maddy, for she was not blind
+to the nature of the doctor’s interest in her child, and though it
+gratified her pride, she felt that it must not be, both for his sake
+and Maddy’s, so she told the sad story of Uncle Joseph as a warning to
+Maddy, who could scarcely be said to need it. Still it made an
+impression on her, and all that afternoon she was thinking of the
+unfortunate man, whom she had seen but once, and that in his prison
+home, where she had been with her grandfather the only time she had
+ever ridden in the cars. He had taken her in his arms then, she
+remembered, and called her his little Sarah. That must have been the
+name of his treacherous betrothed. She would ask if it were not so, and
+she did.
+
+“Yes, Sarah Morris, that was her name, and her face was handsome as a
+doll,” grandma replied, and wondering if she were as beautiful as
+Jessie, or Jessie’s mother, Maddy went back to her reveries of the poor
+maniac, whom Sarah Morris had wronged so cruelly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+SHADOWINGS OF WHAT WAS TO BE.
+
+
+It was very pleasant at Aikenside that afternoon, and the cool breeze
+blowing from the miniature fish pond in one corner of the grounds, came
+stealing into the handsome parlors, where Agnes Remington, in tasteful
+toilet, reclined languidly upon the crimson-hued sofa, bending her
+graceful head to suit the height of Jessie, who was twining some
+flowers among her curls, and occasionally appealing to Guy to know “if
+it was not pretty.”
+
+In his favorite seat in the pleasant bay window, opening into the
+garden, Guy was sitting, apparently reading a book, though his eyes did
+not move very rapidly down the page, for his thoughts were on some
+other object. When his pretty stepmother first came to Aikenside, three
+months before, he had been half sorry, for he knew just how his quiet
+would be disturbed, but as the weeks went by, and he became accustomed
+to Jessie’s childish prattle and frolicsome ways, while even Agnes
+herself was not a bad picture for his handsome home, he began to feel
+how he should miss them when they were gone, Jessie particularly, who
+made so much sunshine wherever she went, and who was very dear to the
+heart of the half-brother. Full well he knew Agnes would rather stay
+there, that her income did not warrant as luxurious a home as he could
+give her, and that by remaining at Aikenside during the warmer season
+she could afford to board through the winter in Boston, where her
+personal attractions secured her quite as much attention as was good
+for her. Had she been more agreeable to him he would not have hesitated
+to offer her a home as long as she chose to remain, but, as it was, he
+felt that Lucy Atherstone would be much happier alone with him. Lucy,
+however, was not coming yet, and until she did come Agnes perhaps might
+stay. It certainly would be better for Jessie, who could have a teacher
+in the house, and it was upon these matters that he was reflecting.
+
+As if divining his thoughts Agnes said to him rather abruptly:
+
+“Guy, Ellen Laurie writes me that they are all going to Saratoga for a
+time, and then to Newport, and she wished I would join them. Do you
+think I can afford it?”
+
+“Oh, yes, that’s splendid, for I’ll stay here while you are gone, and I
+like Aikenside so much better than Boston. Mamma can afford it, can’t
+she, Guy?” Jessie exclaimed, dropping her flowers and springing upon
+her brother’s knee.
+
+Smoothing her bright hair and pinching her soft cheek, Guy replied:
+
+“That means, I suppose, that I can afford it, don’t it? but, puss, I
+was thinking just now about your staying here where you really do
+improve.”
+
+Then turning to Agnes he made some inquiries as to the plans proposed
+by the Laurie’s, ascertaining that Agnes’ plan was as follows: He
+should invite her to go with him to Saratoga, or Newport, or both, and
+that Jessie meantime should remain at Aikenside, just as she wished to
+do.
+
+Guy could not find much pleasure in escorting Agnes to a fashionable
+watering place, particularly as he was, of course, expected to pay the
+bills, but he sometimes did unselfish things; and as he had not been
+very gracious to her on the occasion of her last visit to Aikenside, he
+decided to martyr himself and go to Saratoga. But who would care for
+Jessie? She must not be left wholly with the servants. A governess of
+some kind must be provided, and he was about speaking of this to Agnes,
+when the doctor was announced, and the conversation turned into another
+channel. Agnes Remington would not have confessed how much she was
+interested in Dr. Holbrook. Indeed, only that morning in reply to a
+joking remark made to her by Guy, she had petulantly exclaimed:
+
+“The idea of my caring for him, except as a friend and physician. Why,
+he must be younger than I am, or at most about my age. A mere boy, as
+it were.”
+
+And yet, in making her toilet that afternoon, she had arranged every
+part of her dress with direct reference to the “mere boy,” her heart
+beating faster every time she remembered the white sunbonnet and the
+Scotch plaid shawl she had seen beside him in the drive that morning.
+Little Maddy Clyde would hardly have credited the story had she been
+told that the beautiful lady from Aikenside was positively jealous of
+Dr. Holbrook’s attentions to herself; yet so it was, and the jealousy
+was all the more bitter when she remembered who Madeline was, and how
+startled that aged couple of the red cottage would be, could they know
+who she was. But they did not; she was quite sure of that; and so she
+had ventured to pass their door, her heart throbbing with a strange
+sensation as the old waymarks came in view, waymarks which she
+remembered so well, and around which so many sad memories were
+clustering. Agnes was not all bad. Indeed, she was scarcely worse than
+most vain, selfish fashionable women; and all that day, since her
+return from riding, haunting, remorseful thoughts of the long ago had
+been clinging to her, making her more anxious to leave that
+neighborhood for a time at least, and in scenes of gayety forget, if
+possible, that such things as broken vows or broken hearts existed.
+
+The arrival of the doctor dissipated her sadness in a measure, and
+after greeting him with her usual expressions of welcome, she said,
+half playfully, half spitefully:
+
+“By the way, doctor, who was that old lady, all bent up double in
+shawls and things, whom you were taking out for an airing?”
+
+Guy looked up quickly, wondering where Agnes could have seen the
+doctor, who, conscious of a sudden pang, answered, naturally:
+
+“That old lady, bent double and bundled in shawls, was young Maddy
+Clyde, to whom I thought a short ride might do good.”
+
+“Oh, yes; that patient about whom Jessie has gone mad. I am glad to
+have seen her.”
+
+There was unmistakable irony in her voice now, and turning from her to
+Guy, the doctor continued:
+
+“The old man was telling me to-day of your kindness in saving his house
+from being sold. It was like you, Guy; and I wish I, too, had the means
+to be generous, for they are so very poor.”
+
+“I’ll tell you,” said Jessie, who had stolen to the doctor’s side, and
+lain her fat, bare arm upon his shoulder, as if he had been Guy. “You
+might give Maddy the doctor’s bill. I remember how mamma cried, and
+said she never could pay papa’s bill when it was sent in.”
+
+“Jessie!” said Agnes and Guy, simultaneously, while the doctor
+laughingly pulled one of her long, bright curls.
+
+“Yes, I could do that. I’d thought of it, but they might not accept it,
+as they are proud as well as poor.”
+
+“Mr. Markham has no one to care for but his wife and this Madeline, has
+he?” Agnes asked, and the doctor replied:
+
+“I did not suppose so until a few days since, when I learned from a Mr.
+Green that Mrs. Markham’s youngest and now only brother has been an
+inmate of a lunatic asylum for years; and that though they cannot pay
+his entire expenses, of course they do all they can toward providing
+him with comforts.”
+
+“What is a lunatic asylum, mother? What does he mean?” Jessie asked,
+but it was the doctor, not Agnes, who explained to the child what a
+lunatic asylum was.
+
+“Is insanity hereditary in this family?” Guy asked.
+
+Agnes’ cheek was very white, though her face was fumed away as the
+doctor answered: “I do not know; I did not ask the cause. I only heard
+the fact that such a man as Joseph Mortimer exists.”
+
+For a moment there was silence in the room, and then Guy told the
+doctor of what himself and Agnes were speaking when he arrived.
+
+“I suppose it’s of no use asking you to join us for a week or so.”
+
+“There was not,” the doctor said. “His patients needed him and he must
+stay at home.”
+
+“Doctor, how would this Maddy Clyde do to stay here with Jessie while
+we are gone, partly as companion and partly as her teacher?” was Guy’s
+next question, which brought Mrs. Agnes at once from her reverie.
+
+“Guy,” she exclaimed, “are you crazy? That child Jessie’s governess!
+No, indeed! I shall have a teacher from Boston—one whose manners and
+style are unexceptionable.”
+
+Guy had a will of his own, and few could provoke it into action as
+effectually as Agnes, who, in thus opposing him, was working directly
+against herself. Paying her no attention, except to bow in token that
+he heard, Guy asked Jessie her opinion.
+
+“Oh, it will be splendid! Can she come to-morrow? I shan’t care how
+long you are gone if I can have Maddy here, and doctor will come up
+every day, will you, doctor?” and the soft eyes looked up pleadingly
+into the doctor’s face.
+
+“It is not settled yet that Maddy comes,” the doctor replied, adding as
+an answer to Guy’s question: “If Agnes could be willing, I do not think
+you could do better than to secure Miss Clyde’s services. Two children
+will thus be made happy, for Maddy, as I have told you, thinks
+Aikenside must be a little lower only than Paradise. I shall be happy
+to open negotiations, if you say so.”
+
+“I’ll ride down and let you know to-morrow,” Guy said. “These domestic
+matters, where there is a difference of thinking, had better be
+discussed alone,” and he turned good-humoredly toward Agnes, who knew
+it was useless to oppose him then.
+
+But oppose him she did that night, after the doctor had gone, taking at
+first the high stand that sooner than have a country girl like Maddy
+Clyde associated daily with her daughter, whether as teacher or
+companion, she would give up Saratoga and stay at home. Guy could not
+explain why it was that opposition from Agnes always aroused all his
+powers of antagonism. Yet so it was, and now he was as fully determined
+that Maddy Clyde should come to Aikenside as Agnes was that she should
+not. He knew, too, how to attain this end without further altercation.
+
+“Very well,” was his quiet reply, “you can remain at home if you
+choose, of course. I had intended taking you myself, wherever you
+wished to go; and not only that, but I was about to ask how much was
+needed for the necessary additions to your wardrobe, but if you prefer
+remaining here to giving up a most unfounded prejudice against a girl
+who never harmed you, and whom Jessie already loves, you can do so,”
+and Guy walked from the room, leaving Agnes first to cry, then to pout,
+then to think it all over, and finally to decide that going to Saratoga
+and Newport under the protection of Guy, was better than carrying out a
+whim, which, after all, was nothing but a whim.
+
+Accordingly next morning as Guy was in his library reading his papers,
+she went tripping up to him, and folding her white hands upon his
+shoulder, said, very prettily:
+
+“I was real cross last night, and let my foolish pride get the
+ascendency, but I have considered the matter, and am willing for this
+Miss Clyde to come, provided you still think it best.”
+
+Guy’s mustache hid the mischievous smile lurking about his mouth, and
+he received the concession as graciously as if he did not know
+perfectly the motive which impelled it. As she had commenced being
+amiable she seemed determined to continue it, and offered herself to
+write a note soliciting Maddy’s services,
+
+“As I am Jessie’s mother, it will be perfectly proper for me to hire
+and manage her,” she said, and as Guy acquiesced in this suggestion,
+she sat down at the writing desk, and commenced a very pleasantly
+worded note, in which Miss Clyde was informed that she had been
+recommended as a suitable person with whom to leave Jessie during the
+summer and a part of the autumn, and that she, Jessie’s mother, wrote
+to ask if for the sum of one dollar per week she were at liberty to
+come to Aikenside as governess, or waiting-maid.
+
+“Or what?” Guy asked, as she read to him what she had written. “Maddy
+Clyde will not be waiting-maid in this house, neither will she come for
+one dollar per week as you propose. I hire her myself. I have taken a
+fancy to the girl. Commence again; substitute companion for
+waiting-maid, and offering her three dollars per week instead of one.”
+
+As long as Guy paid the bill Agnes could not demur to the price,
+although remembering a time when she had taught a district school for
+one dollar per week and boarded around besides. She thought three
+dollars far too much. But Guy had commanded, and him she generally
+obeyed, so she wrote another note, which he approved, and sealing it up
+sent it by a servant down to the red cottage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+THE DECISION.
+
+
+The reception of Agnes’ note produced quite a commotion at the red
+cottage, where various opinions were expressed as to the prime mover of
+the plan, grandpa thinking that as Mrs. Agnes wrote the note, and was
+most interested in it, she, of course, had suggested it, grandma
+insisting that it was Jessie’s doings, while Maddy, when she said
+anything, agreed with her grandmother, though away down in her heart
+was a tiny spot warm with the half belief that Mr. Guy himself had
+first thought of having her at Aikenside, where she would rather go
+than to any other spot in the wide world; to Aikenside, with its shaven
+lawn, almost large enough to be called a park, with its shaded paths
+and winding walks, its costly flowers and running vines, its fountains
+and statuary, its fish pond and grove, its airy rooms, its marbled
+hall, its winding stairs, with banisters of rosewood, its cupola at the
+top, from which so many miles of hill and meadow land could be
+discerned, its bay windows and long piazzas, its sweet-faced,
+golden-haired Jessie, and its manly, noble Guy. Only the image of
+Agnes, flashing in silk and diamonds was a flaw on the picture’s fair
+surface. From thoughts of her Maddy had insensibly shrank, until she
+met her in the carriage, and then received the note asking her
+services. These events wrought in her a change, and dread of Mrs. Agnes
+passed away. She should like her, and she should be so happy at
+Aikenside, for, of course, she was going, and she began to wish the
+doctor would come so as to tell her how long before she would be strong
+enough to perform the duties of teacher to little Jessie.
+
+At first Grandpa Markham hesitated. It might do Maddy a deal of hurt to
+go to Aikenside, he said, her humble home would look mean to her after
+all that finery, while the temptations to vanity and ambition would be
+greater there than at home; but Maddy put all his objections aside, and
+long before the doctor came she had written to Mrs. Agnes that she
+would go. The doctor could not understand why it was that in Maddy’s
+home he did not think as well of her going to Aikenside as he had done
+the evening previous. She looked so bright, so pure, so artless,
+sitting by her grandfather’s knee, that it seemed a pity to transplant
+her to another soil, while, hidden in his heart where even he did not
+know it was hidden, was a fear of what might be the effect of daily
+intercourse with Guy. Still he said it was the best thing for her to
+do, and laughingly remarked that it was far better than teaching the
+district school, and then he asked if she would ride again that day;
+but to this Mrs. Markham objected. It was too soon, she said, Maddy had
+hardly recovered from yesterday’s fatigue, suggesting that as the
+doctor was desirous of doing good to his convalescent patients, he
+carry out poor old deaf Mary Barnes, who complained that he stayed so
+long with the child at “granther Markham’s” as to have but a moment to
+spare for her.
+
+Instantly the eyes of Mrs. Markham and the doctor met, the latter
+feeling very uncomfortable, while the former was confirmed in the
+suspicion raised by what Maddy told her the day before.
+
+It was the doctor who carried Maddy’s answer to Agnes, the doctor who
+made all the succeeding arrangements, deciding that Maddy would not be
+wholly strong until the very day fixed upon by Agnes for her departure
+for Saratoga. For this Guy was sorry. It would have been an easy matter
+for him to have ridden down to the cottage, and seen the girl in whom
+he was beginning to feel so much interest that in his last letter to
+Lucy he had mentioned her as about to become his sister’s governess;
+but he did not care to see her there. It seemed to him that the
+surroundings of that slanting-roofed house did not belong to her, and
+he would rather meet her in his own more luxurious home. But the
+doctor’s word was law, and so, on the first day of August he followed
+Agnes and her three huge traveling trunks to the carriage, and was
+driven from the house to which Maddy was coming that afternoon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+AT AIKENSIDE.
+
+
+It was a long, tiresome ride, for grandpa, from Honedale to Aikenside,
+and as he was not in his wife’s secret, he accepted thankfully the
+doctor’s offer to take Maddy there himself. With this arrangement Maddy
+was well pleased, as it would thus afford her the opportunity she had
+so much desired, of talking with the doctor about his bill, and asking
+him to wait until she had earned enough to pay it.
+
+To the aged couple, parting for the first time with their darling, the
+day was very sad, but they would not intrude their grief upon the young
+girl looking so eagerly forward to the new life opening before her;
+only grandpa’s voice faltered a little when, in the morning prayer, he
+commended his child to God, asking that she might be kept from
+temptation, and that the new sights and scenes to which she was going
+might not beget in her a love of the world’s vanities, or a disgust for
+her old home; but that she might come back to it the same loving, happy
+child as she was then, and never be ashamed of the parents to whom she
+was so dear. There was an answering sob from the chair where Maddy
+knelt, and after the devotions were ended she wound her arm around her
+grandfather’s neck, and parting his silvery locks, said to him,
+earnestly;
+
+“Grandpa, do you think I could ever be ashamed of you and grandma?”
+
+“I hope not, darling; it would break our hearts; but finery and things
+is mighty apt to set folks up, and after you’ve walked a spell on them
+velvet carpets, you’ll no doubt think your feet make a big noise on our
+bare kitchen floor.”
+
+“That may be, but I shan’t be ashamed of you. No, not if I were Mrs.
+Guy Remington herself.” And Maddy emphasized her words with a kiss, as
+she thought how nice it would be provided she were a widow, to be Mrs.
+Guy Remington, and have her grandparents live at Aikenside with her.
+
+“But, pshaw! I’ll never be Mrs. anybody; and if I am, I’ll have to have
+a husband, which would be such a bother!” was her next mental comment,
+as, leaving her grandfather, she went to help her grandmother with the
+breakfast dishes, wondering when she would wipe those blue cups again,
+and how she should probably feel when she did.
+
+Quickly the morning passed, and just as the clock struck two the
+doctor’s buggy appeared over the hill. Up to this moment Maddy had only
+been happy in anticipation; but when, with her shawl and bonnet on, she
+stood waiting while the doctor fastened her little trunk, and when she
+saw a tear on the wrinkled faces of both her grandparents, her
+fortitude gave way; and ’mid a storm of sobs, she said her good-bys and
+received her grandfather’s blessing.
+
+It was very pleasant that afternoon, for the summer breeze was blowing
+cool across the fields, where the laborers were busy; and with the
+elasticity of youth, Maddy’s tears stopped their flowing, but not until
+the dear old home had disappeared, and they were some distance on the
+road to Aikenside.
+
+“I wonder how I shall like Mrs. Remington and Mr. Guy?” was the first
+remark she made.
+
+“You’ll not see them immediately. They left this morning for Saratoga,”
+the doctor replied.
+
+“Left! Mr. Guy gone!” Maddy repeated in a disappointed tone.
+
+“Are you very sorry?” the doctor asked, and Maddy replied:
+
+“I did want to see him once; you know I never have.”
+
+It would be such a surprise to find that Guy was no other than the
+terrible inspector, that he would not undeceive her, the doctor
+thought; and so he relapsed into a thoughtful mood, from which Maddy
+aroused him by breaking the subject of the unpaid bill, asking if he’d
+please not trouble grandpa, but wait until she could pay it.
+
+“Perhaps it’s wrong asking it when you were so good, but if you only
+will take me for payment,” and Maddy’s soft brown eyes were lifted to
+his face.
+
+“Yes, Maddy, I’ll take you for payment,” the doctor said, smiling, half
+seriously, as his eyes rested fondly upon her.
+
+Even then stupid Maddy did not understand him, but began to calculate
+out loud how long it would take to earn the money. She’d heard people
+say that the doctor charged a dollar a visit to Honedale, and he’d been
+so many, many times, that it would take a great many weeks to pay him;
+besides, there was the debt to Mr. Guy. She wanted to help pay that,
+but did not see how she could, unless he waited, too. Did the doctor
+think he would? It seemed terrible to the doctor that one so young as
+Maddy should be harassed with the payment of debts, and he felt a most
+intense desire for the right to shield her from all such care, but he
+must not speak of it then; he’d rather she should remain a little
+longer an artless child, confiding all her troubles to him as if he had
+been her brother.
+
+“There’s Aikenside,” he said, at last, and it was not long before they
+passed through the gate, guarded by the great bronze lions, and struck
+into the graveled road leading to the house.
+
+“It’s grander, finer, than I ever dreamed. Oh! if I could some time
+have just such a home! and doctor, look! What does make that water go
+up in the air so? Is it what they call a fountain?”
+
+In her excitement Maddy had risen, and with one hand resting on the
+doctor’s shoulder, was looking around her eagerly. Guy Remington would
+have laughed, and been gratified, too, could he have heard the
+enthusiastic praises heaped upon his home by the little schoolgirl as
+she drove up to his door. But Guy was away in the dusty cars, and only
+Jessie stood on the piazza to receive her teacher. There were warm
+words of welcome, kisses and hugs; and then Jessie led her friend to
+the chamber she was to occupy.
+
+“Mother wanted you to sleep the other side of the house, but Brother
+Guy said no, you should have a pleasant room; and when Guy says a
+thing, it’s so. It’s nice in here, and close to me. See, I’m right
+here,” and Jessie opened a door leading directly to her own sleeping
+room.
+
+“Here’s one trunk,” she continued, as a servant brought up and set
+down, a little contemptuously, the small hair-cloth box containing
+Maddy’s wardrobe. “Here’s one; where’s the rest?” and she was flying
+after Tom, when Maddy stopped her, saying:
+
+“I have but one—that’s all.”
+
+“Only that little, teenty thing? How funny. Why, mamma carried three
+most as big as my bed to Saratoga. You can’t have many dresses. What
+are you going to wear to dinner?”
+
+“I’ve been to dinner.” And Maddy looked up in some surprise.
+
+“You have! We never have it till five, when Guy is at home; but now
+they are gone, Mrs. Noah says we will have it at one, as folks ought to
+do. To-day I coaxed her to wait till you come, and the table is all set
+out so nicely for two. Can you carve, and do you like green turtle
+soup?”
+
+Maddy was bewildered, but managed to reply that she could not carve,
+that she never saw any green turtle soup, and that she supposed she
+should wear to dinner the delaine she had on. “Why, we always change,
+even Mrs. Noah,” Jessie exclaimed, bending over the open trunk and
+examining its contents.
+
+Two calicoes, a blue muslin, a gingham and another delaine, beside the
+one she had on. That was the sum total of Maddy’s wardrobe, and Jessie
+glanced at it a little ruefully as Maddy carefully shook out the nicely
+folded dresses and laid them upon the bed. Here Mrs. Noah was heard
+calling Jessie, who ran away leaving Maddy alone for a moment.
+
+Maddy had seen the look Jessie gave her dresses, and for the first time
+there dawned upon her mind the possibility that her plain apparel, and
+ignorance of the ways of Aikenside might be to her the cause of much
+mortification.
+
+“And grandma said they were so nice, too—doing them up so carefully,”
+she said, her lip beginning to quiver, and her eyes filling with tears,
+as thoughts of home came rushing over her.
+
+She could not force them back, and laying her head upon the top of the
+despised hair trunk, she sobbed aloud. Guy Remington’s private room was
+in that hall, and as the doctor knew a book was to have been left there
+for him, he took the liberty of getting it; passing Maddy’s door he
+heard the low sound of weeping, and looking in, saw her where she sat
+or rather knelt upon the floor.
+
+“Homesick so soon!” he said, advancing to her side, and then amid a
+torrent of tears, the whole came out.
+
+Maddy never could do as they did there, and everybody would laugh at
+her so for an awkward thing; she never knew that folks ate dinner at
+five instead of twelve—she should surely starve to death—she couldn’t
+carve—she could not eat mud-turtle soup, and she did not know which
+dress to wear for dinner—would the doctor tell her? There they were,
+and she pointed to the bed, only five, and she knew Jessie thought it
+so mean.
+
+Such was the substance of Maddy’s passionate outpouring of her griefs
+to the highly perplexed doctor, who, after quieting her somewhat,
+ascertained that the greatest present trouble was the deciding what
+dress was suitable to the occasion. The doctor had never made dress his
+study, but as it happened he liked blue, and so suggested it, as the
+one most likely to be becoming.
+
+“That!” and Maddy looked confounded. “Why, grandma never let me wear
+that, except on Sunday; that’s my very best dress.”
+
+“Poor child; I’m not sure it was right for you to come here where the
+life is so different from the quiet, unpretentious one you have led,”
+the doctor thought, but he merely said: “It’s my impression they wear
+their best dresses here, all the time.”
+
+“But what will I do when that’s worn out! Oh, dear, dear, I wish I had
+not come!” and another impetuous fit of weeping ensued, in the midst of
+which Jessie came back, greatly disturbed on Maddy’s account, and
+asking eagerly what was the matter.
+
+Very adroitly the doctor managed to draw Jessie aside, while as well as
+he was able he gave her a few hints with regard to her intercourse with
+Maddy, and Jessie, who seemed intuitively to understand him, went back
+to the weeping girl, soothing her much as a little mother would have
+soothed her child. They would have such nice times, when Maddy got used
+to their ways, which would not take long, and nobody would laugh at
+her, she said, when Maddy expressed her fears on that point. “You are
+too pretty even if you do make mistakes!” and then she went into
+ecstasies over the blue muslin, which was becoming to Maddy, and
+greatly enhanced her girlish beauty. The tear stains were all washed
+away, Jessie using very freely her mother’s _eau-de-cologne_, and
+making Maddy’s cheeks very red with rubbing, the nut-brown hair was
+brushed until it shone like satin, a little narrow band of black velvet
+ribbon was pinned about Maddy’s snowy neck, and then she was ready for
+that terrible ordeal, her first dinner at Aikenside. The doctor was
+going to stay, and this helped to relieve her somewhat.
+
+“You must come to the housekeeper’s room and see her first,” Jessie
+said, and with a beating heart and brain bewildered by the elegancies
+which met her at every turn, Maddy followed to where the dreaded Mrs.
+Noah, in rustling back silk and a thread lace collar, sat sewing and
+greatly enjoying the leisure she had in her master’s absence.
+
+Mrs. Noah knew who Maddy was, remembering the old man said that she
+would not disgrace a drawing-room as fine as that at Aikenside. She had
+discovered, too, that Mrs. Agnes was opposed to her coming, that only
+Guy’s determined will had brought her there; and this, if nothing else,
+had disposed her to feel kindly toward the little governess. She had
+expected to see her rather pretty, but was not prepared to find her
+what she was. Maddy’s was a singular type of beauty—a beauty
+untarnished by any selfish, uncharitable, or suspicious feeling. Clear
+and truthful as a mirror, her brown eyes looked into Mrs. Noah’s, while
+her low courtesy—so full of deference, found its way straight to that
+motherly heart.
+
+“I am glad to see you, Miss Clyde,” she said, “very glad.”
+
+Maddy’s lip quivered a little and her voice shook as she replied:
+
+“Please call me Maddy. They do at home, and I shan’t be quite so—so—”
+
+She could not say “homesick,” lest she should break out again into a
+fit of crying, but Mrs. Noah understood her, and remembering her own
+experience when first she went from home, she involuntarily stooped to
+kiss the pure, white forehead of the girl, who henceforth was sure of
+one friend at least at Aikenside.
+
+The dinner was a success, so far as Maddy was concerned. Not a single
+mistake did she perpetrate, though her cheeks burned painfully as she
+felt the eyes of the polite waiters fixed so often upon her, and
+fancied they might be laughing at her. But they were not, and thanks to
+the kind-hearted Guy, they thought of her only with respect, as one who
+was their superior and must be treated accordingly. Knowing how
+different everything was at Aikenside from that to which she had been
+accustomed, Guy, with the thoughtfulness natural to him, had taken the
+precaution of speaking to each of the servants concerning Miss Clyde,
+Jessie’s teacher. As he could not be there himself when she first came
+it would devolve upon them, more or less, to make it pleasant for her
+by kind, civil attentions, he said, hinting at the dire displeasure
+sure to fall on any one who should be guilty of a misdemeanor in that
+direction. To Paul, the coachman, he had been particular in his
+charges, telling him who Maddy was, and arguing that from the insolence
+once given to the grandfather the offender was bound to be more polite
+to the grandchild. The carriage was to be at hers and Jessie’s command,
+Paul never refusing a reasonable request to drive the young ladies when
+and where they wished to go, while a pretty little black pony, recently
+broken to the saddle for Agnes, was to be at Miss Clyde’s service, if
+she chose to have it. As Guy’s slightest wish was always obeyed,
+Maddy’s chances for happiness were not small, notwithstanding that she
+felt so desolate and lonely when the doctor left her, and standing by
+Jessie she watched him with a swelling heart until he was lost to view
+in the deepening twilight.
+
+Feeling that she must be homesick, Mrs. Noah suggested that she try the
+fine piano in the little music-room.
+
+“Maybe you can’t play, but you can drum ‘Days of Absence,’ as most
+girls do,” and opening the lid she bade Maddy “thump as long as she
+liked.”
+
+Music was a delight to Maddy, who coveted nothing so much as a
+knowledge of it, and sitting down upon the stool, she touched the
+soft-toned instrument, ascertaining by her far several sweet chords,
+and greatly astonishing Jessie, who wondered at her skill. Twice each
+week a teacher came up from Devonshire to give lessons to Jessie, but
+as yet she could only play one scale and a few simple bars. These she
+attempted to teach to Maddy, who caught at them so quickly and executed
+them so well that Jessie was delighted. Maddy ought to take lessons,
+she said, and some time during the next day she took to Mrs. Noah a
+letter which she had written to Guy. After going into ecstasies over
+Maddy, saying she was the nicest kind of a girl, that she prayed in the
+morning as well as at night, and looked so sweet in blue, she asked if
+she couldn’t take music lessons, too, advancing many reasons why she
+should, one of which was that she could play now a great deal better
+than herself.
+
+It was several days before an answer came to this letter, and when it
+did it brought Guy’s consent for Maddy to take lessons, together with a
+note for Mr. Simons, requesting him to consider Miss Clyde his pupil,
+on the same terms with Jessie.
+
+Though greatly pleased with Aikenside, and greatly attached to Jessie,
+Maddy had had many hours of loneliness when her heart was back in the
+humble cottage where she knew they were missing her so much, but now a
+new world, a world of music, was suddenly opened before her, and the
+homesickness all disappeared. It had been arranged with Mrs. Noah, by
+Agnes, that Jessie should only study for two hours each day,
+consequently Maddy had nearly all the time to herself, and well did she
+improve it, making so rapid progress that Simons looked on amazed
+declaring her case to be without a parallel, while Jessie was left far
+behind. Indeed, after a short time Maddy might have been her teacher,
+and was of much service to her in practicing her lessons.
+
+Meanwhile the doctor came often to Aikenside, praising Maddy’s progress
+in music, and though he did not know a single note, compelling himself
+to listen while with childlike satisfaction she played him her last
+lesson. She was very happy now at Aikenside, where all were so kind to
+her, and half wished that the family would always remain as it was
+then, that Agnes and Guy would not come home, for with their coming she
+felt there would be a change. It was nearly time now to expect them.
+Indeed, Guy had written on one Saturday that they should probably be
+home the next, and during the ensuing week Aikenside presented that
+most uncomfortable phase of a house being cleaned. Everything must be
+in order for Mr. Guy, Mrs. Noah said, taking more pains with his rooms
+than with the remaining portion of the building. Guy was her idol;
+nothing was too good for him, few things quite good enough, and she
+said so much in his praise that Maddy began to shrink from meeting him.
+What would he think of her? Perhaps he might not notice her in the
+least, and that would be terrible. But, no, a man as kind as he had
+shown himself to her, would at least pay her some attention, and so at
+last she began to anticipate his coming home, wondering what their
+first meeting would be, what she should say to him, and what he would
+think of her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+GUY AT HOME.
+
+
+Saturday came at last, a balmy September day, when all nature seemed
+conspiring to welcome the travelers for whom so extensive preparations
+were making at Aikenside. They were expected at about six in the
+afternoon, and just before that hour the doctor rode up to be in
+readiness to meet them. In the dining-room the table was set as Maddy
+had never seen it set before, making, with its silver, its china, and
+cut-glass, a glittering display. There was Guy’s seat as carver, with
+Agnes at the urn, while Maddy felt sure that the two plates between
+Agnes and Guy were intended for Jessie and herself, the doctor
+occupying the other side. Jessie would sit next her mother, which would
+leave her near to Guy, where he could see every movement she made.
+Would he think her awkward, or would he, as she hoped, be so much
+absorbed with the doctor as not to notice her? Suppose she should drop
+her fork, or upset one of those queer-looking goblets, more like bowls
+than anything else? It would be terrible, and Maddy’s cheeks tingled at
+the very thought of such a catastrophe. Were they goblets really, those
+funny colored things, and if they were not, what were they? Summoning
+all her courage, she asked the doctor, her prime counselor, and learned
+that they were the finger-glasses, of which she had read, but which she
+had never seen before.
+
+“Oh, must I use them?” she asked, in so evident distress that the
+doctor could not forbear a laugh as he told her it was not of the
+slightest consequence whether she used them or not, advising her to
+watch Mrs. Agnes, who was _au fait_ in all such matters.
+
+Six o’clock came, but no travelers. Then an hour went by, and there
+came a telegram that the cars had broken down and would not probably
+arrive until late in the night, if indeed they did till morning.
+Greatly disappointed, the doctor, after dinner, took his leave, telling
+the girls they had better not sit up. Consequently, at a late hour they
+both retired, sleeping so soundly as not to near the noise outside the
+house; the banging of doors, the setting down of trunks, the tramp of
+feet, Mrs. Noah’s words of welcome, one pleasant voice which responded,
+and another more impatient one which sounded as if its owner were tired
+and cross.
+
+Agnes and Guy had come. As a whole, Agnes’ season at Saratoga had been
+rather disagreeable. Guy, it is true had been exceedingly kind. She had
+been flattered by brainless fops. She had heard herself called “that
+beautiful Mrs. Remington,” and “that charming young widow,” but no
+serious attentions had been paid, no millionaire had asked to be her
+second husband. If there had, she would have said yes, for Agnes was
+not averse to changing her state of widowhood. She liked the doctor,
+but if he did not propose, and some other body did, she should accept
+that other body, of course. This was her intention when she left
+Aikenside, and when she came back, it was with the determination to
+raise the siege at once, and compel the doctor to surrender. She knew
+he was not wealthy as she could wish, but his family were the
+Holbrooks, and as she positively liked him, she was prepared to waive
+the matter of money. In this state of mind it is not surprising that
+the morning of the return home she should listen with a troubled mind
+to Jessie’s rather exaggerated account of the number of times the
+doctor had been there, and the nice things he had said to her and
+Maddy.
+
+“He had visited them ever so much, staying ever so long. I know Maddy
+likes him; I do, anyway,” Jessie said, never dreaming of the passion
+she was exciting, jealousy of Maddy, hatred of Maddy, and a desire to
+be revenged on a girl whom Dr. Holbrook visited “ever so much.”
+
+What was she that he should care for her? A mere nothing—a child, whom
+Guy had taken up. Pity there was a Lucy Atherstone in the way of his
+making her mistress of Aikenside. It would be a pretty romance, Guy
+Remington and Grandpa Markham’s grandchild. Agnes was nervous and
+tired, and this helped to increase her anger toward the innocent girl.
+She would take immediate measures, she thought, to put the upstart
+down, and the sight of Flora laying the cloth for breakfast suggested
+to her the first step in teaching Maddy her place.
+
+“Flora,” she said, “I notice you are arranging the table for four. Have
+we company?”
+
+“Why, no, ma’am; there’s Mr. Guy, yourself, Miss Jessie, and Miss
+Clyde,” was Flora’s reply, while Agnes continued haughtily: “Remove
+Miss Clyde’s plate. No one allows their governess to eat with them.”
+
+“But, ma’am,” and Flora hesitated, “she’s very pretty, and ladylike,
+and young; she has always eaten with Miss Jessie and Dr. Holbrook when
+he was here. He treats her as if she was good as anybody.”
+
+In her eagerness to serve Maddy and save her from insult, Flora was
+growing bold, but she only hurt the cause by mentioning the doctor.
+Agnes was determined now, and she replied:
+
+“It was quite right when we were gone, but it is different now, and Mr.
+Remington, I am sure, will not suffer it.”
+
+“Might I ask him?” Flora persisted, her hand still on the plate.
+
+“No,” Agnes would attend to that, and also see Miss Clyde. All Flora
+had to do was to remove the plate, which she finally did, muttering to
+herself: “Such airs! but I know Mr. Guy won’t stand it.”
+
+Meantime Maddy had put on her prettiest delaine, tied her little dainty
+black silk apron, Mrs. Noah’s gift, and with the feeling that she was
+looking unusually well, started for the parlor to meet her employer,
+Mrs. Agnes. Jessie had gone in quest of her brother, and thus Agnes was
+alone when Maddy Clyde first presented herself before her. She had not
+expected to find Maddy so pretty, and for a moment the hot blood
+crimsoned her cheek, while her heart throbbed wildly beneath the rich
+morning dress. Dr. Holbrook had cause for being attracted by that
+fresh, bright face, she thought, and so she steeled herself against the
+better impulses of her nature, impulses which pleaded that for the sake
+of the past she should be kind to Maddy Clyde.
+
+“Ah, good-morning. You are Jessie’s governess, I presume,” she said,
+bowing distantly, and pretending not to notice the hand which Maddy
+involuntarily extended toward her. “Jessie speaks well of you, and I am
+very glad you suit her. You have had a pleasant time, I trust?”
+
+Her voice was so cold and her manner so distant that Maddy’s eyes for
+an instant filled with tears, but she answered civilly that she had
+been very happy, and everybody was very kind. It was harder work to put
+down Maddy Clyde than Agnes had expected, and after a little further
+conversation there ensued a silence, which neither was inclined to
+break. At last, summoning all her courage, Agnes began:
+
+“Excuse me, Miss Clyde, but your own good sense, of which I am sure you
+have an abundance, must tell you that now Mr. Remington and myself are
+at home, your intercourse with our family must be rather limited—that
+is—ahem—that is, neither Mr. Remington nor myself are accustomed to
+having our governess very much with us. I suppose you have had the
+range of the parlors, sitting there when you liked, and all this was
+perfectly proper. Mind, I am finding no fault with you. It is all quite
+right,” she continued, as she saw the strange look of terror and
+surprise visible on Maddy’s face. “The past is right, but in future it
+will be a little different, I am willing to accord to a governess all
+the privileges possible. They are human as well as myself, but society
+makes a difference. Don’t you know it does?”
+
+“Yes—no—I don’t know. Oh, pray tell me what I am to do!” Maddy gasped,
+her face as white as ashes, and her eyes wearing as yet only a scared,
+uncertain look.
+
+With little, graceful tosses of the head, which set in motion every one
+of the brown curls, Mrs. Agnes replied:
+
+“You are not, of course, to go to Mr. Remington. It is my matter, and
+does not concern him. What I wish is this: You are to come to the
+parlor only when invited, and are not to intrude upon us at any time,
+particularly when company is here, such as—well, such as Dr. Holbrook,
+if you please. As you cannot be with Jessie all the while, you will,
+when your labors as governess are over, sit in your own room, or the
+schoolroom, or walk in the back yard, just as the higher servants
+do—such as Mrs. Noah and the sewing girl, Sarah. Occasionally we shall
+have you in to dine with us, but usually you will take your meals with
+Mrs. Noah and Sarah. By following these directions you will, I think,
+give entire satisfaction.”
+
+When Mrs. Agnes had finished this, Maddy began to understand her
+position, and into her white face the hot blood poured indignantly.
+Wholly inexperienced, she had never dreamed that a governess was not
+worthy to sit at the same table with her employer, that she must never
+enter the parlors unbidden, or intrude herself in any way. No wonder
+that her cheeks burned at the degradation, or that, for an instant, she
+felt like defying the proud woman to her face. But the angry words
+trembling on her tongue were repressed as she remembered her
+grandfather’s teachings; and with a bow as haughty as any Mrs. Agnes
+could have made, and a look on her face which could not easily be
+forgotten, she left the room, and in a kind of stunned bewilderment
+sought the garden, where she could, unseen, give way to her feelings.
+
+Once alone, the torrent burst forth, and burying her face in the soft
+grass, she wept bitterly, never hearing the step coming near, and not
+at first heeding the voice which asked what was the matter. Guy
+Remington, too, had come out into the garden, accidentally wandering
+that way, and so stumbling upon the little figure crying in the grass.
+He knew it was Maddy, and greatly surprised to find her thus, asked
+what was the matter. Then, as she did not hear him, he laid his hand
+gently upon her shoulder, compelling her to look up. In all her
+imaginings of Guy, she had never associated him with the man who had so
+puzzled and confused her, and now she did not for a time suspect the
+truth. She only thought him a guest at Aikenside; some one come with
+Guy, and her degradation seemed greater than before. She was not
+surprised when he called her by name; of course he remembered her, just
+as she did him; but she did wonder a little what Mrs. Agnes would say,
+could she know how kindly he spoke to her, lifting her from the grass
+and leading her to a rustic seat at no great distance from them.
+
+“Now, tell me why you are crying so?” he said, brushing from her silk
+apron the spot of dirt which had settled upon it. “Are you homesick?”
+he continued, and then Maddy burst out again.
+
+She forgot that he was a stranger, forgot everything except that he
+sympathized with her.
+
+“Oh, sir,” she sobbed, “I was so happy here till they came home, Mrs.
+Remington and Mr. Guy. I never thought it was a disgrace to be a
+governess; never heard it was so considered, or that I was not good
+enough to eat with them till she told me this. Oh, dear, dear!” and
+choked with tears Maddy stopped a moment to take breath.
+
+She did not look up at the young man beside her, and it was well she
+did not, for the dark expression of his face would have frightened her.
+Half guessing the truth, and impatient to hear more, he said to her:
+
+“Go on,” so sternly, that she started, and replied:
+
+“I know you are angry with me and I ought not to have told you.”
+
+“I am not angry—not at you at least—go on,” was Guy’s reply, and Maddy
+continued:
+
+“She told me that now they had come home it would be different, that
+only when invited must I come to the parlor, or anywhere, but must stay
+in the servants’ part, and eat with Mrs. Noah and Sarah. I’d just as
+soon do that. I am no better than they, only, only—the way she told me
+made me feel so mean, as if I was not anybody, when I am,” and here
+Maddy’s pride began to rise. “I’m just as good as she, if grandpa is
+poor, and I won’t stay here to be treated like a nigger by her and Mr.
+Guy. I liked him so much too, because he was kind to grandpa and to me
+when I was sick. Yes, I did like him so much.”
+
+“And how is it now?” Guy asked, wondering who in the world she thought
+he was. “How is it now?”
+
+“I s’pose it’s wicked to feel such things on Sunday, but, somehow, what
+she said keeps making me so bad that I know I hate her, and I guess I
+hate Mr. Guy!”
+
+This was Maddy’s answer, spoken deliberately, while she looked up at
+the young man, who, with a comical expression about his mouth, answered
+back:
+
+“I am Mr. Guy.” “You, you! Oh, I can’t bear it! I will die!” and Maddy
+sprang up as quickly as if feeling an electric shock.
+
+But Guy’s arm was interposed to stop her, and Guy’s arm held her back,
+while he asked where she was going.
+
+“Anywhere, out of sight where you can never see me again,” Maddy sobbed
+vehemently. “It is bad enough to have you think me a fool, as you must;
+but now, oh what do you think of me?”
+
+“Nothing bad, I assure you,” Guy said, still holding her wrist to keep
+her there. “I supposed you knew who I was, but as you did not, I
+forgive you for hating me so cordially. If you thought I sanctioned
+what Mrs. Remington has said to you, you had cause to dislike me, but
+Miss Clyde, I do not, and this is the first intimation I have had that
+you were to be treated other than as a lady. I am master of Aikenside,
+not Mrs. Agnes, who shall be made to understand it.”
+
+“Oh, please don’t quarrel about me. Let me go home, and then all will
+be well,” Maddy cried, feeling, at that moment, more averse to leaving
+Aikenside than she could have thought it possible.
+
+“We shall not quarrel, but I shall have my way; meanwhile go to your
+room and stay there until told that I have sent for you.”
+
+They went to the house together, but separated in the hall; Maddy
+repairing to her room, while Guy sought Mrs. Agnes. The moment she saw
+his face she knew a storm was coming, but was not prepared for the
+biting sarcasm and bitter reproaches heaped upon her by one who, when
+roused, was a perfect hurricane.
+
+Maybe she had forgotten what she was when his father married her, he
+said, but he had not, and he remembered well the wonder expressed by
+many that his father should stoop to marry a poor school teacher. “Yes,
+that’s what you were, madam, much as you despise Maddy Clyde for being
+a governess; you were one once yourself, and before that time mercy
+knows what you were—a hired girl, perhaps—your present airs would seem
+to warrant as much!”
+
+Guy was in a sad passion by this time, and failed to note the effect
+his last words had on Agnes, who turned livid with rage and terror; but
+smothering down her wrath, she said beseechingly:
+
+“Pray, Guy, do not be so angry; I know I am foolish about some things,
+and proud people who ‘come up’ as you say always are, I guess; I know
+that marrying your father made me what I am, but everybody does not
+know it, and it is not necessary they should. I don’t remember exactly
+what I did say to this Clyde girl, but I thought it would be pleasanter
+for you, pleasanter for us all, not to have her always around; it seems
+she has presided at the table when Dr. Holbrook was here to tea, and
+even you can’t think that quite right.”
+
+“I don’t know why,” and at mention of Dr. Holbrook Guy’s temper burst
+out again. “Agnes, you can’t deceive me; I know the secret of your
+abominable treatment of Maddy Clyde is jealousy.”
+
+“Guy—jealous, I jealous of that child;” and Agnes’ voice was expressive
+of the utmost consternation.
+
+“Yes, jealous of that child; you think that because the doctor has been
+kind to her, perhaps he wants her some time for his wife. I hope he
+does; I mean to help it on; I’ll tell him to have her, and if he don’t
+I’ll almost marry her myself!” and Guy paced up and down the parlor,
+chafing and foaming like a young lion.
+
+Agnes was conquered, and quite as much bewildered as Maddy had been;
+she heard only in part how Maddy Clyde was henceforth to be treated.
+
+“Yes, yes,” she gasped at last, as Guy talked on, “stop now, for
+mercy’s sake, and I’ll do anything, only not this morning, my head
+aches so I cannot go to the breakfast table; I must be excused,” and
+holding her temples, which were throbbing with pain, induced by strong
+excitement, Agnes hurried to her own room and threw herself upon the
+bed, angry, mortified and subdued.
+
+The breakfast bell had rung twice while Guy was holding that interview
+with Agnes, and at last Mrs. Noah came up herself to learn the cause of
+the delay; standing in the hall she heard a part of what was
+transpiring in the parlor. Mrs. Noah was proud and jealous of her
+master’s dignity, and once or twice the thought had crossed her mind
+that perhaps when he came home Maddy would be treated more as some
+governesses were treated by their employers, but to have Agnes take the
+matter up was quite a different thing, and Mrs. Noah smiled with grim
+satisfaction, as she heard Guy issuing orders as to how Miss Clyde
+should be treated. Standing back to let Agnes pass, she waited a
+moment, and then, as if she had just come up, presented herself before
+Guy, asking if he were ready for breakfast.
+
+“Yes, call Miss Clyde; tell her I sent for her,” was Guy’s answer, and
+forthwith Mrs. Noah repaired to Maddy’s room, finding her still sobbing
+bitterly.
+
+“I cannot go down,” she said; “my face is all stains, and it’s so
+dreadful, happening on Sunday, too. What would grandpa say?”
+
+“You can wash off the stains. Come,” Mrs. Noah said, pouring water into
+the bowl, and bidding Maddy hurry, “as Mr. Guy was waiting breakfast
+for her.”
+
+“But I am not to eat with them,” Maddy began, when Mrs. Noah stopped
+her by explaining how Guy ruled that house, and Agnes had been
+completely routed.
+
+This did not quiet Maddy particularly, and her heart beat painfully as
+she descended to the parlor, where Guy was still walking up and down.
+
+“Come, Miss Clyde, Jessie is nearly famished,” he said pleasantly, as
+Maddy appeared, and without the slightest reference to what had passed
+he drew Maddy’s arm within his own, and giving a hand to Jessie, who
+had just come in, he went to the breakfast room, where Maddy was told
+to preside.
+
+Guy watched her closely without seeming to do so, mentally deciding
+that she was neither vulgar nor awkward. On the contrary, he thought
+her very pretty, and very graceful for one so unaccustomed to society.
+Nothing was said of Agnes, who kept her room the entire day, and did
+not join the family until evening, when Guy sat upon the piazza with
+Jessie in his lap, while Maddy was not very far away. At first there
+was much constraint between Agnes and Maddy, but with Guy to manage, it
+soon wore away, and Agnes felt herself exceedingly amiable when she
+reflected how gracious she had been to her rival.
+
+But Maddy could not so soon forget. All through the day the conviction
+had been settling upon her that she could not stay at Aikenside, and so
+on the following morning, just after breakfast was over, she summoned
+courage to ask Mr. Guy if she might talk with film. Leading the way to
+his library, he bade her sit down, while he took the chair opposite,
+and then waited for her to commence.
+
+Maddy was afraid of Guy. He did not seem quite like Dr. Holbrook. He
+was haughtier in his appearance, while his rather elaborate style of
+dress and polished manners gave him, in her estimation, a kind of
+superiority over all the men she had ever met. Besides that, she
+remembered how his dark eyes had flashed when she told him what she did
+the previous day, and also that she had said to his face that she hated
+him. She could not bear to leave a bad impression on his mind, so the
+first words she said to him were:
+
+“Mr. Remington, I can’t stay here after all that has happened. It would
+not be pleasant for me or Mrs. Agnes, so I am going home, but I want
+you to forget what I said about hating you yesterday. I did not then
+know who you were. I don’t hate you. I like you, and I want you to like
+me.”
+
+She did not look at him, for her eyelids were cast down, and her lashes
+were wet with the tears she could scarcely keep from shedding. Guy had
+never known much about girls of Maddy’s age, and there was something
+extremely fascinating in the artless simplicity of this half child,
+half woman, sitting there before him, and asking him so demurely to
+like her. She was very pretty, he thought, and with proper culture
+would make a beautiful woman. Then, as he remembered his avowed
+intention of urging the doctor to make her his wife some day, the idea
+flashed upon him that it would be very generous, very magnanimous in
+him to educate that young girl expressly for the doctor, and though he
+hardly seemed to wait at all ere replying to Maddy, he had in the brief
+interval formed a skeleton plan, and saw it in all its bearings and
+triumphal result.
+
+“I am much obliged for your liking me,” he said, a very little
+mischievously. “You surely have not much reason so to do when you
+recall the incidents of our first interview. Maddy—Miss Clyde—I have
+come to the conclusion that I knew less than you did, and I beg your
+pardon for annoying you so terribly.”
+
+Then briefly Guy explained to her how it all had happened, blaming
+himself far more than he did the doctor, who, he said, had repented
+bitterly. “Had you died, Miss Clyde, when you were so sick, I half
+believe he would have felt it his duty to die also. He likes you very
+much; more indeed than any patient I ever knew him to have,” and Guy’s
+eyes glanced curiously at Maddy to witness the effect his words might
+have upon her. But Maddy merely answered:
+
+“Yes, I think he does like me, and I know I like him.”
+
+Mentally chastising himself for trying to find in Maddy’s head an idea
+which evidently never was there, he began to speak of her proposition
+of leave, saying he should not suffer it, Jessie needed her and she
+must stay. She was not to mind the disagreeable things Mrs. Remington
+had said. She was tired and nervous, and so gave way to some very
+preposterous notions, which she had picked up somewhere. She would
+treat Maddy better hereafter, and she must stay. It was pleasanter for
+Jessie to have a companion so near her own age. Then, as he saw signs
+of yielding in Maddy’s face, he continued:
+
+“How would you like to turn scholar for a short time each day, I being
+your teacher? Time often hangs heavily upon my hands, and I fancy the
+novelty of the thing would suit me. I have books. I will appoint your
+lessons and the hour for recitation.”
+
+Guy’s face was scarlet by the time he finished speaking, for suddenly
+he remembered to have heard or read of a similar instance which
+resulted in the marriage of the teacher and pupil; besides that it
+would subject him to so much remark, when it was known that he, the
+fashionable and fastidious Guy, was teaching a pretty, attractive girl
+like Maddy Clyde, and he sincerely hoped she would decline. But Maddy
+had no such intention. Always in earnest herself, she supposed every
+one else meant what they said, and without ever suspecting the peculiar
+position in which such a proceeding would place both herself and Guy,
+her heart leaped up at the idea of knowing what was in the books she
+had never dared hope she might study. With her beautiful eyes full of
+tears, which shone like diamonds, as she lifted them to Guy’s face, she
+said:
+
+“Oh, I thank you so much. You could not make me happier, and I’ll try
+so hard to learn. They don’t teach such things at the district school;
+and when there was a high school in Honedale I could not go, for it was
+three dollars a quarter, and grandpa had no three dollars for me. Uncle
+Joseph needed help, and so I stayed at home. It’s dreadful to be poor,
+but, perhaps, I shall some time be competent to teach in a seminary,
+and won’t that be grand? When may I begin?”
+
+Guy had never met with so much frankness and simplicity in any one,
+unless it were in Lucy Atherstone, of whom Maddy reminded him somewhat,
+except that the latter was more practical, more—he hardly knew
+what—only there was a difference, and a thought crossed his mind that
+if Maddy had had all Lucy’s advantages, and was as old, she would be
+what the world calls smarter. There was no disparagement to Lucy in his
+thoughts, only a compliment to Maddy, who was waiting for him to answer
+her question. There was no retracting now; he had offered his services;
+she had accepted; and with a mental comment: “I dread Doc’s fun the
+most, so I’ll explain to him how I am educating her for the future Mrs.
+Dr. Holbrook,” he replied:
+
+“As soon as I am rested from my journey, or sooner, if you like; and
+now tell me, please, who is this Uncle Joseph of whom you speak?”
+
+He remembered what the doctor had said of a crazy uncle, but wishing to
+hear Maddy’s version of it, put to her the question he did.
+
+“Uncle Joseph is grandma’s youngest brother,” Maddy answered, “and he
+has been in the lunatic asylum for years. As long as his little
+property lasted, his bills were paid, but now they keep him from
+charity, only grandpa helps all he can, and buys some little nice
+things which he wants so badly, and sometimes cries for, they say. I
+picked berries all last summer, and sold to buy him a thin coat and
+pants. We should have more to spend than we do, if it were not for
+Uncle Joseph,” and Maddy’s face wore a thoughtful expression as she
+recalled all the shifts and turns she’d seen made at home that the poor
+maniac might be more comfortable.
+
+“What made him crazy?” Guy asked, and after a moment’s hesitancy Maddy
+replied: “I don’t believe grandma would mind my telling you, though she
+don’t talk about it much. I only knew it a little while ago. He was
+disappointed once. He loved a girl very much, and she made him think
+that she loved him. She was many years younger than Uncle Joseph—about
+my age at first, and when she grew up she said she was sick of him,
+because he was so much older. He wouldn’t have felt so badly, if she
+had not gone straight off and married a rich man who was a great deal
+older even than Uncle Joseph; that was the hardest part, and he grew
+crazy at once. It has been so long that he never can be helped, and
+sometimes grandma talks of bringing him home, as he is perfectly
+harmless. I suppose it’s wicked, but I most hope she won’t, for it
+would be terrible to live with a crazy man,” and a chill crept over
+Maddy, as if there had fallen upon her a foreshadowing of what might
+yet be. “Mr. Remington,” she continued suddenly, “if you teach me, I
+can’t, of course, expect three dollars a week. It would not be right.”
+
+“Perfectly right,” he answered. “Your services to Jessie will be worth
+just as much as ever, so give yourself no trouble on that score.”
+
+He was the best man that ever lived, Maddy thought, and so she told the
+doctor that afternoon when, as he rode up to Aikenside, she met him out
+on the lawn before he reached the house.
+
+It did strike the doctor a little comically that one of Guy’s habits
+should offer to turn school teacher, but Maddy was so glad, that he was
+glad too, and doubly glad that across the sea there was a Lucy
+Atherstone. How he wished that she was there now as Mrs. Guy, and he
+must tell Guy so that very day. Seated in Guy’s library, the
+opportunity soon occurred, Guy approaching the subject himself by
+saying:
+
+“Guess, Hal, what crazy project I have just embarked in.”
+
+“I know without guessing; Maddy told me,” and the doctor’s eyebrows
+were elevated just a little as he crossed his feet upon the window sill
+and moved his chair so as to have a better view of Maddy and Jessie
+romping in the grass.
+
+“And so you don’t approve?” was Guy’s next remark, to which the doctor
+replied:
+
+“Why, yes; it’s a grand thing for her, providing you know enough to
+teach her; but, Guy, this is a confounded gossiping neighborhood, and
+folks will talk, I’m afraid.”
+
+“Talk about what!” and Guy bridled up as his independent spirit began
+to rise, “What harm is there in my doing a generous act to a poor girl
+like Maddy Clyde? Isn’t she graceful as a kitten, though?” and Guy
+nodded toward the spot where she was playing.
+
+It annoyed the doctor to have Guy praise Maddy, but he would not show
+it, and answered calmly:
+
+“It’s all right in you, but just because the poor girl is Maddy Clyde,
+folks will talk. She is too handsome, Guy, for Madam Grundy to let
+alone. If Lucy were only here, it would be different. Why, in the name
+of wonder, are you two not married, if you are ever going to be?”
+
+“Jealous, as I live!” and Guy’s hand came down playfully on the
+doctor’s shoulder. “I did not suppose you had got as far as that. You
+are afraid of the effect it may have on me teaching a sweet-faced
+little girl how to conjugate amo; and to cover up your own interest,
+you bring Lucy forward as an argument. Eh, Hal, have I not probed the
+secret?”
+
+The doctor was in no mood for joking, and only smiled gloomily, while
+Guy continued:
+
+“Honestly, doctor, I am doing it for you. I imagine you fancy her, as
+well you may. She’ll make a splend’d woman, but she needs educating, of
+course, and I am going to do it. You ought to thank me, instead of
+looking so like a thundercloud,” and Guy laughed merrily.
+
+The doctor was ashamed of his mood, and could not tell what spirit
+prompted him to answer:
+
+“I am obliged to you, Guy; but as far as I am concerned, you may spare
+yourself the trouble. If my wife needs educating, I can do it myself.”
+
+Guy was puzzled. Could it be that, after all, he was deceived, and the
+doctor did not care for Maddy? It might be, and he hastened to change
+the conversation to another topic than Maddy Clyde. The doctor stayed
+to dinner, and as Guy watched him closely, he made up his mind that he
+did care for Maddy Clyde, and this confirmed him in his plan of
+educating her for him.
+
+Magnanimous Guy! He felt himself very good, very generous, very
+condescending, and very forgiving, the early portion of the afternoon;
+but later in the day he began to view Guy Remington in the light of a
+martyr, said martyrdom consisting in the scornful toss of the head with
+which Agnes had listened to his plan, and the open opposition of Mrs.
+Noah.
+
+“Was he beside himself, or what?” this worthy asked. “She liked Maddy
+Clyde, to be sure, but it wasn’t for him to demean himself by turning
+her school master. Folks would talk awfully, and she couldn’t blame
+’em; besides, what would Lucy say to his bein’ alone in a room with a
+girl as pretty as Maddy? It was a duty he owed her at any rate to tell
+her all about it, and if she said ’twas right, why, go it.”
+
+This was the drift of Mrs. Noah’s remarks, and as Guy depended much on
+her judgment, he decided to write to Lucy to see if she had the
+slightest objections to his teaching Maddy Clyde. Accordingly he wrote
+that very night, telling her frankly all he knew concerning Maddy
+Clyde, and narrating the circumstances under which he first had met
+her, being careful also to repeat what he knew would have weight with
+an English girl like Lucy, to wit, that though poor, Maddy’s father and
+grandfather Clyde had been gentlemen, the one a clergyman, the other a
+sea captain. Then he told of her desire for learning, and his plan to
+teach her himself, of what the doctor and Mrs. Noah said about it, and
+his final determination to consult her. Then he described Maddy
+herself, feeling a strange thrill as he told how pure, how innocent,
+how artless and beautiful she was, and asked if Lucy feared aught from
+his association with her.
+
+“If you do,” he wrote, “you have but to say so, and though I am
+committed, I will extricate myself in some way rather than wound you in
+the slightest degree.”
+
+It would be some time ere an answer to this letter could be received,
+and until such time Guy could not honorably hear Maddy’s lessons as he
+had agreed to do. But Maddy was not suspicious, and accepting his
+trivial excuse, waited patiently, while he, too, waited for the letter,
+wondering what it would contain.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+A GENEROUS LETTER.
+
+
+At last the answer came, and it was Maddy who brought it to Guy. She
+had been home that day, and on her return had ridden by the office as
+Guy had requested her to do. She saw the letter bore a foreign
+postmark, also that it was in the delicate handwriting of some female,
+but the sight did not affect her in the least. Maddy’s heart was far
+too heavy that day to care for a trifle, and so placing the letter
+carefully in her basket she kept on to Aikenside.
+
+The letter was decidedly Lucy-ish in all that pertained to her “dearest
+darling,” her “precious Guy,” but when she came to Maddy Clyde, her
+true, womanly nature spoke; and Guy, while reading it, felt how good
+she was. Of course he might teach Maddy Clyde all he wished to teach
+her, and it made Lucy love him better to know that he was willing to do
+such things. She wished she was there to help him; they would open a
+school for all the poor, but she did not know when mamma would let her
+come. That pain in her side was not any better, and her cough had come
+earlier this season than last. The physician had advised a winter in
+Naples, and they were going before very long. It would be pleasant
+there, no doubt, only she should be farther away from her boy Guy, but
+she would think of him, oh, so often, teaching that dear little Maddy
+Clyde, and she would pray for him, too, just as she always did. Then
+followed a few more lines sacred to the lover’s eye, lines which told
+how pure was the love which sweet Lucy Atherstone bore for Guy
+Remington, who, as he read, felt his heart beat with a throb of pain,
+for Lucy spoke to him now for the first time of what might possibly be.
+
+“I’ve dreamed about it nights,” she said. “I’ve thought about it days,
+and tried so hard to be reconciled; to feel that if God will have it
+so, I am willing to die before you have ever called me your little
+wife, or I have ever called you husband. Heaven is better than earth, I
+know, and I am sure of going there, I think, but oh, dear Guy, a life
+with you looks so very sweet, that sometimes your little Lucy shrinks
+from the dark grave, which would hide her forever from you. Guy, you
+once said you never prayed, and it made me feel so badly, but you will,
+when you get this, won’t you? You will ask God to make me well, and may
+be He will hear you. Do, Guy, please do pray for your Lucy, far away
+over the sea.”
+
+Guy could not resist that touching appeal, “to pray for his little
+Lucy,” and though his lips were all unused to prayer, bowing his head
+upon his hands he did ask that she might live, beseeching the Father to
+send upon him any calamity save this one—Lucy must be spared. Guy felt
+better for having prayed, it was something to tell Lucy, something that
+would please her well, and though his heart yet was very sad, a part of
+the load was lifted, and he could think of Lucy now without the bitter
+pain her letter first had cost him. Was there nothing that would save
+her, nobody who could cure her? Her disease was not hereditary; surely
+it might be made to yield; had English physicians no skill, would not
+an American do better? It was possible, and if that mother of Lucy’s
+would let her come where doctors knew something, she might get well;
+but she wouldn’t; she was determined that no husband should be burdened
+with an ailing wife, and so if the mountain would not come to Mahomet,
+why, Mahomet must go to the mountain, and Guy fairly leaped from his
+chair as he exclaimed: “I have it—Doc!—he’s the most skillful man I
+ever knew; I’ll send him to England; send him to the Atherstones; he
+shall go to Naples with them as their family physician; he can cure
+Lucy; I’ll speak to him the very next time he comes here;” and with
+another burden lifted from his mind, Guy began to wonder where Maddy
+was, and why that day had been so long.
+
+He knew she had returned, for Flora had said she brought the letter,
+and he was about going out, in hopes of finding her and Jessie, when he
+heard her in the hall, as she answered some question of Mrs. Noah’s;
+stepping to the door, he asked her to come in, saying he would, if she
+chose, appoint the lessons talked about so long. Ordinarily, Maddy’s
+eyes would have flashed with delight, for she had anticipated so much
+from these lessons; now, however, there was a sad look upon her face
+and she could scarcely keep from crying as she came at Guy’s bidding,
+and sat upon the sofa, near to his armchair. Somehow it rested Guy to
+look at Maddy Clyde, who, having recovered from her illness, seemed the
+very embodiment of perfect health, a health which glowed and sparkled
+all over her bright face; showing itself as well in the luxuriance of
+her glossy hair as in the brilliancy of her complexion, and the flash
+of her lustrous eyes. How Guy wished that Lucy could share in what
+seemed almost superfluity of health; and why shouldn’t she? Dr.
+Holbrook had cured Maddy; Dr. Holbrook could cure Lucy; and so for the
+present dismissing that from his mind, he turned to Maddy, and said the
+time had come when he could give those promised lessons, asking if she
+would commence to-morrow, after she was through with Jessie, and what
+she would prefer to take up first?
+
+“Oh, Mr. Remington,” and Maddy began to cry: “I am afraid I cannot stay
+they need me at home, or maybe Grandpa said so and I don’t want to go,
+though I know it’s wicked not to; oh, dear, dear!”
+
+Here Maddy broke down entirely, sobbing so convulsively that Guy became
+alarmed, and wondered what he ought to do to quiet her. As she sat the
+bowed head was just within his reach, and so he very naturally laid his
+hand upon it, and as if it had been Jessie’s smoothed the silken hair,
+while he asked why she must go home. Had anything occurred to make her
+presence more necessary than it was at Aikenside? and into the young
+man’s heart there crept a feeling that Aikenside would be very lonely
+without Maddy Clyde.
+
+Controlling her voice as well as she was able, Maddy told him how the
+physicians at the asylum had written that as Uncle Joseph would in all
+human probability never be perfectly sane, and as a change of scene
+would do him good, Mr. Markham had better try taking him a while; that
+having been spoken with upon the subject, he seemed as anxious as a
+little child, even crying when the night came around and he was not at
+home, as he expressed it. “They have kept him so long,” Maddy said,
+“that grandpa thought it his duty to relieve them, though he can’t well
+afford it, and so he’s coming next week, and grandma will need some one
+to help, and I must go. I know it’s wrong, but I do not want to go, try
+as I will.”
+
+It was a gloomy prospect to exchange Aikenside for the humble home
+where poverty had its abode, and it was not very strange that Maddy
+should shrink from it at first. She did not stop to ask what was her
+duty, or think how much happiness her presence might give her
+grandparents, or how much she might cheer and amuse the weak imbecile,
+her uncle. She was but human, and so when Guy began to devise ways of
+preventing her going, she listened, while the pain at her heart grew
+less as her faith in Guy grew stronger. He would drive down with her
+to-morrow, he said, and see what could be done. Meanwhile she must dry
+her eyes and go to Jessie, who was calling her.
+
+As Guy had half expected, the doctor came around that evening, and
+inviting him into his private room, Guy proceeded at once to unfold his
+scheme, asking him first:
+
+“How much he probably received a year for his services as physician.”
+
+The doctor could not tell at once, but after a little thought made an
+estimate, and then inquired why Guy had asked the question.
+
+“Because, Doc, I have a project on foot. Lucy Atherstone is dying with
+what they call consumption. I don’t believe those old fogies understand
+her disease, and if you will go over to England and undertake her cure,
+I’ll give you just double what you’ll get by remaining here. They are
+going to Naples for the winter, and, undoubtedly, will spend some time
+in Paris. It will be just the thing for you. Lucy and her mother will
+be glad of your services when they know I sent you, Lucy likes you now.
+Will you go? You can trust Maddy to me. I’ll take good care that she is
+worthy of you when you come back.”
+
+At the mention of Maddy’s name, the doctor’s brow darkened. He was sure
+that Guy meant kindly, but it grated on his feelings to be thus joked
+about what he knew was a stern reality. Guy’s project appeared to him
+at first a most insane one, but as he continued to enlarge upon it, and
+the advantage it would be to the doctor to travel in the old world, a
+feeling of enthusiasm was kindled in his own breast; a desire to visit
+Naples and France, and the places he had dreamed of as a boy, but never
+hoped to see, Guy’s plan began to look more feasible, and possibly he
+might have yielded but for one thought, and that a thought of Maddy
+Clyde. He would not leave her alone with Guy, even though Guy was true
+to Lucy as steel. He would stay; he would watch; and in time he would
+win the young girl waiting now for him in the hall below, waiting to
+tell him ’mid blushes of shame and tears of regret how she had meant to
+pay him with her very first wages, but now, Uncle Joseph was coming
+home, and he must wait a little longer.
+
+“Would he, could he be so good?” and unmindful of Guy’s presence Maddy
+laid her hand confidingly upon his arm, while her soft eyes looked
+beseechingly into his.
+
+How the doctor wished Guy was away, and kindly taking the hint, Guy
+left them together in the lighted hall. Sitting down on the sofa, and
+making Maddy sit beside him, the doctor began:
+
+“Maddy, you know I mean what I say, at least to you, and when I tell
+you that I never think of that bill except when you speak of it, you
+will believe me. I know your grandfather’s circumstances, and I know,
+too, that I did much to induce your sickness, consequently if I made
+one out at all, it would be a very small one.”
+
+He did not get any further, for Maddy hastily interrupted him, and
+while her eyes flashed with pride, exclaimed:
+
+“I will not be a charity patient! I say I will not! I’d be a hired girl
+before I’d do it!”
+
+It troubled the doctor to see Maddy so disturbed about dollars and
+cents—to know that poverty was pressing its iron hand upon her young
+heart; and only because she was so young did he refrain from offering
+her then and there a resting place from the ills of life in his
+sheltering love. But she was not prepared, and he should only defeat
+his object by his rashness, so he restrained himself, though he did
+pass his arm partly around her waist as he said to her:
+
+“I tell you, Maddy, honestly, that when I want that bill liquidated
+I’ll ask you. I certainly will, and I’ll let you pay it, too. Does that
+satisfy you?”
+
+Yes, Maddy was satisfied, and after a little the doctor continued:
+
+“By the way, Maddy, I have some idea of going to Europe for a few
+months, or a year or more. You know it does a physician good to study
+awhile in Paris. What do you think of it? Shall I go?”
+
+The doctor had become quite necessary to Maddy’s happiness. He it was
+to whom she confided all her little troubles, and to lose him would be
+a terrible loss, and so she answered that if it would be much better
+for him she supposed he ought to go, though she should miss him sadly
+and be so lonely without him.
+
+“Would you, Maddy? Are you in earnest? Would you be lonelier for my
+being gone?” the doctor asked, eagerly. With her usual truthfulness,
+Maddy replied: “Of course I should;” and, when, after the conference
+was ended, the doctor stood for a moment talking with Guy, ere bidding
+him good-night, he said: “I think I shall not accept your European
+proposition. Somebody else must cure Lucy.”
+
+The next day, as Guy had proposed, he rode down to Honedale, taking
+Maddy with him, and offering so many reasons why she should not be
+called home, that the old people began to relent, particularly as they
+saw how Maddy’s heart was set on the lessons Guy was going to give her.
+She might never have a like opportunity, the young man said, and as a
+good education would put her in the way of helping them when they were
+older and needed her more, it was their duty to leave her with them. He
+knew they objected to her receiving three dollars a week, but he should
+pay it just the same, and if they chose they might, with a part of it,
+hire a little girl to do the work which Maddy would do were she at
+home. All this sounded very feasible, especially as it was backed up by
+Maddy’s eyes, brimful of tears, and fixed pleadingly upon her
+grandfather. The sight of them, more than Guy’s arguments, influenced
+the old man, who decided that if grandma were willing Maddy should
+stay, unless absolutely needed at the cottage. Then the tears burst
+forth, and winding her arms around her grandfather’s neck, Maddy sobbed
+out her thanks, asking if it were selfish and wicked and naughty in her
+to prefer learning rather than staying there.
+
+“Not if that’s your only reason,” grandpa replied. “It’s right to want
+learning, quite right; but, if my child is biased by the fine things at
+Aikenside, and hates to come back to her poor home, because ’tis poor,
+I should say it was very natural, but not exactly right.”
+
+Maddy was very happy after it was settled, and chatted gayly with her
+grandmother, while Guy went out with her grandfather, who wished to
+speak with him alone.
+
+“Young man,” he said, “you have taken a deep interest in me and mine
+since I first came to know you, and I thank you for it all. I’ve
+nothing to give in return except my prayers, and those you have every
+day; you and that doctor. I pray for you two just as I do for Maddy.
+Somehow you three come in together. You’re uncommon good to Maddy.
+’Tain’t every one like you who would offer and insist on learning her.
+I don’t know what you do it for. You seem honest. You can’t, of course,
+ever dream of making her your wife, and, if I thought—yes, if I
+supposed”—here grandpa’s voice trembled, and his face became a livid
+hue with the horror of the idea—“if I supposed that in your heart there
+was the shadow of an intention to deceive my child, to ruin my Maddy,
+I’d throttle you here on the spot, old as I am, and bitterly as I
+should repent the rashness.”
+
+Guy attempted to speak, but grandpa motioned him to be silent, while he
+went on:
+
+“I do not suspect you, and that’s why I trust her with you. My old eyes
+are dim, but I can see enough to know that Maddy is beautiful. Her
+mother was so before her, and the Clydes were a handsome race. My Alice
+was elevated, folks thought, by marrying Captain Clyde, but I don’t
+think so. She was pure and good as the angels, and Maddy is much like
+her, only she has the ambition of the Clydes: has their taste for
+everything a little above her. She wouldn’t make nobody blush if she
+was mistress of Aikenside.”
+
+Grandpa felt relieved when he had said all this to Guy, who listened
+politely, smiling at the idea of his deceiving Maddy, and fully
+concurring with grandpa in all he said of her rare beauty and natural
+gracefulness. On their return to the house grandpa showed Guy the
+bedroom intended for Uncle Joseph, and Guy, as he glanced at the
+furniture, though within himself how he would send down from Aikenside
+some of the unused articles piled away on the garret when he
+refurnished his house. He was becoming greatly interested in the
+Markhams, caring nothing for the remarks his interest might excite
+among the neighbors, some of whom watched Maddy half curiously as in
+the stylish carriage, beside its stylish owner, she rode back to
+Aikenside in the quiet, autumnal afternoon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+UNCLE JOSEPH.
+
+
+In course of time Uncle Joseph came as was arranged, and on the day
+following Maddy and Guy rode down to see him, finding him a tall,
+powerfully built man, retaining many vestiges of manly beauty, and
+fully warranting all Mrs. Markham had said in his praise. He seemed
+perfectly gentle and harmless, though when Guy was announced as Mr.
+Remington, Maddy noticed that in his keen black eyes there was for an
+instant a fiery gleam, but it quickly passed away, as he muttered:
+
+“Much too young; he was older than I, and I am over forty. It’s all
+right.”
+
+And the fiery eye grew soft and almost sleepy in its expression, as the
+poor lunatic turned next to Maddy, telling her how pretty she was,
+asking if she were engaged, and bidding her be careful that her
+_fiancé_ was not more than a dozen years older than herself.
+
+Uncle Joseph seemed to take to her from the very first, following her
+from room to room, touching her fair, soft cheeks, smoothing her silken
+hair, telling her Sarah’s used to curl, asking if she knew where Sarah
+was, and finally crying for her as a child cries for its mother, when
+at last she went away. Much of this Maddy had repeated to Jessie, as in
+the twilight they sat together in the parlor at Aikenside; and Jessie
+was not the only listener, for, with her face resting on her hand, and
+her head bent eagerly forward, Agnes sat, so as not to lose a word of
+what Maddy was saying of Uncle Joseph. The intelligence that he was
+coming to the red cottage had been followed with a series of headaches,
+so severe and protracted that Dr. Holbrook had pronounced her really
+sick, and had been unusually attentive. Anxiously she had waited for
+the result of Maddy’s visit to the poor lunatic, and her face was
+colorless as marble as she heard him described, while a faint sigh
+escaped her when Maddy told what he had said of Sarah.
+
+Agnes was changed somewhat of late. She had grown more thoughtful and
+quiet, while her manner toward Maddy was not as haughty as formerly.
+Guy thought her improved, and thus was not so delighted as he would
+otherwise have been, when, one day, about two weeks after Uncle
+Joseph’s arrival at Honedale, she startled him by saying she thought it
+nearly time for her to return to Boston, if she meant to spend the
+winter there, and asked what she should do with Jessie.
+
+Guy was not quite willing for Agnes to leave him there alone, but when
+he saw that she was determined, he consented to her going, with the
+understanding that Jessie was to remain—a plan which Agnes did not
+oppose, as a child so large as Jessie might stand in the way of her
+being as gay as she meant to be in Boston. Jessie, too, when consulted,
+said she would far rather stay at Aikenside; and so one November
+morning, Agnes, wrapped in velvet and furs, kissed her little daughter,
+and bidding good-by to Maddy and the servants, left a neighborhood
+which, since Uncle Joseph was so near, had become so intolerable that
+not even the hope of winning the doctor could avail to keep her in it.
+
+Guy accompanied her to the city, wondering why, when he used to like it
+so much, it now seemed dull and tiresome, or why the society he had
+formerly enjoyed failed to bring back the olden pleasure he had
+experienced when a resident of Boston. Guy was very popular there, and
+much esteemed by his friends of both sexes, and great were the efforts
+made to entertain and keep him as long as possible. But Guy could not
+be prevailed upon to stay there long, and after seeing Agnes settled in
+one of the most fashionable boarding houses, he started for Aikenside.
+
+It was dark when he reached home, and as the evening had closed in with
+a heavy rain, the house presented rather a cheerless appearance,
+particularly as, in consequence of Mrs. Noah’s not expecting him that
+day, no fires had been kindled in the parlors, or in any room except
+the library. There a bright coal fire was blazing in the grate, and
+thither Guy repaired, finding, as he had expected, Jessie and her
+teacher. Not liking to intrude on Mr. Guy, of whom she still stood
+somewhat in awe, Maddy soon arose to leave, but Guy bade her stay; he
+should be lonely without her, he said, and so bringing her work she sat
+down to sew, while Jessie looked over a book of prints, and Guy upon
+the lounge studied the face which, it seemed to him, grew each day more
+and more beautiful. Then he talked with her of books, and the lessons
+which were to be resumed on the morrow, watching Maddy as her bright
+face sparkled and glowed with excitement. Then he questioned her of her
+father’s family, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing
+that the Clydes were not a race of whose blood any one need be ashamed;
+and Maddy was more like them he was sure than like the Markhams, and
+Guy shivered a little as he recalled the peculiar dialect of Mr. and
+Mrs. Markham, and remembered that they were Maddy’s grandparents. Not
+that it was anything to him. Oh, no, only as an inmate of his family he
+felt interested in her, more so perhaps than young men were apt to be
+interested in their sister’s governess.
+
+Had Guy then been asked the question, he would, in all probability,
+have acknowledged that in his heart there was a feeling of superiority
+to Maddy Clyde; that she was not quite the equal of Aikenside’s heir,
+nor yet of Lucy Atherstone. It was natural; he had been educated to
+feel the difference, but any haughty arrogance of which he might have
+been guilty was kept down by his extreme good sense and generous,
+impulsive nature. He liked Maddy; he liked to look at her as, in the
+becoming crimson merino which he really and Jessie nominally had given
+her, she sat before him, with the firelight falling on her beautiful
+hair, and making shadows on her sunny face.
+
+Guy was luxurious in his tastes, and it seemed to him that Maddy was
+just the picture to set off that room, or in fact all the rooms at
+Aikenside. She would disgrace none of them, and he found himself
+wishing that Providence had made her something to him—sister or cousin,
+or anything that would make her one of the Remington line.
+
+And now, my reader, do not fall to abusing Guy, or accuse him of
+forgetting Lucy Atherstone, for he did not. He thought of her many
+times that evening, and in his dreams that night Lucy and Maddy shared
+pretty equally, but the latter was associated with the lessons of the
+morrow, while Lucy was the bright daystar for which he lived and hoped.
+
+It did not take long for the people of Sommerville to hear that Guy
+Remington had actually turned schoolmaster, having in his library for
+two hours or more each day Jessie’s little girl-governess, about whose
+brilliant beauty there was so much said—people wondering, as people
+will, where it would end, and if it could be possible that the haughty
+Guy had forgotten his English Lucy and gone to educating a wife.
+
+The doctor, to whom these remarks were sometimes made, silently gnashed
+his teeth, then said savagely that “if Guy chose to teach Maddy Clyde,
+he did not see whose business it was,” and then rode over to Aikenside
+to see the teacher and pupil, half hoping that Guy would soom tire of
+his project and give it up. But Guy grew more and more pleased with his
+employment, until, at last, from giving Maddy two hours of his time, he
+came to give her four, esteeming them the pleasantest of the whole
+twenty-four. Guy was proud of Maddy’s improvement, praising her often
+to the doctor, who also marveled at the rapid development of her mind
+and the progress she made, grasping a knotty point almost before it was
+explained, and retaining with wonderful tenacity what she learned.
+
+It mattered nothing to Guy that neighbors gossiped there were none
+familiar enough to tell him what was said, except the doctor or Mrs.
+Noah; and so he heard few of the remarks made so frequently, As in
+Honedale, so in Sommerville Maddy was a favorite, and those who
+interested themselves most in the matter never said anything worse of
+her and Mr. Guy than that he might perhaps be educating his own wife,
+and insinuating that it would be a great “come up” for Grandfather
+Markham’s child. But Maddy never dreamed of such a thing, and kept on
+her pleasant way, reciting every day to Guy and going every Wednesday
+to the red cottage, whither, after the first visit to Uncle Joseph, Guy
+never accompanied her. Jessie, on the contrary, went often to Honedale,
+where one at least always greeted her coming, stealing up closely to
+her, and whispering softly: “My Daisy is come again.”
+
+From the first Uncle Joseph had taken to Jessie, calling her Sarah for
+a while, and then changing the name to “Daisy”—“Daisy Mortimer, his
+little girl,” he persisted in calling her, watching from his window for
+her coming, and crying whenever Maddy appeared without her. At first
+Agnes, from her city home, forbade Jessie’s going so often to see a
+lunatic; but when Jessie described the poor, crazy man’s delight at
+sight of her, telling how quiet and happy he seemed if he could but lay
+his hand on her head, or touch her hair, she withdrew her restrictions,
+and, as if moved to an unwonted burst of tenderness, wrote to her
+daughter: “Comfort that crazy man all you can; he needs it so much.”
+
+A few weeks after there came another letter from Agnes, but this time
+it was to Guy, and its contents darkened his handsome face with anger
+and vexation. Incidentally Agnes had heard the gossip, and written it
+to Guy, adding in conclusion: “Of course I know it is not true, for
+ever if there were no Lucy Atherstone, you, of all men, would not stoop
+to Maddy Clyde. I do not presume to advise, but I will say this, that
+now she is growing a young lady, folks will keep on talking so long as
+you keep her there in the house; and it’s hardly fair toward Lucy.”
+
+This was what knotted up Guy’s forehead and made him, as Jessie said,
+“real cross for once.” Somehow, he fancied, latterly, that the doctor
+did not like Maddy’s being there, while even Mrs. Noah managed to keep
+her out of his way as soon as the lessons were ended. What did they
+mean? what were they afraid of, and why did they presume to interfere
+with him? he’d know, at all events; and summoning Mrs. Noah to his
+presence, he read that part of Agnes’ letter, pertaining to Maddy, and
+then asked what it meant.
+
+“It means this, that folks are in a constant worry, for fear you’ll
+fall in love with Maddy Clyde.”
+
+“I fall in love with that child!” Guy repeated, laughing at the idea,
+and forgetting that he had long since, accused the doctor of doing that
+very thing.
+
+“Yes, you,” returned Mrs. Noah, “and ’taint strange they do; Maddy is
+not a child: she’s nearer sixteen than fifteen, is almost a young lady;
+and if you’ll excuse my boldness, I must say, I ain’t any too well
+pleased with the goin’s on myself; not that I don’t like the girl, for
+I do, and I don’t blame her an atom. She’s as innocent as a new-born
+babe, and I hope she’ll always stay so; but you, Mr. Guy, you—now tell
+me honest—do you think as much of Lucy Atherstone, as you used to,
+before you took up school-keepin’?”
+
+Guy did not like to be interfered with, and naturally high-spirited, he
+at first flew into a passion, declaring that he would not have folks
+meddling with him, that he thought of Lucy Atherstone all the time, and
+he did not know what more he could do; that ’twas a pity if a man could
+not enjoy himself in his own way, provided that way were harmless, that
+he’d never, in all his life, spent so happy a winter as the last;
+that—-
+
+Here Mrs. Noah interrupted him with: “That’s it, the very _it_; you
+want nothing better than to have that girl sit close to you when she
+recites, as she does; and once when she was workin’ out some of them
+plusses and minuses, and things, her slate rested on your knee; it did,
+I saw it with my own eyes; and then, let me ask, when Jessie is
+drummin’ on the piano, why don’t you bend over her, and turn the
+leaves, and count the time, as you do when Maddy plays; and how does it
+happen that lately Jessie is one too many, when you hear Maddy’s
+lessons. She has no suspicions, but I know she ain’t sent off for
+nothin’; I know you’d rather be alone with Maddy Clyde than to have
+anybody present, isn’t it so?”
+
+Guy began to wince. There was much truth in what Mrs. Noah had said. He
+did devise various methods of getting rid of Jessie, when Maddy was in
+his library, but it had never looked to him in just the light it did
+when presented by Mrs. Noah, and he doggedly asked what Mrs. Noah would
+have him do.
+
+“First and foremost, then, I’d have you tell Maddy yourself that you
+are engaged to Lucy Atherstone; second, I’d have you write to Lucy all
+about it, and if you honestly can, tell her that you only care for
+Maddy as a friend; third, I’d have you send the girl—-”
+
+“Not away from Aikenside! I never will!” and Guy sprang to his feet.
+
+The mine had exploded, and for an instant the young man reeled, as he
+caught a glimpse of where he stood; still he would not believe it, or
+confess to himself how strong a place in his affections was held by the
+beautiful girl now no longer a child. It was almost a year since that
+April afternoon when he first met Maddy Clyde, and from a timid,
+bashful child, of fourteen and a half, she had grown to the rather
+tall, and rather self-possessed maiden of fifteen and a half, almost
+sixteen, as Mrs. Noah said, “almost a woman;” and as if to verify the
+latter fact, she herself appeared at that very moment, asking
+permission to come in and find a book, which had been mislaid, and
+which she needed in hearing Jessie’s lessons.
+
+“Certainly, come in,” Guy said, and folding his arms he leaned against
+the mantel, watching her as she hunted for the missing book.
+
+There was no pretense about Maddy Clyde, nothing put on for effect, and
+yet in every movement she showed marks of great improvement, both in
+manner and style. Of one hundred people who might glance at her,
+ninety-nine would look a second time, asking who she was. Naturally
+graceful and utterly forgetful of herself, she always appeared to good
+advantage, and never to better than now, when two pairs of eyes were
+watching her, as standing on tiptoe, or kneeling upon the floor to look
+under the secretary, she hunted for the book. Not the remotest
+suspicion had Maddy of what was occupying the thoughts of her
+companions, though as she left the room and glanced brightly up at Guy,
+it struck her that his face was dark and moody, and a painful sensation
+flitted through her mind that in some way she had intruded.
+
+“Well,” was Mrs. Noah’s first comment, as the door closed on Maddy, but
+as Guy made no response to that, she continued: “She is pretty. That
+you won’t deny.”
+
+“Yes, more than pretty. She’ll make a most beautiful woman.”
+
+Guy seemed to talk more to himself than to Mrs. Noah, while his foot
+kicked the fender, and he mentally compared Lucy and Maddy with each
+other, and tried to think that it was not the result of that
+comparison, but rather Mrs. Noah’s next remark, which affected him
+unpleasantly. The remark or remarks were as follows:
+
+“Of course she’ll make a splendid woman. Everybody notices her now for
+her beauty, and that’s why you’ve no business to keep her here where
+you see her every day. It’s a wrong to her, lettin’ yourself alone.”
+
+Guy looked up inquiringly, and Mrs. Noah continued:
+
+“I’ve been a girl myself, and I know that Maddy can’t be treated as you
+treat her without its having an effect. I’ve no idea that it’s entered
+her head yet, but it will by-and-by, and then good-by to her
+happiness.”
+
+“For pity’s sake, what do you mean? Do explain, and not talk to me in
+riddles. What have I done to Maddy, or what am I going to do?”
+
+Gay spoke savagely, and his boots were in great danger of being burned
+as he kicked vigorously against the fender. Coming nearer to him, and
+lowering her voice, Mrs. Noah replied:
+
+“You are going to teach her to love you, Guy Remington, just as sure as
+my name is Noah.”
+
+“And is that anything so very bad, I’d like to know. Most girls do not
+find love distasteful,” and Guy walked hastily to the window, where he
+stood for a moment gazing out upon the soft April snow, which was
+falling, and feeling anything but satisfied either with the weather or
+himself; then walking back, and taking a seat before the fire, he said:
+“I understand you now. You would save Maddy Clyde from sorrow, and you
+are right. You know more of girls than I do. She might in time get
+to—to—think of me as she ought not. I never looked upon it in this
+light before. I’ve been so happy with her;” here Guy’s voice faltered a
+little, but he recovered himself and went on: “I will tell her about
+Lucy tonight, but the sending her away, I can’t do that. Neither will
+she be happy to go back where I took her from, for though the best of
+people, they are not like Maddy, and you know it.”
+
+Yes, Mrs. Noah did know it, and pleased that her boy, as she called
+Guy, had shown some signs of penitence and amendment, she said she did
+not think it necessary to send Maddy home; she did not advise it
+either. She liked the girl, and what she advised was this, that Guy
+should send Maddy and Jessie both to boarding school. Agnes, she knew,
+would be willing, and it was the best thing he could do. Maddy would
+thus learn what was expected of a teacher, and as soon as she
+graduated, she could procure some eligible situation, or if Lucy were
+there, and desired it, she could come and stay forever for all what she
+cared.
+
+“And during the vacations, where must she go then?” Guy asked.
+
+“Go where she pleases, of course. As Jessie is so fond of her, and they
+are much like sisters, it will not be improper for her to come here, as
+I see, provided Agnes is here. Her presence, of course, would make a
+difference,” Mrs. Noah replied, while Guy continued:
+
+“I know you are right; that is, I do not wish to do Maddy a harm by
+placing temptation in her way, neither will I have everybody meddling
+with my business. I tell you I won’t. I don’t mean you, for you have a
+right to say what no one else has,” and he glanced half angrily at Mrs.
+Noah. “Pity if I can’t take an interest in a girl, because I once
+wronged her, without every old woman in Christendom thinking she needs
+to fall in love with me, and so be ruined for life. Maddy Clyde has too
+good sense for that, or will have when I tell her about Lucy.”
+
+“And you will do so?” Mrs. Noah said coaxingly.
+
+“Of course I will, and write to Lucy, too, telling her how you talked,
+and how I care no more for Maddy than I do for Jessie.”
+
+“And will that be true?” Mrs. Noah asked.
+
+Guy could not look her fully in the face then, so he kicked the grate
+until the concussion sent the red-hot coals out upon the carpet as he
+replied:
+
+“True? Yes, every word of it.”
+
+Mrs. Noah noted all this, and thinking within herself:
+
+“I orto have took him in hand long ago,” she came up to him and said
+kindly, soothingly: “We shall all miss Maddy; I as much as any one, but
+I do think it best for her to go to school; and so, after tea, I’ll
+manage to keep Jessie with me, and send Maddy to you, while you tell
+her about Lucy and the plan.”
+
+Guy nodded a little jerking kind of a nod, in token of his assent, and
+then with that perversity which prompts women particularly to press a
+subject after enough has been said upon it, Mrs. Noah, as she turned to
+leave the room, gave vent to the following:
+
+“You know, Guy, as well as I, that pretty and smart as she is, Maddy is
+really beneath you, and no kind of a match, even if you wan’t as good
+as married, which you be;” and the good lady left the room in time to
+escape seeing the sparks fly up the chimney, as Guy now made a most
+vigorous use of the poker, and so did not finish the scorching process
+commenced on the end of his boot.
+
+Mrs. Noah’s last remark awakened in Guy a Singular train of thought.
+Yes, Maddy was his inferior as the world saw matters, and settling
+himself in the chair he tried to fancy what that same world would say
+if he should make Maddy his wife. Of course he had no such intention,
+he was just imagining something which never could possibly happen,
+because in the first place he wouldn’t marry Maddy Clyde if he could,
+and he couldn’t if he would! Still, it was not an unpleasant occupation
+fancying what folks, and especially Agnes, would say if he did, and so
+he sat dreaming about it until the bell rang for supper, when with a
+nervous start he woke from the reverie, and wishing the whole was over,
+started for the supper.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+MADDY AND LUCY.
+
+
+Supper was over, and Guy was back again in his library. He had not
+stopped as he usually did, to romp with Jessie or talk to Maddy Clyde,
+until it was so dark that he could not see her sparkling face, but had
+come directly back, dropping the heavy curtains and piling fresh coal
+upon the fire. Mrs. Noah had lighted the lamps and then gone after
+Maddy, explaining to Jessie how she must stay with her while Maddy went
+to Mr. Guy, who wanted to talk with her.
+
+“Is he angry with me, Mrs. Noah?” and remembering his moody looks when
+she went in quest of the book, Maddy felt her heart misgive her as to
+what might be the result of an interview with Guy.
+
+Mrs. Noah, however, reassured her, and Maddy stole for a moment to her
+own room to see how she was looking. The crimson dress, with its soft
+edge of lace about the slender throat, became her well, and smoothing
+the folds of her black silk apron, whose jaunty shoulder pieces gave
+her a very girlish appearance, she went down to where Guy was waiting
+for her. He heard her coming, and involuntarily drew nearer to him the
+chair where he intended she should sit. But Maddy took instead a stool,
+and leaning her elbow on the chair, turned her face fully toward him,
+waiting for him to speak.
+
+“Maddy,” he began, “are you happy here at Aikenside?”
+
+“Oh, yes, very, very happy,” and Maddy’s soft eyes shone with the
+happiness she tried to express.
+
+It was at least a minute before he spoke again, and when he did, it
+came out how he had concluded it best to send her and Jessie to school,
+for a year or two at least; not that he was tired of teaching her, but
+it would be better for her, he thought, to mingle with other girls and
+learn the ways of the world. Aikenside would still be her home, still
+the place where her vacations would be spent with Jessie if she chose,
+and then he spoke of New York as the place he had in view, and asked
+her what she thought of it.
+
+Maddy was too much stunned to think of anything at first. That the good
+she had coveted most should be placed within her grasp, and by Guy
+Remington too, was almost too much to credit. She was happy at
+Aikenside, but she had never expected her life there to continue very
+long, and had often wished that when it ended she might devise some
+means of entering a seminary as other young ladies did. But she had
+never dreamed of being sent to school by Guy, nor could she conceive of
+his motive. He hardly knew himself, only he liked her, and wished to do
+something for her. This was his reply to her tearful question:
+
+“Oh, Mr. Remington, you are so good to me; what makes you?”
+
+He liked her, and all over Maddy’s face there spread a beautiful flush
+as the words rang in her ears. And then she told Guy how much she
+wished to be a teacher, and so take care of her grandparents and her
+poor Uncle Joseph. It seemed almost cruel for that young creature to be
+burdened with the care of those three half-helpless people, and Guy
+shuddered just as he usually did when he associated Maddy with them,
+but when he listened while she told him of all the castles she had
+built, and in every one of which there was a place for “our folks,” as
+she termed them, it was more in the form of a blessing than a caress
+that his hand rested on her shining hair.
+
+“You are a good girl, Maddy,” he said, “and I am glad now that I have
+concluded to send you where you can be better fitted for the office you
+mean to fill than you could be here, but I shall miss you sadly. I like
+little girls, and though you can hardly be classed there now, you seem
+to me much like Jessie, and I take pleasure in doing for you as I would
+for her. Maddy—-”
+
+Guy stopped, uncertain what to say next, while Maddy’s eyes again
+looked up inquiringly.
+
+He was going now to tell “the little girl much like Jessie” of Lucy
+Atherstone, and the words would not come at first.
+
+“Maddy,” he said, again blushing guiltily, “I have said I liked you,
+and so I hope will some one else. I have written of you to her.”
+
+Up to this point Maddy had a vague idea that he meant the doctor, but
+the “her” dispelled that thought, and a most inexplicable feeling of
+numbness crept over her as she asked faintly:
+
+“Written to whom?”
+
+Guy did not look at Maddy. He only knew that her head moved out from
+beneath his hand as he replied:
+
+“To Miss Atherstone—Miss Lucy Atherstone. Have you never heard of her?”
+
+No, Maddy never had, and with that same numbness she could not
+understand, she listened while Guy told her who Lucy Atherstone was,
+and why she was not at that moment the mistress of Aikenside. There was
+no reason why Guy should be excited, but he was, and he talked very
+rapidly, never once glancing at Maddy until he had finished speaking.
+She was looking at him intently, wondering if he could hear as she did
+the beatings of her heart. Had her life depended upon it, she could not
+at first have spoken, for the numbness which, like bands of steel,
+seemed to press all the feeling out of it. She did not know why it was
+that hearing of Lucy Atherstone should affect her so. Surely she ought
+to be glad for Guy that he possessed the love of so sweet a creature as
+he described her to be. He was glad, she knew, he talked so
+energetically—so much as if it were a pleasure to talk; and she was
+glad, too, only it had taken her so by surprise to know that Mr. Guy,
+whom she had rather considered as exclusively her own and Jessie’s was
+engaged, and that some time, before long it might be, Aikenside would
+really have a mistress. She did not quite understand Guy’s last words,
+although she was looking at him, and he asked her twice if she would
+like to see Lucy’s picture ere she comprehended what he meant.
+
+“Yes,” came faintly from the parted lips, about which there was a
+slight quiver as she put up her hand to take the case Guy drew from his
+bosom.
+
+Turning it to the light she gazed silently upon the sweet young face,
+which seemed to return her gaze with a look as earnest and lifelike as
+her own.
+
+“What do you think of her—of my Lucy? Is she not pretty?” Guy asked,
+bending down so that his dark hair swept against Maddy’s, while his
+warm breath touched her burning cheeks.
+
+“Yes, she’s beautiful, oh! so beautiful, and happy, too. I wish I had
+been like her. I wish—” and Maddy burst into a most uncontrollable fit
+of weeping, her tears dropping like rain upon the inanimate features of
+Lucy Atherstone.
+
+Guy looked at her amazed, his own heart throbbing with a keen pang of
+something undefinable as he listened to her stormy weeping. What did
+ail her? he wondered. Could it be that the evil against which he was
+providing had really come upon her? Was Maddy more interested in him
+than he supposed? He hoped not, though with a man’s vanity he felt a
+slight thrill of satisfaction in thinking that it might be so. Guy knew
+this feeling was not worthy of him, and he struggled to cast it off,
+while he asked Maddy why she cried.
+
+Child as she was, the real cause of her tears never entered her brain,
+and she answered:
+
+“I can’t tell why, unless I was thinking how different Miss Atherstone
+is from me. She’s rich and handsome. I am poor and homely, and—”
+
+“No, Maddy, you are not;” and Guy interrupted her.
+
+Gently lifting up her head, he smoothed back her hair, and keeping a
+hand on each side of her face, said, pleasantly:
+
+“You are not homely. I think you quite as pretty as Lucy; I do,
+really,” he continued, as her eyes kindled at the compliment. “I am
+going to write to her to-night, and shall tell her more about you. I
+want you to like each other very much when she comes, so that you may
+live with us. Aikenside would not be Aikenside without you, Maddy.”
+
+In all his wooings of Lucy Atherstone, Guy’s voice had never been
+tenderer in its tone than when he said this to Maddy, whose lip
+quivered again, and who involuntarily laid her head now upon his knee
+as she cried a second time, not noisily, but quietly, softly, as if
+this crying did her good. For several minutes they sat there thus, the
+nature of their thoughts known only to each other, for neither spoke,
+until Maddy, half ashamed of her emotions, lifted up her head, and
+said:
+
+“I do not know what made me cry, only I’d been so happy here that I
+guess I’d come to think that you only liked Jessie and me. Of course I
+knew that some time you would see and think all the world of somebody
+else, but I did not expect it so soon. I am afraid Miss Atherstone will
+not fancy me, and I know most I shall not feel as free here, after she
+comes, as I do now. Then your being so good, sending me to school,
+helped me to cry more, and so I was very foolish. Don’t tell Miss
+Atherstone that I cried. Tell her, though, how beautiful she is, and
+how glad I am that she loves you, and is going to be your wife.”
+
+Maddy’s voice was very steady in its tone. She evidently meant what she
+said, but Guy, the bad man, did not feel as graciously as he ought to
+have felt in knowing that Maddy Clyde was glad “Lucy loved him, and was
+to be his wife.”
+
+Guy was rather uncomfortable, and as Maddy was in some way associated
+with his discomfort, he did not oppose her when she arose to leave him.
+
+Had Maddy been more a woman, or less a child, she would have seen that
+it was well for her to know of Lucy Atherstone before her feelings for
+Guy Remington had assumed a definite form. As it was, she never dreamed
+how near she was to loving Aikenside’s young heir; and while talking
+with Jessie of the grand times they should have at school, she marveled
+at that little round spot of pain which was burning at her heart, or
+why she should wish that Guy would not speak of her in his letter to
+Lucy Atherstone.
+
+But Guy did speak of her, frankly confessing the interest he felt in
+her, telling just how people were beginning to talk, and asking Lucy if
+she cared, declaring that if she did, he would not see Maddy Clyde any
+more than was necessary. In a little less than four weeks there came an
+answer from Lucy, who, with health somewhat improved, had returned to
+England, and wrote to Guy from Brighton, where she expected to spend
+the summer, half hoping Guy might join her there, though she could not
+urge it, as mamma still insisted that she was not able to take upon
+herself the duties of a wife. Then she spoke of Maddy Clyde, saying
+“She was not one bit jealous of her dear Guy, Of course ignorant,
+meddling people, of whom she feared there were a great many in America,
+would gossip, but he was not to mind them.” Then she said that if Maddy
+were willing, she would so much like her picture, as she had a
+curiosity to know just how she looked, and if Maddy pleased, “would she
+write a few lines, so as not to seem so much a stranger?”
+
+Lucy Atherstone had been educated to think a great deal of birth, and
+blood, and family, and Guy never did a wiser thing than when he told
+her that according to English views, Maddy was a lady. It went far
+toward reconciling Lucy to his interest in one whom her haughtier and
+more sanguine mother called a rival, advising her mother to ignore her
+altogether. But Lucy’s was a different nature, and though it cost her
+pride a pang, she asked for a line from Maddy, partly to mortify that
+pride, and partly to prove to Guy how free she was from jealousy.
+
+“Darling little Lucy, I do love her very dearly,” was Guy’s comment, as
+he finished reading her letter, feeling somewhat as if her mother were
+a kind of cruel ogress, bent on preventing him from being happy. Then,
+as he remembered Lucy’s hope that he might join her, and thought how
+much easier of access New York was than Brighton, he said, half
+petulantly:
+
+“I’ve been to England for nothing times enough. When that mother of
+hers says I may have Lucy, I’ll go again, but not before. It don’t
+pay.”
+
+And crushing the letter into his pocket, he went out upon the piazza
+where were assembled Maddy, Jessie and Mrs. Agnes, the latter of whom
+had come to Aikenside the day before.
+
+At first she had objected to the boarding-school arrangement, saying
+Jessie was too young, but Guy as usual had overruled her objections, as
+he had those of Grandpa Markham, and it was now a settled thing that
+Maddy and Jessie both should go to New York, Mrs. Agnes to accompany
+them if she chose, and having a general supervision of her child. This
+was Guy’s plan, the one which had prevailed with the fashionable woman,
+who, tired of Boston, was well pleased with the prospect of a life in
+New York. Guy’s interest in Maddy was wholly inexplicable to her,
+unless she explained it on the principal that in the Remington nature
+there was a fondness for governesses, as had been exemplified in her
+own history. That Guy would ever marry Maddy she doubted, but the mere
+possibility of it made her set her teeth firmly together as she thought
+how embarrassing it would be to acknowledge as the mistress of
+Aikenside the little girl whom she had sought to banish from her table.
+Since her return she had had no opportunity of judging for herself how
+matters stood, and was consequently much relieved when, as Guy joined
+them, he began at once to speak of Lucy, telling of the letter, and her
+request for Maddy’s picture.
+
+“Me? Mine? You cannot mean that?” Maddy exclaimed, her eyes opening
+wide with wonder, but Guy did mean it, and began to plan a drive on the
+morrow to Devonshire, where there was at that time a tolerably fair
+artist.
+
+Accordingly the next day the four went down to Devonshire, calling
+first upon the doctor, whose face brightened when he heard why they had
+come. During the weeks that had passed, the doctor had not been blind
+to at that was passing at Aikenside, and the fear that Guy was more
+interested in Maddy than he ought to be, had grown almost to a
+certainty. Now, however, he was not so sure. Indeed, the fact that Guy
+had told her of Lucy Atherstone would indicate that his suspicions were
+groundless, and he entered heartily into the picture plan, saying
+laughingly that if he supposed Miss Lucy would like his face he’d sit
+himself, and bidding Guy be sure to ask her. The doctor’s gay spirits
+helped raise those of Maddy, and as that little burning spot in her
+heart was fast wearing away, she was in just the mood for a most
+admirable likeness. Indeed, the artist’s delight at his achievement was
+unbounded, as he declared it the very best picture he had ever taken.
+It was beautiful, even Agnes acknowledged to herself, while Jessie wait
+into raptures, and Maddy blushed to hear her own praises. Guy said
+nothing, except to ask that Maddy should sit again; this was good, but
+a second might be better. So Maddy sat again, succeeding quite as well
+as at first, but as the artist’s preference was for the former, it was
+left to be finished up, with the understanding that Guy would call for
+it. As the ladies passed down the stairs, Guy lingered behind, and when
+sure they were out of hearing, said in a low voice:
+
+“You may as well finish both; they are too good to be lost.”
+
+The artist bowed, and Guy, with a half guilty blush, hurried down into
+the street, where Agues was waiting for him. Two hours later, Guy, in
+Mrs. Conner’s parlor, was exhibiting the finished picture, which in its
+handsome casing, was more beautiful than ever, and more natural, if
+possible.
+
+“I think I might have one of Maddy’s,” Jessie said, half poutingly;
+then, as she remembered the second sitting, she begged of Guy to get it
+for her, “that was a dear brother.”
+
+But the “dear brother” did not seem inclined to comply with her
+request, putting her off, until, despairing of success, Jessie, when
+alone with the doctor, tried her powers of persuasion on him, coaxing
+until in self-defense he crossed the street, and entering the
+daguerrean gallery asked for the remaining picture of Miss Clyde,
+saying that he wished it for little Miss Remington.
+
+“Mr. Remington took them both,” the artist replied, commencing a
+dissertation on the style and beauty of the young girl, all of which
+was lost upon the doctor, who, in a kind of maze, quitted the room, and
+returning to Jessie, said to her carelessly: “He hasn’t it. You know
+they rub out those they do not use. So you’ll have to do without; and,
+Jessie, I wouldn’t tell Guy I tried to get it for you.”
+
+Jessie wondered why she must not tell Guy, but the fact that the doctor
+requested her not was sufficient. Consequently Guy little guessed that
+the doctor knew what it was he carried so carefully in his coat pocket,
+looking at it earnestly when at home and alone in his own room,
+admiring its soft, girlish beauty, half shrinking from the lifelike
+expression of the large, bright eyes, and trying to convince himself
+that his sole object in getting it was to give it to the doctor after
+Maddy was gone! It would be such a surprise, and the doctor would be so
+glad, that Guy finally made himself believe that he had done a most
+generous thing!
+
+“I am going to send Lucy your picture to-day, and as she asked that you
+should write her a few lines, suppose you do it now,” Guy said to Maddy
+next morning, as they were leaving the breakfast table.
+
+It was a sore trial to Maddy to write to Lucy Atherstone, but she
+offered no remonstrance, and so accompanying the picture was a little
+note, filled mostly with praises of Mr. Guy, and which would be very
+gratifying to the unsuspecting Lucy.
+
+Now that it was fully decided for Jessie to go with Maddy, her lessons
+were suspended, and Aikenside for the time being was turned into a vast
+dressmaking and millinery establishment. With his usual generosity, Guy
+had given Agnes permission to draw upon his purse for whatever was
+needed, either for herself or Jessie, with the definite understanding
+that Maddy should have an equal share of dress and attention.
+
+“It will not be necessary,” he said, “for you to enlighten the citizens
+of New York with regard to Maddy’s position. She goes there as Jessie’s
+equal, and as such her wardrobe must be suitable.”
+
+No one could live long with Maddy Clyde without becoming interested in
+her, and in spite of herself Agnes’ dislike was wearing away,
+particularly as of late she had seen no signs of special attention on
+the doctor’s part. He had gotten over his weakness, she thought, and so
+was very gracious toward Maddy, who, naturally forgiving, began to like
+her better than she had ever dreamed it possible for her to like so
+proud and haughty a woman. Down at the cottage in Honedale there were
+many consultations held and many fears expressed by the aged couple as
+to what would be the result of all Guy was doing for their child.
+Womanlike, Grandma Markham felt a flutter of pride in thinking that
+Maddy was going to school in a big city like New York. It gave her
+something to talk about with her less fortunate neighbors, who
+wondered, and gossiped, and envied, but could not bring themselves to
+feel unkindly toward the girl Maddy, who had grown up in their midst,
+and who as yet was wholly unchanged by prosperity. Grandpa Markham, on
+the contrary, though pleased that Maddy should have every opportunity
+for acquiring the education she so much desired, was fearful of the
+result—fearful that there might come a time when his darling would
+shrink from the relations to whom she was as sunshine to the flowers.
+He knew that the difference between Aikenside and the cottage must
+strike her unpleasantly every time she came home, and he did not blame
+her for her always apparent readiness to go back. That was natural, he
+thought, but a life in New York, that great city which to the
+simple-hearted old man seemed a very Babylon of iniquity, was
+different, and for a time he demurred to sending her there. But Guy
+persuaded him, and when he heard that Agnes was going, too, he
+consented, for he had faith in Agnes as a protector. Maddy had never
+told him of the scene which followed that lady’s return from Saratoga.
+Indeed, Maddy never told anything but good of Aikenside or its inmates,
+and so Mrs. Agnes came in for a share of the old people’s gratitude,
+while even Uncle Joseph, hearing daily a prayer for the “young madam,”
+as grandpa termed her, learned to pray for her himself, coupling her
+name with that of Sarah, and asking in his crazy way that God would
+“forgive Sarah” first, and then “bless the madam—the madam—the madam.”
+
+A few days before Maddy’s departure, grandpa went up to see “the
+madam;” anxious to know something more than hearsay about a person to
+whose care his child was to be partially intrusted. Agnes was in her
+room when told who wanted to see her. Starting quickly, she turned so
+deadly white that Maddy, who brought the message, flew to her side,
+asking in much alarm, what was the matter.
+
+“Only a little faint. It will soon pass off,” Agnes said, and then,
+dismissing Maddy, she tried to compose herself sufficiently to pass the
+ordeal she so much dreaded, and from which there was no possible
+escape.
+
+Thirteen years! Had they changed her past recognition? She hoped, she
+believed so, and yet, never in her life had Agnes Remington’s heart
+beaten with so much terror and apprehension as when she entered the
+reception room where Guy sat talking with the infirm old man she
+remembered so well. He had grown older, thinner, poorer looking, than
+when she saw him last, but in his wrinkled face there was the same
+benignant, heavenly expression which, when she was better than she was
+now, used to remind her of the angels. His snowy hair was parted just
+the same as ever, but the mild blue eye was dimmer, and it rested on
+her with no suspicious glance as, partially reassured, she glided
+across the threshold, and bowed civilly when Guy presented her.
+
+A little anxious as to how her grandfather would acquit herself, Maddy
+sat by, wondering why Agnes appeared so ill at ease, and why her
+grandsire started sometimes at the sound of her voice, and looked
+earnestly at her.
+
+“We’ve never met before to my knowledge, young woman,” he said once to
+Agnes, “but you are mighty like somebody, and your voice when you talk
+low keeps makin’ me jump as if I’d heard it summers or other.”
+
+After that Agnes spoke in elevated tones, as if she thought him deaf,
+and the mystified look of wonder did not return to his face. Numerous
+were the charges he gave to Agnes concerning Maddy, bidding her be
+watchful of his child, and see that she did not “get too much drinked
+in with the wicked things on Broadway!” then, as he arose to go, he
+laid his trembling hand on her head and said solemnly: “You are young
+yet, lady, and there may be a long life before you. God bless you,
+then, and prosper you in proportion as you are kind to Maddy. I’ve
+nothing to give you nor Mr. Guy for your goodness only my prayers, and
+them you have every day. We all pray for you, lady, Joseph and all,
+though I doubt me he knows much the meaning of what he says.” “Who,
+sir? What did you say?” and Agnes’ face was scarlet, as grandpa
+replied: “Joseph, our unfortunate boy; Maddy must have told you, the
+one who’s taken such a shine to Jessie. He’s crazy-like, and from the
+corner where he sits so much, I can hear him whispering by the hour,
+sometimes of folks he used to know, and then of you, who we call madam.
+He says for ten minutes on the stretch: “God bless the madam—the
+madam—the madam!” You’re sick, lady; talkin’ about crazy folks makes
+you faint,” grandpa added, hastily, as Agnes turned white, like the
+dress she wore. “No—oh, no, I’m better now,” Agnes gasped, bowing him
+to the door with a feeling that she could not breathe a moment longer
+in his presence. He did not hear her faint cry of bitter, bitter
+remorse, as he walked through the hall, nor know she watched him as he
+went slowly down the walk, stopping often to admire the fair blossoms
+which Maddy did not feel at liberty to pick. “He loved flowers,” Agnes
+whispered, as her better nature prevailed over every other feeling,
+and, starting eagerly forward, she ran after the old man, who,
+surprised at her evident haste, waited a little anxiously for her to
+speak. It was rather difficult to do so with Maddy’s inquiring eyes
+upon her, but Agnes managed at last to say: “Does that crazy man like
+flowers—the one who prays for the madam?” “Yes, he used to years ago,”
+grandpa replied; and, bending down, Agnes began to pick and arrange
+into a most tasteful bouquet the blossoms and buds of May, growing so
+profusely within the borders.
+
+“Take them to him, will you?” and her hand shook as she passed to
+Grandpa Markham the gift which would thrill poor crazy Joseph with a
+strange delight, making him hold converse a while with the unseen
+presence which he called “she,” and then whisper blessings on the
+madam’s head. Three days after this, a party of four left Aikenside,
+which presented a most forlorn and cheerless appearance to the
+passers-by, who were glad almost as the servants when, at the
+expiration of a week, Guy came back and took up his olden life of
+solitude and loneliness, with nothing in particular to interest him,
+except his books the letters he wrote to Lucy; unless, indeed, it were
+those he was going to write to Maddy, who, with Jessie, had promised to
+become his correspondents. Nothing but these and the picture—the
+doctor’s picture—the one designed expressly for him, and which troubled
+him greatly. Believing that he had fully intended it for the doctor,
+Guy felt as if it were, in a measure, stolen property, and this made
+him prize it all the more.
+
+Now that Maddy was away, Guy missed her terribly, wondering how he had
+ever lived without her, and sometimes working himself into a violent
+passion against the meddlesome neighbors who would not let her remain
+with him in peace, and who, now that she was gone, did not stop their
+talking one whit. Of this last, however, he was ignorant, as there was
+no one to tell him how people marveled more than ever, feeling
+confident now that he was educating his own wife, and making sundry
+hateful remarks as to what he intended doing with her relations. Guy
+only knew that he was very lonely, that Lucy’s letters seemed insipid,
+that even the doctor failed to interest him, as of old, and that his
+greatest comfort was in looking at the bright young face which seemed
+to smile so trustfully upon him from the tiny casing, just as Maddy had
+smiled upon him when, in Madam ——’s parlor, he bade her good-by. The
+doctor could not have that picture, he finally decided. Hal ought to be
+satisfied with getting Maddy, as of course he would, for wasn’t he
+educating her for that very purpose? Certainly he was, and, as a kind
+of atonement for what he deemed treachery to his friend, he talked with
+him often of her, always taking it for granted that when she was old
+enough, the doctor would woo and win the little girl who had come to
+him in his capacity of inspector, as candidate number one.
+
+At first, the doctor suspected him of acting a part in order to cover
+up some design of his own with regard to Maddy, and affected an
+indifference he did not feel; but, as time passed on, Guy, who really
+believed himself sincere, managed to make the doctor believe so, too.
+Consequently, the latter abandoned his suspicions, and gave himself up
+to blissful dreams of what might possibly be when Maddy should have
+become the brilliant woman she was sure one day to be. Alas! for the
+doctor’s dreams.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+THE HOLIDAYS.
+
+
+The summer vacation had been spent by the Remington’s and Maddy at the
+seaside, the latter coming to the cottage for a week before returning
+to her school in New York, and as the doctor was then absent from home,
+she did not meet him at all. Consequently he had not seen her since she
+left Aikenside for New York. But she was at home now for the Christmas
+holidays—was down at the cottage, too; and unusually nervous for him,
+the doctor stood before the little square glass in his back office,
+trying to make himself look as well as possible, for he was going that
+very afternoon to call upon Miss Clyde. He was glad she was not at
+Aikenside; he would rather meet her where Guy was not, and he hoped he
+might be fortunate enough to find her alone.
+
+The doctor was seriously in love. He acknowledged that now to himself,
+confessing, too, that with his love was mingled a spice of jealousy,
+lest Guy Remington should be expending more thought on Maddy Clyde than
+was consistent with the promised husband of Lucy Atherstone. He wished
+so much to talk with Guy about her, and yet he dreaded it; for if the
+talk should confirm his suspicious there would be no hope for him. No
+girl in her right mind would prefer him to Guy Remington, and with a
+little sigh the doctor was turning away from the glass, when, as if to
+verify a familiar proverb, Guy himself drove up in a most dashing
+equipage, the silver-tipped harness of his high-mettled steed flashing
+in the wintry sunlight, and the bright-hued lining of his fanciful
+robes presenting a very gay appearance.
+
+Guy was in the best of spirits. For an entire half day he had tried to
+devise some means to getting Maddy up to Aikenside. It was quite too
+bad for her to spend the whole vacation at the cottage, as she seemed
+likely to do. He knew she was lonely there; that the bare floor and
+low, dark walls affected her unpleasantly. He had seen that in her face
+when he bade her good-by, for he had carried her down to the cottage
+himself, and now he was going after her. There was to be a party at
+Aikenside; the very first since Guy was its master. The neighbors had
+said he was too proud to invite them, but they should say so no more.
+The house was to be thrown open in honor of Guy’s twenty-sixth
+birthday, and all who were at all desirable as guests were to be bidden
+to the festival. First on the list was the doctor, who, remembering how
+averse Guy was to large parties, wondered at the proceedings. But Guy
+was all engaged in the matter, and after telling who were to be
+invited, added rather indifferently: “I’m going now down to Honedale
+after Maddy. It’s better for her to be with us a day or two beforehand.
+You’ve seen her, of course.”
+
+No, the doctor had not; he was just going there, he said, in a tone so
+full of sad disappointment, that Guy detected it at once, and asked if
+anything was the matter.
+
+“Guy,” the doctor continued, sitting down by his friend, “I remember
+once your making me your confidant about Lucy. You remember it, too?”
+
+“Yes, why? well?” Guy replied, beginning to feel strangely
+uncomfortable as he half divined what was coming next.
+
+Latterly Guy had stopped telling the doctor that he was educating Maddy
+for him. Indeed, he did not talk of her at all, and the doctor might
+have fancied her out of his mind but for the frequent visits to New
+York, which Guy found it absolutely necessary to make. Guy did not
+himself understand the state of his own feelings with regard to Maddy,
+but if compelled to explain them they would have been something as
+follows: He fully expected to marry Lucy Atherstone; the possibility
+that he should not had never occurred to him, but that was no reason
+why Maddy Clyde need be married for these many years. She was very
+young yet; there was time enough for her to think of marrying when she
+was twenty-five, and in the meanwhile it would be splendid to have her
+at Aikenside as Lucy’s and his friend. Nothing could be nicer, and Guy
+did not care to have this little arrangement spoiled. But that the
+doctor had an idea of spoiling it, he had not a doubt, particularly
+after the doctor’s next remark.
+
+“I have not seen Maddy since last spring, you know. Is she very much
+improved?”
+
+“Yes, very much. There is no more stylish-looking girl to be seen on
+Broadway than Maddy Clyde,” and Guy shook down his pantaloons a little
+awkwardly.
+
+“Well, is she as handsome as she used to be, and as childish in her
+manner?” the doctor asked; and Guy replied:
+
+“I took her to the opera once, last month, and the many admiring
+glances cast at our box proved pretty positively that Maddy’s beauty
+was not of the ordinary kind.”
+
+“The opera!” the doctor exclaimed; “Maddy Clyde at the opera! What
+would her grandfather say? He is very puritanical, you know.”
+
+“Yes, I know; and so is Maddy, too. She wrote and obtained his consent
+before she’d go with me. He won’t let her go to a theatre anyhow.”
+
+Here an interval of silence ensued, and then the doctor began again,
+
+“Guy, you told me once you were educating Maddy Clyde for me, and I
+tried then to make you think I didn’t care; but I did, oh, so much.
+Guy, laugh at me, if you please. I cannot blame you if you do; but the
+fact is, I believe I’ve loved Maddy Clyde ever since that time she was
+so sick. At all events, I love her now, and I was going down there this
+very afternoon to tell her so. She’s old enough. She was sixteen last
+October, the—the——”
+
+“Tenth day,” Guy responded, thus showing that he, too, was keeping
+Maddy’s age, even to a day.
+
+“Yes, the tenth day,” resumed the doctor. “There’s ’most eleven years’
+difference between us, but if she feels at all as I do, she will not
+care, Guy;” and the doctor began to talk earnestly: “I’ll be candid
+with you, and say that you have sometimes made my heart ache a little.”
+
+“Me!” and Guy’s face was crimson, while the doctor continued:
+
+“Yes, and I beg your pardon for it; but let me ask you one question,
+and upon its answer will depend my future course with regard to Maddy:
+You are true to Lucy?”
+
+Guy felt the blood trickling at the roots of his hair, but he answered
+truthfully as he believed:
+
+“Yes, true as steel;” while the generous thought came over him that he
+would further the doctor’s plans all he possibly could.
+
+“Then I am satisfied,” the doctor rejoined; “and as you have rather
+assumed the position of her guardian or brother, I ask your permission
+to offer her the love which whether she accepts it or not, is hers.”
+
+Guy had never felt a sharper pang than that which now thrilled through
+every nerve, but he would not prove false to the friend confiding in
+him, and he answered calmly:
+
+“You have my consent; but, Doc, better put it off till you see her at
+Aikenside. There’s no chance at the cottage, with those three old
+people. I wonder she don’t go wild. I’m sure I should.”
+
+Guy was growing rather savage about something, but the doctor did not
+mind; and grasping his arm as he arose, he said:
+
+“And you’ll manage it for me, Guy? You know how. I don’t. You’ll
+contrive for me to see her alone, and maybe say a word beforehand in my
+favor.”
+
+“Yes, yes, I’ll manage it. I’ll fix it right. Don’t forget, day after
+to-morrow night. The Cutlers’ will be there, and, by the way, Marcia
+has got to be a splendid girl. She fancied you once, you know. Old
+Cutler is worth half a million.” And Guy tore himself away from the
+doctor, who, now that the ice was broken, would like to have talked of
+Maddy forever.
+
+But Guy was not thus inclined, and in a mood not extremely amiable, he
+threw himself into his sleigh and went dashing down toward Honedale.
+For some unaccountable reason he was not now one bit interested in the
+party, and, were it not that a few of the invitations were issued, he
+would have been tempted to give it up. Guy did not know what ailed him.
+He only felt as if somebody had been meddling with his plans, and had
+he been in the habit of swearing, he would probably have sworn; but as
+he was not, he contented himself with driving like a second Jehu he
+reached Honedale, where a pair of soft, brown eyes smiled up into his
+face, and a little, fat, warm hand was clasped in his, as Maddy came
+even to the gate to meet him.
+
+She was very glad to see him. The cottage with its humble adornings did
+seem lonely, almost dreary, after the life and bustle of New York, and
+Maddy had cried more than once to think how hard and wicked she must be
+growing when her home had ceased to be the dear old home she once loved
+so well. She had been there five days now, and notwithstanding the
+efforts of her grandparents to entertain her, each day had seemed a
+week in its duration. Neither the doctor nor Guy had been near her, and
+capricious little Maddy had made herself believe that the former was
+sadly remiss in his duty, inasmuch as he had not seen her for so long.
+He had been in the habit of calling every week, her grandmother said,
+and this did not tend to increase her amiability. Why didn’t he come
+now when he knew she was at home? Didn’t he want to see her? Well, she
+could be indifferent, too, and when they did meet, she’d show how
+little she cared!
+
+Maddy was getting to be a woman with womanly freaks, as the reader will
+readily see. At Guy she was not particularly piqued. She did not take
+his attentions, as a matter of course; still she thought more of him,
+if possible, than of the doctor, during those five days, saying to
+herself each morning: “He’ll surely come to-day,” and to herself each
+night: “He will be here to-morrow.” She had something to show him at
+last—a letter from Lucy Atherstone, who had gradually come to be her
+regular correspondent, and whom Maddy had learned to love with all the
+intensity of her girlhood. To her ardent imagination Lucy Atherstone
+was but a little lower than the angels, and the pure, sweet thoughts
+contained in every letter were doing almost as much toward molding her
+character as Grandpa Markham’s prayers and constant teachings. Maddy
+did not know it, but it was these letters from Lucy which kept her from
+loving Guy Remington. She could not for a moment associate him with
+herself when she so constantly thought of him as the husband of
+another, and that other Lucy Atherstone. Not for worlds would Maddy
+have wronged the gentle creature who wrote to her so confidingly of
+Guy, envying her in that she could so often see his face and hear his
+voice, while his betrothed was separated from him by many thousand
+miles. Little by little it had come out that Lucy’s mother was averse
+to the match, that she had in her mind the case of an English lord, who
+would make her daughter “My Lady;” and this was the secret of her
+deferring so long her daughter’s marriage. In her last letter to Maddy,
+however, Lucy had written with more than her usual spirit that she
+would come in possession of her property on her twenty-fifth birthday.
+She should then feel at liberty to act for herself, and she launched
+out into joyful anticipations of the time when she should come to
+Aikenside and meet her dear Maddy Clyde. Feeling that Guy, if he did
+not already know it, would be glad to hear it, Maddy had all the
+morning been wishing he would come; and when she saw him at the gate
+she ran out to meet him, her eyes and face sparkling with eager joy as
+she suffered him to retain her hand while she said: “I am so glad to
+see you, Mr. Remington. I almost thought you had forgotten me at
+Aikenside, Jessie and all.”
+
+Guy began to exclaim against any one’s forgetting her, and also to
+express his pleasure at finding her so glad to see him, when Maddy
+interrupted him with, “Oh, it’s not that; I’ve something to show
+you—something which will make you very happy. I had a letter from Lucy
+last night. When she is twenty-five she will be her own mistress, you
+know, and she means to be married in spite of her mother—she says—let
+me see—” and drawing from her bosom Lucy’s letter, Maddy read, “‘I do
+not intend to fail in filial obedience, but I have tired dear Guy’s
+patience long enough, and as soon as I can I shall marry him.’ Isn’t it
+nice?” and returning the letter to its hiding place, Maddy scooped up
+in her hand and ate a quantity of the snow beside the path.
+
+“Yes, it was very nice,” Guy admitted, but there was a shadow on his
+brow as he followed Maddy into the cottage, where the lunatic, who had
+been watching them from the window, shook his head doubtfully and said,
+“Too young, too young for you, young man. You can’t have our Sunshine
+if you want her.”
+
+“Hush, Uncle Joseph,” Maddy whispered, softly, taking his arm and
+laying it around her neck. “Mr. Remington don’t want me. He is engaged
+to a beautiful English girl across the sea.”
+
+Low as Maddy’s words were, Guy heard them, as well as the crazy man’s
+reply, “Engagements have been broken.”
+
+That was the first time the possibility had ever entered Guy’s brain
+that his engagement might be broken, provided he wished it, which he
+did not, he said to himself positively. Lucy loved him, he loved Lucy,
+and that was enough, so in a kind of abstracted manner arising from the
+fact that he was calculating how long it would be before Lucy was
+twenty-five, he began to talk with Maddy, asking how she had spent her
+time, and so forth. This reminded Maddy of the doctor, who, she said,
+had not been to see her at all.
+
+“He was coming this morning,” Guy rejoined, “but I persuaded him to
+defer his call until you were at Aikenside. I have come to take you
+back with me, as we are to have a party day after to-morrow evening,
+and I wish you to be present.”
+
+A party, a big party, such as Maddy had never in her life attended! How
+her eyes sparkled from mere anticipation as she looked appealingly to
+her grandfather, who, though classing parties with the pomps and
+vanities from which he would shield his child, still remembered that he
+once was young, that fifty years ago he, too, like Maddy, wanted “to
+see the folly of it,” and not take the mere word of older people that
+in every festive scene there was a pitfall, strewn over so thickly with
+roses that it was ofttimes hard to tell just where its boundary line
+commenced. Besides that, grandpa had faith in Guy, and so his consent
+was granted, and Maddy was soon on her way to Aikenside, which
+presented a gayer, busier appearance than she had ever known before.
+Jessie was wild with delight, dragging forth at once the pink dress
+which she was to wear, and whispering to Maddy that Guy had bought a
+dark blue silk for her, and that Sarah Jones was at that moment
+fashioning it after a dress left there by Maddy the previous summer.
+
+“Mother said plain white muslin was more appropriate for a young girl,
+but Brother Guy said no; fee blue would be useful after the party; it
+was what you needed, and so he bought it and paid a dollar and
+three-quarters a yard, but it’s a secret until you are called to try it
+on. Isn’t Guy splendid?”
+
+He was indeed splendid, Maddy thought, wondering why he was so kind to
+her, and if it would be so when Lucy came. The dress fitted admirably,
+only Maddy thought grandpa would say it was too low in the neck, but
+Sarah overruled her objections, assisted by Guy, who, when the dress
+was completed and tried on for the last time, was called in by Jessie
+to see if “Maddy’s neck didn’t look just like cheese curd,” and if “she
+shouldn’t have a piece sewed on as she suggested.” The neck was _au
+fait_, Guy said, laughing as Maddy for blushing so, and saying when he
+saw how really distressed she seemed that he would provide her with
+something to relieve the bareness of which she complained. “Oh, I know,
+I saw, I peeked in the box,” Jessie began, but Guy put his hand over
+the little tattler’s mouth, bidding her keep the result of her peeking
+to herself.
+
+And for once Jessie succeeded in doing so, although she several times
+set Maddy to guessing what it was Guy had for her in a box! As the size
+of the box was not mentioned, Maddy had fully made up her mind to a
+shawl or scarf, and was proportionately disappointed when, as she was
+dressing for the party, there was sent up to her room a small round
+box, scarcely large enough to hold an apple, much less a small scarf.
+The present proved to be a pair of plain but heavy bracelets, and a
+most exquisitely wrought chain of gold, to which was appended a
+beautiful pearl cross, the whole accompanied with the words, “From
+Guy.” Jessie was in ecstasies again. Clasping the ornaments on Maddy’s
+neck and arms, she danced around her, declaring there never was
+anything more beautiful, or anybody as pretty as Maddy was in her rich
+party dress. Maddy was fond of jewelry—as what young girl is not?—and
+felt a flush of gratified pride, or vanity, or satisfaction, whichever
+one chooses to call it, as she glanced at herself in the mirror and
+remembered the time when, riding with the doctor, she had met Mrs.
+Agnes, with golden bracelets flashing on her arms, and wished she might
+one day wear something like them. The day had come sooner than she then
+anticipated, but Maddy was not as happy in possession of the coveted
+ornaments as she had thought she should be. Somehow, it seemed to her
+that Guy ought not to have given them to her, that it was improper for
+her to keep them, and that both Mrs. Noah and Agnes thought so, too.
+She wished she knew exactly what was right, and then, remembering that
+Guy had said the doctor was expected early, she decided to ask his
+opinion on the subject and abide by it.
+
+At first Agnes had cared but little about the party, affecting to
+despise the people in their immediate neighborhood; but when Guy gave
+her permission to invite from the adjoining towns, and even from
+Worcester if she liked, her spirits arose; and when her toilet was
+completed, she shone resplendent in lace and diamonds and curls,
+managing to retain through all a certain simplicity of dress
+appropriate to the hostess. But beautiful as Agnes was, she felt in her
+jealous heart that there was about Maddy Clyde an attraction she did
+not possess. Guy saw it, too, and while complimenting his pretty
+mother-in-law, kept his eyes fixed admiringly on Maddy, who started him
+into certain unpleasant remembrances by asking if the doctor had come
+yet.
+
+“No—yes—there he was now,” and Guy looked into the hall, where the
+doctor’s voice was heard inquiring for him.
+
+“I want to see him a minute, alone, please. There’s something I want to
+ask him.” And, unmindful of Agnes’ darkening frown, or Guy’s look of
+wonder, Maddy darted from the room, and ran hastily down the hall to
+where the doctor stood, waiting for Guy, not for her.
+
+He had not expected to meet her thus, or to see her thus, and the sight
+of her, grown so tall, so womanly, so stylish and so beautiful, almost
+took his breath away. And yet, as he stood with her soft hand in his,
+and surveyed her from head to foot, he felt that he would rather have
+had her as she was when a dainty frill shaded her pale, wasted face,
+when the snowy ruffle was fastened high about her throat, and the
+cotton bands were buttoned about her wrists, where gold ones now were
+shining. The doctor had never forgotten Maddy as she was then, the very
+embodiment, he thought, of helpless purity. The little sick girl, so
+dear to him then, was growing away from him now; and these adornings,
+which marked the budding woman, seemed to remove her from him and place
+her nearer to Guy, whose bride should wear silk and jewels, just as
+Maddy did.
+
+She was very glad to see him, she said, asking in the same breath why
+he had not been to the cottage, if she had not grown tall, and if he
+thought her one bit improved with living in a city?
+
+“One question at a time, if you please,” he said, drawing her a little
+more into the shadow of the door where they would be less observed by
+any one passing through.
+
+Maddy did not wait for him to answer, so eager was she to unburden her
+mind and know if she ought to keep the costly presents, at which she
+knew he was looking.
+
+“If he remembers his unpaid bill, he must consider me mighty mean,” she
+thought: and then, with her usual frankness, she told him of the
+perplexity and asked his opinion.
+
+“It would displease Mr. Guy very much if I were to give them back,” she
+said: “but it hardly is right for me to accept them, is it?”
+
+The doctor did not say she ought not to wear the ornaments, though he
+longed to tear them from her arms and neck and throw them anywhere, he
+cared not where, so they freed her wholly from Guy.
+
+They were very becoming, he said. She would not look as well without
+them; so she had better wear them to-night, and to-morrow, if she would
+grant him an interview, he would talk with her further.
+
+Dissembling doctor! He said all this to gain the desired interview with
+Maddy, the interview for which Guy was to prepare her. That he had not
+done so he felt assured, but he could not be angry with him, as he came
+smilingly toward them, asking if they had talked privacy long enough,
+and glancing rather curiously at Maddy’s face. There was nothing in its
+expression to disturb him, and, offering her his arm, he led her back
+to the drawing-rooms where Agnes was smoothing down the folds of her
+dress, preparatory to receiving the guests just descending the stairs.
+It was a brilliant scene which Aikenside presented that night, and amid
+it all Agnes bore herself like a queen, while Jessie, with her sunny
+face and golden hair, came in for a full share of attention. But amid
+the gay throng there was none so fair or so beautiful as Maddy, who
+deported herself with as much ease and grace as if she had all her life
+long been accustomed to just such occasions as this. At a distance the
+doctor watched her, telling several who she was, and once resenting by
+both look and manner a remark made by Maria Cutler to the effect that
+she was nobody but Mrs. Remington’s governess, a poor girl whom Guy had
+taken a fancy to educate out of charity.
+
+“He seems very fond of his charity pupil, upon my word. He scarcely
+leaves her neighborhood at all,” whispered old Mrs. Cutler, the mother
+of Maria, who, Guy said, once fancied Dr. Holbrook, and who had no
+particular objections to fancying him now, provided it could be
+reciprocal.
+
+But the doctor was only intent on Maddy, knowing always just where she
+was standing, just who was talking to her; and just how far from her
+Guy was. He knew, too, when the latter was urging her to sing; and,
+managing to get nearer, heard her object that no one cared to hear her.
+
+“But I do; I wish it,” Guy replied in that tone which people generally
+obeyed; and casting a half-frightened look at the sea of faces around
+her, Maddy suffered him to lead her to the piano, sitting quite still
+while he found what he wished her to play.
+
+It was his favorite song, and one which brought out Maddy’s voice in
+its various modulations.
+
+“Oh, please, Mr. Remington, anything but a song. I cannot sing,” Maddy
+whispered pleadingly; but Guy answered resolutely, “You can.”
+
+There was no appeal after this, but a resigned, obedient look, which
+made the doctor gnash his teeth as he leaned upon the instrument. What
+right had Guy to command Maddy Clyde, and why should she obey? and yet,
+as the doctor glanced at Guy, he felt that were he in Maddy’s place, he
+should do the same.
+
+“No girl can resist Guy Remington,” he thought. “I’m glad there’s a
+Lucy Atherstone over the sea.” And with a smile of encouragement for
+Maddy, who was pale with nervous timidity, he listened while her sweet,
+birdlike voice trembled for a moment with fear; and then, gaining from
+its own sound, filled the room with melody, and made those who had
+wandered off to other parts of the building hasten back to see who was
+singing.
+
+Maria Cutler had presided at the piano earlier in the evening, as had
+one or two other young ladies, but to none of these had Guy paid half
+the attention he did to Maddy, staying constantly by her, holding her
+fan, turning the leaves of music, and dictating what she should play.
+
+“There’s devotion,” tittered a miss in long ringlets; “but she really
+does play well,” and she appealed to Maria Cutler, who answered, “Yes,
+she keeps good time, and I should think might play for a dance. I mean
+to ask her,” and going up to Guy she said, “I wish to speak to—to—well,
+Jessie’s governess. Introduce me, please.”
+
+Guy waited till Maddy was through, and then gave the desired
+introduction. In a tone not wholly free from superciliousness, Miss
+Cutler said:
+
+“Can you play a waltz or polka, Miss Clyde? We are aching to exercise
+our feet.”
+
+Maddy bowed and struck into a spirited waltz, which set many of the
+people present to whirling in circles, and produced the result which
+Maria so much desired, viz: it drove Guy away from the piano, for he
+could not mistake her evident wish to have him as a partner, and with
+his arm around her waist he was soon moving rapidly from that part of
+the room, leaving only the doctor to watch Maddy’s fingers as they flew
+over the keys. Maddy never thought of being tired. She enjoyed the
+excitement, and was glad she could do something toward entertaining
+Guy’s guests. But Guy did not forget her for an instant. Through all
+the mazes of the giddy dance, he had her before his eye, seeing not the
+clouds of lace and muslin encircled by his arm, but the little figure
+in blue sitting so patiently at the piano until he knew she must be
+tired, and determined to release her. As it chanced, Maria was again
+his partner, and drawing her nearer to Maddy, he said, “Your fingers
+ache by this time, I am sure. It is wrong to trouble you longer. Agnes
+will take your place while you try a quadrille with me.”
+
+“Oh, thank you,” Maddy answered. “I am not tired in the least. I had as
+lief play till morning, provided they are satisfied with my time and my
+stock of music holds out.”
+
+“But it is not fair for one to do all the playing; besides, I want you
+to dance with me—so consider yourself invited in due form to be my next
+partner.”
+
+Maddy’s face crimsoned for an instant, and then in a low voice she
+said, “I thank you, but I must decline.”
+
+“Maddy!” Guy exclaimed, in tones more indicative of reproach than
+expostulation.
+
+There were tears in Maddy’s eyes, and Maria Cutler, watching her, was
+vexed to see how beautiful was the expression of her face as she
+answered frankly, “I have never told you that grandpa objected to my
+taking dancing lessons when I wrote to him about it. He does not like
+me to dance.”
+
+“A saint!” Maria uttered under her breath, smiling contemptuously as
+she made a movement to leave the piano, hoping Guy would follow her.
+
+But he did not at once. Standing for a moment irresolute, while he
+looked curiously at Maddy, he said at last:
+
+“Of course I interfere with no one’s scruples of that kind, but I
+cannot allow you to wear yourself out for our amusement.”
+
+“I like to play—please let me,” was Maddy’s reply; and, as the set upon
+the floor were waiting for her, she turned to the instrument, while Guy
+mechanically offered his arm to Maria, and sauntered toward the green
+room.
+
+“What a blue old ignoramus that grandfather must be, to object to
+dancing, don’t you think so?”
+
+Maria laughed a little spitefully, secretly glad that Maddy had
+refused, and secretly angry at Guy for seeming to care so much.
+
+“Say,” she continued, as Guy did not answer her, “don’t you think it a
+sign that something is lacking in brains or education, when a person
+sets up that dancing is wicked?”
+
+Guy would have taken Maddy’s side then, whatever he might have thought,
+and he replied:
+
+“No lack of brains, certainly; though education and circumstances have
+much to do with one’s views upon that subject. For my part, I like to
+see people consistent. Now, that old ignoramus, as you call him, lays
+great stress on pomp and vanities, and when I asked him once what he
+meant by them, he mentioned dancing in particular as one of the things
+which you, church people, promise to renounce;” and Guy bowed toward
+Maria, who, knowing that she was one of the church people referred to,
+winced perceptibly.
+
+“But this girl—this Maddy. There’s no reason why she should decline,”
+she said; and Guy replied: “Respect for her grandfather, in her case,
+seems to be stronger than respect for a higher power in some other
+cases.”
+
+“It’s just as wicked to play for dancing as ’tis to dance,” Maria
+remarked impatiently, while Guy rejoined:
+
+“That is very possible; but I presume Maddy has never seen it in that
+light, which makes a difference;” and the two retraced their steps to
+the rooms where the gay revelers were still tripping to Maddy’s
+stirring music.
+
+After several ineffectual efforts Agnes had succeeded in enticing the
+doctor away from the piano, and thus there was no one near to see how
+at last the bright color began to fade from her cheeks as the notes
+before her ran together, and the keys assumed the form of one huge key
+which Maddy could not manage. There was a blur before her eyes, a
+buzzing in her ears, and just as the dancers were entering heart and
+soul into the merits of a popular polka, there was a sudden pause in
+the music, a crash among the keys, and a faint cry, which to those
+nearest to her sounded very much like “Mr. Guy,” as Maddy fell forward
+with her face upon the piano. It was hard telling which carried her
+from the room, the doctor or Guy, or which face of the three was the
+whitest. Guy’s was the most frightened, for the doctor knew she had
+only fainted, while Guy, struck with the marble rigidity of the face so
+recently flushed with excitement, said at first, “She’s dead,” while
+over him there flashed a feeling that life with Maddy dead would be
+desolate indeed. But Maddy was not dead, and Guy, when he went back to
+his guests carried the news that she had recovered from her faint,
+which she kindly ascribed to the heat of the rooms, instead of fatigue
+from playing so long. The doctor was with her and she was doing as well
+as could be expected, he said, thinking within himself how he wished
+they would go home, and wondering what attraction there was there, now
+that Maddy’s place was vacant. Guy was a vastly miserable man by the
+time the last guest had bidden him good-night, and he had heard for the
+hundred-and-fiftieth time what a delightful evening it had been.
+Politeness required that he should look to the very last as pleasant
+and unconcerned as if upstairs there were no little sick girl, all
+alone undoubtedly with Dr. Holbrook, whom he mentally styled a “lucky
+dog,” in that he was not obliged to appear again in the parlors unless
+he chose.
+
+The doctor knew Maddy did not require his presence after the first half
+hour, but he insisted upon her being sent to bed, and then went
+frequently to her door until assured by Mrs. Noah that she was sleeping
+soundly, and would, if let alone, be well as ever on the morrow, a
+prediction which proved true, for when at a late hour next morning the
+family met at the breakfast table, Maddy’s was the brightest, freshest
+face of the whole, not even excepting Jessie’s. Maddy, too, was
+delighted with the party, declaring that nothing but pleasurable
+excitement and heat had made her faint, and then with all the interest
+which young girls usually attach to fainting fits, she asked how she
+looked, how she acted, if she didn’t appear very ridiculous, and how
+she got out of the room, saying the only thing she remembered after
+falling was a sensation as if she were being torn in two.
+
+“That’s it,” cried Jessie, who readily volunteered the desired
+information, “Brother Guy was ’way off with Maria Cutler, and doctor
+was with mamma, but both ran, oh, so fast, and both tried to take you
+up. I think Miss Cutler real hateful, for she said, so meanlike, ‘Do
+you see them pull her, as if ’twas of the slightest consequence which
+carried her out?’”
+
+“Jessie,” Guy interposed sternly, while the doctor looked
+disapprovingly at the little girl, who subsided into silence after
+saying, in an undertone, “I do think she’s hateful, and that isn’t all
+she said either about Maddy.”
+
+It was rather uncomfortable at the table after that, and rather quiet,
+too, as Maddy did not care to ask anything more concerning her faint,
+while the others were not disposed to talk.
+
+Breakfast over, the two young men repaired to the library, where Guy
+indulged in his cigar, while the doctor fidgeted for a time, and then
+broke out abruptly:
+
+“I say, Guy, have you said anything to her about—well, about me, you
+know?”
+
+“Why, no, I’ve hardly had a chance; and then, again, I concluded it
+better for each one to speak for himself;” and carelessly knocking the
+ashes from his half-smoked cigar, Guy leaned back in his chair, with
+his eyes, and, to all appearance, thoughts, wholly intent upon the
+curls of smoke rising above his head.
+
+“Guy, if you were not engaged, I should be tempted to think you wanted
+Maddy Clyde yourself,” the doctor suddenly exclaimed, confronting Guy,
+who, still watching the rings of smoke, answered with the most
+provoking coolness, “You should?”
+
+“Yes, I should; and I am not certain but you do as it is, Guy,” and the
+doctor grew very earnest in his manner, “if you do care for Maddy
+Clyde, and she for you, pray tell me so before I make a fool of
+myself.”
+
+“Doctor,” returned Guy, throwing the remains of his cigar into the
+grate and folding his hands on his head, “you desire that I be frank,
+and I will. I like Maddy Clyde very much—more indeed than any girl I
+ever met—except Lucy. Had I never seen her—Lucy, I mean—I cannot tell
+how I should feel toward Maddy. The chances are, however, that much as
+I admire her, I should not make her my wife, even if she were willing.
+But I have seen Lucy. I am engaged to be married. I shall keep that
+engagement, and if you have feared me at all as a rival, you may fear
+me no longer. I do not stand between you and Maddy Clyde.”
+
+Guy believed that he was saying the truth, notwithstanding that his
+heart beat faster than its wont and his voice was a little thick. It
+was doubtful whether he would marry Maddy Clyde, if he could. By nature
+and education he was very proud, and the inmates of the red cottage
+would have been an obstacle to be surmounted by his pride. He knew they
+were good, far, far better than himself; but, from his earliest
+remembrance, he had been taught that blood and family and position were
+all-important; that by virtue of them Remington was a name of which to
+be proud; that his father’s foolish marriage with a pretty governess
+was the first misalliance ever known in the family, and that he was not
+likely to follow that example was a point fully established in his own
+mind. He might admire Maddy very much, and, perhaps, build castles of
+what might possibly have been, had she been in his sphere of life; but,
+should he verily think of making her his wife, the olden pride would
+certainly come up a barrier between them. Guy could not explain all
+this to the doctor, who would have been tempted to knock him down, if
+he had; but he succeeded in quieting his fears, and even suggested
+bringing Maddy in there, if the doctor wished to know his fate that
+morning.
+
+“I hear her now—I’ll call her,” he said; and, opening the door, he
+spoke to Maddy, just passing through the hall. “Dr. Holbrook wishes to
+see you,” he said, as Maddy came up to him; and, holding the door for
+her to enter, he saw her take the seat he had just vacated. Then,
+closing it upon them, he walked away, thinking that last night’s party,
+or something, had produced a bad effect on him, making him blue and
+wretched, just as he should suppose a criminal would feel when about to
+be executed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+THE DOCTOR AND MADDY.
+
+
+Now that they were alone, the doctor’s courage forsook him, and he
+could only stammer out some commonplace remarks about the party, asking
+how Maddy Lad enjoyed it, and if she was sure she had entirely
+recovered from the effects of her fainting fit. He was not getting on
+at all, and it was impossible for him to say anything as he had meant
+to say it. Why couldn’t she help him, instead of looking so
+unsuspiciously at him with those large, bright eyes? Didn’t she know
+how dear she was to him? He should think she might. She might have
+divined it ere this; and if so, why didn’t she blush, or something?
+
+At last she came to his aid by saying, “You promised to tell me about
+the bracelets and necklace, whether I ought to keep them.”
+
+“Yes, oh yes, he believed he did.” And getting up from his chair, the
+doctor began to walk the floor, the better to hide his confusion. “Yes,
+the bracelets. You looked very pretty in them, Maddy, very; but you are
+always pretty—ahem—yes. If you were engaged to Guy, I should say it was
+proper; but if not, why, I don’t know; the fact is, Maddy, I am not
+quite certain what I am saying, so you must excuse me. I almost hated
+you that day you sent the note, telling me you were coming to be
+examined; but I had not seen you then. I did not know how, after a
+while—a very little while—I should in all probability—well, I did; I
+changed my mind, and I—I guess you have not the slightest idea what I
+mean.” And stopping suddenly, he confronted the astonished Maddy, who
+replied:
+
+“Not the slightest, unless you are going crazy.”
+
+She could in no other way account for his strange conduct, and she sat
+staring at him while he continued: “I told you once that when I wanted
+my bill I’d let you know. I’d ask for pay. I want it now. I present my
+bill.”
+
+With a scared, miserable feeling, Maddy listened to him, wondering
+where she should get the money, if it were possible for her grandfather
+to raise it, and how much her entire wardrobe would bring, suppose she
+should sell it! The bill had not troubled her latterly, for she had
+fallen into a way of believing that the doctor would wait until she was
+graduated and could earn it by teaching. Nothing could be more
+inopportune than for him to present it now; and with a half-stifled sob
+she began to speak, but he stopped her by a gesture, and sitting down
+beside her, said, in a voice more natural than the one with which he
+had at first addressed her:
+
+“Maddy, I know you have no money. It is not that I want, Maddy; I
+want—I want—you.”
+
+He bent down over her now, for her face was hidden in her hands, all
+sense of sight shut out, all sense of hearing, too, save the words he
+was pouring into her ear—words which burned their way into her heart,
+making It throb for a single moment with gratified pride, and then
+growing heavy as lead as she knew how impossible it was for her to pay
+the debt in the way which he desired.
+
+“I can’t, doctor; oh, I can’t!” she sobbed. “I never dreamed of this;
+never supposed you could want me for your wife. I’m only a little
+girl—only sixteen last October—but I’m so sorry for you, who have been
+so kind. If I only could love you as you deserve! I do love you, too;
+but not the way you mean. I cannot be Maddy Holbrook; no; doctor, I
+cannot.”
+
+She was sobbing piteously, and in his concern for her the doctor forgot
+somewhat the stunning blow he had received.
+
+“Don’t, Maddy darling!” he said, drawing her trembling form closely to
+him, “Don’t be so distressed. I did not much think you’d tell me yes,
+and I was a fool to ask you. I am too old; but, Maddy, Guy is as old as
+I am.”
+
+The doctor did not know why he said this, unless in the first keenness
+of his disappointment there was a satisfaction in telling her that the
+objection to his age would apply also to Guy. But it did not affect
+Maddy one whit, or give her the slightest inkling of his meaning. He
+saw it did not, and the pain was less to bear. Still, he would know
+certainly if he had a rival, and so he said to her:
+
+“Do you love some one else, Maddy? Is another preferred before me, and
+is that the reason why you cannot love me?”
+
+“No,” Maddy answered, through her tears. “There is no one else. Whom
+should I love, unless it were you? I know nobody but Guy.”
+
+That name touched a sore, aching chord in the doctor’s heart, but he
+gave no sign of the jealousy which had troubled him, and for a moment
+there was silence in the room; then, as the doctor began faintly to
+realize that Maddy had refused him, there awoke within him a more
+intense desire to win her than he had ever felt before. He would not
+give her up without another effort, and laying her unresisting head
+upon his bosom, he pleaded again for her love, going over all the past,
+and telling of the interest awakened when first she came to him that
+April afternoon, almost two years ago; then of the little sick girl who
+had grown so into the heart never before affected in the least by
+womankind, and lastly of the beautiful woman, as he called her, sitting
+beside him now in all the freshness of her young womanhood. And Maddy,
+as she listened, felt for him a strange kind of pity, a wish to do his
+bidding if she only could, and why shouldn’t she? Girls had married
+those whom they did not love, and been tolerably happy with them, too.
+Perhaps she could be so with the doctor. There was everything about him
+to respect, and much which she could love. Should she try? There was a
+great lump in Maddy’s throat as she tried to speak, but it cleared away
+and she said very sadly, but very earnestly, too:
+
+“Dr. Holbrook, would you like me to say yes with my lips, when all the
+time there was something at my heart tugging to answer no?”
+
+This was not at all what Maddy meant to say, but the words were born of
+her extreme truthfulness, and the doctor thus learned the nature of the
+struggle which he saw plainly was going on.
+
+“No, Maddy, I would not have you say yes unless your heart was in it,”
+he answered, while he tried to smile upon the tearful face looking up
+so sorrowfully at him.
+
+But the smile was a forlorn one, and there came instead a tear as he
+thought how dear was the fair creature who never would be his. Maddy
+saw the tear, and as if she were a child wiped it from his cheek; then,
+in tones which never faltered, she told him it might be in time she’d
+learn to love him. She would try so hard, she’d think of him always as
+her promised husband, and by that means should learn at last not to
+shrink from taking him for such. It might be ever so long, and perhaps
+she should be twenty or more, but some time in the future she should
+feel differently. Was he satisfied, and would he wait?
+
+Her little hand was resting on his shoulder, but he did not mind its
+soft pressure or know that it was there, so strong was the temptation
+to accept that half-made promise. But the doctor was too noble, to
+unselfish to bind Maddy to himself unless she were wholly willing, and
+he said to her that if she did not love him now she probably never
+would. She could not make a love. She need not try, as it would only
+result in her own unhappiness. They would be friends just as they
+always had been, and none need know of what had passed between them,
+none but Guy. “I must tell him” the doctor said, “because he knows that
+I was going to ask you.”
+
+Maddy could not explain why it was that she felt glad the doctor would
+tell Guy. She did not analyze any of her feelings, or stop to ask why
+she should care to have Guy Remington know the answer she had given Dr.
+Holbrook. He was going to him now, she was sure, for he arose to leave
+her, saying he might not see her again before she returned to New York.
+She did not mention his bill. That was among the bygones, a thing never
+again to be talked about, and offering him her hand, she looked for an
+instant earnestly into his face, then without a word, hurried from the
+room, while the doctor, with a sad, heavy heart, went in quest of Guy.
+
+“Refused you, did you say?” and Guy’s face certainly looked brighter
+than it had before since he left the doctor with Maddy Clyde.
+
+“Yes, refused me, as I might have known she would,” was the doctor’s
+reply, spoken so naturally that Guy looked up quickly to see if he
+really did not care.
+
+But the expression of the face belied the calmness of the voice; and,
+touched with genuine pity, Guy asked the cause of the
+refusal—“preference for any one else, or what?”
+
+“No, there was no one whom she preferred. She merely did not like me
+well enough to be my wife, that was all,” the doctor said, and then he
+tried to talk of something else; but it would not do. The wound was yet
+too fresh and sore to be covered up, and in spite of himself the
+bearded chin quivered and the manly voice shook as he bade good-by to
+Guy, and then went galloping down the avenue.
+
+Great was the consternation among the doctor’s patients when it was
+known that their pet physician—the one in whose skill they had so much
+confidence—was going to Europe, where in Paris he could perfect himself
+in his profession. Some cried, and among them Agnes; some said he knew
+enough already; some tried to dissuade him from his purpose; some
+wondered at the sudden start, while only two knew exactly why he was
+going—Guy and Maddy; the former approving his decision and lending his
+influence to make his tour abroad as pleasant as possible; and the
+latter weeping bitterly as she thought how she had sent him away, and
+that if aught befell him on the sea or in that distant land, she would
+be held amenable. Once there came over her the wild impulse to bid him
+stay, to say that she would be his wife; but, ere the rash act was
+done, Guy came down to the cottage, and Maddy’s resolution gave way at
+once.
+
+It would be difficult to tell the exact nature of Maddy’s liking for
+Guy at that time. Had he offered himself to her she would probably have
+refused him even more promptly than she did the doctor; for, to all
+intents and purposes, he was, in her estimation, the husband of Lucy
+Atherstone. As such, there was no harm in making him her paragon of all
+male excellence; and Guy would have felt flattered, could he have known
+how much he was in that young girl’s thoughts. But now for a few days
+he had a rival, for Maddy’s thoughts were all given to the doctor, who
+came down to see her once before starting for Europe. She did not cry
+while he was there, but her voice was strange and hoarse as she gave
+him messages for Lucy Atherstone; and all that day her face was white
+and sad, as are the faces of those who come back from burying their
+dead.
+
+Only once after the party did she go up to Aikenside, and then,
+summoning all her fortitude, she gave back to Guy the bracelets and the
+necklace, telling him she ought not to wear them; that ornaments as
+rich as these were not for her; that her grandmother did not wish her
+to keep them, and he must take them back. Guy saw she was in earnest,
+and much against his will he received again the ornaments he had been
+so happy in purchasing.
+
+“They would do for Jessie when she was older,” Maddy said; but Guy
+thought it very doubtful whether Jessie would ever have them. They were
+something he had bought for Maddy, something she had worn, and as such
+they were too sacred to be given to another. So he laid them away
+beside the picture guarded so carefully from every one.
+
+Two weeks afterward Aikenside presented again a desolate, shut-up
+appearance, for Agnes, Maddy and Jessie had returned to New York; Agnes
+to continue the siege which, in despair of winning the doctor, she had
+commenced against a rich old bachelor, who had a house on Madison
+Square; and Maddy to her books, which ere long obliterated, in a
+measure, the bitter memory of all that had transpired during her winter
+vacation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+WOMANHOOD.
+
+
+Two years pass quickly, particularly at school, and to Maddy Clyde,
+talking with her companions of the coming holidays, it seemed hardly
+possible that two whole years were gone since the eventful vacation
+when Dr. Holbrook had so startled her by offering her his hand. He was
+in Europe still, and another name than his was on the little office in
+Mrs. Conner’s yard. To Maddy he now wrote frequently; friendly,
+familiar letters, such as a brother might write, never referring to the
+past, but telling her whatever he thought would interest and please
+her. Occasionally at first, and more frequently afterward, he spoke of
+Margaret Atherstone, Lucy’s younger sister, a brilliant, beautiful girl
+who reminded him, he said, of Maddy, only she was saucier, and more of
+a tease; not at all like Lucy, whom he described as something perfectly
+angelic. Her twenty-fifth birthday found her on a sickbed, with Dr.
+Holbrook in attendance, and this was the reason given why the marriage
+between herself and Guy was again deferred. There had been many weeks
+of pain, succeeded by long, weary months of languor, and during all
+this time the doctor had been with her as the family physician, while
+Margaret also had been constantly in attendance. But Lucy was much
+better now. She could sit up all day, and even walk a little distance,
+assisted by the doctor and Margaret, whose name had become to be almost
+as familiar to Maddy as was that of Lucy. And Maddy, in thinking of
+Margaret, sometimes wondered “if——” but never went any farther than
+that. Neither did she ask Guy a word about her, though she knew he must
+have seen her. She not say much to him of Lucy, but she wondered why he
+did not go for her, and wanted to talk with him about it but he was so
+changed that she dared not. He was not sociable, as of old, and Agnes
+did not hesitate to call him cross, while Jessie complained that he
+never walked or played with her now, but sat all day long in a deep
+reverie of some kind.
+
+On this account Maddy did not look forward to the coming vacation as
+joyfully as she would otherwise have done. Still it was, always
+pleasant going home, and she sat talking with her young friends of all
+they expected to do, when a servant entered the room and glancing over
+the group of girls, singled Maddy out saying, as he placed an unsealed
+envelope in her hand. “A telegram for Miss Clyde.”
+
+There was a blur before Maddy’s eyes, so that at first she could not
+see clearly, and Jessie, climbing on the bench beside her, read aloud:
+
+“Your grandmother is dying. Come at once. Agnes and Jessie will stay
+till next week.
+
+
+“GUY REMINGTON.”
+
+
+It was impossible to go that afternoon but with the earliest dawn she
+was up, and unmindful of the snow falling so rapidly, started on the
+sad journey home. It was the first genuine storm of the season, and it
+seemed resolved on making amends for past neglect, sweeping in furious
+gusts against the windows sifting down in thick masses from the leaden
+sky, and so impeding the progress of the train that the chill wintery
+night had closed gloomily in ere the Sommerville station was reached,
+and Maddy, weary and dispirited, stepped out upon the platform,
+glancing anxiously around for the usual omnibus, which she had little
+hope would be there on such a night. If not, what should she do? This
+had been the burden of her thoughts for the last few hours, for she
+could not expect Guy to send out his horses in this fearful storm, much
+less to be there himself. But Guy was there, and it was his voice which
+first greeted her as she stood half blinded by the snow, uncertain what
+she must do next.
+
+“Ah, Mr. Remington, I didn’t expect this. I am so glad, and how kind it
+was of you to wait for me!” she exclaimed, her voice expressing her
+delight, and amply repaying the young man, who had not been very
+patient or happy through the six long hours of waiting he had endured.
+
+But he was both happy and patient now with Maddy’s hand in his, and
+pressing it very gently he led her into the ladies’ room; then making
+her sit down before the fire he brushed her snowy garments himself, and
+dashing a few flakes from her disordered hair, told her what she so
+eagerly asked to know. Her grandmother had had a paralytic stroke, and
+the only word she had uttered since was “Maddy.” Guy had not been down
+himself, but had sent Mrs. Noah as soon as Farmer Green had brought the
+news. She was there yet, he said, the storm having prevented her
+return.
+
+“And grandma?” Maddy gasped, fixing her eyes wistfully upon him. “You
+do not think her dead?”
+
+No, Guy did not, and stooping he asked if he should not remove from the
+dainty little feet resting on the stove hearth the overshoes, so full
+of melting snow. Maddy cared little for her shoes, or herself just
+then. She hardly knew that Guy was taking them off, much less that, as
+he bent beside her, her hand lay lightly upon his shoulder as she
+continued her questionings.
+
+“She is not dead, you say; but do you think-does any-body think she’ll
+die? Your telegram said ‘dying.’”
+
+Maddy was not to be deceived, and thinking it best to be frank with
+her, Guy told her that the physician, whom he had taken pains to see on
+his way to the depot, had said there was no hope. Old age and an
+impaired constitution precluded the possibility of recovery, but he
+trusted she might live till the young lady came.
+
+“She must—she will! Oh, grandma, why did I ever leave her?” and burying
+her face in her hands. Maddy cried passionately, while the last three
+years of her Life passed in rapid review before her mind—years which
+she had spent in luxurious ease, leaving her grandmother to toil in the
+humble cottage, and die at the last, it might be, without one parting
+word for her.
+
+The feeling that perhaps she had been guilty of neglect, was the
+bitterest of all, and Maddy wept on, unmindful of Guy’s attempts to
+soothe and quiet her. At last, as she heard a clock in the adjoining
+room strike eight, she started up exclaiming “I have stayed too long. I
+must go now. Is there any conveyance here?”
+
+“But, Maddy,” Guy rejoined, “you cannot go to-night. The roads between
+here and Honedale are one unbroken snow bank. It would take hours to
+break through; besides you are too tired. You need rest, and must come
+with me to Aikenside, where you are expected, for when I found how late
+the train would be, I sent back word to have your room and parlors
+warmed, and a nice hot supper to be ready for us. You’ll surely go with
+me, if I think best.”
+
+Guy’s manner was more like a lover than a friend, but Maddy was in no
+state to remark it. She only felt an intense desire to go home, and
+turning a deaf ear to all he could urge, replied: “You don’t know how
+dear grandma is to me, or you would not ask me to stay. She’s all the
+mother I ever knew, and I must go. Think, would you stay if the one you
+loved best was dying?”
+
+“But the one I love best is not dying, so I can reason clearly, Maddy.”
+
+Here Guy checked himself, and listened while Maddy asked again if there
+was no conveyance there as usual.
+
+“None but mine,” said Guy, while Maddy continued faintly:
+
+“And you are afraid it will kill your horses?”
+
+“No, it would only fatigue them greatly; it’s for you I fear. You’ve
+borne enough to-day.”
+
+“Then, Mr. Remington, oh, please send me. I shall die at Aikenside.
+John will drive me, I know. He used to like me. I’ll ask him,” and
+Maddy was going in quest of the Aikenside coachman, when Guy held her
+back, and said:
+
+“John will go if I bid him. But you, Maddy, if I thought it was safe.”
+
+“It is. Oh, let me go,” and Maddy grasped both his hands beseechingly.
+
+If there was a man who could resist the eloquent appeal of Maddy’s eyes
+at that moment, the man was not Guy Remington, and leaving her alone,
+he sought out John, asking if it would be possible to get through to
+Homedale that night.
+
+John shook his head decidedly, but when Guy explained Maddy’s distress
+and anxiety, the negro began to relent, particularly as he saw his
+young master, too, was interested.
+
+“It’ll kill them horses,” he said, “but mabby that’s nothin’ to please
+the girl.”
+
+“If we only had runners now, instead of wheels, John,” Guy said, after
+a moment’s reflection. “Drive back to Aikenside as fast as possible,
+and change the carriage for a covered sleigh. Leave the grays at home
+and drive a pair of farm horses. They can endure more. Tell Flora to
+send my traveling shawl. Miss Clyde may need it, and an extra buffalo,
+and a bottle of wine, and my buckskin gloves, and take Tom on with you,
+and a snow shovel; we may have to dig.”
+
+“Yes, yes, I know,” and tying his muffler about his throat, John
+started off through the storm, his mind a confused medley of ideas, the
+main points of which were, bottles of wine, snow shovels, and the fact
+that his master was either crazy or in love.
+
+Meanwhile, with the prospect of going home, Maddy had grown quiet, and
+did not refuse the temporary supper of buttered toast, muffins, steak
+and hot coffee, which Guy ordered from the small hotel just in the rear
+of the depot. Tired, nervous, and almost helpless, she allowed Guy
+himself to prepare her coffee, taking it from his hand and drinking it
+at his bidding as obediently as a child. There was a feeling of
+delicious rest in being cared for thus, and but for the dying one at
+Honedale she would have enjoyed it vastly. As it was, though, she never
+for a moment forgot her grandmother. She did forget, in a measure, her
+anxiety, and was able to think how kind, how exceedingly kind Guy was.
+He was like what he used to be, she thought, only kinder, and thinking
+it was because she was in trouble, she accepted all his little
+attentions willingly, feeling how pleasant it was to have him there,
+and thinking once with a half shudder of the long, cold ride before
+her, when Guy would no longer be present, and also of the dreary home
+where death might possibly be a guest ere she could reach it.
+
+It was after nine ere John appeared, his crisp wool powdered with snow
+which clung to his outer garments, and literally covered his dark,
+cloth cap.
+
+“’Twas mighty deep,” he said, bowing to Maddy, “and the wind was
+getting colder. ’Twas a hard time Miss Clyde would have, and hadn’t she
+better wait?”
+
+No, Maddy could not wait, and standing up she suffered Guy to wrap her
+cloak about her, and fasten more securely the long, warm scarf she wore
+around her neck.
+
+“Drive close to the platform,” he said to John, and the covered sleigh
+was soon brought to the point designated. “Now then, Maddy, I won’t let
+you run the risk of covering your feet with snow. I shall carry you
+myself,” Guy said, and ere Maddy was fully aware of his intentions, he
+had her in his arms, and was bearing her to the sleigh.
+
+Very carefully he drew the soft, warm robe about her, shielding her as
+well as he could from the cold; then pulling his own fur collar about
+his ears, he sprang in beside her, and, closing the door behind him,
+bade John drive on.
+
+“But, Mr. Remington,” Maddy exclaimed in much surprise, “surely you are
+not going too? You must not. It is asking too much. It is more than I
+expected. Please don’t go.” “Would you rather I should not—that is,
+aside from any inconvenience it may be to me—would you rather go
+alone?” Guy asked, and Maddy replied:
+
+“Oh, no. I was dreading the long ride, but did not dream of your going.
+You will shorten it so much.” “Then I shall be paid for going,” was
+Guy’s response, as he drew still more closely around her the fancy
+buffalo robe.
+
+The roads, though badly drifted in some places, were not as bad as Guy
+had feared, and the strong horses kept steadily on; while Maddy,
+growing more and more fatigued, at last fell away to sleep, and ceased
+to answer Guy, For a time he watched her drooping head, and then
+carefully drawing it to him, made it rest upon his shoulder, while he
+wound his arm around her slight figure, and so supported her. He knew
+she was sleeping quietly, by her gentle breathings; and once or twice
+he involuntarily passed his hand caressingly over her soft, round
+cheek, feeling the blood tingle to his finger tips as he thought of his
+position there, with Maddy Clyde sleeping in his arms. What would Lucy
+say, could she see him? And the doctor, with his strict ideas of right
+and wrong, would he object? Guy did not know, and, with his usual
+independence, he did not care. At least, he said to himself he did not
+care; and so, banishing both the doctor and Lucy from his mind, he
+abandoned himself to the happiness of the moment—a singular land of
+happiness, inasmuch as it merely consisted in the fact that Maddy
+Clyde’s young head was pillowed on his bosom, and that, by bending
+down, he could feel her sweet breath on his face. Occasionally there
+flitted across Guy’s mind a vague, uneasy consciousness that though the
+act was, under the circumstances, well enough, the feelings which
+prompted it were not such as either the doctor or Lucy would approve.
+But they were far away; they would never know unless he told them, as
+he probably should, of this ride on that wintry night; this ride, which
+seemed to him so short that he scarcely believed his senses when,
+without once having been overturned or called upon to use the shovels
+so thoughtfully provided, the carriage suddenly came to a halt, and he
+knew by the dim light shining through the low window that the red
+cottage was reached.
+
+Grandma Markham was dying, but she knew Maddy, and the palsied lips
+worked painfully as they attempted to utter the loved name; while her
+wasted face lighted up with eager joy as Maddy’s arms were twined about
+her neck, and she felt Maddy’s kisses on her cheek and brow. Could she
+not speak? Would she never speak again, Maddy asked despairingly, and
+her grandfather replied: “Never, most likely. The only thing she’s said
+since the shock was to call your name; She’s missed you despatly this
+winter back, more than ever before, I think. So have we all, but we
+would not send for you—Mr. Guy said you was learning so fast.” “Oh,
+grandpa, why didn’t you? I would have come so willingly,” and for an
+instant Maddy’s eyes flashed reproachfully upon the recreant Guy,
+standing aloof from the little group gathered about the bed, his arms
+folded together, and a moody look upon his face.
+
+He was thinking of what had not yet entered Maddy’s mind, thinking of
+the future—Maddy’s future, when the aged form upon the bed should be
+gone, and the two comparatively helpless men be left alone.
+
+“But it shall not be. The sacrifice is far too great. I can prevent it,
+and I will,” he muttered to himself, as he turned to watch the gray
+dawn breaking in the east. Guy was a puzzle to himself. He would not
+admit that during the past year his liking for Maddy Clyde had grown to
+be something stronger than mere friendship, nor yet that his feelings
+toward Lucy had undergone a change, prompting him not to go to her when
+she was sick, and not to be as sorry as he ought that the marriage was
+again deferred. Lucy had no suspicion of the change and her childlike
+trust in him was the anchor which held him still true to her in
+intentions at least, if not in reality. He knew from her letters how
+much she had learned to like Maddy Clyde, and so, he argued, there was
+no harm in his liking her too. She was a splendid girl, and it seemed a
+pity that her lot should have been so humbly cast. This was usually the
+drift of his thoughts in connection with her; and now, as he stood
+there its that cottage, Maddy’s home, they recurred to him with tenfold
+intensity, for well he foresaw that a struggle was before him if he
+rescued Maddy as he meant to do from her approaching fate.
+
+No such thoughts, however, intruded themselves on Maddy’s mind. She did
+not look away from the present, except it were at the past, in which
+she feared she had erred by leaving her grandmother too much alone. But
+to her passionate appeals for forgiveness, if she ever had neglected
+the dying one, there came back only loving looks and mute caresses, the
+aged hand smoothing lovingly the bowed head, or pressing fondly the
+girlish cheeks where Guy’s hand had been. With the coming of daylight,
+however, there was a change; and Maddy, listening intently, heard what
+sounded like her name. The tied tongue was loosed for a little, and in
+tones scarcely articulate, the disciple who for long years had served
+her Heavenly Father faithfully, bore testimony to the blessed truth
+that God’s promises to those who love Him are not mere promises—that He
+will go with them through the river of death, disarming the fainting
+soul of every fear, and making the dying bed the very gate of heaven.
+This tribute to the Savior was her first thought, while the second was
+a blessing for her darling, a charge to seek the narrow way now in
+life’s early morning. Disjointed sentences they were, but Maddy
+understood them all, treasuring up every word even to the last, the
+words the farther apart and most painfully uttered,
+“You—will—care—and—comfort——” She did not say whom, but Maddy knew whom
+she meant; and without then realizing the magnitude of the act,
+virtually accepted the burden from which Guy was so anxious to save
+her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+THE BURDEN.
+
+
+Grandma Markham was dead, and the covered sleigh, which late in the
+afternoon plowed its way heavily back to Aikenside, carried only Mrs.
+Noah, who, with her forehead tied up in knots, sat back among the
+cushions, thinking not of the peaceful dead, gone forever to the rest
+which remains for the people of God, but of the wayward Guy, who had
+resisted all her efforts to persuade him to return with her, instead of
+staying where he was, not needed, and where his presence was a
+restraint to all save one, and that one Maddy, for whose sake he
+stayed.
+
+“She’d be vummed,” the indignant old lady said, “if she would not write
+to Lucy herself if Guy did not quit such doin’s,” and thus resolving
+she kept on her way, while the subject of her wrath was, it may be,
+more than half repenting of his decision to stay, inasmuch as he began
+to have an unpleasant consciousness of himself being in everybody’s
+way.
+
+In the first hour of Maddy’s bereavement he had not spoken with her,
+but had kept himself aloof from the room where, with her grandfather
+and Uncle Joseph, she sat, holding the poor aching head of the latter
+in her lap and trying to speak a word of consolation to the old,
+broken-hearted man, whose hand was grasped in hers. But Maddy knew he
+was there. She could hear his voice each time he spoke to Mrs. Noah,
+and that made the desolation easier to bear. She did not look forward
+to the time when he would be gone; and when at last he told her he was
+going, she started quickly, and with a gush of tears, exclaimed: “No,
+no! oh, no!”
+
+“Maddy,” Guy whispered, bending over the strange trio, “would you
+rather I should stay? Will it be pleasanter for you, if I do?”
+
+“Yes—I don’t know. I guess it would not be so lonely. Oh, it’s terrible
+to have grandmother dead!” was Maddy’s response; after which Guy would
+have stayed if a whole regiment of Mrs. Noah’s had confronted him
+instead of one.
+
+Maddy wished it; that was reason enough for him; and giving a few
+directions to John, he stayed, thereby disconcerting the neighboring
+women who came in to perform the last offices for the dead, and who
+wished the young man from Aikenside was anywhere but there, watching
+them in all their movements, as they vainly fancied he did. But Guy
+thought only of Maddy, watching her so carefully that more than one
+meaning glance was exchanged between the women, who, even over the
+inanimate form of the dead, spoke together of what might possibly
+occur, wondering what would be the effect on Grandpa Markham and Uncle
+Joseph. Who would take care of them? And then, in case Maddy should
+feel it her duty to stay there, as they half hoped she would, they fell
+to pitying the young girl, who seemed now so wholly unfitted for the
+burden.
+
+To Maddy there came no definite idea of the future during the two days
+that white, rigid form lay in the darkened cottage; but when, at last,
+the deep grave made for Grandma Markham was occupied, and the lounge in
+the little front room was empty—when the Aikenside carriage, which had
+been sent down for the use of the mourners, had been driven away,
+taking both Guy and Mrs. Noah—when the neighbors, too, had gone,
+leaving only herself and the little hired girl sitting by the evening
+fire, with the grandfather and the imbecile Uncle Joseph—then it was
+that she first began to fed the pressure of the burden—began to ask
+herself if she could live thus always, or at least for many years—as
+long as either of the two helpless men were spared. Maddy was young,
+and the world as she had seen it was very bright and fair, brighter far
+than a life of laborious toil, and for a while the idea that the latter
+alternative must be accepted made her dizzy and faint.
+
+As if divining her thoughts, poor old grandpa, in his prayers that
+night, asked in trembling tones, which showed how much he felt what he
+was saying, that God would guide his darling in all she did, and give
+her wisdom to make the proper decision; that if it were best she might
+be happy there with them, but if not, “Oh, Father, Father!” he sobbed,
+“help me and Joseph to bear it.” He could pray no more aloud, and the
+gray head remained bowed down upon his chair, while Uncle Joseph, in
+his peculiar way, took up the theme, begging like a very child that
+Maddy might be inclined to stay—that no young men with curling hair, a
+diamond cross, and smell of musk, might be permitted to come near her
+with enticing looks, but that she might stay as she was and die an old
+maid forever! This was the subject of Uncle Joseph’s prayer, a prayer
+which set the little hired girl to tittering, and would have wrung a
+smile from Maddy herself had she not felt all the strange petition
+implied.
+
+With waywardness natural to people in his condition, Uncle Joseph that
+night turned to Maddy for the little services his sister had formerly
+rendered, and which, since her illness, Grandpa Markham had done, and
+would willingly do still. But Joseph refused to let him. Maddy must
+untie his cravat, unbutton his vest, and take off his shoes, while,
+after he was in bed, Maddy must sit by his side, holding his hand until
+he fell away to sleep. And Maddy did it cheerfully, soothing him into
+quiet, and keeping back her own choking sorrow for the sake of
+comforting him. Then, when this task was done she sought her
+grandfather, still sitting before the kitchen fire and evidently
+waiting for her. The little hired girl had retired, and thus there was
+no barrier to free conversation between them.
+
+“Maddy,” the old man said, “come sit close by me, where I can look into
+your face, while we talk over what must be done.”
+
+With a half shudder, Maddy drew a stool to her grandfather’s feet, and
+resting her head upon his knee, listened while he talked to her of the
+future; told her all her grandmother had done; told of his own
+helplessness; of the trial it was to care for Uncle Joseph, and then in
+faltering tones asked who was going to look after them now. “We can’t
+live here alone, Maddy. We can’t. We’re old and weak, and want some one
+to lean on. Oh, why didn’t God take us with her, Joseph and me, and
+that would leave you free, to go back to the school and the life which
+I know is pleasanter than to stay here with us. Oh, Maddy! it comforts
+me to look at you—to hear your voice, to know that though I don’t see
+you every minute, you are somewhere, and by and by you’ll come in. I
+shan’t live long, and maybe Joseph won’t. God’s promise is to them who
+honor father and mother. It’ll be hard for you to stay, harder than it
+was once; but, Maddy, oh, Maddy! stay with me, stay with me!—stay with
+your old grandpa!”
+
+In his earnestness he grasped her arm, as if he thus would hold her,
+while the tears rained over his wrinkled face. For a moment Maddy made
+no response. She had no intention of leaving him, but the burden was
+pressing heavily and her tongue refused to move. Maddy was then a
+stranger to the religion which was sustaining her grandfather in his
+great trouble, but the teachings of her childhood had not been in vain.
+She was God’s covenant child. His protecting presence was over and
+around her, moving her to the right. New York, with its gay sights, her
+school, where in another year she was to graduate, the trip to the
+Catskills which Guy had promised Mrs. Agnes, Jessie and herself,
+Aikenside with its luxurious ease—all these must be given up, while,
+worse than all the rest, Guy, too, must be given up. He would not come
+there often; the place was not to his taste, and in time he would cease
+to care for her as he cared for her now. “Oh, that would be dreadful!”
+she groaned aloud, while here thoughts went backward to that night ride
+in the snowstorm, and the numberless attentions he had paid her then.
+She would never ride with him again—never; and Maddy moaned bitterly,
+as she began to realize for the first time how much she liked Guy
+Remington, and how the giving him up and his society was the hardest
+part of all. But Maddy had a brave young heart, and at last, winding
+her arms around her grandfather’s neck, she whispered: “I will not
+leave you, grandpa. I’ll stay in grandmother’s place.”
+
+Surely Heaven would answer the blessings whispered over Maddy by the
+delighted old man, and the young girl taking so cheerfully the burden
+from which many would have shrunk, should be blessed by God.
+
+With her grandfather’s hand upon her head, Maddy could almost feel that
+the blessing was descending; but when, in her own room, the one where
+she had lain sick for so many weary weeks, her courage began to give
+way, and the burden, magnified tenfold by her nervous weakness, looked
+heavier than she could bear. How could she stay there, going through
+each day with the same routine of literal drudgery—drudgery which would
+not end until the two for whom she made the sacrifice were dead.
+
+“Oh, is there no way of escape, no help?” she moaned, as she tossed
+from side to side, “Must my life be wasted here. Surely—-”
+
+Maddy did not finish the sentence, for something checked the words of
+repining, and she seemed to hear again her grandfather’s voice as it
+repeated the promise to those who keep with their whole souls the fifth
+commandment.
+
+“I will, I will,” she cried, while into her heart there crept an
+intense longing for the love of him who alone could make her task a
+light one. “If I were good like grandma, I could bear everything,” she
+thought, and turning upon her pillow, Maddy prayed an earnest,
+childlike prayer, that God would help her do night, that He would take
+from her the proud spirit which rebelled against her lot because of its
+loneliness, that pride and love of her own ease and advancement in
+preference to others’ good might all be subdued; in short that she
+might be God’s child, walking where He appointed her to walk without a
+murmur, and doing cheerfully His will.
+
+Aikenside, and school, and the Catskill Mountains were easier to
+abandon after that contrite prayer; but when she thought of Guy, the
+fiercest, sharpest pang she had ever felt shot through her heart,
+making her cry out so quickly that the little hired girl who shared her
+bed moved as if about to waken, but Maddy lay very quiet until all was
+still again, when turning a second time to God she tried to pray, tried
+to give up what to her was the dearest idol, but she could not say the
+words, and ere she knew what she was doing she found herself asking
+that Guy should not forsake her. “Let him come,” she sobbed, “let Guy
+come some time to see me”.
+
+Once the tempter whispered to her, that had she accepted Dr. Holbrook
+she would have been spared all this, but Maddy turned a deaf ear to
+that suggestion. Dr. Holbrook was too noble a man to have an unloving
+wife, and not for a moment did she repent of her decision with regard
+to him. She almost knew he would say now that she was right in refusing
+him, and right in staying there, as she must. Thoughts of the doctor
+quieted her, she believed, not knowing that Heaven was already owning
+its submissive child, and breathing upon it a soothing benediction. The
+moan of the winter wind and the sound of the snow beating against her
+little window ceased to annoy her. Heaven, happiness, Aikenside and
+Guy, all seem blended into one great good just within her reach, and
+when the long clock below the stairs struck three, she did not hear it,
+but with the tear stains upon her face she lay nestled among her
+pillows, dreaming that her grandmother had come back from the bright
+world of glory to bless her darling child.
+
+It was broad noon ere Maddy awoke, and starting up she looked about her
+in bewilderment, wondering where she was and what agency had been at
+work in her room, transforming it from the cold, comfortless apartment
+she had entered the previous night into the cheery-looking chamber,
+with a warm fire blazing in the tiny fireplace, a rug spread down upon
+the hearth, a rocking-chair drawn up before it, and all traces of the
+little hired girl as completely obliterated as if she had never been.
+In her grief Maddy seemed to have forgotten how to make things cozy,
+and as, during her grandmother’s illness, her own room had been left to
+the care of the hired girl, Nettie, it wore a neglected, rude aspect,
+which had grated on Maddy’s finer feelings, and made everything so
+uninviting. But this morning all was changed. Some skillful hand had
+been busy there while she slept, and Maddy was wondering who it could
+be, when the door opened cautiously and Flora’s good-humored face
+looked in—Flora from Aikenside. Maddy knew now to whom she was indebted
+for all this comfort, and with a cry of joy she welcomed the girl,
+whose very presence brought back something of the life with which she
+had parted forever.
+
+“Flora,” she exclaimed, “how came you here, and did you make this fire
+and fix the room for me?”
+
+“Yes, I made the fire,” Flora replied, “and fixed up the things a
+little, hustlin’ that young one’s goods out of here; because it was not
+fittin’ for you to be sleepin’ with her. Mr. Guy was mad enough when he
+found it out.”
+
+“Mr. Guy, Flora? How should he know of our sleeping ’rrangements?”
+Maddy asked, but Flora evaded a direct reply, saying, “there was enough
+ways for things to get to Aikenside;” then continuing, “How tired you
+must be, Miss Maddy, to sleep so sound as never to hear me at all,
+though to be sure I tried to be still as a mouse. But let me help you
+dress. It’s all but noon, and you must be hungry. I’ve got your
+breakfast all ready.”
+
+“Thank you, Flora, I can dress myself,” Maddy said, stepping out upon
+the floor, and feeling that the world was not as dark as it had seemed
+to her when last night she came up to her chamber.
+
+God was comforting her already, and as she made her simple toilet, she
+tried to thank Him for His goodness, and ask for grace to make her what
+she ought to be.
+
+“You have not yet told me why you came here,” she said to Flora, who
+was busy making her bed, and who replied: “It’s Mr. Guy’s work. He
+thought I’d better come, as you would need help to get things set to
+rights, to could go back to school.”
+
+Maddy felt her heart coming up in her throat, but she answered calmly,
+“Mr. Guy is very kind—so are you all; but, Flora, I am not going back
+to school.” “Not going back!” and Flora stopped her bed-making, while
+she stared blankly at Maddy. “What be you going to do?” “Stay here and
+take care of grandpa,” Maddy said, bathing her face and neck in the
+cold water, which could not cool the feverish heat she felt spreading
+all over them. “Stay here! You are crazy, Miss Maddy! ’Tain’t no place
+for a girl like you, and Mr. Guy never will suffer it, I know,” Flora
+rejoined, as she resumed her work, thinking she “should die to be moped
+up in that nutshell of a house.” With a little sigh as she foresaw the
+opposition she should probably meet with from Guy, Maddy went on with
+her toilet, which was soon completed, as it did not take long to
+arrange the dark calico dress and plain linen collar which she wore.
+She was not as fresh-looking as usual that morning, for excitement and
+fatigue had lent a paleness to her cheek, and a languor to her whole
+appearance, but Flora, who glanced anxiously after her as she went out,
+muttered to herself, “She was never more beautiful, and I don’t wonder
+an atom that Mr. Guy thinks so much of her.” The kitchen was in perfect
+order, for Flora had been busy there as elsewhere. The kettle was
+boiling on the stove, while two or three little covered dishes were
+ranged upon the hearth, as if waiting for some one. Grandpa Markham had
+gone out, but Uncle Joseph sat in his accustomed corner, rubbing his
+hands when he saw Maddy, and nodding mysteriously toward the front
+room, the door of which was open, so that Maddy could hear the fire
+crackling on the hearth.
+
+“Go in, go in,” Uncle Joseph said, waving his hand in that direction.
+“My Lord Governor is in there waiting for you. He won’t let me spit on
+the floor any more as Martha did, and I’ve swallowed so much that I’m
+almost choked.”
+
+Continual spitting was one of Uncle Joseph’s worst habits, and as his
+sister had indulged him in it, it had become a source of great
+annoyance both to Maddy, and to some one else of whose proximity Maddy
+did not dream. Thinking that Uncle Joseph referred to her grandfather,
+and feeling glad that the latter had attempted a reform, she entered
+the room known at the cottage as the parlor, the one where the rag
+carpet was, the six cane-seated chairs and the Boston rocker, and where
+now the little round table was nicely laid for two, while cozily seated
+in the rocking-chair, reading last night’s paper, and looking very
+handsome and happy, was Guy!
+
+When Maddy prayed that he might come and see her she did not expect an
+answer so soon, and she started back in much surprise, while Guy came
+easily forward to greet her, asking how she was, once telling her she
+looked tired and thin, then making her take the chair he had vacated,
+he stood over her, smoothing her hair, while he continued:
+
+“I have taken some liberties, you see, and have made myself quite at
+home. I knew how unaccustomed you were to the duties of a house, and as
+I saw that girl was wholly incompetent, I denied myself at least two
+hours’ sleep this morning for the sake of getting here early, bringing
+Flora with me and a few things which I thought would be for your
+comfort. You must excuse me, but Flora looked so cold when she came
+down from your chamber, where I sent her to see how you were, that with
+your grandfather’s permission I ordered a fire to be kindled there. I
+hope you found it comfortable. This house is very cold.”
+
+He kept talking on, and Maddy in a delicious kind of bewilderment
+listened to him, wondering if ever before there was a person so kind
+and good as Guy. And really Guy was doing great violence to his pride
+by being there as he was, but he could do anything for Maddy, and so he
+had forced down his pride, trying for her sake to make the cottage as
+pleasant as possible. With Flora to assist he had succeeded
+wonderfully, and was really enjoying it himself. At first Maddy could
+not thank him, her heart was so full, but Guy was satisfied with the
+expression of her face, and calling Flora he bade her serve the
+breakfast.
+
+“You know my habits,” he said, smilingly, as he took a seat at the
+table, “and breakfasting at daylight, as I did, has given me an
+appetite; so, with your permission, I’ll carve this nice bit of steak
+for you, while you pour me a cup of coffee, some of Mrs. Noah’s best.
+She”—Guy was going to say, “sent it,” but as no stretch of the
+imagination could construe her “calling him a fool” into sending Maddy
+coffee, he added instead, “I brought it from Aikenside, together with
+this strawberry jelly, of which I remember you were fond;” and he
+helped Maddy lavishly from the fanciful jelly jar which yesterday was
+adorning the sweetmeat closet at Aikenside.
+
+How chatty and social he was, trying to cheer Maddy up and make her
+forget that such a thing as death had so lately found entrance there;
+talking of Jessie, of Aikenside, of the pleasant little time they would
+have during the vacation, and of the next term at school, when Maddy,
+as one of the graduating class, would not be kept in as strictly as
+heretofore, but allowed to see more of the city. Maddy felt as if she
+should die for the pain tugging at her heart, while she listened to him
+and knew that the pictures he was drawing were not for her. Her place
+was there; and after the breakfast was over and Flora had cleared the
+dishes away, she shut the door, so that they might be alone, and then
+standing before Guy, she told him of her resolution, begging of him to
+help her and not make it harder to bear by devising means for her to
+escape what she felt to be an imperative duty. Guy had expected
+something like this and was prepared, as he thought, to combat all her
+arguments; so when she had finished, he replied that of course he did
+not wish to interfere with her duty, but there might be a question as
+to what really was her duty, and it seemed to him he was better able to
+judge of that than herself. It was not right for her to bury herself
+there while her education was unfinished, when another could do as
+well. Her superior talents were given to her to improve, and how could
+she improve them in Honedale; besides her grandfather did not expect
+her to stay. Guy had talked with him while she was asleep, and the
+matter was all arranged; a competent woman was to be hired to take
+charge of the domestic arrangements, and if it seemed desirable, two
+should be procured; anything to leave Maddy free.
+
+“And grandpa consented to this willingly?” Maddy said, feeling a throb
+of pleasure at thoughts of release. But Guy could not answer that the
+grandfather consented willingly.
+
+“He thinks it best. When he comes back you can ask him yourself,” he
+said, just as Uncle Joseph, opening the door, brought their interview
+to a close by asking very meekly, “if it would please the Lord Governor
+to let him spit!”
+
+The blood rushed at once to Maddy’s face, and she not repress a smile,
+white Guy laughed aloud, saying to her softly: “For your sake, I tried
+my skill to stop what I knew must annoy you. Pardon me if I did wrong;”
+then turning to Uncle Joseph, he gave the desired permission, together
+with the promise of a handsome spittoon, which should be sent down on
+the morrow. With a bow Uncle Joseph turned away, muttering to himself,
+“High doings now Martha’s gone; but new lords, new laws. I trust he’s
+not going to live here;” and slyly he asked Flora if the Lord Governor
+had brought his things!
+
+At this point Grandpa Markham came in, and to him Guy appealed at once
+to know if he were not willing for Maddy to return to school.
+
+“I said she might if she thought best,” was the reply, spoken so sadly
+that Maddy’s arms were at once twined around the old man’s neck, while
+she said to him:
+
+“Tell me honestly which you prefer. I’d like so much to go to school,
+but I am not sure I should be happy there, knowing how lonely you were
+here at home. Say, grandpa, which would you rather now, honor bright?”
+and Maddy tried to speak playfully, though her heart-beats were almost
+audible as she waited for the answer.
+
+Grandpa could not deceive. He wanted his darling sorely, and he wanted
+her to be happy, he said. Perhaps they would get on just as well
+without her. When Mr. Guy was talking it looked as if they might, he
+made it all so plain, but the sight of Maddy was a comfort. She was all
+he had left. Maybe he shouldn’t live long to pester her, and if he
+didn’t wouldn’t she always feel better for having stayed with her old
+grandpa to the last?
+
+He looked very pale and thin, and his hair was white as snow. He could
+not live many years, and turning resolutely from Guy, who, so long as
+he held her eye, controlled her, Maddy said:
+
+“I’ve chosen once for all. I’ll stay with grandpa till he dies,” and
+with a convulsive sob she clung tightly to his neck, as if fearful that
+without such told on him her resolution would give way.
+
+It was in vain that Guy strove to change Maddy’s resolution. She was
+wholly decided, and late in the afternoon he rode back to Aikenside, a
+disappointed man, with, however, the feeling that Maddy had done right,
+and that he respected her all the more for withstanding the temptation.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+LIFE AT THE COTTAGE.
+
+
+It was arranged that Flora should for the present at least remain at
+the cottage, and Maddy accepted the kindness gratefully. She had become
+so much accustomed to being cared for by Guy that she almost looked
+upon it as a matter of course, and did not think of what others might
+possibly say, but when, in as delicate a manner as possible Guy
+suggested furnishing the cottage in better style, even proposing to
+modernize it entirely in the spring, Maddy objected at once. “They were
+already indebted to him for more than they could ever pay,” she said,
+and she would not suffer it. So Guy submitted, though it grated upon
+his sense of the beautiful and refined terribly, to see Maddy amid so
+humble surroundings. Twice a week, and sometimes oftener, he rode down
+to Honedale, and Maddy felt that without these visits life would hardly
+have been endurable.
+
+During the vacation Jessie spent a part of the time with her, but Agnes
+resolutely resisted all Guy’s entreaties that she would at least call
+once on Maddy, who had expressed a wish to see her, and who, on account
+of her grandfather’s health, and the childishness with which Uncle
+Joseph clung to her, could not well come up to Aikenside. Agnes would
+not go down, neither would she give other reason for her obstinacy than
+the apparently foolish one that she did not wish to see the crazy man.
+Still she did not object to Jessie’s going as often as she liked, and
+she sent by her many little delicacies from the larder at Aikenside,
+some for grandpa, but most for Uncle Joseph, who prized highly
+everything coming from “the madam,” and sent back to her more than one
+strangely worded message which made the proud woman’s eyes overflow
+when sure that no one could see her. But this kind of intercourse came
+to an end at last. The vacation was over, Jessie had gone back to
+school, and Maddy began in sober earnest the new life before her.
+Flora, it is true, relieved her of all household drudgery, but no one
+could share the burden of care and anxiety pressing so heavily upon
+her, anxiety for her grandfather, whose health seemed failing so fast,
+and who always looked so disturbed if a shadow were resting on her
+bright face, or her voice were less cheerful in its tone, and care for
+the imbecile Joseph, who clung to her as a puny child clings to its
+mother, refusing to be cared for by any one else, and often requiring
+of her more than her strength could endure for a great length of time.
+She it was who gave him his breakfast in the morning, amused him
+through the day, and then, after he was in bed at night, often sat by
+his side till a late hour, singing to him old songs, or telling Bible
+stories until he fell away to sleep. Then if he awoke, as he frequently
+did, there was a cry for Maddy, and the soothing process had to be
+repeated, until the tired, pale watcher ceased to wonder that her
+grandmother had died so suddenly, wondering rather that she had lived
+so long and borne so much.
+
+Those were dark, wearisome days to Maddy, and the long, cold winter was
+gone from the New England hills, and the early buds of spring were
+coming up by the cottage door, the neighbors began to talk of the
+change which had come over the young girl, once so full of life and
+health, but now so languid and pale. Still Maddy was not unhappy, nor
+was the discipline too severe, for by it she learned at last the great
+object of life; learned to take her troubles and cares to One who
+helped her bear them so cheerfully, that those who pitied her most
+never dreamed how heavy was her burden, so patiently and sweetly she
+bore it. Occasionally there came to her letters from the doctor, but
+latterly they gave her less pleasure than pain, for as sure as she read
+one of his kind, friendly messages of sympathy and remembrance, the
+tempter whispered to her that though she did not love him as she ought
+to love her husband, yet a life with him was far preferable to the life
+she was living, and a receipt of his letters always gave her a pang
+which lasted until Guy came down to see her, when it usually
+disappeared. Agnes was now at Aikenside, and thus Maddy frequently had
+Jessie at the cottage, but Agnes never came, and Maddy little guessed
+how often the proud woman cried herself to sleep after listening to
+Jessie’s recital of all Maddy had to do for the crazy man, and how
+patiently she did it. He had taken a fancy that Maddy must tell him
+stories of Sarah, describing her as she was now, not as she used to be
+when he knew her, but now. “What is she now? How does she look? What
+does she wear? Tell me, tell me!” he would plead, until Maddy, forced
+to tell him something, and having distinctly in her mind but one
+fashionable woman such as she fancied Sarah might be, told him of Agnes
+Remington, describing her as she was in her mature beauty, with her
+heavy flowing curls, her brilliant color, her flashing diamonds and
+costly laces, and Uncle Joseph, listening to her with parted lips and
+hushed breath, would whisper softly, “Yes, that’s Sarah, beautiful
+Sarah; but tell me—does she ever think of me, or of that time in the
+orchard when I wove the apple blossoms in her hair, where the diamonds
+are now? She loved me then; she told me so. Does she know how sick, and
+sorry, and foolish I am?—how the aching in my poor, simple brain is all
+for her, and how you, Maddy, are doing for me what it is her place to
+do? Had I a voice,” and the crazy man now grew excited, as, raising
+himself in bed, he gesticulated wildly, “had I a voice to reach her,
+I’d cry shame on her, to let you do her work, let you-wear your young
+life and fresh, bright beauty all away for me, whom she ruined.”
+
+The voice he craved, or the echo of it, did reach her, for Jessie had
+been present when the fancy first seized him to hear of Sarah, and in
+the shadowy twilight she told her mother all, dwelling most upon the
+touching sadness of his face when he said, “Does she know how sick and
+sorry I am?”
+
+The pillow which Agnes pressed that night was wet with tears, while in
+her heart was planted a germ of gratitude and respect for the young
+girl doing her work for her. All that she could do for Maddy without
+going directly to her, she did, devising many articles of comfort,
+sending her fruit and flowers, the last new book, or whatever else she
+thought might please her, and always finding a willing messenger in
+Guy. He was miserable, and managed when at home to make others so
+around him. The sight of Maddy bearing her burden so uncomplainingly
+almost maddened him. Had she fretted or complained could bear it
+better, he said, but he did not see the necessity for her to lose all
+her spirit or interest in everything and everybody. Once when he hinted
+as much to Maddy, he had been awed into silence by the subdued
+expression of her face as she told him in part what it was which helped
+her to bear and made the rough places so smooth. He had seen something
+like this in Lucy, when paroxysms of pain were racking her delicate
+frame, but he could not understand it; he only knew it was something he
+could not touch—something against which his arguments beat helplessly,
+and so, with an added respect for Maddy Clyde, he smothered his
+impatience, and determining to help her all he could, rode down to
+Honedale every day, instead of twice a week, as he had done before.
+
+Attentions so marked could not fail to be commented upon; and while
+poor, unsuspecting Maddy was deriving so much comfort from his daily
+visits, deeming that day very long which did not bring him to her, the
+Honedale gossips, of which there were many, were busy with her affairs,
+talking them over at their numerous tea-drinkings, discussing them in
+the streets, and finally at a quilting, where they met in solemn
+conclave, deciding, that, “for a girl like Maddy Clyde it did not look
+well to have so much to do with that young Remington, who, everybody
+knew, was engaged to a somebody in England.”
+
+“Yes, and would have been married long ago, if it wasn’t for this
+foolin’ with Maddy,” chimed in Mrs. Joel Spike, throwing the chalk
+across the quilt to her sister, Tripheny Marvel, who wondered if Maddy
+thought he’d ever have her.
+
+“Of course he wouldn’t. He knew what he was about. He was not green
+enough to marry Grandpa Markham’s daughter; and if she didn’t look out,
+she’d get herself into a pretty scrape. It didn’t look well, anyhow,
+for her to be putting on airs, as she had done ever since big folks
+took her up, and she guessed she wouldn’t be beholden to nobody for her
+larnin’.”
+
+All this and much more was discussed, and by the time the patchwork
+thing was done, there remained but little to be said either for or
+against Guy Remington and Maddy Clyde which had not been said by either
+friend or foe.
+
+Among the invited guests at that quilting was the wife of Farmer Green,
+Maddy’s warmest friend in Honedale, and the one who did her best to
+defend her against the attacks of those whose remarks she well knew
+were caused more by envy than any personal dislike to Maddy, who used
+to be so much of a pet until her superior advantages separated her in a
+measure from them. Good Mrs. Green was sorely tried. Without in the
+least blaming Maddy, she, too, had been troubled at the frequency of
+Guy’s Visits to the cottage. It was not friendship alone which took him
+there, she was sure; and knowing that he was engaged, she feared for
+Maddy’s happiness at first, and afterward, when people began to talk,
+she feared for her good name. Something must be done, and though she
+dreaded it greatly, she was the one to do it. Accordingly, next day she
+started for the cottage, which Guy had just left, and this, in her
+opinion, accounted for the bright color in Maddy’s cheek and the
+sparkle in her eye. Guy had been there, bringing and leaving a world of
+sunshine, but, alas, his chances for coming ever again as he had done
+were fearfully small, when, at the close of Mrs. Green’s well-meant
+visit, Maddy lay on her bed, her white, frightened face buried in the
+pillows, and herself half wishing she had died before the last hour had
+come, with the terrible awakening it had brought; awakening to the fact
+that of all living beings, Guy Remington was the one she loved the
+best—the one without whose presence it seemed to her she could not
+live, but without which she now knew she must.
+
+With the best of intentions Mrs. Green had made a bungle of the whole
+affair, but had succeeded in giving Maddy a general impression that
+folks were talking awfully about Guy’s coming there, and doing for her
+so much like an accepted lover, when everybody knew he was engaged, and
+wouldn’t be likely to marry a poor girl if he wasn’t; that unless she
+wanted to be ruined teetotally, and lose all her friends, she must
+contrive to stop his visits, and not see him so much.
+
+“Yes, I’ll do anything, only please leave me now,” Maddy gasped, her
+face as white as ashes and her eyes fixed pleadingly upon Mrs. Green,
+who, having been young herself, guessed the truth, and, as she arose to
+go, laid her motherly hand on Maddy’s head, saving kindly:
+
+“Poor child, it’s hard to bear now, but you’ll get over it in time.”
+
+“Get over it,” Maddy moaned, as she shut and bolted the door after Mrs.
+Green, and then threw herself upon the bed, “I never shall till I die.”
+
+She almost felt that she was dying then, so desolate and so dreary the
+future looked to her. What was life worth without Guy, and why had she
+been thrown so much in his way; why permitted to love him as she knew
+she did, if she must lose him now? Maddy could not cry; there was a
+tightness about her eyes, and a keen, cutting pain about her heart as
+she tried to pray for strength to do what was right—strength to cast
+Guy Remington from her heart where it was a sin for him to be; and then
+she asked to be forgiven for the wrong she had unwittingly done to Lucy
+Atherstone, who trusted implicitly, and who, in her last letter, had
+said:
+
+“If I had not so much faith in Guy I should be jealous of one who has
+so many opportunities for stealing his heart from me. But I trust you,
+Maddy Clyde. You would not do a thing to harm me, I am sure, and to
+lose Guy now, after these years of cruel waiting, would kill me.”
+
+Sweet Lucy, there was in her heart a faint stirring of fear lest Maddy
+Clyde might be a shadow in her pathway, else she had never written that
+to her. But Lucy’s cause was safe in Maddy’s hands. Always too
+high-souled to do a treacherous act, she was now sustained by another
+and holier principle, which of itself would have kept her from the
+wrong. But for a few moments Maddy abandoned herself to the bliss of
+fancying what it would be to be loved by Guy Remington, even as she
+loved him. And as she thought, there crept into her heart the certainty
+that in some degree he did love her; that his friendship was more than
+a mere liking for the girl to whom he had been so kind. In Lucy’s
+absence she was essential to his happiness, and that was why he sought
+her society so much. Remembering everything that had passed, but more
+particularly the incidents of that memorable night ride to Honedale
+with all that had followed since, she could not doubt it, and softly to
+herself she whispered, “He loves me, he loves me,” while little throbs
+of joy beat all over her heart; but only for an instant, and then the
+note of joy was changed to sorrow as she thought how she must
+henceforth seek to kill that love, both for her own sake and Lucy’s.
+Guy must not come there any more. She could not bear it now, even if
+the neighbors had never meddled with her. She could not see him as she
+had done, and not betray her real feelings toward him. He had been
+there that day; he would come again tomorrow. She could see him now
+just as he would look coming up the walk, easy and self-possessed,
+confident of his reception, his handsome face beaming all over with
+kind thoughtfulness for her, and his voice full of tender concern as he
+asked how she was, and bade Flora see that she did not overtax herself,
+and all this must cease. She had seen it, heard it for the last time.
+No wonder that Maddy’s heart fainted within her, as she thought how
+desolate, how dreary would be the days when Guy no longer came. But the
+victory was gained at last, and strength imparted for the task she had
+to do.
+
+Going to the table she opened her portfolio, the gift of Guy, and with
+her gold pen, also his gift, wrote to him what the neighbors were
+saying, and that he must come there no more; at least, only once in a
+great while, because if he did, she could not see him. Then, when this
+was written, she went down to Uncle Joseph, beginning to call for her,
+and sat by him as usual, singing to him the songs he loved so well, and
+which this night pleased him especially, because the voice which sang
+them was so plaintive, so full of woe. Would he never go to sleep, or
+the hand which held hers so firmly relax its hold? Never, it seemed to
+Maddy, who sat and sang, while the night-bird on a distant tree,
+awakened by the low song, uttered a responsive note, and the hours
+crept on to midnight. Human nature could endure no more, and when the
+crazy man said to her, “Now sing of Him who died on Calvary,” Maddy’s
+answer was a gaping cry as she fell fainting on the pillow.
+
+“It was only a nervous headache,” she said to the frightened Flora, who
+came at Uncle Joseph’s call, and helped her young mistress up to bed.
+“She should be better in the morning, and she would rather be alone.”
+
+So Flora left her there, but went often to her door, until assured by
+the low breathing sound that Maddy was sleeping at last. It was a heavy
+sleep, and when Maddy awakened from it the pain in her temples was
+there still; she could not rise, and half glad that she could not,
+inasmuch as her illness would be a reason why she could not see Guy if
+he came. She did not know he was here already, until she heard his
+voice speaking to her grandfather. It was later than she imagined, and
+he had ridden down early because he could not stay away.
+
+“I can’t see him, Flora,” Maddy said, when the latter came up with the
+message that Mr. Remington was there with his buggy, and asked if a
+little ride would not do her good. “I can’t see him, but give him
+this,” and she placed in Flora’s hand the note, baptized with so many
+tears and prayers, and the contents of which made Guy furious; not at
+her, but at the neighbors, the inquisitive, envious, ignorant,
+meddlesome neighbors, who had dared to talk of him, or to breathe a
+suspicious word against Maddy Clyde. He would see; he would make them
+sorry for it; they should take back every word; and they should beg
+Maddy’s forgiveness for the pain they had caused her.
+
+All this, and much more, Guy thought, as with Maddy’s note in his hand
+he walked up and down the sitting-room, raging like a young lion, and
+threatening vengeance upon everybody. This was not the first intimation
+Guy had received of the people’s gossip, for only that morning Mrs.
+Noah had hinted that his course was not at all calculated to do Maddy
+any good, while Agnes had repeated to him some things which she had
+heard touching the frequency of his visits to Honedale; but these were
+nothing to the calmly worded message which banished him effectually
+from Maddy’s presence. He knew Maddy, and he knew, she meant what she
+wrote, but he could not have it so. He must see her; he would see her;
+and so for the next half hour Flora was the bearer of written messages
+to and from Maddy’s room; messages of earnest entreaty on the one hand,
+and of firm denial on the other. At last Maddy wrote:
+
+“If you care for me in the least, or for my respect, leave me, and do
+not come again until I send for you. I am not insensible to your
+kindness. I feel it all; but the world is nearer right than you
+suppose. It does not look well for you to come here so much, and I
+prefer that you should not. Justice to Lucy requires that you stay
+away.”
+
+That ended it! That roused up Guy’s pride, and writing back:
+
+“You shall be obeyed. Good-by.” He sprang into his buggy, and Maddy,
+listening, with head and heart throbbing alike, heard him as he drove
+furiously away.
+
+Those were long, dreary days which followed, and but for her
+grandfather’s increasing feebleness Maddy would almost have died.
+Anxiety for him, however, kept her from dwelling too much upon herself,
+but the excitement and the care wore upon her sadly, robbing her eye of
+its luster and her cheek of its remaining bloom, making even Mrs. Noah
+cry when she came one day with Jessie to see how they were getting on.
+She had heard from Guy of his banishment, and now that he stayed away,
+she was ready to step in; so she came, laden with sympathy and other
+more substantial comforts brought from the Aikenside larder.
+
+Maddy was glad to see her, and for a time cried softly on her bosom,
+while Mrs. Noah’s tears kept company with hers. Not a word was said of
+Guy, except when Jessie told her he was gone to Boston, and it was so
+stupid at home without him.
+
+With more than her ordinary discretion, Flora kept to herself what had
+passed when Guy was last there, so Mrs. Noah knew nothing except what
+he had told her, and what she read in Maddy’s white, suffering face.
+This last was enough to excite all her pity, and she treated the young
+girl with the most motherly kindness, staying all night, and herself
+taking care of grandpa, who was now too ill to sit up. There seemed to
+be no disease preying upon him, nothing save old age, and the loss of
+one who for more than forty years had shared all his joy and sorrow. He
+could not live without her, and one night, three weeks after Guy’s
+dismissal, he said to Maddy, as she was about to leave him:
+
+“Sit with me, darling, for a little while, if you are not too tired.
+Your grandmother seems near me to-night, and so does Alice, your
+mother. Maybe I’ll be with them before another day. I hope I may if God
+is willing, and there’s much I would say to you.”
+
+He was very pale, and the great sweat drops stood on his forehead and
+under his white hair, but Maddy wiped them away and listened with a
+breaking heart while the aged disciple almost home told her of the
+peace, the joy, that shone around his pathway to the tomb, and of the
+everlasting arm bearing him so gently over Jordan. Then he talked of
+herself, blessing her for all she had been to him, telling her how
+happy she had made his life since she came home to stay, and how for a
+time he had ached so with fear lest she should choose to go back and
+leave him to a stranger. “But my darling stayed with her old grandpa.
+She’ll never be sorry for it, never. I’ve tried you sometimes, I know,
+for old folks ain’t like young; but I’m sorry, Maddy, and you’ll forget
+it when I’m gone, darling Maddy, precious child;” and the trembling
+hand rested caressingly on her bowed head as grandpa went on to speak
+of his affairs, his little property which was hers after the mortgage
+to Mr. Guy was paid. “I’ve kept up the interest,” he said, “but I could
+never get him to take any of the principal. I don’t know why he is so
+good to me. Tell him, Maddy, how I thanked and blessed him just before
+I died; tell him how I used to pray for him every day that he might
+choose the better part. And he will—I’m sure he will, some day. He
+hasn’t been here of late, and though my old eyes are dim, I can see
+that your step has got slow, and your face whiter by many shades, since
+he stayed away. Maddy, child, the dead tell no secrets, and I shall
+soon be dead. Tell me, then, what it is between you two. Does my girl
+love Mr. Guy?”
+
+“Oh, grandpa! grandpa!” Maddy moaned, laying her head beside his own on
+the pillow.
+
+It would be a relief to talk with some one of that terrible pain, which
+grew worse every day; of that intense longing just for one sight of the
+beloved one; of Guy, still absent from Aikenside, wandering nobody knew
+where; and so Maddy told the whole story, while the dying man listened
+to her, and smoothing her silken hair, tried to comfort her.
+
+“The worst is not over yet,” he said. “Guy will offer to make you his
+wife, sacrificing Lucy for you, and if he does, what will my darling
+do?”
+
+Maddy’s heart leaped up into her throat, and for a moment prevented her
+from answering, for the thought of Guy’s really offering to make her
+his wife, to shield her from evil, to enfold her in his tender love,
+made her giddy with joy. But it could not be, and she answered through
+her tears:
+
+“I shall tell him no.”
+
+“God bless my Maddy! She will tell him no for Lucy’s sake, and God will
+bring it right at last,” the old man whispered, his voice growing very
+faint and tremulous. “She will tell him no,” he kept repeating, until,
+rousing up to greater consciousness, he spoke of Uncle Joseph, and
+asked what Maddy would do with him; would she send him back to the
+asylum, or care for him there? “He will be happier here,” he said, “but
+it is asking too much of a young girl like you. He may live for years.”
+
+“I do not know, grandpa. I hope I may do right. I think I shall keep
+Uncle Joseph with me,” Maddy replied, a shudder creeping over her as
+she thought of living out all her youth and possibly middle age with a
+lunatic.
+
+But her grandfather’s whispered blessings brought comfort with them,
+and a calm quiet fell upon her as she sat there listening to the words
+of prayer, and catching now and then her own name and that of Guy’s.
+
+“I am drowsy, Maddy. Watch while I sleep. Perhaps I’ll never wake
+again,” grandpa said, and clasping Maddy’s hands he fell away to sleep,
+while Maddy kept her watch beside him, herself falling into a troubled
+sleep, from which she was aroused by a clammy hand pressing on her
+forehead, and Uncle Joseph’s voice, which said: “Wake, my child.
+There’s been a guest here while you slumbered,” and he pointed to the
+rigid features of the newly dead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+THE BURDEN GROWS HEAVIER.
+
+
+Of the days which followed, Maddy had no distinct consciousness. She
+only knew that other hands than hers cared for the dead, that in the
+little parlor a stiff, white figure lay, that neighboring women stole
+in, treading on tiptoe, and speaking in hushed voices as they
+consulted, not her, but Mrs. Noah, who had come at once, and cared for
+her and hers so kindly. That she lay all day in her own room, where the
+summer breeze blew softly through the window, bringing the perfume of
+summer flowers, the sound of a tolling bell, of grinding wheels, the
+notes of a low, sad hymn, sung in faltering tones, and of many feet
+moving from the door. Then friendly faces looked in upon her, asking
+how she felt, and whispering ominously to each other as she answered:
+
+“Very well; is grandpa getting better?”
+
+Then Mrs. Noah sat with her for a time, fanning her with a palm-leaf
+fan and brushing the flies away. Then Flora came up with a man whom
+they called “Doctor,” and who gave his sundry little pills and powders
+dissolved in water, after which they all went out and left her there
+with Jessie who had been crying, and whose soft little hands felt so
+cool on her hot head, and whose kisses on her lips made the tears
+start, and brought a thought of Guy, making her ask, “if he was at the
+funeral.” She did not know whose funeral, or why she used that word,
+only it seemed to her that Jessie just came back from somebody’s grave,
+and she asked if Guy was there. “No,” Jessie said; “mother wanted to
+write and tell him, but we don’t know where he is.”
+
+And this was all Maddy could recall of the days succeeding the night of
+her last watch at her grandfather’s side, until one balmy August
+afternoon, when on the Honedale hills there lay that smoky haze so like
+the autumn time hurrying on apace, and when through her open window
+stole the fragrance of the later summer flowers. Then, as if waking
+from an ordinary sleep, she woke suddenly to consciousness, and staring
+about the room, wondered if it were as late as the western sun would
+indicate, and how she came to sleep so long. For a while she lay
+thinking, and as she thought, a sad scene came back to her, a night
+when her hot hands had been enfolded in those of the dead, and that
+dead her grandfather. Was it true, or was she laboring under some
+hallucination of the brain? If true, was that white, placid face still
+to be seen in the room below, or had they burial him from her sight?
+She would know, and with a strange kind of nervous strength she arose,
+and throwing on the wrapper and slippers which lay near, descended the
+stairs, wondering to find herself so weak, and half shuddering at the
+deep stillness of the house; stillness broken only by the ticking of
+the clock and the purring of the house cat, which at sight of Maddy
+arose from its position near the door and came forward, rubbing its
+sides against her dress, and trying in various ways to evince its joy
+at seeing one whose caresses it had missed so long. The little bedroom
+off the kitchen where grandpa slept and died was vacant; the old
+fashioned coat was put away, as was every vestige of the old man save
+the broad-rimmed hat which hung upon the wall just where his hands had
+hung it, and which looked so much like its owner that with a gush of
+tears Maddy sank upon the bed, moaning to herself, “Yes, grandpa is
+dead. I remember now. But Uncle Joseph, where is he? Can he too have
+died without my knowledge? and she looked round in vain for the
+lunatic, not a trace of whom was to be found. His room was in perfect
+order, as was everything about the house, showing that Flora was still
+the domestic goddess, while Maddy detected also various things which
+she recognized as having come from Aikenside. Who sent them? Did Guy,
+and had he been there too while she was sick? The thought brought a
+throb of joy to Maddy’s heart, but it soon passed away as she began
+again to wonder if Uncle Joseph too had died, and where Flora was. It
+was not far to the Honedale burying ground. Maddy could see the
+headstones from where she sat gleaming through the August sunlight;
+could discern her mother’s, and knew that two fresh mounds at least
+were made beside it. But were there three? Was Uncle Joseph there? By
+stealing across the meadow in the rear of the house the distance to the
+graveyard was shortened more than half, and could not be more than the
+eighth part of a mile, She could walk so far, she knew. The fresh air
+would do her good, and hunting up her long unused flat, the impatient
+girl started, stopping once or twice to rest as a dizzy faintness came
+over her, and then continuing on until the spot she sought was reached,
+Three graves, one old and sunken, one made when the last winter’s snow
+was on the hills, the other fresh and new. That was all, Uncle Joseph
+was not there, and vague terror entered Maddy’s heart lest he had been
+taken back to the asylum.
+
+“I will get him out,” she said; “I will take care of him. I should die
+with nothing to do; and I promised grandpa——”
+
+She could get no farther, for the rush of memories which came over her,
+and seating herself upon the ground close to the new grave, she laid
+her face upon it, and sobbed piteously:
+
+“Oh, grandpa. I’m so lonely without you all; I almost wish I was lying
+here in the quiet yard.”
+
+Then a storm of tears ensued, after which Maddy grew calm, and with her
+head still bent low, did not hear the rapid step approaching, the manly
+step coming down the grassy road, coming past the marble tombstones, on
+to where that wasted figure was crouching upon the ground. There it
+stopped, and in a half whisper called, “Maddy! Maddy!” Then indeed she
+started, and lifting up her head saw before her Guy Remington. For a
+moment she regarded him intently while he said to her, oh so kindly, so
+pityingly.
+
+“Poor child, you have suffered so much, and I never knew of it till a
+few days ago.”
+
+At the sound of that loved voice speaking thus to her, everything else
+was forgotten, and with a cry of joy Maddy stretched her hands toward
+him, moaning out:
+
+“Oh, Guy, Guy, where have you been, when I wanted you so much?”
+
+Maddy did not know what she was saying, or half comprehend the effect
+it had on Guy, who forgot everything save that she wanted him, had
+missed him, had turned to him in her trouble, and it was not in his
+nature to resist her appeal. With a spring he was at her side, and
+lifting her in his arms seated himself upon her mother’s grave; then
+straining her tightly to his bosom, he kissed her again and again. Hot,
+burning, passionate kisses they were, which took from Maddy all power
+of resistance, even had she wished it, which she did not. Too weak to
+reason, or see the harm, if harm there were, in being loved by Guy, she
+abandoned herself for a brief interval to the bliss of knowing that she
+was beloved, and of hearing him tell her so.
+
+“Darling Maddy,” he said, “I went away because you sent me, but now I
+have come back, and nothing shall part us again. You are mine; I claim
+you here at your mother’s grave. Precious Maddy, I did not know of all
+this till three days ago, when Agnes’ letter found me almost at the
+Rocky Mountains. I traveled day and night, reaching Aikenside this
+morning, and coming straight to Honedale. I wish I had come before, now
+that I know you wanted me. Say that again, Maddy. Tell me again that
+you missed and wanted me.”
+
+He was smoothing her hair now, as her head still lay pillowed upon his
+breast, so he could not see the spasm of pain which contorted her
+features as he thus appealed to her. Half bewildered, Maddy could not
+at first make out whether it were a blissful dream or a reality, her
+lying there in Guy’s arms with his kisses on her forehead, lips and
+cheek, his words of devotion in her ear, and the soft summer sky
+smiling down upon her. Alas, it was a dream from which she was awakened
+by the thought of one across the sea, whose place she had usurped, and
+this it was which brought the grieved expression to her face as she
+answered mournfully:
+
+“I did want you, Guy, when I forgot; but now—oh, Guy—Lucy Atherstone!”
+
+With a gesture of impatience Guy was about to answer, when something in
+the heavy fall of the little hand from his shoulder alarmed him, and
+lifting up the drooping head he saw that Maddy had fainted. Then back
+across the meadow Guy bore her to the cottage, where Flora, just
+returned from a neighbor’s, whither she had gone upon an errand, was
+looking for her in much affright, and wondering who had come from
+Aikenside with that wet, tired horse, showing so plainly how hard it
+had been driven.
+
+Up again into her little chamber Maddy was carried and laid upon the
+bed, which she never left until the golden harvest sheaves were
+gathered in, and the hot September sun was ripening the fruits of
+autumn. But now she had a new nurse, a constant attendant, who during
+the day seldom left her except to talk with and amuse Uncle Joseph,
+mourning below because no one sang to him or noticed him as Maddy used
+to do. He had not been sent to the asylum, as Maddy feared, but by way
+of relieving Flora had been taken to Farmer Green’s, where he was so
+homesick and discontented that at Guy’s instigation he was suffered to
+return to the cottage, crying like a little child when the old familiar
+spot was reached, kissing his armchair, the cook-stove, the tongs, Mrs.
+Noah and Flora, and timidly offering to kiss the Lord Governor himself,
+as he persisted in calling Guy, who declined the honor, but listened
+quietly to the crazy man’s promise “not to spit the smallest kind of a
+spit on the floor, or anywhere, except in its proper place.”
+
+Guy had passed through several states of mind during the interval in
+which we have seen so little of him. Furious at one time, and reckless
+as to consequences, he had determined to break with Lucy and marry
+Maddy, in spite of everybody; then, as a sense of honor came over him,
+he resolved to forget Maddy, if possible, and marry Lucy at once. It
+was in this last mood, and while roaming over the Western country,
+whither after his banishment he had gone, that he wrote to Lucy a
+strange kind of letter, saying he had waited for her long enough, and
+sick or well he should claim her the coming autumn. To this letter Lucy
+had responded quickly, sweetly reproving Guy for his impatience, softly
+hinting that latterly he had been quite as culpable as herself in the
+matter of deferring their union and appointing the bridal day for
+the—of December. After this was settled Guy felt better, though the old
+sore spot in his heart, where Maddy Clyde had been, was very sore
+still, and sometimes it required all his powers of self-control to keep
+from writing to Lucy and asking to be released from an engagement so
+irksome as his had become. Neglecting to answer Agnes’ letters when he
+first left home, she did not know where he was until a short time
+before, when she wrote apprising him of grandpa’s death and Maddy’s
+severe illness. This brought him, while Maddy’s involuntary outburst
+when she met him in the graveyard, changed the whole current of his
+intentions. Let what would come, Maddy Clyde should be his wife and as
+such he watched over her, nursing her back to life, and by his manner
+effectually silencing all remark, so that the neighbors whispered among
+themselves what Maddy’s prospects were, and, as was quite natural, were
+a very little more attentive to the future lady of Aikenside. Poor
+Maddy! it was a terrible trial which awaited her, but it must be met,
+and so with prayers and tears she fortified herself to meet it, while
+Guy, the devoted lover, hung over her, never guessing of all that was
+passing in her mind, or how, when he was out of sight, the lips he had
+longed so much to kiss, but never had since that day in the graveyard,
+quivered with anguish as they asked for strength to do right. Oh, how
+Maddy did love the man she must give up, and how often went up the
+wailing cry, “Help me, Father, to do my duty, and give me, too, a
+greater inclination to do it than I now possess.”
+
+Maddy’s heart did fail her sometimes, and she might have yielded to the
+temptation but for Lucy’s letter, full of eager anticipations of the
+time when she should see Guy never to part again.
+
+“Sometimes,” she wrote, “there comes over me a dark foreboding of
+evil—a fear that I shall miss the cup now within my reach; but I pray
+the bad feelings away. I am sure there is no living being who will come
+between us to break my heart, and as I know God doeth all things well,
+I trust Him wholly, and cease to doubt.”
+
+It was well the letter came when it did, as it helped Maddy to meet the
+hour she so much dreaded, and which came at last on an afternoon when
+Mrs. Noah had gone to Aikenside, and Flora had gone on an errand to a
+neighbor’s, two miles away, thus leaving Guy free to tell the story,
+the old, old story, yet always new to him who tells it and her who
+listens—story which, as Guy told it, sitting by Maddy’s side, with her
+hands in his, thrilled her through and through, making the sweat drops
+start out around her lips and underneath her hair—story which made Guy
+himself pant nervously and tremble like a leaf, so earnestly he told
+it; told how long he had loved her, of the picture withheld, the
+jealousy he felt each time the doctor named her, the selfish joy he
+experienced when he heard the doctor was refused; told of his growing
+dissatisfaction with his engagement, his frequent resolves to break it,
+his final decision, which that scene in the graveyard had reversed, and
+then asked if she would not be his—not doubtfully, but confidently,
+eagerly, as if sure of her answer.
+
+Alas for Guy! he could not believe he heard aright when, turning her
+head away for a moment while she prayed for strength, Maddy’s answer
+came, “I cannot, Guy, I cannot. I acknowledge the love which has stolen
+upon me, I know not how, but I cannot do this wrong to Lucy. Away from
+me you will love her again. You must. Read this, Guy, then say if you
+can desert her.”
+
+She placed Lucy’s letter in his hand, and Guy read it with a heart
+which ached to its very core. It was cruel to deceive that gentle,
+trusting girl writing so lovingly of him, but to lose Maddy was to his
+undisciplined nature more dreadful still, and casting the letter aside
+he pleaded again, this time with the energy of despair, for he read his
+fate in Maddy’s face, and when her lips a second time confirmed her
+first reply, while she appealed to his sense of honor, of justice, of
+right, and told him he could and must forget her, he knew there was no
+hope, and man though he was, bowed his head upon Maddy’s hands and wept
+stormily, mighty, choking sobs, which shook his frame, and seemed to
+break up the very fountains of his life. Then to Maddy there came a
+terrible temptation. Was it right for two who loved as they did to live
+their lives apart?—right in her to force on Guy the fulfillment of vows
+he could not literally keep? As mental struggles are always the more
+severe, so Maddy’s took all her strength away, and for many minutes she
+lay so white and still that Guy roused himself to care for her,
+thinking of nothing then except to make her better.
+
+It was a long time ere that interview ended, but when it did there was
+on Maddy’s face a peaceful expression, which only the sense of having
+done right at the cost of a fearful sacrifice could give, while Guy’s
+bore traces of a great and crushing sorrow, as he went out from Maddy’s
+presence and felt that to him she was lost forever. He had promised her
+he would do right; had said he would marry Lucy, being to her what a
+husband should be; had listened while she talked of another world,
+where they neither marry nor are given in marriage, and where it would
+not be sinful for them to love each other, and as she talked her face
+had shone like the face of an angel. He had held one of her hands at
+parting, bending low his head, while she laid the other on it as she
+blessed him, letting her snowy fingers thread his soft brown hair and
+linger caressingly among his curly locks. But that was over now. They
+had parted forever. She was lying where he left her, cold, and white,
+and faint with dizzy pain. He was riding swiftly toward Aikenside, his
+heart beats keeping time to the swift tread of his horse’s feet, and
+his mind a confused medley of distracted thoughts, amid which two facts
+stood out prominent and clear-he had lost Maddy Clyde, and had promised
+her to marry Lucy Atherstone.
+
+For many days after that Guy kept his room, saying he was sick, and
+refusing to see any one save Jessie and Mrs. Noah, the latter of whom
+guessed in part what had happened, and imputing to him far more credit
+than he deserved, petted and pitied and cared for him until he grew
+weary of it, and said to her savagely: “You needn’t think me so good,
+for I am not. I wanted Maddy Clyde, and told her so, but she refused me
+and made me promise to marry Lucy; so I’m going to do that very
+thing—going to England in a few weeks, or as soon as Maddy is better,
+and before the sun of this year sets I shall be a married man.”
+
+After this all Mrs. Noah’s sympathy was in favor of Maddy, the good
+lady making more than one pilgrimage to Honedale, where she expended
+all her arguments trying to make Maddy revoke her decision; but Maddy
+was firm in what she deemed right, and as her health began slowly to
+improve, and there was no longer an excuse for Guy to tarry, he gave
+out to the neighborhood that he was at last to be married, and started
+for England the latter part of October, as unhappy and unwilling a
+bridegroom, it may be, as ever wait after a bride.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+THE INTERVAL BEFORE THE MARRIAGE.
+
+
+Maddy never knew how she lived through those bright, autumnal days,
+when the gorgeous beauty of decaying nature seemed so cruelly to mock
+her anguish. As long as Guy was there, breathing the same air with
+herself, she kept up, vaguely conscious of a shadowy hope that
+something would happen without her instrumentality, something to ease
+the weight pressing so hard upon her. But when she heard that he had
+really gone, that a line had been received from him after he was on
+board the steamer, all hope died out of her heart, and had it been
+right she would have prayed that she might die and forget how utterly
+miserable she was.
+
+At last there came to her three letters, one from Lucy, one from the
+doctor, and one from Guy himself. Lucy’s she opened first, reading of
+the sweet girl’s great happiness in seeing her darling boy again, of
+her sorrow to find him so thin, and pale, and changed, in all save his
+extreme kindness to her, his careful study of her wants, and evident
+anxiety to please her in every respect. On this Lucy dwelt, until
+Maddy’s heart seemed to leap up and almost turn over in its casing, so
+fiercely it throbbed and ached with anguish. She was out in the beechen
+woods when she read the letter, and laying her face in the grass she
+sobbed as she had never sobbed before.
+
+The doctor’s next was opened, and Maddy read with blinding tears that
+which for a moment increased her pain and sent to her bleeding heart an
+added pang of disappointment, or a sense of wrong done to her, she
+could not tell which. Dr. Holbrook was to be married the same day with
+Lucy, and to Lucy’s sister, Margaret.
+
+“Maggie, I call her,” he wrote, “because that name is so much like my
+first love, Maddy, the little girl who though I was too old to be her
+husband, and so made me very wretched for a time, until I met and knew
+Margaret Atherstone. I have told her of you, Maddy; I would not marry
+her without, and she seems willing to take me as I am. We shall come
+home with Guy, who is the mere wreck of what he was when I last saw
+him. He has told me, Maddy, all about it, and though I doubly respect
+you now, I cannot say that I think you did quite right. Better that one
+should suffer than two, and Lucy’s is a nature which will forget far
+sooner than yours or Guy’s. I pity you all.”
+
+This almost killed Maddy; she did not love the doctor, but the
+knowledge that he was to marry another added to her misery, while what
+he said of her decision was the climax of the whole. Had her sacrifice
+been for nothing? Would it have been better if she had not sent Guy
+away? It was anguish unspeakable to believe so, and the shadowy woods
+never echoed to so bitter a cry of pain as that with which she laid her
+head on the ground, and for a brief moment wished that she might die.
+God pitied His child then, and for the next half hour she hardly knew
+what she suffered.
+
+There was Guy’s letter yet to read, and with a listless indifference
+she opened it, starting as there dropped into her lap a small _carte de
+viste_, a perfect likeness of Guy, who sent it, he said, because he
+wished her to have so much of himself. It would make him happier to
+know she could sometimes look at him just as he should gaze upon her
+dear picture after it was a sin to love the original. And this was all
+the direct reference he made to the past except where he spoke of Lucy,
+telling how happy she was, and how if anything could reconcile him to
+his fate, it was the knowing how pure and good and loving was the wife
+he was getting. Then he wrote of the doctor and Margaret, whom he
+described as a dashing, brilliant girl, the veriest tease and madcap in
+the world, and the exact opposite of Maddy.
+
+“It is strange to me why he chose her after loving you,” he wrote; “but
+as they seem fond of each other, their chances of happiness are not
+inconsiderable.”
+
+This letter, so calm, so cheerful in its tone, had a quieting effect on
+Maddy, who read it twice, and then placing it in her bosom, started for
+the cottage, meeting on the way with Flora who was seeking for her in
+great alarm. Uncle Joseph had had a fit, she said, and fallen upon the
+floor, cutting his forehead badly against the sharp point of the stove.
+Hurrying on Maddy found that what Flora had said was true, and sent
+immediately for the physician, who came at once, but shook his head
+doubtfully as he examined his patient. There were all the symptoms of a
+fever, he said, bidding Maddy prepare for the worst. Nothing in the
+form of trouble could particularly affect Maddy now, and perhaps it was
+wisely ordered that Uncle Joseph’s illness should take her thoughts
+from herself. From the very first he refused to take his medicines from
+any one save her or Jessie, who with her mother’s permission stayed
+altogether at the cottage, and who, as Guy’s sister, was a great
+comfort to Maddy.
+
+As the fever increased, and Uncle Joseph grew more and more delirious
+his cries for Sarah were heartrending, making Jessie weep bitterly as
+she said to Maddy:
+
+“If I knew where this Sarah was I’d go miles on foot to find her and
+bring her to him.”
+
+Something like this Jessie said to her mother when she went for a day
+to Aikenside, asking her in conclusion if she thought Sarah would go.
+
+“Perhaps,” and Agnes brushed abstractedly her long, flowing hair,
+winding it around her jeweled fingers, and then letting the soft curls
+fall across her snowy arms.
+
+“Where do you suppose she is?” was Jessie’s next question, but if Agnes
+knew, she did not answer, except by reminding her little daughter that
+it was past her bedtime.
+
+The next morning Agnes’ eyes were very red, as if she had been wakeful
+the entire night, while her white face fully warranted the headache she
+professed to have.
+
+“Jessie,” she said, as they sat together at their breakfast, “I am
+going to Honedale to-day, going to see Maddy, and shall leave you here,
+as I do not care to have us both absent.”
+
+Jessie demurred a little at first, but finally yielded, wondering what
+had prompted this visit to the cottage. Maddy wondered so, too, as from
+the window she saw Agnes instead of Jessie alighting from the carriage,
+and was conscious of a thrill of gratification that Agnes would have
+come to see her. But Agnes’ business concerned the sick man, poor Uncle
+Joseph, who was sleeping when she came, and so did not hear her voice
+as in the tidy kitchen she talked to Maddy, appearing extremely
+agitated, and flashing her eyes rapidly from one part of the room to
+another, resting now upon the tinware hung upon the wall and now upon
+the gourd swimming in the water pail standing in the old-fashioned
+sink, with the wooden spout, directly over the pile of stones covering
+the drain. These things were familiar to the proud woman; she had seen
+them before, and the sight of them now brought to her a most remorseful
+regret for the past, while her heart ached cruelly as she wished she
+had never crossed that threshold, or crossing it had never brought ruin
+to one of its inmates. Agnes was not the same woman whom we first knew.
+All hope of the doctor had long since been given up, and as Jessie grew
+older the mother nature was stronger within her, subduing her
+selfishness, and making her far more gentle and considerate for others
+than she had been before. To Maddy she was exceedingly kind, and never
+more so in manner than now, when they sat talking together in the
+humble kitchen at the cottage.
+
+“You look tired and sick,” she said. “Your cares have been too much for
+one not yet strong. Let me sit by him till he wakes, and you go up to
+bed.”
+
+Very gladly Maddy accepted the offered relief, and utterly worn out
+with her constant vigils, she was soon sleeping soundly in her own
+room, while Flora, in the little shed, or back room of the house, was
+busy with her ironing. Thus there was none to follow Agnes as she went
+slowly into the sick-room where Uncle Joseph lay, his thin face
+upturned to the light, and his lips occasionally moving as he muttered
+in his sleep. There was a strange contrast between that wasted imbecile
+and that proud, queenly woman, but she could remember a time when the
+superiority was all upon his side, a time when in her childish
+estimation he was the embodiment of every manly beauty, and the
+knowledge that he loved her, his sister’s little hired girl, filled her
+with pride and vanity. A great change had come to them both since those
+days, and Agnes, watching him and smothering back the cry of pain which
+arose to her lips at sight of him, felt that for the fearful change in
+him she was answerable. Intellectual, talented, admired and sought by
+all he had been once; he was a mere wreck now, and Agnes’ breath came
+in short, quick gasps, as glancing furtively around to see that no one
+was near, she laid her hand upon his forehead, and parting his thin
+hair, said, pityingly: “Poor Joseph.”
+
+The touch awoke him, and starting up he stared wildly at her, while
+some memory of the past seemed to be struggling through the misty
+clouds, obscuring his mental vision.
+
+“Who are you, lady? Who, with eyes and hair like hers?”
+
+“I’m the `madam’ from Aikenside,” Agnes said, quite loudly, as Flora
+passed the door. Then when she was gone she added, softly: “I’m Sarah.
+Don’t you know me? Sarah Agnes Morris.”
+
+It seemed for a moment to burst upon him in its full reality, and to
+her dying day Agnes would never forget the look upon his face, the
+smile of perfect happiness breaking through the rain of tears, the
+love, the tenderness mingled with distrust, which that look betokened
+as he continued gazing at her, but said to her not a word. Again her
+hand rested on his forehead, and taking it now in his he held it to the
+light, laughing insanely at its soft whiteness; then touching the
+costly diamonds which flashed upon him the rainbow hues, he said:
+“Where’s that little bit of a ring I bought for you?”
+
+She had anticipated this, and took from her pocket a plain gold ring,
+kept until that day where no one could find it, and holding it up to
+him, said: “Here it is. Do you remember it?”
+
+“Yes, yes,” and his lips began to quiver with a grieved, injured
+expression. “He could give you diamonds, and I couldn’t. That’s why you
+left me, wasn’t it, Sarah—why you wrote that letter which made my head
+into two? It’s ached so ever since, and I’ve missed you so much, Sarah!
+They put me in a cell where crazy people were—oh! so many—and they said
+that I was mad, when I was only wanting you. I’m not mad now, am I,
+darling?”
+
+His arm was around her neck, and he drew her down until his lips
+touched hers. And Agnes suffered it. She could not return the kiss, but
+she did not turn away from his, and she let him caress her hair, and
+wind it around his fingers, whispering: “This is like Sarah’s, and you
+are Sarah, are you not?”
+
+“Yes, I am Sarah,” she would answer, while the smile so painful to see
+would again break over his face as he told how much he had missed her,
+and asked if she had not come to stay till he died.
+
+“There’s something wrong,” he said; “somebody dead, and seems as if
+somebody else wanted to die—as if Maddy died ever since the Lord
+Governor went away. Do you know Governor Guy?”
+
+“I am his stepmother,” Agnes replied, whereupon Uncle Joseph laughed so
+long and loud that Maddy awoke, and, alarmed by the noise, came down to
+see what was the matter.
+
+Agnes did not hear her, and as she reached the doorway, she started at
+the strange position of the parties—Uncle Joseph still smoothing the
+curls which drooped over him, and Agnes saying to him: “You heard his
+name was Remington, did you not—James Remington?”
+
+Like a sudden revelation it came upon Maddy, and she turned to leave,
+when Agnes, lifting her head, called her to come in. She did so, and
+standing upon the opposite side of the bed, she said, questioningly:
+“You are Sarah Morris?”
+
+For a moment the eyelids quivered, then the neck arched proudly, as if
+it were a thing of which she was not ashamed, and Agnes answered: “Yes,
+I was Sarah Agnes Morris; once for three months your grandmother’s
+hired girl, and afterward adopted by a lady who gave me what education
+I possess, together with that taste for high life which prompted me to
+jilt your Uncle Joseph when a richer man than he offered himself to
+me.”
+
+That was all she said—all that Maddy ever knew of her history, as it
+was never referred to again, except that evening, when Agnes said to
+her, pleadingly: “Neither Guy nor Jessie, nor any one, need know what I
+have told you.”
+
+“They shall not,” was Maddy’s reply; and from that moment the past, so
+far as Agnes was concerned, was a sealed page to both. With this bond
+of confidence between them, Agnes felt herself strangely drawn toward
+Maddy, while, if it were possible, something of her olden love was
+renewed for the helpless man who clung to her now instead of Maddy,
+refusing to let her go; neither had Agnes any disposition to leave him.
+She should stay to the last, so she said; and she did, taking Maddy’s
+place, and by her faithfulness and care winning golden laurels in the
+opinion of the neighbors, who marveled at first to see so gay a lady at
+Uncle Joseph’s bedside, attributing it all to her friendship for Maddy,
+just as they attributed his calling her Sarah to a crazy freak. She did
+resemble Sarah Morris a very little, they said; and in Maddy’s presence
+they sometimes wondered where Sarah was, repeating strange things which
+they had heard of her; but Maddy kept the secret from every one, so
+that even Jessie never suspected why her mother stayed day after day at
+the cottage; watching and waiting until the last day of Joseph’s life.
+
+She was alone with him then, so that Maddy never knew what passed
+between them. She had left them together for an hour, while she did
+some errands; and when she returned, Agnes met her at the door, and
+with a blanched cheek whispered: “He is dead; he died in my arms,
+blessing you and me; do you hear, blessing me! Surely; my sin is now
+forgiven?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+BEFORE THE BRIDAL.
+
+
+There was a fresh grave made in the churchyard, and another chair
+vacant at the cottage, when Maddy was at last alone. Unfettered by care
+and anxiety for sick ones, her aching heart was free to go out after
+the loved ones over the sea, go to the elm-shaded mansion she had heard
+described so often, and where now two brides were busy with their
+preparations for the bridal hurrying on so fast. Since the letter read
+in the smoky, October woods, Maddy had not heard from Guy directly,
+though Lucy had written since, a few brief lines, telling how happy she
+was, how strong she was growing, and how much like himself Guy was
+becoming. Maddy had been less than a woman if the last intelligence had
+failed to affect her unpleasantly. She did not wish Guy to regret his
+decision; but to be forgotten so soon after so strong protestations of
+affection, was a little mortifying, and Maddy’s heart throbbed
+painfully as she read the letter, half hoping it might prove the last
+she should receive from Lucy Atherstone. Guy had left no orders for any
+changes to be made at Aikenside; but Agnes, who was largely imbued with
+a love of bustle and repair, had insisted that at least the suite of
+rooms intended for the bride should be thoroughly renovated with new
+paper and paint, carpets and furniture. This plan Mrs. Noah opposed,
+for she guessed how little Guy would care for the change; but Agnes was
+resolved, and as she had great faith in Maddy’s taste, she insisted
+that she should go to Aikenside, and pass her judgment upon the
+improvements. It would do her good, she said—little dreaming how much
+it cost Maddy to comply with her wishes, or how fearfully the poor,
+crushed heart ached, as Maddy went through the handsome rooms fitted up
+for Guy’s young bride; but Mrs. Noah guessed it all, pitying so much
+the white-faced girl, whose deep mourning robes told the loss of dear
+ones by death; but gave no token of that great loss, tenfold worse than
+death.
+
+“It was wicked in her to fetch you here,” she said to Maddy, one day
+when in Lucy’s room she found her sitting upon the floor, with her head
+bowed down upon the window sill. “But law, she’s a triflin’ thing, and
+didn’t know ’twould kill you, poor child, poor Maddy!” and Mrs. Noah
+laid her hand kindly on Maddy’s hair. “Maybe you’d better go home,” she
+continued, as Maddy made no reply; “it must be hard, to be here in the
+rooms, and among the things which by good rights should be yours.”
+
+“No, Mrs. Noah,” and Maddy’s voice was strangely unnatural, as she
+lifted up her head, revealing a face so haggard and white that Mrs.
+Noah was frightened, and asked in much alarm if anything new had
+happened.
+
+“No, nothing; I was going to say that I’d rather stay a little longer
+where there are signs and sounds of life. I should die to be alone at
+Honedale to-morrow. I may die here, I don’t know. Do you know that
+to-morrow will be the bridal?”
+
+Yes, Mrs. Noah knew it; but she hoped it might have escaped Maddy’s
+mind.
+
+“Poor child,” she said again, “poor child, I mistrust you did wrong to
+tell him no!”
+
+“Oh, Mrs. Noah, don’t tell me that; don’t make it harder for me to
+bear. The tempter has been telling me so, all day, and my heart is so
+hard and wicked, I cannot pray as I would. Oh, you don’t know how
+wretched I am!” and Maddy hid her face in the broad, motherly lap,
+sobbing so wildly that Mrs. Noah was greatly perplexed, how to act, or
+what to say.
+
+Years ago, she would have spurned the thought that the grandchild of
+the old man who had bowed to his own picture should be mistress of
+Aikenside; but she had changed since then, and could she have had her
+way, she would have stopped the marriage, and, bringing her boy home,
+have given him to the young girl weeping so convulsively in her lap.
+But Mrs. Noah could not have her way. The bridal guests were, even
+then, assembling in that home beyond the sea. She could not call Guy
+back, and so she pitied and caressed the wretched Maddy, saying to her
+at last:
+
+“I’ll tell you what is impressed on my mind; this Lucy’s got the
+consumption, without any kind of doubt, and if you’ve no objections to
+a widower, you may——”
+
+She did not finish the sentence, for Maddy started in horror. To her
+there was something murderous in the very idea, and she thrust it
+quickly aside. Guy Remington was not for her, she said, and her wish
+was to forget him. If she could get through the dreaded to-morrow, she
+should do better. There had been a load upon her the whole day, a
+nightmare she could not shake off, and she had come to Lucy’s room, in
+the hope of leaving her burden there, of praying her pain away. Would
+Mrs. Noah leave her a while, and see that no one came?
+
+The good woman could not refuse, and going out, she left Maddy by the
+window, watching the sun as it went down, and then watching; the wintry
+twilight deepen over the landscape, until all things were blended
+together in one great darkness, and Jessie, seeking for her found her
+at last, fainting upon the floor.
+
+Maddy was glad of the racking headache, which kept her in her bed the
+whole of the next day, glad of any excuse to stay away from the family,
+talking—all but Mrs. Noah—of Guy, and what was transpiring in England.
+They had failed to remember the difference in the longitude of the two
+places; but Maddy forgot nothing, and when the clock struck four, she
+called Mrs. Noah to her and whispered, faintly:
+
+“They were to be married at eight in the evening. Allowing for possible
+delays, it’s over before this and Guy is lost forever!”
+
+Mrs. Noah had no consolation to offer, and only pressed the hot,
+feverish hands, while Maddy turned her face to the wall, and did not
+speak again, except to whisper, incoherently, as she half slumbered,
+half woke:
+
+“Did Guy think of me when he promised to love her, and does he, can he,
+see how miserable I am?” Maddy was indeed passing through deep waters,
+and that night, the fourth of December, the longest, dreariest she ever
+knew, could never be forgotten. Once past, the worst was over, and as
+the rarest metal is purified by fire, so Maddy came from the dreadful
+ordeal strengthened for what was before her. Both Agnes and Mrs. Noah
+noticed the strangely beautiful expression of her face, when she came
+down to the breakfast-room, while Jessie, as she kissed her pale cheek,
+whispered:
+
+“You look as if you had been with the angels.”
+
+Guy was not expected with his bride for two weeks, or more, and as the
+days dragged on, Maddy felt that the waiting for him was more
+intolerable than the seeing him with Lucy would be. Restless and
+impatient, she could not remain quietly at the cottage—while at
+Aikenside, she longed to return again to her own home, and in this way
+the time wore on, until the anniversary of that day when she had come
+from New York, and found Guy waiting for her at the station. To stay
+that day in the house so rife with memories of the dead was impossible,
+and Flora was surprised and delighted to hear that both were going up
+to Aikenside in the vehicle hired of Farmer Green, whose son officiated
+as driver. It was nearly noon when they reached their destination,
+meeting at the gate with Flora’s brother Tom, who said to them:
+
+“We’ve heard from Mr. Guy; the ship is in; they’ll be here sure
+to-night, and Mrs. Noah is turnin’ things upside down with the dinner.”
+
+Leaning back in the buggy, Maddy felt for a moment as if she were
+dying. Never until then had she realized how, all the while, she had
+been clinging to an indefinable hope, a presentiment that something
+might yet occur to spare her from a long lifetime of pain, such as lay
+before her if Guy were really lost; but the bubble had burst, leaving
+her nothing to hope, nothing to cling to, nothing but black despair;
+and half bewildered, she received the noisy greeting of Jessie, who met
+her at the door, and dragged her into the drawing-room, decorated with
+flowers from the hothouse, told her to guess who was coming.
+
+“I know; Tom told me; Guy is coming with Lucy,” Maddy answered, and
+relieving herself from Jessie, she turned to Agnes, asking where Mrs.
+Noah was, and if she might go to her for a moment.
+
+“Oh, Maddy, child, I’m sorry you’ve come to-day,” Mrs. Noah said, as
+she chafed Maddy’s cold hands, and leading her to the fire, made her
+sit down, while she untied her hood, and removed her cloak and furs.
+
+“I did not know it, or I should have stayed away,” Maddy replied; “I
+shall not stay, as it is. I cannot see them to-day. Charlie will drive
+me back before the train is due; but what did he say? And how is Lucy?”
+“He did not mention her. There’s the dispatch” and Mrs. Noah handed to
+Maddy the telegram, received that morning, and which was simply as
+follows:
+
+“The steamer is here. Shall be at the station at five o’clock P. M.
+
+
+GUY REMINGTON.”
+
+
+Twice Maddy read it over, experiencing much the same feeling she would
+have experienced had it been her death warrant she was reading.
+
+“At five o’clock. I must go before that,” she said, sighing as she
+remembered how, one year ago that day, she was traveling over the very
+route where Guy was now traveling with his bride. Did he think of it?
+think of his long waiting at the depot, or of that memorable ride, the
+events of which grew more and more distinct in her memory, making her
+cheeks burn even now, as she recalled his many acts of tenderness and
+care.
+
+Laying the telegram on the table, she went with Mrs. Noah through the
+rooms, warmed and made ready for the bride, lingering longest in
+Lucy’s, which the bridal decorations, and the bright fire blazing in
+the grate made singularly inviting. As yet, there were no flowers
+there, and Maddy claimed the privilege of arranging them for this room
+herself. Agnes had almost stripped the conservatory; but Maddy found
+enough to form a most tasteful bouquet, which she placed upon a marble
+dressing table; then within a slip of paper which she folded across the
+top, she wrote: “Welcome to the bride.”
+
+“They both will recognize my handwriting; they’ll know I’ve been here,”
+she thought, as with one long, last, sad look at the room, she walked
+away.
+
+They were laying the table for dinner now, and with a kind of dizzy,
+uncertain feeling, Maddy watched the servants hurrying to and fro,
+bringing out the choicest china, and the glittering silver, in honor of
+the bride. Comparatively, it was not long since a little, frightened,
+homesick girl, she first sat down with Guy at that table, from which
+the proud Agnes would have banished her; but it seemed to her an age,
+so much of happiness and pain had come to her since then. There was a
+place for her there now, a place near Guy; but she should not fill it.
+She could not stay; and she astonished Agnes and Jessie, just as they
+were going to make their dinner toilet, by announcing her intention of
+going home. She was not dressed to meet Mrs. Remington, she said,
+shuddering as for the first time she pronounced a name which the
+servants had frequently used, and which jarred on her ear, every time
+she heard it. She was not dressed appropriately to meet an English
+lady. Flora of course would stay, she said, as it was natural she
+should, to greet her new mistress; but she must go, and finding Charlie
+Green she bade him bring around the buggy.
+
+Agnes was not particularly surprised, for a vague suspicion of
+something like the truth had gradually been creeping into her brain, as
+she noted Maddy’s pallid face, and the changes which passed over it
+whenever Guy was mentioned. Agnes pitied Maddy, for in her own heart
+there was a little burning spot, when she remembered who was to
+accompany Dr. Holbrook. So she did not urge her to remain, and she
+tried to hush Jessie’s lamentations when she heard Maddy was going.
+
+One long, sad, wistful look at Guy’s and Lucy’s home, and Maddy
+followed Charlie to the buggy waiting for her, bidding him drive
+rapidly, as there was every indication of a coming storm.
+
+The gray, wintry afternoon was drawing to a close, and the December
+night was shutting down upon the Honedale hills in sleety rain, when
+the cottage was reached, and Maddy, passing up the narrow, slippery
+walk, entered the cold, dreary room, where there was neither fire nor
+light, nor friendly voice to greet her. No sound save the ticking of
+the clock; no welcome save the purring of the house cat, who came
+crawling at her feet as she knelt before the stove and tried to kindle
+the fire. Charlie Green had offered to go in and do this for her, as
+indeed he had offered to return and stay all night, but she had
+declined, preferring to be alone, and with stiffened fingers she laid
+the kindlings Flora had prepared, and then applying the match, watched
+the blue flame as it gradually licked up the smoke and burst into a
+cheerful blaze.
+
+“I shall feel better when it’s warm,” she said, crouching over the
+fire, and shivering with more than bodily cold.
+
+There was a kind of nameless terror stealing over her as she sat
+thinking of the year ago when the inmates of three graves across the
+meadow were there beneath that very roof where she now sat alone.
+
+“I’ll strike a light,” she said, rising to her feet, and trying not to
+glance at the shadowy corners filling her with fear.
+
+The lamp was found, and its friendly beams soon dispersed the darkness
+from the corners and the fear from Maddy’s heart, but it could not
+drive from her mind thoughts of what might at that moment be
+transpiring at Aikenside. If the bride and groom came at all that
+night, she knew they must have been there for an hour or more, and in
+fancy she saw the tired, but happy, Lucy, as up in her pleasant room
+she made her toilet for dinner, with Guy standing by and looking on.
+Just as he had a right to do. Did he smile approvingly upon his young
+wife? Did his eye, when it rested on her, light up with the same
+expression she had seen so often when it looked at her? Did he commend
+her taste and say his little wife was beautiful, as he kissed her fair,
+white cheek, or was there a cloud upon his handsome face, a shadow on
+his heart, heavy with thoughts of her, and would he rather it were
+Maddy there in the bridal room? If so, his burden was hard indeed, but
+not so hard as hers, and kneeling on the floor, poor Maddy laid her
+head in the chair, and, ’mid piteous moans, asked God, her Father, to
+help them both to bear—help her and Guy—making the latter love as he
+ought the gentle girl who had left home and friends to live with him in
+a far-distant land; asked, too, that she might tear from her heart
+every sinful thought, loving Guy only as she might love the husband of
+another.
+
+The prayer ended, Maddy still sat upon the floor, while over her pale
+face the lamplight faintly flickered, showing the dark lines beneath
+her eyes and the tear stains on her cheek. Without, the storm still was
+raging, and the wintry rain, mingled with sleet and snow, beat
+piteously against the curtained windows, while the wind howled
+mournfully as it shook the door and sweeping past the cottage went
+screaming over the hill. But Maddy heard nothing of the tumult. She had
+brought a pillow from the bedroom, and placing it upon the chair, sat
+down again upon the floor and rested her head upon it. She did not even
+know that her pet cat had crept up beside her, purring contentedly and
+occasionally licking her hair, much less did she hear above the storm
+the swift tread of horses’ feet as some one came dashing down the road,
+the rider pausing an instant as he caught a glimpse of the cottage lamp
+and then hurrying on to the public house beyond, where the hostler
+frowned moodily at being called out to care for a stranger’s horse, the
+stranger meanwhile turning back a foot to where the cottage lamp shone
+a beacon light through the inky darkness. The stranger reached the
+little gate and, undoing the fastening, went hurrying up the walk, his
+step upon the crackling snow catching Maddy’s ear at last and making
+her wonder who could be coming there on such a night as this. It was
+probably Charlie Green, she said, and with a feeling of impatience at
+being intruded upon she arose to her feet just as the door turned upon
+its hinges, letting in a powerful draught of wind, which extinguished
+the lamp and left her in total darkness.
+
+But it did not matter. Maddy had caught a sound, a peculiar cough,
+which froze the blood in her veins and made her quake with terror quite
+as much as if the footsteps hurrying toward her had been the footsteps
+of the dead, instead of belonging, as she knew they did, to Guy
+Remington—Guy, who, with garments saturated with rain, felt for her in
+the darkness, found her where from faintness she had crouched again
+beside the chair, drew her closely to him, in a passionate, almost
+painful, hug, and said, oh! so tenderly, so lovingly:
+
+“Maddy, my darling, my own! We will never be parted again.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+LUCY.
+
+
+Hours had gone by, and the clock hands pointed to twelve, ere Maddy
+compelled herself to hear the story Guy had come to tell. She had
+thrust him from her at first, speaking to him of Lucy, his wife, and
+Guy had answered her back: “I have no wife—I never had one. Lucy is in
+heaven,” and that was all Maddy knew until the great shock had spent
+itself in tears and sobs, which became almost convulsions as she tried
+to realize the fact that Lucy Atherstone was dead; that the bridal robe
+about which she had written, with girlish frankness, proved to be her
+shroud, and that her head that night was not pillowed on Guy’s arm, but
+was resting under English turf and beneath an English sky. She could
+listen at last, but her breath came in panting gasps; while Guy told
+her how, on the very morning of the bridal, Lucy had greeted him with
+her usual bright smile, appearing and looking better than he had before
+seen her look since he reached her mother’s home; how for an hour they
+sat together alone in a little room sacred to her, because years before
+it was there he confessed his love.
+
+Seated on a low ottoman, with her golden head lying on his lap, she had
+this morning told him, in her artless way, how much she loved him, and
+how hard it sometimes was to make her love for the creature second to
+her love for the Creator; told him she was not faultless, and asked
+that when he found how erring and weak she was, he would bear with her
+frailties as she would bear with his; talked with him, too, of Maddy
+Clyde, confessing in a soft, low tone, how once or twice a pang of
+jealousy had wrung her heart when she read his praises of his pupil.
+But she had conquered that; she had prayed it all away, and now, next
+to her own sister, she loved Maddy Clyde. Other words, too, were
+spoken—words of guileless, pure affection, too sacred even for Guy to
+breathe to Maddy; and then Lucy had left him, her hart-bounding step
+echoing through the hall and up the winding stairs, down which she
+never came again alive, for when Guy next looked upon her she was lying
+white as a water lily, her neck and dress and golden hair stained with
+the pale red life current oozing from her livid lips. A blood vessel
+had been suddenly ruptured, the physician said, and for her, the fair,
+young bride, there was no hope. They told her she must die, for the
+mother would have them tell her. Once, for a few moments, there rested
+on her face a fearfully frightened look, such as a harmless bird might
+wear when suddenly caught in a snare. But that soon passed away as from
+beneath the closed eyelids the great tears came gushing, and the
+stained lips whispered faintly: “God knows best what’s right. Poor
+Guy!—break it gently to him.”
+
+At this point in the story Guy broke down entirely, sobbing as only
+strong men can sob.
+
+“Maddy,” he said, “I felt like a heartless wretch—a most consummate
+hypocrite—as, standing by Lucy’s side, I met the fond, pitying glance
+of her blue eyes, and suffered her poor little hand to part my hair as
+she tried to comfort me, even though every word she uttered was
+shortening her life; tried to comfort me, the wretch who was there so
+unwillingly, and who at this prospect of release hardly knew at first
+whether he was more sorry than pleased. You may well start from me in
+horror, Maddy. I was just the wretch I describe: but I overcame it,
+Maddy, and Heaven is my witness that no thought of you intruded itself
+upon me afterward is I stood by my dying Lucy—gentle, patient, loving
+to the last. I saw how good, how sweet she was, and something of the
+old love, the boy love, came back to me, as I held her in my arms,
+where she wished to be. I would have saved her if I could; and when I
+called her ‘my darling Lucy,’ they were not idle words. I kissed her
+many times for myself, and once, Maddy, for you. She told me to. She
+whispered: ‘Kiss me, Guy, for Maddy Clyde. Tell her I’d rather she
+should take my place than anybody else—rather my Guy should call her
+wife—for I know she will not be jealous if you sometimes talked of your
+dead Lucy, and I know she will help lead my boy to that blessed home
+where sorrow never comes.’ That was the last she ever spoke, and when
+the sun went down death had claimed my bride. She died in my arms,
+Maddy. I felt the last fluttering of her pulse, the last beat of her
+heart. I laid her back upon her pillows. I wiped the blood from her
+lips and from her golden curls. I followed her to her early grave. I
+saw her buried from my sight, and then, Maddy, I started home; thoughts
+of you and thoughts of Lucy blended equally together until Aikenside
+was reached. I talked with Mrs. Noah; I heard all of you there was to
+tell, and then I talked with Agnes, who was not greatly surprised, and
+did not oppose my coming here tonight. I could not remain there,
+knowing you were alone. In the bridal chamber I found your bouquet,
+with its ‘Welcome to the bride.’ Maddy, you must be that bride. Lucy
+sanctioned it, and the doctor, too, for I told him all. His own wedding
+was, of course, deferred, and he did not come home with me, but he
+said: ‘Tell Maddy not to wait. Life is too short to waste any
+happiness. She has my blessing.’ And, Maddy, it must be so. Aikenside
+needs a mistress; you are all alone. You are mine—mine forever.”
+
+The storm had died away, and the moonbeams stealing through the window
+told that morning was breaking, but neither Guy nor Maddy heeded the
+lapse of time. Theirs was a sad kind of happiness as they talked
+together, and could Lucy have listened to them she would have felt
+satisfied that she was not forgotten. One long, bright curl, cut from
+her head by his own hand, was all there was left of her to Guy, save
+the hallowed memories of her purity and goodness—memories which would
+yet mold the proud, impulsive Guy into the earnest, consistent
+Christian which Lucy in her life had desired that he should be, and
+which Maddy rejoiced to see him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+FINALE.
+
+
+The close of a calm September afternoon, and the autumnal sunlight
+falls softly upon Aikenside, where a gay party is now assembled. For
+four years Maddy Clyde has been mistress there, and in looking back
+upon them she wonders how so much happiness as she has known could be
+experienced in so short a time. Never but once has the slightest ripple
+of sorrow shadowed her heart, and that was when her noble husband, Guy,
+said to her, in a voice she knew was earnest and determined that he
+could no longer remain deaf to his country’s call—that where the battle
+storm was raging he was needed, and like a second Sardanapalus he must
+not stay at home. Then for a brief season her bright face was overcast,
+and her brown eyes dim with weeping. Giving him to the war seemed like
+giving him up to death. But women can be as true heroes as men. Indeed,
+it oftentimes costs more courage for a weak, confiding woman to bid her
+loved ones leave her for the field of carnage than it costs them to
+face the cannon’s mouth. Maddy found it so, but Christian patriotism
+triumphed over all, and stifling her own grief, she sent him away with
+smiles, and prayers, and cheering words of encouragement, turning
+herself for consolation to the source from which she never sued for
+peace in vain. Save that she missed her husband terribly, she was not
+lonely, for her beautiful dark-eyed boy, whom they called Guy, Jr.,
+kept her busy, while not very many weeks afterward, Guy, Sr., sitting
+in his tent, read with moistened eyes of a little golden-haired
+daughter, whom Maddy named Lucy Atherstone, and gazed upon a curl of
+hair she inclosed to the soldier father, asking if it were not like
+some other hair now moldering back to dust within an English
+churchyard. “Maggie” said it was, Aunt Maggie, as Guy, Jr., called the
+wife of Dr. Holbrook, who had come to Aikenside to stay, while her
+husband did his duty as surgeon in the army. That little daughter is a
+year-old baby now, and in her short white dress and coral bracelets she
+sits neglected on the nursery floor, while mother and Jessie, Maggie
+and everybody hasten out into the yard to welcome the returning
+soldier, Major Guy, whose arm is in a sling, and whose face is very
+pale from the effects of wounds received at Gettysburg, where his
+daring courage had well-nigh won for Maddy a widow’s heritage. For the
+present the arm is disabled, and so he has been discharged, and comes
+back to the home where warm words of welcome greet him, from the lowest
+servant up to his darling wife, who can only look her joy as he folds
+her in his well arm, and kisses her beautiful face. Only Margaret
+Holbrook seems a little sad, she had so wanted her husband to come with
+Guy, but his humanity would not permit him to leave the suffering
+beings who needed his care. Loving messages he sent to her, and her
+tears were dried when she heard from Guy how greatly he was beloved by
+the pale occupants of the beds of pain, and how much he was doing to
+relieve their anguish.
+
+Jessie, grown to be a most beautiful girl of nearly sixteen, is still a
+child in actions, and wild with delight at seeing her brother again,
+throws her arms around his neck, telling, in almost the same breath,
+how proud she is of him, how much she wished to go to him when she
+heard he was wounded, how she wishes she was a boy, so she could
+enlist, how nicely Flora is married and settled down at the cottage in
+Honedale, and then asks if he knows aught of the rebel colonel to whom
+just before the war broke out her mother was married, and whose home
+was in Richmond.
+
+Guy knows nothing of him, except that he is still doing what he deems
+his duty in fighting for the Confederacy, but from exchanged prisoners,
+who had come up from Richmond, he has heard of a beautiful lady, an
+officer’s wife, and as rumor said, a Northern woman, who visited them
+in prison, speaking kind words of sympathy, and once binding up a
+drummer boy’s aching head with a handkerchief, which he still retained,
+and on whose corner could be faintly traced the name of “Agnes
+Remington.”
+
+Jessie’s eyes are full of tears as she says:
+
+“Poor mamma, how glad I am I did not go to Virginia with her. It’s
+months since I heard from her direct. Of course it was she who was so
+good to the drummer boy. She cannot be much of a rebel,” and Jessie
+glances triumphantly at Mrs. Noah, who, never having quite overcome her
+dislike of Agnes, had sorely tried Jessie by declaring that her mother
+“had found her level at last, and was just where she wanted to be.”
+
+Good Mrs. Noah, the ancient man whose name she bore would as soon have
+thought of leaving the Ark as she of turning a traitor to her country,
+and when she heard of the riotous mob raised against the draft, she
+talked seriously of going in person to New York “to give ’em a piece of
+her mind,” and for one whole day refused to speak to Flora’s husband,
+because he was a “dum dimocrat,” and she presumed was opposed to
+Lincoln. With the exception of Maddy, no one was more pleased to see
+Guy than herself. He was her boy, the one she brought up, and with all
+a mother’s fervor she kissed his bronzed cheek, and told him how glad
+she was to have him back.
+
+With his boy on his sound arm, Guy disengaged himself from the noisy
+group and went with Maddy to where the little lady, the child he had
+never seen, was just beginning to show signs of resentment at being
+left so long alone.
+
+“Lulu, sissy, papa’s come; this is papa,” the little boy cried,
+assuming the honor of the introduction.
+
+Lulu, as they called her, was not afraid of the tall soldier, and
+stretching out her fat, white hands, went to him readily. Blue-eyed and
+golden haired, she bore but little resemblance to either father or
+mother, but there was a sweet, beautiful face, of which Maddy had often
+dreamed, but never seen, and whether it were in the infantile features
+of his little girl. Parting lovingly her yellow curls and kissing her
+fair cheek, he said to Maddy, softly, just as he always spoke of that
+dead one:
+
+“Maddy, darling, Margaret Holbrook is right—our baby daughter is very
+much like our dear lost Lucy Atherstone.”
+
+
+
+
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