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diff --git a/6954-h/6954-h.htm b/6954-h/6954-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..01ab5c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/6954-h/6954-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10166 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Aikenside, by Mary J. 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Holmes</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Aikenside</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mary J. Holmes</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 16, 2003 [eBook #6954]<br /> +[Most recently updated: July 1, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AIKENSIDE ***</div> + +<h1>Aikenside</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Mary J. Holmes</h2> + +<p class="letter"> +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” +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. THE EXAMINING COMMITTEE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. MADELINE CLYDE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. THE EXAMINATION.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. GRANDPA MARKHAM.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. THE RESULT.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. CONVALESCENCE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. THE DRIVE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. SHADOWINGS OF WHAT WAS TO BE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. THE DECISION.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. AT AIKENSIDE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. GUY AT HOME.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. A GENEROUS LETTER.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. UNCLE JOSEPH.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. MADDY AND LUCY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. THE HOLIDAYS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. THE DOCTOR AND MADDY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. WOMANHOOD.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. THE BURDEN.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. LIFE AT THE COTTAGE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. THE BURDEN GROWS HEAVIER.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. THE INTERVAL BEFORE THE MARRIAGE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. BEFORE THE BRIDAL.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. LUCY.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. FINALE.</a></td> +</tr> + + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/> +THE EXAMINING COMMITTEE.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>her</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Dr. Holbrook.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Dr. Holbrook—Sir: Will you be at leisure to examine me on Monday +afternoon, at three o’clock? +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“M<small>ADELINE</small> A. C<small>LYDE</small>. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P. S.—For particular reasons I hope you can attend to me as early +as Monday. M. A. C.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“One hour more,” he said to himself, just as the roll of wheels and +a cloud of dust announced the approach of something. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—- +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You must write the certificate, of course,” he said, +“testifying that she is qualified to teach.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, certainly, Guy, if she is; but maybe she won’t be, and my +orders are, to be strict—very strict.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Poor little Madeline! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/> +MADELINE CLYDE.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Grandpa Markham shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“They have, but it’s mostly their ruination; so don’t build +castles in the air about this Guy Remington.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps we both shall be terribly disappointed,” suggested +grandpa, but Maddy was more hopeful. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Poor, poor little Madge! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/> +THE EXAMINATION.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Would you be so kind, sir, as to begin?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Madeline Amelia Clyde,” was the meek reply, which Guy quickly +recorded. +</p> + +<p> +Now, Guy Remington intended no irreverence; indeed, he could not tell what he +did intend, or what it was which prompted his next query: +</p> + +<p> +“Who gave you this name?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps, then, you can conjugate the verb <i>Amo,</i>” Guy said, +his manner indicating the doubt he was beginning to feel as to her +qualifications. +</p> + +<p> +Maddy knew well what “conjugate” meant, but that verb <i>Amo</i>, +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir, no more. It makes my head so dizzy. They don’t teach that +in common schools. Ask me something I do know.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“What do they teach? Perhaps you can enlighten me?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m better now, much better,” she said. “Leave me, +please. I’d rather be alone.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.’” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You failed, Maddy?” the old man said, fixing about her feet the +warm buffalo robe, for the night wind was blowing cool. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, grandpa, I failed.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“And, Maddy, I failed too.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/> +GRANDPA MARKHAM.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +As Grandpa Markham was rather blind, he failed to see the point, but knew that +in some way he had given offense. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon, ma’am; I was sure you was some kin—maybe +an a’nt.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s Mr. Guy you want, I can tell you he is not at home, which +will save your getting out.” +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Noah received his thanks graciously, and led him to the yard, where Sorrel +stood waiting for him. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“What did you say? You have been to Aikenside to see me?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/> +THE RESULT.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Wall, you nigh about killed our little Madge t’other day, when you +refused the stifficut, and now we want you to cure her.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“If she could awaken,” he said, laying the hand softly down and +placing his other upon her forehead, where the great sweat drops lay. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?’” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Put anybody you like in my place,” he said; “anybody but Guy +Remington. Don’t for thunder’s sake take him.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I did like her so much that day,” she said, “and she looked +so sorry, too. It’s terrible to die!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Guy drew her nearer to him, but to that childish yearning for knowledge he +could not respond, so he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Who taught you all this, little one?—not your mother, +surely.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“She was fifteen,” Guy whispered, remembering distinctly to have +heard that number from Maddy herself. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Where am I now? Have I never come home, and is this Dr. Holbrook’s +office?” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, you disturb her,” the doctor said, gently pulling Jessie +away, and himself asking Maddy how she felt. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Blessings on your head, young man, for making me so happy. You are +worthy of your father, and he was the best of men.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, every day, if mamma will let me. I don’t mind it a bit, if +you are poor.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/> +CONVALESCENCE.</h2> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be answerable for any disease Jessie caught at Mr. +Markham’s,” the doctor replied. +</p> + +<p> +“At Mr. Who’s? What did you call him?” Agnes asked, the +bright color on her cheek fading as the doctor replied: +</p> + +<p> +“Markham—an old man who lives in Honedale. You never knew him, of +course.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What was that girl’s name?” she asked, “the one you +went to see?” +</p> + +<p> +“Maddy, mother—Madeline Clyde. She’s so pretty. I’m +going to see her again. May I?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Doc,” he said, when his survey was completed, “how old are +you—twenty-five or twenty-six?” +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“And must I see him in this nightgown? Can’t I have on my pink +gingham wrapper?” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>amo</i> 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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been very sick,” she said. “Are my cheeks as thin as +my arms?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“How is my little patient to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“What does it mean, and where is he—the one who—asked +me—those dreadful questions? I thought that was Dr. Holbrook.” +</p> + +<p> +Here was a dilemma—something for which the doctor was not prepared, and +with a feeling that he would not betray Guy, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“You like flowers, I know, and these are for you. I——” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you like them, Miss Clyde, and so will Mr. Remington be. He +sent them to you from his conservatory.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not Mr. Remington from Aikenside—not Jessie’s +brother?” and Maddy’s eyes now fairly danced as they sought the +doctor’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes Jessie’s brother. He came here with her. He is interested in +you, and brought these down this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was Jessie, I guess, who sent them,” Maddy suggested, but the +doctor persisted that it was Guy. +</p> + +<p> +“He wished me to present them with his compliments. He thought they might +please you.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Guy’s rich and handsome, and everybody likes him. We were in +college together.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“I have seen Maddy Clyde. She asked for you, and why you do not come to +see her, as you promised.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother won’t let me,” Jessie answered. “She says they +are not fit associates for a Remington.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She was improving rapidly, the doctor said, adding: “You ought to have +seen her delight when I gave her your bouquet.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Guy’s seat was very near to Agnes, and while a cloud overspread his fine +features, he said to her in an aside: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“She was pleased, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; she said she heard that Jessie’s mother was a beautiful +woman, and asked if you were not born in England.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +It was as follows: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“D<small>EAR</small> M<small>ADDY</small>: 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, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“J<small>ESSIE</small> A<small>GNES</small> R<small>EMINGTON</small>. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“P. S.—I am going to tuck this in just for fun, right among the +buds, where you must look for it.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +And this he did to shield Guy, whom he knew was enshrined in the little +maiden’s heart as a paragon of all excellence. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/> +THE DRIVE.</h2> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what a handsome lady! Who is she?” Maddy asked, turning to +look after the carriage now swiftly descending the hill. +</p> + +<p> +“That was Jessie’s mother, Mrs. Agnes Remington,” the doctor +replied. “She’ll feel flattered with your compliment.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor presumed it was, though he had not noticed. Gold bracelets were not +new to him as they were to Maddy, who continued: +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if I’ll ever wear a bracelet like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when will that be?” the doctor asked. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor colored crimson, and stopping his horse under the dim shadow of a +maple in a little hollow, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if you loved him, and he loved you very, very dearly?” the +doctor asked, his voice low and tender in its tone. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor, was she?” Maddy rejoined. “Then maybe Mr. Guy will +some day marry a poor girl. Do you think he will?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you meet a grand lady in a carriage?” grandma asked, as Maddy +sat down beside her. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me about it,” Maddy continued, bringing a pillow, and lying +down upon the faded lounge beneath the window. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +SHADOWINGS OF WHAT WAS TO BE.</h2> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As if divining his thoughts Agnes said to him rather abruptly: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Smoothing her bright hair and pinching her soft cheek, Guy replied: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Guy looked up quickly, wondering where Agnes could have seen the doctor, who, +conscious of a sudden pang, answered, naturally: +</p> + +<p> +“That old lady, bent double and bundled in shawls, was young Maddy Clyde, +to whom I thought a short ride might do good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes; that patient about whom Jessie has gone mad. I am glad to have +seen her.” +</p> + +<p> +There was unmistakable irony in her voice now, and turning from her to Guy, the +doctor continued: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jessie!” said Agnes and Guy, simultaneously, while the doctor +laughingly pulled one of her long, bright curls. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I could do that. I’d thought of it, but they might not accept +it, as they are proud as well as poor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Markham has no one to care for but his wife and this Madeline, has +he?” Agnes asked, and the doctor replied: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is insanity hereditary in this family?” Guy asked. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it’s of no use asking you to join us for a week or +so.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was not,” the doctor said. “His patients needed him +and he must stay at home.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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, +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/> +THE DECISION.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br/> +AT AIKENSIDE.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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; +</p> + +<p> +“Grandpa, do you think I could ever be ashamed of you and grandma?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder how I shall like Mrs. Remington and Mr. Guy?” was the +first remark she made. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll not see them immediately. They left this morning for +Saratoga,” the doctor replied. +</p> + +<p> +“Left! Mr. Guy gone!” Maddy repeated in a disappointed tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you very sorry?” the doctor asked, and Maddy replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I did want to see him once; you know I never have.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Maddy, I’ll take you for payment,” the doctor said, +smiling, half seriously, as his eyes rested fondly upon her. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“I have but one—that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been to dinner.” And Maddy looked up in some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Homesick so soon!” he said, advancing to her side, and then amid a +torrent of tears, the whole came out. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That!” and Maddy looked confounded. “Why, grandma never let +me wear that, except on Sunday; that’s my very best dress.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>eau-de-cologne</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to see you, Miss Clyde,” she said, “very +glad.” +</p> + +<p> +Maddy’s lip quivered a little and her voice shook as she replied: +</p> + +<p> +“Please call me Maddy. They do at home, and I shan’t be quite +so—so—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Feeling that she must be homesick, Mrs. Noah suggested that she try the fine +piano in the little music-room. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/> +GUY AT HOME.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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 <i>au fait</i> in all such matters. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Flora,” she said, “I notice you are arranging the table for +four. Have we company?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“It was quite right when we were gone, but it is different now, and Mr. +Remington, I am sure, will not suffer it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Might I ask him?” Flora persisted, her hand still on the plate. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +With little, graceful tosses of the head, which set in motion every one of the +brown curls, Mrs. Agnes replied: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +She forgot that he was a stranger, forgot everything except that he sympathized +with her. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” so sternly, that she started, and replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I know you are angry with me and I ought not to have told you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not angry—not at you at least—go on,” was +Guy’s reply, and Maddy continued: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how is it now?” Guy asked, wondering who in the world she +thought he was. “How is it now?” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +But Guy’s arm was interposed to stop her, and Guy’s arm held her +back, while he asked where she was going. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Guy—jealous, I jealous of that child;” and Agnes’ +voice was expressive of the utmost consternation. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot go down,” she said; “my face is all stains, and +it’s so dreadful, happening on Sunday, too. What would grandpa +say?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think he does like me, and I know I like him.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfectly right,” he answered. “Your services to Jessie will +be worth just as much as ever, so give yourself no trouble on that +score.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Guess, Hal, what crazy project I have just embarked in.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“And so you don’t approve?” was Guy’s next remark, to +which the doctor replied: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +It annoyed the doctor to have Guy praise Maddy, but he would not show it, and +answered calmly: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor was in no mood for joking, and only smiled gloomily, while Guy +continued: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor was ashamed of his mood, and could not tell what spirit prompted him +to answer: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/> +A GENEROUS LETTER.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“How much he probably received a year for his services as +physician.” +</p> + +<p> +The doctor could not tell at once, but after a little thought made an estimate, +and then inquired why Guy had asked the question. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not get any further, for Maddy hastily interrupted him, and while her +eyes flashed with pride, exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“I will not be a charity patient! I say I will not! I’d be a hired +girl before I’d do it!” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Yes, Maddy was satisfied, and after a little the doctor continued: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Guy attempted to speak, but grandpa motioned him to be silent, while he went +on: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +UNCLE JOSEPH.</h2> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Much too young; he was older than I, and I am over forty. It’s all +right.” +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>fiancé</i> was not more +than a dozen years older than herself. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It means this, that folks are in a constant worry, for fear you’ll +fall in love with Maddy Clyde.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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’?” +</p> + +<p> +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—- +</p> + +<p> +Here Mrs. Noah interrupted him with: “That’s it, the very +<i>it</i>; 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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—-” +</p> + +<p> +“Not away from Aikenside! I never will!” and Guy sprang to his +feet. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, come in,” Guy said, and folding his arms he leaned +against the mantel, watching her as she hunted for the missing book. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, more than pretty. She’ll make a most beautiful woman.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Guy looked up inquiringly, and Mrs. Noah continued: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to teach her to love you, Guy Remington, just as sure as +my name is Noah.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“And during the vacations, where must she go then?” Guy asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you will do so?” Mrs. Noah said coaxingly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And will that be true?” Mrs. Noah asked. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“True? Yes, every word of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Noah noted all this, and thinking within herself: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +MADDY AND LUCY.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Maddy,” he began, “are you happy here at Aikenside?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, very, very happy,” and Maddy’s soft eyes shone with +the happiness she tried to express. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Remington, you are so good to me; what makes you?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—-” +</p> + +<p> +Guy stopped, uncertain what to say next, while Maddy’s eyes again looked +up inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +He was going now to tell “the little girl much like Jessie” of Lucy +Atherstone, and the words would not come at first. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Written to whom?” +</p> + +<p> +Guy did not look at Maddy. He only knew that her head moved out from beneath +his hand as he replied: +</p> + +<p> +“To Miss Atherstone—Miss Lucy Atherstone. Have you never heard of +her?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Child as she was, the real cause of her tears never entered her brain, and she +answered: +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Maddy, you are not;” and Guy interrupted her. +</p> + +<p> +Gently lifting up her head, he smoothed back her hair, and keeping a hand on +each side of her face, said, pleasantly: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“You may as well finish both; they are too good to be lost.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/> +THE HOLIDAYS.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Guy,” the doctor continued, sitting down by his friend, “I +remember once your making me your confidant about Lucy. You remember it, +too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, why? well?” Guy replied, beginning to feel strangely +uncomfortable as he half divined what was coming next. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not seen Maddy since last spring, you know. Is she very much +improved?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, is she as handsome as she used to be, and as childish in her +manner?” the doctor asked; and Guy replied: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“The opera!” the doctor exclaimed; “Maddy Clyde at the opera! +What would her grandfather say? He is very puritanical, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Here an interval of silence ensued, and then the doctor began again, +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +“Tenth day,” Guy responded, thus showing that he, too, was keeping +Maddy’s age, even to a day. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me!” and Guy’s face was crimson, while the doctor continued: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Guy felt the blood trickling at the roots of his hair, but he answered +truthfully as he believed: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, true as steel;” while the generous thought came over him that +he would further the doctor’s plans all he possibly could. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Guy was growing rather savage about something, but the doctor did not mind; and +grasping his arm as he arose, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Low as Maddy’s words were, Guy heard them, as well as the crazy +man’s reply, “Engagements have been broken.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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 +<i>au fait</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“No—yes—there he was now,” and Guy looked into the +hall, where the doctor’s voice was heard inquiring for him. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +It was his favorite song, and one which brought out Maddy’s voice in its +various modulations. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please, Mr. Remington, anything but a song. I cannot sing,” +Maddy whispered pleadingly; but Guy answered resolutely, “You can.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Guy waited till Maddy was through, and then gave the desired introduction. In a +tone not wholly free from superciliousness, Miss Cutler said: +</p> + +<p> +“Can you play a waltz or polka, Miss Clyde? We are aching to exercise our +feet.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Maddy’s face crimsoned for an instant, and then in a low voice she said, +“I thank you, but I must decline.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maddy!” Guy exclaimed, in tones more indicative of reproach than +expostulation. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“A saint!” Maria uttered under her breath, smiling contemptuously +as she made a movement to leave the piano, hoping Guy would follow her. +</p> + +<p> +But he did not at once. Standing for a moment irresolute, while he looked +curiously at Maddy, he said at last: +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I interfere with no one’s scruples of that kind, but I +cannot allow you to wear yourself out for our amusement.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What a blue old ignoramus that grandfather must be, to object to +dancing, don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +Maria laughed a little spitefully, secretly glad that Maddy had refused, and +secretly angry at Guy for seeming to care so much. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Guy would have taken Maddy’s side then, whatever he might have thought, +and he replied: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just as wicked to play for dancing as ’tis to +dance,” Maria remarked impatiently, while Guy rejoined: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?’” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Guy, have you said anything to her about—well, about me, +you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +THE DOCTOR AND MADDY.</h2> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“Not the slightest, unless you are going crazy.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Maddy, I know you have no money. It is not that I want, Maddy; I +want—I want—you.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She was sobbing piteously, and in his concern for her the doctor forgot +somewhat the stunning blow he had received. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you love some one else, Maddy? Is another preferred before me, and is +that the reason why you cannot love me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Maddy answered, through her tears. “There is no one +else. Whom should I love, unless it were you? I know nobody but Guy.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Refused you, did you say?” and Guy’s face certainly looked +brighter than it had before since he left the doctor with Maddy Clyde. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +WOMANHOOD.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Your grandmother is dying. Come at once. Agnes and Jessie will stay till +next week. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“G<small>UY</small> R<small>EMINGTON</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“And grandma?” Maddy gasped, fixing her eyes wistfully upon him. +“You do not think her dead?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“She is not dead, you say; but do you think-does any-body think +she’ll die? Your telegram said ‘dying.’” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“But the one I love best is not dying, so I can reason clearly, +Maddy.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Guy checked himself, and listened while Maddy asked again if there was no +conveyance there as usual. +</p> + +<p> +“None but mine,” said Guy, while Maddy continued faintly: +</p> + +<p> +“And you are afraid it will kill your horses?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it would only fatigue them greatly; it’s for you I fear. +You’ve borne enough to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“John will go if I bid him. But you, Maddy, if I thought it was +safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is. Oh, let me go,” and Maddy grasped both his hands +beseechingly. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll kill them horses,” he said, “but mabby +that’s nothin’ to please the girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +THE BURDEN.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Maddy,” Guy whispered, bending over the strange trio, “would +you rather I should stay? Will it be pleasanter for you, if I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—-” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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”. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Flora,” she exclaimed, “how came you here, and did you make +this fire and fix the room for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +LIFE AT THE COTTAGE.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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’.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“Poor child, it’s hard to bear now, but you’ll get over it in +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +That ended it! That roused up Guy’s pride, and writing back: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, grandpa! grandpa!” Maddy moaned, laying her head beside his +own on the pillow. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall tell him no.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/> +THE BURDEN GROWS HEAVIER.</h2> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Very well; is grandpa getting better?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I will get him out,” she said; “I will take care of him. I +should die with nothing to do; and I promised grandpa——” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, grandpa. I’m so lonely without you all; I almost wish I was +lying here in the quiet yard.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor child, you have suffered so much, and I never knew of it till a few +days ago.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Guy, Guy, where have you been, when I wanted you so much?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“I did want you, Guy, when I forgot; but now—oh, Guy—Lucy +Atherstone!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +THE INTERVAL BEFORE THE MARRIAGE.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>carte de +viste</i>, 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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“If I knew where this Sarah was I’d go miles on foot to find her +and bring her to him.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you, lady? Who, with eyes and hair like hers?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +BEFORE THE BRIDAL.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Yes, Mrs. Noah knew it; but she hoped it might have escaped Maddy’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor child,” she said again, “poor child, I mistrust you did +wrong to tell him no!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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——” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“They were to be married at eight in the evening. Allowing for possible +delays, it’s over before this and Guy is lost forever!” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“You look as if you had been with the angels.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“The steamer is here. Shall be at the station at five o’clock P. M. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +G<small>UY</small> R<small>EMINGTON</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +Twice Maddy read it over, experiencing much the same feeling she would have +experienced had it been her death warrant she was reading. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall feel better when it’s warm,” she said, crouching +over the fire, and shivering with more than bodily cold. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll strike a light,” she said, rising to her feet, and +trying not to glance at the shadowy corners filling her with fear. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Maddy, my darling, my own! We will never be parted again.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +LUCY.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point in the story Guy broke down entirely, sobbing as only strong men +can sob. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +FINALE.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +Jessie’s eyes are full of tears as she says: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Lulu, sissy, papa’s come; this is papa,” the little boy +cried, assuming the honor of the introduction. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Maddy, darling, Margaret Holbrook is right—our baby daughter is +very much like our dear lost Lucy Atherstone.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AIKENSIDE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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