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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/7797-0.txt b/7797-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd71d42 --- /dev/null +++ b/7797-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8938 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Lady of the Aroostook, by William Dean Howells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lady of the Aroostook + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: March, 2005 [EBook #7797] +This file was first posted on May 17, 2003 +Last Updated: February 25, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, Earle Beach and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK + +By William Dean Howells + + + +THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK + + + + +I. + + +In the best room of a farm-house on the skirts of a village in the hills +of Northern Massachusetts, there sat one morning in August three people +who were not strangers to the house, but who had apparently assembled +in the parlor as the place most in accord with an unaccustomed finery +in their dress. One was an elderly woman with a plain, honest face, as +kindly in expression as she could be perfectly sure she felt, and +no more; she rocked herself softly in the haircloth arm-chair, and +addressed as father the old man who sat at one end of the table between +the windows, and drubbed noiselessly upon it with his stubbed fingers, +while his lips, puckered to a whistle, emitted no sound. His face had +that distinctly fresh-shaven effect which once a week is the advantage +of shaving no oftener: here and there, in the deeper wrinkles, a frosty +stubble had escaped the razor. He wore an old-fashioned, low black +satin stock, over the top of which the linen of his unstarched collar +contrived with difficulty to make itself seen; his high-crowned, +lead-colored straw hat lay on the table before him. At the other end of +the table sat a young girl, who leaned upon it with one arm, propping +her averted face on her hand. The window was open beside her, and she +was staring out upon the door-yard, where the hens were burrowing for +coolness in the soft earth under the lilac bushes; from time to time she +put her handkerchief to her eyes. + +“I don't like this part of it, father,” said the elderly +woman,--“Lyddy's seeming to feel about it the way she does right at the +last moment, as you may say.” The old man made a noise in his throat +as if he might speak; but he only unpuckered his mouth, and stayed his +fingers, while the other continued: “I don't want her to go now, no more +than ever I did. I ain't one to think that eatin' up everything on your +plate keeps it from wastin', and I never was; and I say that even if you +couldn't get the money back, it would cost no more to have her stay than +to have her go.” + +“I don't suppose,” said the old man, in a high, husky treble, “but what +I could get some of it back from the captain; may be all. He didn't seem +any ways graspin'. I don't want Lyddy should feel, any more than you do, +Maria, that we're glad to have her go. But what I look at is this: +as long as she has this idea--Well, it's like this--I d'know as I can +express it, either.” He relapsed into the comfort people find in giving +up a difficult thing. + +“Oh, I know!” returned the woman. “I understand it's an opportunity; you +might call it a leadin', almost, that it would be flyin' in the face +of Providence to refuse. I presume her gifts were given her for +improvement, and it would be the same as buryin' them in the ground for +her to stay up here. But I do say that I want Lyddy should feel just +_so_ about goin', or not go at all. It ain't like goin' among strangers, +though, if it _is_ in a strange land. They're her father's own kin, and +if they're any ways like him they're warm-_hearted_ enough, if that's +all you want. I guess they'll do what's right by Lyddy when she gets +there. And I try to look at it this way: that long before that maple by +the gate is red she'll be with her father's own sister; and I for one +don't mean to let it worry me.” She made search for her handkerchief, +and wiped away the tears that fell down her cheeks. + +“Yes,” returned the old man; “and before the leaves are on the ground +we shall more'n have got our first letter from her. I declare for't,” + he added, after a tremulous pause, “I was goin' to say how Lyddy would +enjoy readin' it to us! I don't seem to get it rightly into my head that +she's goin' away.” + +“It ain't as if Lyddy was leavin' any life behind her that's over and +above pleasant,” resumed the woman. “She's a good girl, and I never want +to see a more uncomplainin'; but I know it's duller and duller here all +the while for her, with us two old folks, and no young company; and I +d'know as it's been any better the two winters she's taught in the +Mill Village. That's what reconciles me, on Lyddy's account, as much as +anything. I ain't one to set much store on worldly ambition, and I never +was; and I d'know as I care for Lyddy's advancement, as you may call it. +I believe that as far forth as true happiness goes she'd be as well off +here as there. But I don't say but what she would be more satisfied in +the end, and as long as you can't have happiness, in this world, I say +you'd better have satisfaction. Is that Josiah Whitman's hearse goin' +past?” she asked, rising from her chair, and craning forward to bring +her eyes on a level with the window, while she suspended the agitation +of the palm-leaf fan which she had not ceased to ply during her talk; +she remained a moment with the quiescent fan pressed against her bosom, +and then she stepped out of the door, and down the walk to the gate. +“Josiah!” she called, while the old man looked and listened at the +window. “Who you be'n buryin'?” + +The man halted his hearse, and answered briefly, “Mirandy Holcomb.” + +“Why, I thought the funeral wa'n't to be till tomorrow! Well, I +declare,” said the woman, as she reëntered the room and sat down again +in her rocking-chair, “I didn't ask him whether it was Mr. Goodlow +or Mr. Baldwin preached the sermon. I was so put out hearin' it was +Mirandy, you might say I forgot to ask him anything. Mirandy was always +a well woman till they moved down to the Mill Village and began takin' +the hands to board,--so many of 'em. When I think of Lyddy's teachin' +there another winter,--well, I could almost rejoice that she was goin' +away. She ain't a mite too strong as it is.” + +Here the woman paused, and the old man struck in with his quaint treble +while she fanned herself in silence: “I do suppose the voyage is goin' +to be everything for her health. She'll be from a month to six weeks +gettin' to Try-East, and that'll be a complete change of air, Mr. +Goodlow says. And she won't have a care on her mind the whole way out. +It'll be a season of rest and quiet. I did wish, just for the joke of +the thing, as you may say, that the ship had be'n goin' straight to +Venus, and Lyddy could 'a' walked right in on 'em at breakfast, some +morning. I should liked it to be'n a surprise. But there wa'n't any ship +at Boston loadin' for Venus, and they didn't much believe I'd find +one at New York. So I just took up with the captain of the Aroostook's +offer. He says she can telegraph to her folks at Venus as soon as she +gets to Try-East, and she's welcome to stay on the ship till they come +for her. I didn't think of their havin' our mod'n improvements out +there; but he says they have telegraphs and railroads everywheres, the +same as we do; and they're _real_ kind and polite when you get used to +'em. The captain, he's as nice a man as I ever see. His wife's be'n two +or three voyages with him in the Aroostook, and he'll know just how to +have Lyddy's comfort looked after. He showed me the state-room she's +goin' to have. Well, it ain't over and above large, but it's pretty as +a pink: all clean white paint, with a solid mahogany edge to the berth, +and a mahogany-framed lookin'-glass on one side, and little winders at +the top, and white lace curtains to the bed. He says he had it fixed +up for his wife, and he lets Lyddy have it all for her own. She can set +there and do her mendin' when she don't feel like comin' into the cabin. +The cabin--well, I wish you could see that cabin, Maria! The first mate +is a fine-appearing man, too. Some of the sailors looked pretty rough; +but I guess it was as much their clothes as anything; and I d'know as +Lyddy'd _have_ a great deal to do with them, any way.” The old man's +treble ceased, and at the same moment the shrilling of a locust in one +of the door-yard maples died away; both voices, arid, nasal, and high, +lapsed as one into a common silence. + +The woman stirred impatiently in her chair, as if both voices had been +repeating something heard many times before. They seemed to renew her +discontent. “Yes, I know; I know all that, father. But it ain't the +mahogany I think of. It's the child's gettin' there safe and well.” + +“Well,” said the old man, “I asked the captain about the seasickness, +and he says she ain't nigh so likely to be sick as she would on the +steamer; the motion's more regular, and she won't have the smell of the +machinery. That's what he said. And he said the seasickness would do her +good, any way. I'm sure I don't want her to be sick any more than you +do, Maria.” He added this like one who has been unjustly put upon his +defense. + +They now both remained silent, the woman rocking herself and fanning, +and the old man holding his fingers suspended from their drubbing upon +the table, and looking miserably from the woman in the rocking-chair +to the girl at the window, as if a strict inquiry into the present +situation might convict him of it in spite of his innocence. The girl +still sat with her face turned from them, and still from time to time +she put her handkerchief to her eyes and wiped away the tears. The +locust in the maple began again, and shrilled inexorably. Suddenly the +girl leaped to her feet. + +“There's the stage!” she cried, with a tumult in her voice and manner, +and a kind of choking sob. She showed, now that she stood upright, the +slim and elegant shape which is the divine right of American girlhood, +clothed with the stylishness that instinctive taste may evoke, even in a +hill town, from study of paper patterns, Harper's Bazar, and the costume +of summer boarders. Her dress was carried with spirit and effect. + +“Lydia Blood!” cried the other woman, springing responsively to her +feet, also, and starting toward the girl, “don't you go a step without +you feel just like it! Take off your things this minute and stay, if +you wouldn't jus' as lives go. It's hard enough to _have_ you go, child, +without seemin' to force you!” + +“Oh, aunt Maria,” answered the girl, piteously, “it almost kills me to +go; but _I'm_ doing it, not you. I know how you'd like to have me stay. +But don't say it again, or I couldn't bear up; and I'm going now, if I +have to be carried.” + +The old man had risen with the others; he was shorter than either, and +as he looked at them he seemed half awed, half bewildered, by so much +drama. Yet it was comparatively very little. The girl did not offer to +cast herself upon her aunt's neck, and her aunt did not offer her an +embrace, it was only their hearts that clung together as they simply +shook hands and kissed each other. Lydia whirled away for her last look +at herself in the glass over the table, and her aunt tremulously began +to put to rights some slight disorder in the girl's hat. + +“Father,” she said sharply, “are Lyddy's things all ready there by the +door, so's not to keep Ezra Perkins waitin'? You know he always grumbles +so. And then he _gets_ you to the cars so't you have to wait half an +hour before they start.” She continued to pin and pull at details of +Lydia's dress, to which she descended from her hat. “It sets real nice +on you, Lyddy. I guess you'll think of the time we had gettin' it made +up, when you wear it out there.” Miss Maria Latham laughed nervously. + +With a harsh banging and rattling, a yellow Concord coach drew up at the +gate where Miss Maria had stopped the hearse. The driver got down, and +without a word put Lydia's boxes and bags into the boot, and left two or +three light parcels for her to take into the coach with her. + +Miss Maria went down to the gate with her father and niece. “Take the +back seat, father!” she said, as the old man offered to take the middle +place. “Let them that come later have what's left. You'll be home +to-night, father; I'll set up for you. Good-by again, Lyddy.” She did +not kiss the girl again, or touch her hand. Their decent and sparing +adieux had been made in the house. As Miss Maria returned to the door, +the hens, cowering conscience-stricken under the lilacs, sprang up +at sight of her with a screech of guilty alarm, and flew out over the +fence. + +“Well, I vow,” soliloquized Miss Maria, “from where she set Lyddy must +have seen them pests under the lilacs the whole time, and never said +a word.” She pushed the loosened soil into place with the side of her +ample slipper, and then went into the house, where she kindled a fire in +the kitchen stove, and made herself a cup of Japan tea: a variety of the +herb which our country people prefer, apparently because it affords the +same stimulus with none of the pleasure given by the Chinese leaf. + + + + +II. + + +Lydia and her grandfather reached Boston at four o'clock, and the old +man made a bargain, as he fancied, with an expressman to carry her +baggage across the city to the wharf at which the Aroostook lay. The +expressman civilly offered to take their small parcels without charge, +and deliver them with the trunk and large bag; but as he could not check +them all her grandfather judged it safest not to part with them, and he +and Lydia crowded into the horse-car with their arms and hands full. The +conductor obliged him to give up the largest of these burdens, and hung +the old-fashioned oil-cloth sack on the handle of the brake behind, +where Mr. Latham with keen anxiety, and Lydia with shame, watched it as +it swayed back and forth with the motion of the car and threatened +to break loose from its hand-straps and dash its bloated bulk to the +ground. The old man called out to the conductor to be sure and stop in +Scollay's Square, and the people, who had already stared uncomfortably +at Lydia's bundles, all smiled. Her grandfather was going to repeat his +direction as the conductor made no sign of having heard it, when his +neighbor said kindly, “The car always stops in Scollay's Square.” + +“Then why couldn't he say so?” retorted the old man, in his high +nasal key; and now the people laughed outright. He had the nervous +restlessness of age when out of its wonted place: he could not remain +quiet in the car, for counting and securing his parcels; when they +reached Scollay's Square, and were to change cars, he ran to the +car they were to take, though there was abundant time, and sat down +breathless from his effort. He was eager then that they should not be +carried too far, and was constantly turning to look out of the window to +ascertain their whereabouts. His vigilance ended in their getting aboard +the East Boston ferry-boat in the car, and hardly getting ashore before +the boat started. They now gathered up their burdens once more, and +walked toward the wharf they were seeking, past those squalid streets +which open upon the docks. At the corners they entangled themselves in +knots of truck-teams and hucksters' wagons and horse-cars; once +they brought the traffic of the neighborhood to a stand-still by the +thoroughness of their inability and confusion. They wandered down the +wrong wharf amidst the slime cast up by the fishing craft moored in the +dock below, and made their way over heaps of chains and cordage, and +through the hand-carts pushed hither and thither with their loads of +fish, and so struggled back to the avenue which ran along the top of +all the wharves. The water of the docks was of a livid turbidity, which +teemed with the gelatinous globes of the sun-fish; and people were +rowing about there in pleasure-boats, and sailors on floats were +painting the hulls of the black ships. The faces of the men they met +were red and sunburned mostly,--not with the sunburn of the fields, but +of the sea; these men lurched in their gait with an uncouth heaviness, +yet gave them way kindly enough; but certain dull-eyed, frowzy-headed +women seemed to push purposely against her grandfather, and one of them +swore at Lydia for taking up all the sidewalk with her bundles. There +were such dull eyes and slattern heads at the open windows of the shabby +houses; and there were gaunt, bold-faced young girls who strolled up +and down the pavements, bonnetless and hatless, and chatted into the +windows, and joked with other such girls whom they met. Suddenly a +wild outcry rose from the swarming children up one of the intersecting +streets, where a woman was beating a small boy over the head with a +heavy stick: the boy fell howling and writhing to the ground, and the +cruel blows still rained upon him, till another woman darted from an +open door and caught the child up with one hand, and with the other +wrenched the stick away and flung it into the street. No words passed, +and there was nothing to show whose child the victim was; the first +woman walked off, and while the boy rubbed his head and arms, and +screamed with the pain, the other children, whose sports had been +scarcely interrupted, were shouting and laughing all about him again. + +“Grandfather,” said Lydia faintly, “let us go down here, and rest a +moment in the shade. I'm almost worn out.” She pointed to the open and +quiet space at the side of the lofty granite warehouse which they had +reached. + +“Well, I guess I'll set down a minute, too,” said her grandfather. +“Lyddy,” he added, as they released their aching arms from their bags +and bundles, and sank upon the broad threshold of a door which seemed to +have been shut ever since the decay of the India trade, “I don't believe +but what it would have be'n about as cheap in the end to come down in a +hack. But I acted for what I thought was the best. I supposed we'd be'n +there before now, and the idea of givin' a dollar for ridin' about +ten minutes did seem sinful. I ain't noways afraid the ship will sail +without you. Don't you fret any. I don't seem to know rightly just where +I am, but after we've rested a spell I'll leave you here, and inquire +round. It's a real quiet place, and I guess your things will be safe.” + +He took off his straw hat and fanned his face with it, while Lydia +leaned her head against the door frame and closed her eyes. Presently +she heard the trampling of feet going by, but she did not open her +eyes till the feet paused in a hesitating way, and a voice asked her +grandfather, in the firm, neat tone which she had heard summer boarders +from Boston use, “Is the young lady ill?” She now looked up, and +blushed like fire to see two handsome young men regarding her with frank +compassion. + +“No,” said her grandfather; “a little beat out, that's all. We've been +trying to find Lucas Wharf, and we don't seem somehow just to hit on +it.” + +“This is Lucas Wharf,” said the young man. He made an instinctive +gesture of salutation toward his hat, with the hand in which he held a +cigar; he put the cigar into his mouth as he turned from them, and +the smoke drifted fragrantly back to Lydia as he tramped steadily and +strongly on down the wharf, shoulder to shoulder with his companion. + +“Well, I declare for't, so it is,” said her grandfather, getting stiffly +to his feet and retiring a few paces to gain a view of the building at +the base of which they had been sitting. “Why, I might known it by this +buildin'! But where's the Aroostook, if this is Lucas Wharf?” He looked +wistfully in the direction the young men had taken, but they were +already too far to call after. + +“Grandfather,” said the girl, “do I look pale?” + +“Well, you don't now,” answered the old man, simply. “You've got a good +color now.” + +“What right had he,” she demanded, “to speak to you about me?” + +“I d'know but what you did look rather pale, as you set there with your +head leaned back. I d'know as I noticed much.” + +“He took us for two beggars,--two tramps!” she exclaimed, “sitting here +with our bundles scattered round us!” + +The old man did not respond to this conjecture; it probably involved +matters beyond his emotional reach, though he might have understood +them when he was younger. He stood a moment with his mouth puckered to +a whistle, but made no sound, and retired a step or two farther from +the building and looked up at it again. Then he went toward the dock and +looked down into its turbid waters, and returned again with a face of +hopeless perplexity. “This is Lucas Wharf, and no mistake,” he said. “I +know the place first-rate, now. But what I can't make out is, What's got +the Aroostook?” + +A man turned the corner of the warehouse from the street above, and came +briskly down towards them, with his hat off, and rubbing his head and +face with a circular application of a red silk handkerchief. He was +dressed in a suit of blue flannel, very neat and shapely, and across +his ample waistcoat stretched a gold watch chain; in his left hand he +carried a white Panama hat. He was short and stout; his round florid +face was full of a sort of prompt kindness; his small blue eyes twinkled +under shaggy brows whose sandy color had not yet taken the grizzled tone +of his close-clipped hair and beard. From his clean wristbands his hands +came out, plump and large; stiff, wiry hairs stood up on their backs, +and under these various designs in tattooing showed their purple. + +Lydia's grandfather stepped out to meet and halt this stranger, as he +drew near, glancing quickly from the girl to the old man, and then at +their bundles. “Can you tell me where a ship named the Aroostook +is, that was layin' at this wharf--Lucas Wharf--a fortnight ago, and +better?” + +“Well, I guess I can, Mr. Latham,” answered the stranger, with a +quizzical smile, offering one of his stout hands to Lydia's grandfather. +“You don't seem to remember your friends very well, do you?” + +The old man gave a kind of crow expressive of an otherwise unutterable +relief and comfort. “Well, if it ain't Captain Jenness! I be'n so turned +about, I declare for't, I don't believe I'd ever known you if you hadn't +spoke up. Lyddy,” he cried with a child-like joy, “this is Captain +Jenness!” + +Captain Jenness having put on his hat changed Mr. Latham's hand into his +left, while he stretched his great right hand across it and took Lydia's +long, slim fingers in its grasp, and looked keenly into her face. “Glad +to see you, glad to see you, Miss Blood. (You see I've got your name +down on my papers.) Hope you're well. Ever been a sea-voyage before? +Little homesick, eh?” he asked, as she put her handkerchief to her eyes. +He kept pressing Lydia's hand in the friendliest way. “Well, that's +natural. And you're excited; that's natural, too. But we're not going to +have any homesickness on the Aroostook, because we're going to make her +home to you.” At this speech all the girl's gathering forlornness broke +in a sob. “That's right!” said Captain Jenness. “Bless you, I've got a +girl just about your age up at Deer Isle, myself!” He dropped her hand, +and put his arm across her shoulders. “Good land, I know what girls are, +I hope! These your things?” He caught up the greater part of them into +his capacious hands, and started off down the wharf, talking back at +Lydia and her grandfather, as they followed him with the light parcels +he had left them. “I hauled away from the wharf as soon as I'd stowed my +cargo, and I'm at anchor out there in the stream now, waiting till I +can finish up a few matters of business with the agents and get my +passengers on board. When you get used to the strangeness,” he said to +Lydia, “you won't be a bit lonesome. Bless your heart! My wife's been +with me many a voyage, and the last time I was out to Messina I had both +my daughters.” + +At the end of the wharf, Captain Jenness stopped, and suddenly calling +out, “Here!” began, as she thought, to hurl Lydia's things into the +water. But when she reached the same point, she found they had all been +caught, and deposited in a neat pile in a boat which lay below, where +two sailors stood waiting the captain's further orders. He keenly +measured the distance to the boat with his eye, and then he bade the men +work round outside a schooner which lay near; and jumping on board this +vessel, he helped Lydia and her grandfather down, and easily transferred +them to the small boat. The men bent to their oars, and pulled swiftly +out toward a ship that lay at anchor a little way off. A light breeze +crept along the water, which was here blue and clear, and the grateful +coolness and pleasant motion brought light into the girl's cheeks and +eyes. Without knowing it she smiled. “That's right!” cried Captain +Jenness, who had applauded her sob in the same terms. “_You'll_ like +it, first-rate. Look at that ship! _That's_ the Aroostook. _Is_ she a +beauty, or ain't she?” + +The stately vessel stood high from the water, for Captain Jenness's +cargo was light, and he was going out chiefly for a return freight. +Sharp jibs and staysails cut their white outlines keenly against the +afternoon blue of the summer heaven; the topsails and courses dripped, +half-furled, from the yards stretching across the yellow masts that +sprang so far aloft; the hull glistened black with new paint. When Lydia +mounted to the deck she found it as clean scrubbed as her aunt's kitchen +floor. Her glance of admiration was not lost upon Captain Jenness. “Yes, +Miss Blood,” said he, “one difference between an American ship and any +other sort is dirt. I wish I could take you aboard an English vessel, so +you could appreciate the Aroostook. But I guess you don't need it,” he +added, with a proud satisfaction in his laugh. “The Aroostook ain't in +order yet; wait till we've been a few days at sea.” The captain swept +the deck with a loving eye. It was spacious and handsome, with a stretch +of some forty or fifty feet between the house at the stern and the +forecastle, which rose considerably higher; a low bulwark was surmounted +by a heavy rail supported upon turned posts painted white. Everything, +in spite of the captain's boastful detraction, was in perfect trim, at +least to landfolk's eyes. “Now come into the cabin,” said the captain. +He gave Lydia's traps, as he called them, in charge of a boy, while +he led the way below, by a narrow stairway, warning Lydia and her +grandfather to look out for their heads as they followed. “There!” he +said, when they had safely arrived, inviting their inspection of the +place with a general glance of his own. + +“What did I tell you, Lyddy?” asked her grandfather, with simple joy in +the splendors about them. “Solid mahogany trimmin's everywhere.” There +was also a great deal of milk-white paint, with some modest touches of +gilding here and there. The cabin was pleasantly lit by the long low +windows which its roof rose just high enough to lift above the deck, and +the fresh air entered with the slanting sun. Made fast to the floor was +a heavy table, over which hung from the ceiling a swinging shelf. Around +the little saloon ran lockers cushioned with red plush. At either +end were four or five narrow doors, which gave into as many tiny +state-rooms. The boy came with Lydia's things, and set them inside one +of these doors; and when he came out again the captain pushed it +open, and called them in. “Here!” said he. “Here's where my girls made +themselves at home the last voyage, and I expect you'll find it pretty +comfortable. They say you don't feel the motion so much,--_I_ don't +know anything about the motion,--and in smooth weather you can have that +window open sometimes, and change the air. It's light and it's large. +Well, I had it fitted up for my wife; but she's got kind of on now, you +know, and she don't feel much like going any more; and so I always give +it to my nicest passenger.” This was an unmistakable compliment, +and Lydia blushed to the captain's entire content. “That's a rug she +hooked,” he continued, touching with his toe the carpet, rich in its +artless domestic dyes as some Persian fabric, that lay before the berth. +“These gimcracks belong to my girls; they left 'em.” He pointed to +various slight structures of card-board worked with crewel, which were +tacked to the walls. “Pretty snug, eh?” + +“Yes,” said Lydia, “it's nicer than I thought it could be, even after +what grandfather said.” + +“Well, that's right!” exclaimed the captain. “I like your way of +speaking up. I wish you could know my girls. How old are you now?” + +“I'm nineteen,” said Lydia. + +“Why, you're just between my girls!” cried the captain. “Sally is +twenty-one, and Persis is eighteen. Well, now, Miss Blood,” he said, as +they returned to the cabin, “you can't begin to make yourself at home +too soon for me. I used to sail to Cadiz and Malaga a good deal; and +when I went to see any of them Spaniards he'd say, 'This house is +yours.' Well, that's what I say: This ship is yours as long as you +stay in her. And I _mean_ it, and that's more than _they_ did!” Captain +Jenness laughed mightily, took some of Lydia's fingers in his left hand +and squeezed them, and clapped her grandfather on the shoulder with +his right. Then he slipped his hand down the old man's bony arm to the +elbow, and held it, while he dropped his head towards Lydia, and said, +“We shall be glad to have him stay to supper, and as much longer as he +likes, heh?” + +“Oh, no!” said Lydia; “grandfather must go back on the six o'clock +train. My aunt expects him.” Her voice fell, and her face suddenly +clouded. + +“Good!” cried the captain. Then he pulled out his watch, and held it +as far away as the chain would stretch, frowning at it with his head +aslant. “Well!” he burst out. “He hasn't got any too much time on his +hands.” The old man gave a nervous start, and the girl trembled. “Hold +on! Yes; there's time. It's only fifteen minutes after five.” + +“Oh, but we were more than half an hour getting down here,” said Lydia, +anxiously. “And grandfather doesn't know the way back. He'll be sure to +get lost. I _wish_ we'd come in a carriage.” + +“Couldn't 'a' kept the carriage waitin' on expense, Lyddy,” retorted her +grandfather, “But I tell you,” he added, with something like resolution, +“if I could find a carriage anywheres near that wharf, I'd take it, just +as _sure_! I wouldn't miss that train for more'n half a dollar. It would +cost more than that at a hotel to-night, let alone how your aunt Maria'd +feel.” + +“Why, look here!” said Captain Jenness, naturally appealing to the girl. +“Let _me_ get your grandfather back. I've got to go up town again, any +way, for some last things, with an express wagon, and we can ride right +to the depot in that. Which depot is it?” + +“Fitchburg,” said the old man eagerly. + +“That's right!” commented the captain. “Get you there in plenty of time, +if we don't lose any now. And I'll tell you what, my little girl,” he +added, turning to Lydia: “if it'll be a comfort to you to ride up with +us, and see your grandfather off, why come along! _My_ girls went with +me the last time on an express wagon.” + +“No,” answered Lydia. “I want to. But it wouldn't be any comfort. I +thought that out before I left home, and I'm going to say good-by to +grandfather here.” + +“First-rate!” said Captain Jenness, bustling towards the gangway so as +to leave them alone. A sharp cry from the old man arrested him. + +“Lyddy! Where's your trunks?” + +“Why!” said the girl, catching her breath in dismay, “where _can_ they +be? I forgot all about them.” + +“I got the checks fast enough,” said the old man, “and I shan't give 'em +up without I get the trunks. They'd ought to had 'em down here long +ago; and now if I've got to pester round after 'em I'm sure to miss the +train.” + +“What shall we do?” asked Lydia. + +“Let's see your checks,” said the captain, with an evident ease of +mind that reassured her. When her grandfather had brought them with +difficulty from the pocket visited last in the order of his search, and +laid them in the captain's waiting palm, the latter endeavored to get +them in focus. “What does it say on 'em?” he asked, handing them to +Lydia. “My eyes never _did_ amount to anything on shore.” She read aloud +the name of the express stamped on them. The captain gathered them back +into his hand, and slipped them into his pocket, with a nod and wink +full of comfort. “I'll see to it,” he said. “At any rate, this ship +ain't a-going to sail without them, if she waits a week. Now, then, Mr. +Latham!” + +The old man, who waited, when not directly addressed or concerned, in a +sort of blank patience, suddenly started out of his daze, and following +the captain too alertly up the gangway stairs drove his hat against the +hatch--with a force that sent him back into Lydia's arms. + +“Oh, grandfather, are you hurt?” she piteously asked, trying to pull up +the hat that was jammed down over his forehead. + +“Not a bit! But I guess my hat's about done for,--without I can get it +pressed over; and I d'know as this kind of straw _doos_ press.” + +“First-rate!” called the captain from above. “Never mind the hat.” + But the girl continued fondly trying to reshape it, while the old man +fidgeted anxiously, and protested that he would be sure to be left. It +was like a half-shut accordion when she took it from his head; when she +put it back it was like an accordion pulled out. + +“All ready!” shouted Captain Jenness from the gap in the bulwark, where +he stood waiting to descend into the small boat. The old man ran towards +him in his senile haste, and stooped to get over the side into the boat +below. + +“Why, grandfather!” cried the girl in a breaking voice, full of keen, +yet tender reproach. + +“I declare for't,” he said, scrambling back to the deck. “I 'most +forgot. I be'n so put about.” He took Lydia's hand loosely into his own, +and bent forward to kiss her. She threw her arms round him, and while he +remained looking over her shoulder, with a face of grotesque perplexity, +and saying, “Don't cry, Lyddy, don't cry!” she pressed her face tighter +into his withered neck, and tried to muffle her homesick sobs. The +sympathies as well as the sensibilities often seem dulled by age. They +have both perhaps been wrought upon too much in the course of the years, +and can no longer respond to the appeal or distress which they can only +dimly realize; even the heart grows old. “Don't you, don't you, Lyddy!” + repeated the old man. “You mustn't. The captain's waitin'; and the +cars--well, every minute I lose makes it riskier and riskier; and your +aunt Maria, she's always so uneasy, you know!” + +The girl was not hurt by his anxiety about himself; she was more anxious +about him than about anything else. She quickly lifted her head, and +drying her eyes, kissed him, forcing her lips into the smile that is +more heart-breaking to see than weeping. She looked over the side, as +her grandfather was handed carefully down to a seat by the two +sailors in the boat, and the captain noted her resolute counterfeit of +cheerfulness. “That's right!” he shouted up to her. “Just like my girls +when their mother left 'em. But bless you, they soon got over it, and +so'll you. Give way, men,” he said, in a lower voice, and the boat +shot from the ship's side toward the wharf. He turned and waved +his handkerchief to Lydia, and, stimulated apparently by this, her +grandfather felt in his pockets for his handkerchief; he ended after a +vain search by taking off his hat and waving that. + +When he put it on again, it relapsed into that likeness of a half-shut +accordion from which Lydia had rescued it; but she only saw the face +under it. + +As the boat reached the wharf an express wagon drove down, and Lydia saw +the sarcastic parley which she could not hear between the captain and +the driver about the belated baggage which the latter put off. Then she +saw the captain help her grandfather to the seat between himself and the +driver, and the wagon rattled swiftly out of sight. One of the sailors +lifted Lydia's baggage over the side of the wharf to the other in the +boat, and they pulled off to the ship with it. + + + + +III. + + +Lydia went back to the cabin, and presently the boy who had taken charge +of her lighter luggage came dragging her trunk and bag down the gangway +stairs. Neither was very large, and even a boy of fourteen who was small +for his age might easily manage them. + +“You can stow away what's in 'em in the drawers,” said the boy. “I +suppose you didn't notice the drawers,” he added, at her look of +inquiry. He went into her room, and pushing aside the valance of +the lower berth showed four deep drawers below the bed; the charming +snugness of the arrangement brought a light of housewifely joy to the +girl's face. + +“Why, it's as good as a bureau. They will hold everything.” + +“Yes,” exulted the boy; “they're for two persons' things. The captain's +daughters, they both had this room. Pretty good sized too; a good deal +the captain's build. You won't find a better stateroom than this on a +steamer. I've been on 'em.” The boy climbed up on the edge of the upper +drawer, and pulled open the window at the top of the wall. “Give you +a little air, I guess. If you want I should, the captain said I was to +bear a hand helping you to stow away what was in your trunks.” + +“No,” said Lydia, quickly. “I'd just as soon do it alone.” + +“All right,” said the boy. “If I was you, I'd do it now. I don't know +just when the captain means to sail; but after we get outside, it might +be rough, and it's better to have everything pretty snug by that time. +I'll haul away the trunks when you've got 'em empty. If I shouldn't +happen to be here, you can just call me at the top of the gangway, and +I'll come. My name's Thomas,” he said. He regarded Lydia inquiringly a +moment before he added: “If you'd just as lives, I rather you'd call +me Thomas, and not _steward_. They said you'd call me steward,” he +explained, in a blushing, deprecating confidence; “and as long as I've +not got my growth, it kind of makes them laugh, you know,--especially +the second officer.” + +“I will call you Thomas,” said Lydia. + +“Thank you.” The boy glanced up at the round clock screwed to the cabin +wall. “I guess you won't have to call me anything unless you hurry. I +shall be down here, laying the table for supper, before you're done. The +captain said I was to lay it for you and him, and if he didn't get back +in time you was to go to eating, any way. Guess you won't think Captain +Jenness is going to starve anybody.” + +“Have you been many voyages with Captain Jenness before this?” asked +Lydia, as she set open her trunk, and began to lay her dresses out on +the locker. Homesickness, like all grief, attacks in paroxysms. One gust +of passionate regret had swept over the girl; before another came, she +could occupy herself almost cheerfully with the details of unpacking. + +“Only one before,” said the boy. “The last one, when his daughters went +out. I guess it was their coaxing got mother to let me go. _My_ father +was killed in the war.” + +“Was he?” asked Lydia, sympathetically. + +“Yes. I didn't know much about it at the time; so little. Both your +parents living?” + +“No,” said Lydia. “They're both dead. They died a long while ago. I've +always lived with my aunt and grandfather.” + +“I thought there must be something the matter,--your coming with your +grandfather,” said the boy. “I don't see why you don't let me carry in +some of those dresses for you. I'm used to helping about.” + +“Well, you may,” answered Lydia, “if you want.” A native tranquil +kindness showed itself in her voice and manner, but something of the +habitual authority of a school-mistress mingled with it. “You must be +careful not to rumple them if I let you.” + +“I guess not. I've got older sisters at home. They hated to have me +leave. But I looked at it this way: If I was ever going to sea--and I +_was_--I couldn't get such another captain as Captain Jenness, nor such +another crew; all the men from down our way; and I don't mind the second +mate's jokes much. He doesn't mean anything by them; likes to plague, +that's all. He's a first-rate sailor.” + +Lydia was kneeling before one of the trunks, and the boy was stooping +over it, with a hand on either knee. She had drawn out her only black +silk dress, and was finding it rather crumpled. “I shouldn't have +thought it would have got so much jammed, coming fifty miles,” she +soliloquized. “But they seemed to take a pleasure in seeing how much +they could bang the trunks.” She rose to her feet and shook out the +dress, and drew the skirt several times over her left arm. + +The boy's eyes glistened. “Goodness!” he said. “Just new, ain't it? +Going to wear it any on board?” + +“Sundays, perhaps,” answered Lydia thoughtfully, still smoothing and +shaping the dress, which she regarded at arm's-length, from time to +time, with her head aslant. + +“I suppose it's the latest style?” pursued the boy. + +“Yes, it is,” said Lydia. “We sent to Boston for the pattern. I hate to +pack it into one of those drawers,” she mused. + +“You needn't,” replied Thomas. “There's a whole row of hooks.” + +“I want to know!” cried Lydia. She followed Thomas into her state-room. +“Well, well! They do seem to have thought of everything!” + +“I should say so,” exulted the boy. “Look here!” He showed her a little +niche near the head of the berth strongly framed with glass, in which a +lamp was made fast. “Light up, you know, when you want to read, or feel +kind of lonesome.” Lydia clasped her hands in pleasure and amaze. “Oh, +I tell you Captain Jenness meant to have things about right. The other +state-rooms don't begin to come up to this.” He dashed out in his zeal, +and opened their doors, that she might triumph in the superiority of her +accommodations without delay. These rooms were cramped together on one +side; Lydia's was in a comparatively ample corner by itself. + +She went on unpacking her trunk, and the boy again took his place near +her, in the same attitude as before. “I tell you,” he said, “I shall +like to see you with that silk on. Have you got any other nice ones?” + +“No; only this I'm wearing,” answered Lydia, half amused and half honest +in her sympathy with his ardor about her finery. “They said not to bring +many clothes; they would be cheaper over there.” She had now reached the +bottom of her trunk. She knew by the clock that her grandfather could +hardly have left the city on his journey home, but the interval of time +since she had parted with him seemed vast. It was as if she had started +to Boston in a former life; the history of the choosing and cutting and +making of these clothes was like a dream of preëxistence. She had never +had so many things new at once, and it had been a great outlay, but her +aunt Maria had made the money go as far as possible, and had spent it +with that native taste, that genius for dress, which sometimes strikes +the summer boarder in the sempstresses of the New England hills. Miss +Latham's gift was quaintly unrelated to herself. In dress, as in person +and manner, she was uncompromisingly plain and stiff. All the more +lavishly, therefore, had it been devoted to the grace and beauty of +her sister's child, who, ever since she came to find a home in her +grandfather's house, had been more stylishly dressed than any other girl +in the village. The summer boarders, whom the keen eye of Miss Latham +studied with unerring sense of the best new effects in costume, wondered +at Lydia's elegance, as she sat beside her aunt in the family pew, +a triumph of that grim artist's skill. Lydia knew that she was well +dressed, but she knew that after all she was only the expression of her +aunt's inspirations. Her own gift was of another sort. Her father was +a music-teacher, whose failing health had obliged him to give up his +profession, and who had taken the traveling agency of a parlor organ +manufactory for the sake of the out-door life. His business had brought +him to South Bradfield, where he sold an organ to Deacon Latham's +church, and fell in love with his younger daughter. He died a few years +after his marriage, of an ancestral consumption, his sole heritage from +the good New England stock of which he came. His skill as a pianist, +which was considerable, had not descended to his daughter, but her +mother had bequeathed her a peculiarly rich and flexible voice, with a +joy in singing which was as yet a passion little affected by culture. It +was this voice which, when Lydia rose to join in the terrible hymning of +the congregation at South Bradfield, took the thoughts of people off her +style and beauty; and it was this which enchanted her father's sister +when, the summer before the date of which we write, that lady had come +to America on a brief visit, and heard Lydia sing at her parlor organ in +the old homestead. + +Mrs. Erwin had lived many years abroad, chiefly in Italy, for the sake +of the climate. She was of delicate health, and constantly threatened by +the hereditary disease that had left her the last of her generation, +and she had the fastidiousness of an invalid. She was full of generous +impulses which she mistook for virtues; but the presence of some object +at once charming and worthy was necessary to rouse these impulses. She +had been prosperously married when very young, and as a pretty +American widow she had wedded in second marriage at Naples one of those +Englishmen who have money enough to live at ease in Latin countries; he +was very fond of her, and petted her. Having no children she might +long before have thought definitely of poor Henry's little girl, as she +called Lydia, but she had lived very comfortably indefinite in regard to +her ever since the father's death. Now and then she had sent the child a +handsome present or a sum of money. She had it on her conscience not to +let her be wholly a burden to her grandfather; but often her conscience +drowsed. When she came to South Bradfield, she won the hearts of the +simple family, which had been rather hardened against her, and she +professed an enthusiasm for Lydia. She called her pretty names in +Italian, which she did not pronounce well; she babbled a great deal +about what ought to be done for her, and went away without doing +anything; so that when a letter finally came, directing Lydia to be sent +out to her in Venice, they were all surprised, in the disappointment to +which they had resigned themselves. + +Mrs. Erwin wrote an epistolary style exasperatingly vacuous and diffuse, +and, like many women of that sort, she used pencil instead of ink, +always apologizing for it as due now to her weak eyes, and now to her +weak wrist, and again to her not being able to find the ink. Her hand +was full of foolish curves and dashes, and there were no spaces between +the words at times. Under these conditions it was no light labor to get +at her meaning; but the sum of her letter was that she wished Lydia to +come out to her at once, and she suggested that, as they could have few +opportunities or none to send her with people going to Europe, they had +better let her come the whole way by sea. Mrs. Erwin remembered--in the +space of a page and a half--that nothing had ever done _her_ so much +good as a long sea voyage, and it would be excellent for Lydia, who, +though she looked so strong, probably needed all the bracing up she +could get. She had made inquiries,--or, what was the same thing, Mr. +Erwin had, for her,--and she found that vessels from American ports +seldom came to Venice; but they often came to Trieste, which was only a +few hours away; and if Mr. Latham would get Lydia a ship for Trieste at +Boston, she could come very safely and comfortably in a few weeks. She +gave the name of a Boston house engaged in the Mediterranean trade to +which Mr. Latham could apply for passage; if they were not sending any +ship themselves, they could probably recommend one to him. + +This was what happened when Deacon Latham called at their office a +few days after Mrs. Erwin's letter came. They directed him to the firm +dispatching the Aroostook, and Captain Jenness was at their place when +the deacon appeared there. The captain took cordial possession of the +old man at once, and carried him down to the wharf to look at the ship +and her accommodations. The matter was quickly settled between them. +At that time Captain Jenness did not know but he might have other +passengers out; at any rate he would look after the little girl (as +Deacon Latham always said in speaking of Lydia) the same as if she were +his own child. + +Lydia knelt before her trunk, thinking of the remote events, the extinct +associations of a few minutes and hours and days ago; she held some +cuffs and collars in her hand, and something that her aunt Maria had +said recurred to her. She looked up into the intensely interested face +of the boy, and then laughed, bowing her forehead on the back of the +hand that held these bits of linen. + +The boy blushed. “What are you laughing at?” he asked, half piteously, +half indignantly, like a boy used to being badgered. + +“Oh, nothing,” said Lydia. “My aunt told me if any of these things +should happen to want doing up, I had better get the stewardess to help +me.” She looked at the boy in a dreadfully teasing way, softly biting +her lip. + +“Oh, if you're going to begin _that_ way!” he cried in affliction. + +“I'm not,” she answered, promptly. “I like boys. I've taught school two +winters, and I like boys first-rate.” + +Thomas was impersonally interested again. “Time! _You_ taught school?” + +“Why not?” + +“You look pretty young for a school-teacher!” + +“Now you're making fun of me,” said Lydia, astutely. + +The boy thought he must have been, and was consoled. “Well, you began +it,” he said. + +“I oughtn't to have done so,” she replied with humility; “and I won't +any more. There!” she said, “I'm not going to open my bag now. You can +take away the trunk when you want, Thomas.” + +“Yes, ma'am,” said the boy. The idea of a school-mistress was perhaps +beginning to awe him a little. “Put your bag in your state-room first.” + He did this, and when he came back from carrying away her trunk he began +to set the table. It was a pretty table, when set, and made the little +cabin much cosier. When the boy brought the dishes from the cook's +galley, it was a barbarously abundant table. There was cold boiled ham, +ham and eggs, fried fish, baked potatoes, buttered toast, tea, cake, +pickles, and watermelon; nothing was wanting. “I tell you,” said Thomas, +noticing Lydia's admiration, “the captain lives well lay-days.” + +“Lay-days?” echoed Lydia. + +“The days we're in port,” the boy explained. + +“Well, I should think as much!” She ate with the hunger that +tranquillity bestows upon youth after the swift succession of strange +events, and the conflict of many emotions. The captain had not returned +in time, and she ate alone. + +After a while she ventured to the top of the gangway stairs, and stood +there, looking at the novel sights of the harbor, in the red sunset +light, which rose slowly from the hulls and lower spars of the shipping, +and kindled the tips of the high-shooting masts with a quickly fading +splendor. A delicate flush responded in the east, and rose to meet +the denser crimson of the west; a few clouds, incomparably light and +diaphanous, bathed themselves in the glow. It was a summer sunset, +portending for the land a morrow of great heat. But cool airs crept +along the water, and the ferry-boats, thrust shuttlewise back and forth +between either shore, made a refreshing sound as they crushed a broad +course to foam with their paddles. People were pulling about in small +boats; from some the gay cries and laughter of young girls struck +sharply along the tide. The noise of the quiescent city came off in a +sort of dull moan. The lamps began to twinkle in the windows and the +streets on shore; the lanterns of the ships at anchor in the stream +showed redder and redder as the twilight fell. The homesickness began to +mount from Lydia's heart in a choking lump to her throat; for one must +be very happy to endure the sights and sounds of the summer evening +anywhere. She had to shield her eyes from the brilliancy of the kerosene +when she went below into the cabin. + + + + +IV. + + +Lydia did not know when the captain came on board. Once, talking in the +cabin made itself felt through her dreams, but the dense sleep of weary +youth closed over her again, and she did not fairly wake till morning. +Then she thought she heard the crowing of a cock and the cackle of hens, +and fancied herself in her room at home; the illusion passed with +a pang. The ship was moving, with a tug at her side, the violent +respirations of which were mingled with the sound of the swift rush of +the vessels through the water, the noise of feet on the deck, and of +orders hoarsely shouted. + +The girl came out into the cabin, where Thomas was already busy with +the breakfast table, and climbed to the deck. It was four o'clock of the +summer's morning; the sun had not yet reddened the east, but the stars +were extinct, or glimmered faint points immeasurably withdrawn in the +vast gray of the sky. At that hour there is a hovering dimness over all, +but the light on things near at hand is wonderfully keen and clear, and +the air has an intense yet delicate freshness that seems to breathe from +the remotest spaces of the universe,--a waft from distances beyond the +sun. On the land the leaves and grass are soaked with dew; the densely +interwoven songs of the birds are like a fabric that you might see and +touch. But here, save for the immediate noises on the ship, which +had already left her anchorage far behind, the shouting of the tug's +escape-pipes, and the huge, swirling gushes from her powerful wheel, a +sort of spectacular silence prevailed, and the sounds were like a part +of this silence. Here and there a small fishing schooner came lagging +slowly in, as if belated, with scarce wind enough to fill her sails; now +and then they met a steamboat, towering white and high, a many-latticed +bulk, with no one to be seen on board but the pilot at his wheel, and a +few sleepy passengers on the forward promenade. The city, so beautiful +and stately from the bay, was dropping, and sinking away behind. They +passed green islands, some of which were fortified: the black guns +looked out over the neatly shaven glacis; the sentinel paced the +rampart. + +“Well, well!” shouted Captain Jenness, catching sight of Lydia where she +lingered at the cabin door. “You are an early bird. Glad to see you up! +Hope you rested well! Saw your grandfather off all right, and kept him +from taking the wrong train with my own hand. He's terribly excitable. +Well, I suppose I shall be just so, at his age. Here!” The captain +caught up a stool and set it near the bulwark for her. “There! You make +yourself comfortable wherever you like. You're at home, you know.” He +was off again in a moment. Lydia cast her eye over at the tug. On the +deck, near the pilot-house, stood the young man who had stopped the +afternoon before, while she sat at the warehouse door, and asked her +grandfather if she were not ill. At his feet was a substantial valise, +and over his arm hung a shawl. He was smoking, and seated near him, on +another valise, was his companion of the day before, also smoking. In +the instant that Lydia caught sight of them, she perceived that they +both recognized her and exchanged, as it were, a start of surprise. But +they remained as before, except that he who was seated drew out a fresh +cigarette, and without looking up reached to the other for a light. They +were both men of good height, and they looked fresh and strong, with +something very alert in their slight movements,--sudden turns of the +head and brisk nods, which were not nervously quick. Lydia wondered at +their presence there in an ignorance which could not even conjecture. +She knew too little to know that they could not have any destination on +the tug, and that they would not be making a pleasure-excursion at that +hour in the morning. Their having their valises with them deepened the +mystery, which was not solved till the tug's engines fell silent, and at +an unnoticed order a space in the bulwark not far from Lydia was opened +and steps were let down the side of the ship. Then the young men, who +had remained, to all appearance, perfectly unconcerned, caught up their +valises and climbed to the deck of the Aroostook. They did not give her +more than a glance out of the corners of their eyes, but the surprise of +their coming on board was so great a shock that she did not observe that +the tug, casting loose from the ship, was describing a curt and foamy +semicircle for her return to the city, and that the Aroostook, with a +cloud of snowy canvas filling overhead, was moving over the level sea +with the light ease of a bird that half swims, half flies, along +the water. A sudden dismay, which was somehow not fear so much as an +overpowering sense of isolation, fell upon the girl. She caught at +Thomas, going forward with some dishes in his hand, with a pathetic +appeal. + +“Where are you going, Thomas?” + +“I'm going to the cook's galley to help dish up the breakfast.” + +“What's the cook's galley?” + +“Don't you know? The kitchen.” + +“Let me go with you. I should like to see the kitchen.” She trembled +with eagerness. Arrived at the door of the narrow passage that ran +across the deck aft of the forecastle, she looked in and saw, amid +a haze of frying and broiling, the short, stocky figure of a negro, +bow-legged, and unnaturally erect from the waist up. At sight of Lydia, +he made a respectful duck forward with his uncouth body. “Why, are you +the cook?” she almost screamed in response to this obeisance. + +“Yes, miss,” said the man, humbly, with a turn of the pleading black +eyes of the negro. + +Lydia grew more peremptory: “Why--why--I thought the cook was a woman!” + +“Very sorry, miss,” began the negro, with a deprecatory smile, in a +slow, mild voice. + +Thomas burst into a boy's yelling laugh: “Well, if that ain't the best +joke on Gabriel! He'll never hear the last of it when I tell it to the +second officer!” + +“Thomas!” cried Lydia, terribly, “you shall _not_!” She stamped her +foot. “Do you hear me?” + +The boy checked his laugh abruptly. “Yes, ma'am,” he said submissively. + +“Well, then!” returned Lydia. She stalked proudly back to the cabin +gangway, and descending shut herself into her state-room. + + + + +V. + + +A few hours later Deacon Latham came into the house with a milk-pan full +of pease. He set this down on one end of the kitchen table, with his +straw hat beside it, and then took a chair at the other end and fell +into the attitude of the day before, when he sat in the parlor with +Lydia and Miss Maria waiting for the stage; his mouth was puckered to +a whistle, and his fingers were held above the board in act to drub it. +Miss Maria turned the pease out on the table, and took the pan into +her lap. She shelled at the pease in silence, till the sound of their +pelting, as they were dropped on the tin, was lost in their multitude; +then she said, with a sharp, querulous, pathetic impatience, “Well, +father, I suppose you're thinkin' about Lyddy.” + +“Yes, Maria, I be,” returned her father, with uncommon plumpness, as +if here now were something he had made up his mind to stand to. “I been +thinkin' that Lyddy's a woman grown, as you may say.” + +“Yes,” admitted Miss Maria, “she's a woman, as far forth as that goes. +What put it into your head?” + +“Well, I d'know as I know. But it's just like this: I got to thinkin' +whether she mightn't get to feelin' rather lonely on the voyage, without +any other woman to talk to.” + +“I guess,” said Miss Maria, tranquilly, “she's goin' to feel lonely +enough at times, any way, poor thing! But I told her if she wanted +advice or help about anything just to go to the stewardess. That Mrs. +Bland that spent the summer at the Parkers' last year was always tellin' +how they went to the stewardess for most everything, and she give her +five dollars in gold when they got into Boston. I shouldn't want +Lyddy should give so much as that, but I should want she should give +something, as long's it's the custom.” + +“They don't have 'em on sailin' vessels, Captain Jenness said; they only +have 'em on steamers,” said Deacon Latham. + +“Have what?” asked Miss Maria, sharply. + +“Stewardesses. They've got a cabin-boy.” + +Miss Maria desisted a moment from her work; then she answered, with a +gruff shortness peculiar to her, “Well, then, she can go to the cook, I +suppose. It wouldn't matter which she went to, I presume.” + +Deacon Latham looked up with the air of confessing to sin before the +whole congregation. “The cook's a man,--a black man,” he said. + +Miss Maria dropped a handful of pods into the pan, and sent a handful of +peas rattling across the table on to the floor. “Well, who in Time”--the +expression was strong, but she used it without hesitation, and was never +known to repent it “_will_ she go to, then?” + +“I declare for't,” said her father, “I don't know. I d'know as I ever +thought it out fairly before; but just now when I was pickin' the pease +for you, my mind got to dwellin' on Lyddy, and then it come to me all +at once: there she was, the only _one_ among a whole shipful, and I--I +didn't know but what she might think it rather of a strange position for +her.” + +“_Oh_!” exclaimed Miss Maria, petulantly. “I guess Lyddy'd know how to +conduct herself wherever she was; she's a born lady, if ever there was +one. But what I think is--” Miss Maria paused, and did not say what she +thought; but it was evidently not the social aspect of the matter which +was uppermost in her mind. In fact, she had never been at all afraid of +men, whom she regarded as a more inefficient and feebler-minded kind of +women. + +“The only thing't makes me feel easier is what the captain said about +the young men,” said Deacon Latham. + +“What young men?” asked Miss Maria. + +“Why, I told you about 'em!” retorted the old man, with some +exasperation. + +“You told me about two young men that stopped on the wharf and pitied +Lyddy's worn-out looks.” + +“Didn't I tell you the rest? I declare for't, I don't believe I did; I +be'n so put about. Well, as we was drivin' up to the depot, we met the +same two young men, and the captain asked 'em, 'Are you goin' or not +a-goin'?'--just that way; and they said, 'We're goin'.' And he said, +'When you comin' aboard?' and he told 'em he was goin' to haul out this +mornin' at three o'clock. And they asked what tug, and he told 'em, and +they fixed it up between 'em all then that they was to come aboard from +the tug, when she'd got the ship outside; and that's what I suppose they +did. The captain he said to me he hadn't mentioned it before, because he +wa'n't sure't they'd go till that minute. He give 'em a first-rate of a +character.” + +Miss Maria said nothing for a long while. The subject seemed one with +which she did not feel herself able to grapple. She looked all about +the kitchen for inspiration, and even cast a searching glance into +the wood-shed. Suddenly she jumped from her chair, and ran to the open +window: “Mr. Goodlow! Mr. Goodlow! I wish you'd come in here a minute.” + +She hurried to meet the minister at the front door, her father lagging +after her with the infantile walk of an old man. + +Mr. Goodlow took off his straw hat as he mounted the stone step to the +threshold, and said good-morning; they did not shake hands. He wore a +black alpaca coat, and waistcoat of farmer's satin; his hat was dark +straw, like Deacon Latham's, but it was low-crowned, and a line of +ornamental openwork ran round it near the top. + +“Come into the settin'-room,” said Miss Maria. “It's cooler, in there.” + She lost no time in laying the case before the minister. She ended by +saying, “Father, he don't feel just right about it, and I d'know as I'm +quite clear in my own mind.” + +The minister considered a while in silence before he said, “I think +Lydia's influence upon those around her will be beneficial, whatever her +situation in life may be.” + +“There, father!” cried Miss Maria, in reproachful relief. + +“You're right, Maria, you're right!” assented the old man, and they both +waited for the minister to continue. + +“I rejoiced with you,” he said, “when this opportunity for Lydia's +improvement offered, and I am not disposed to feel anxious as to the +ways and means. Lydia is no fool. I have observed in her a dignity, a +sort of authority, very remarkable in one of her years.” + +“I guess the boys at the school down to the Mill Village found out she +had authority enough,” said Miss Maria, promptly materializing the idea. + +“Precisely,” said Mr. Goodlow. + +“That's what I told father, in the first place,” said Miss Maria. “I +guess Lyddy'd know how to conduct herself wherever she was,--just the +words I used.” + +“I don't deny it, Maria, I don't deny it,” shrilly piped the old man. +“I ain't afraid of any harm comin' to Lyddy any more'n what you be. But +what I said was, Wouldn't she feel kind of strange, sort of lost, as you +may say, among so many, and she the only _one_?” + +“She will know how to adapt herself to circumstances,” said Mr. Goodlow. +“I was conversing last summer with that Mrs. Bland who boarded at Mr. +Parker's, and she told me that girls in Europe are brought up with no +habits of self-reliance whatever, and that young ladies are never seen +on the streets alone in France and Italy.” + +“Don't you think,” asked Miss Maria, hesitating to accept this +ridiculous statement, “that Mrs. Bland exaggerated some?” + +“She _talked_ a great deal,” admitted Mr. Goodlow. “I should be sorry +if Lydia ever lost anything of that native confidence of hers in her +own judgment, and her ability to take care of herself under any +circumstances, and I do not think she will. She never seemed conceited +to me, but she _was_ the most self-reliant girl I ever saw.” + +“You've hit it there, Mr. Goodlow. Such a spirit as she always had!” + sighed Miss Maria. “It was just so from the first. It used to go to my +heart to see that little thing lookin' after herself, every way, and not +askin' anybody's help, but just as quiet and proud about it! She's her +mother, all over. And yest'day, when she set here waitin' for the stage, +and it did seem as if I should have to give up, hearin' her sob, +sob, sob,--why, Mr. Goodlow, she hadn't any more idea of backin' out +than--than--” Miss Maria relinquished the search for a comparison, and +went into another room for a handkerchief. “I don't believe she cared +over and above about goin', from the start,” said Miss Maria, returning, +“but when once she'd made up her mind to it, there she was. I d'know +as she _took_ much of a fancy to her aunt, but you couldn't told from +anything that Lyddy said. Now, if I have anything on my mind, I have to +blat it right out, as you may say; I can't seem to bear it a minute; +but Lyddy's different. Well,” concluded Miss Maria, “I guess there ain't +goin' to any harm come to her. But it did give me a kind of start, first +off, when father up and got to feelin' sort of bad about it. I d'know +as I should thought much about it, if he hadn't seemed to. I d'know as +I should ever thought about anything except her not havin' any one to +advise with about her clothes. It's the only thing she ain't handy with: +she won't know what to wear. I'm afraid she'll spoil her silk. I d'know +but what father's _been_ hasty in not lookin' into things carefuller +first. He most always does repent afterwards.” + +“Couldn't repent beforehand!” retorted Deacon Latham. “And I tell +you, Maria, I never saw a much finer man than Captain Jenness; and the +cabin's everything I said it was, and more. Lyddy reg'larly went off +over it; 'n' I guess, as Mr. Goodlow says, she'll influence 'em for +good. Don't you fret about her clothes any. You fitted her out in +apple-pie order, and she'll soon be there. 'T ain't but a little ways +to Try-East, any way, to what it is some of them India voyages, Captain +Jenness said. He had his own daughters out the last voyage; 'n' I guess +he can tell Lyddy when it's weather to wear her silk. I d'know as I'd +better said anything about what I was thinkin'. I don't want to be +noways rash, and yet I thought I couldn't be too partic'lar.” + +For a silent moment Miss Maria looked sourly uncertain as to the +usefulness of scruples that came so long after the fact. Then she said +abruptly to Mr. Goodlow, “Was it you or Mr. Baldwin, preached Mirandy +Holcomb's fune'l sermon?” + + + + +VI. + + +One of the advantages of the negative part assigned to women in life +is that they are seldom forced to commit themselves. They can, if they +choose, remain perfectly passive while a great many things take place in +regard to them; they need not account for what they do not do. From time +to time a man must show his hand, but save for one supreme exigency a +woman need never show hers. She moves in mystery as long as she likes; +and mere reticence in her, if she is young and fair, interprets itself +as good sense and good taste. + +Lydia was, by convention as well as by instinct, mistress of the +situation when she came out to breakfast, and confronted the young men +again with collected nerves, and a reserve which was perhaps a little +too proud. The captain was there to introduce them, and presented first +Mr. Dunham, the gentleman who had spoken to her grandfather on the +wharf, and then Mr. Staniford, his friend and senior by some four or +five years. They were both of the fair New England complexion; but +Dunham's eyes were blue, and Staniford's dark gray. Their mustaches were +blonde, but Dunham's curled jauntily outward at the corners, and his +light hair waved over either temple from the parting in the middle. +Staniford's mustache was cut short; his hair was clipped tight to his +shapely head, and not parted at all; he had a slightly aquiline nose, +with sensitive nostrils, showing the cartilage; his face was darkly +freckled. They were both handsome fellows, and fittingly dressed in +rough blue, which they wore like men with the habit of good clothes; +they made Lydia such bows as she had never seen before. Then the Captain +introduced Mr. Watterson, the first officer, to all, and sat down, +saying to Thomas, with a sort of guilty and embarrassed growl, “Ain't he +out yet? Well, we won't wait,” and with but little change of tone asked +a blessing; for Captain Jenness in his way was a religious man. + +There was a sixth plate laid, but the captain made no further mention of +the person who was not out yet till shortly after the coffee was poured, +when the absentee appeared, hastily closing his state-room door behind +him, and then waiting on foot, with a half-impudent, half-intimidated +air, while Captain Jenness, with a sort of elaborate repressiveness, +presented him as Mr. Hicks. He was a short and slight young man, with +a small sandy mustache curling tightly in over his lip, floating +reddish-blue eyes, and a deep dimple in his weak, slightly retreating +chin. He had an air at once amiable and baddish, with an +expression, curiously blended, of monkey-like humor and spaniel-like +apprehensiveness. He did not look well, and till he had swallowed two +cups of coffee his hand shook. The captain watched him furtively from +under his bushy eyebrows, and was evidently troubled and preoccupied, +addressing a word now and then to Mr. Watterson, who, by virtue of what +was apparently the ship's discipline, spoke only when he was spoken +to, and then answered with prompt acquiescence. Dunham and Staniford +exchanged not so much a glance as a consciousness in regard to him, +which seemed to recognize and class him. They talked to each other, +and sometimes to the captain. Once they spoke to Lydia. Mr. Dunham, +for example, said, “Miss--ah--Blood, don't you think we are uncommonly +fortunate in having such lovely weather for a start-off?” + +“I don't know,” said Lydia. + +Mr. Dunham arrested himself in the use of his fork. “I beg your pardon?” + he smiled. + +It seemed to be a question, and after a moment's doubt Lydia answered, +“I didn't know it was strange to have fine weather at the start.” + +“Oh, but I can assure you it is,” said Dunham, with a certain lady-like +sweetness of manner which he had. “According to precedent, we ought to +be all deathly seasick.” + +“Not at _this_ time of year,” said Captain Jenness. + +“Not at this time of _year_,” repeated Mr. Watterson, as if the remark +were an order to the crew. + +Dunham referred the matter with a look to his friend, who refused +to take part in it, and then he let it drop. But presently Staniford +himself attempted the civility of some conversation with Lydia. He asked +her gravely, and somewhat severely, if she had suffered much from the +heat of the day before. + +“Yes,” said Lydia, “it was very hot.” + +“I'm told it was the hottest day of the summer, so far,” continued +Staniford, with the same severity. + +“I want to know!” cried Lydia. + +The young man did not say anything more. + +As Dunham lit his cigar at Staniford's on deck, the former said +significantly, “What a very American thing!” + +“What a bore!” answered the other. + +Dunham had never been abroad, as one might imagine from his calling +Lydia's presence a very American thing, but he had always consorted +with people who had lived in Europe; he read the Revue des Deux Mondes +habitually, and the London weekly newspapers, and this gave him the +foreign stand-point from which he was fond of viewing his native world. +“It's incredible,” he added. “Who in the world can she be?” + +“Oh, _I_ don't know,” returned Staniford, with a cold disgust. “I should +object to the society of such a young person for a month or six weeks +under the most favorable circumstances, and with frequent respites; but +to be imprisoned on the same ship with her, and to have her on one's +mind and in one's way the whole time, is more than I bargained for. +Captain Jenness should have told us; though I suppose he thought that +if _she_ could stand it, _we_ might. There's that point of view. But +it takes all ease and comfort out of the prospect. Here comes that +blackguard.” Staniford turned his back towards Mr. Hicks, who was +approaching, but Dunham could not quite do this, though he waited for +the other to speak first. + +“Will you--would you oblige me with a light?” Mr. Hicks asked, taking a +cigar from his case. + +“Certainly,” said Dunham, with the comradery of the smoker. + +Mr. Hicks seemed to gather courage from his cigar. “You didn't expect to +find a lady passenger on board, did you?” His poor disagreeable little +face was lit up with unpleasant enjoyment of the anomaly. Dunham +hesitated for an answer. + +“One never can know what one's fellow passengers are going to be,” said +Staniford, turning about, and looking not at Mr. Hicks's face, but his +feet, with an effect of being, upon the whole, disappointed not to find +them cloven. He added, to put the man down rather than from an exact +belief in his own suggestion, “She's probably some relation of the +captain's.” + +“Why, that's the joke of it,” said Hicks, fluttered with his superior +knowledge. “I've been pumping the cabin-boy, and he says the captain +never saw her till yesterday. She's an up-country school-marm, and she +came down here with her grandfather yesterday. She's going out to meet +friends of hers in Venice.” The little man pulled at his cigar, and +coughed and chuckled, and waited confidently for the impression. + +“Dunham,” said Staniford, “did I hand you that sketch-block of mine to +put in your bag, when we were packing last night?” + +“Yes, I've got it.” + +“I'm glad of that. Did you see Murray yesterday?” + +“No; he was at Cambridge.” + +“I thought he was to have met you at Parker's.” The conversation no +longer included Mr. Hicks or the subject he had introduced; after a +moment's hesitation, he walked away to another part of the ship. As soon +as he was beyond ear-shot, Staniford again spoke: “Dunham, this girl +is plainly one of those cases of supernatural innocence, on the part of +herself and her friends, which, as you suggested, wouldn't occur among +any other people in the world but ours.” + +“You're a good fellow, Staniford!” cried Dunham. + +“Not at all. I call myself simply a human being, with the elemental +instincts of a gentleman, as far as concerns this matter. The girl has +been placed in a position which could be made very painful to her. It +seems to me it's our part to prevent it from being so. I doubt if she +finds it at all anomalous, and if we choose she need never do so till +after we've parted with her. I fancy we can preserve her unconsciousness +intact.” + +“Staniford, this is like you,” said his friend, with glistening eyes. “I +had some wild notion of the kind myself, but I'm so glad you spoke of it +first.” + +“Well, never mind,” responded Staniford. “We must make her feel that +there is nothing irregular or uncommon in her being here as she is. +I don't know how the matter's to be managed, exactly; it must be a +negative benevolence for the most part; but it can be done. The first +thing is to cow that nuisance yonder. Pumping the cabin-boy! The little +sot! Look here, Dunham; it's such a satisfaction to me to think of +putting that fellow under foot that I'll leave you all the credit of +saving the young lady's feelings. I should like to begin stamping on him +at once.” + +“I think you have made a beginning already. I confess I wish you hadn't +such heavy nails in your boots!” + +“Oh, they'll do him good, confound him!” said Staniford. + +“I should have liked it better if her name hadn't been Blood,” remarked +Dunham, presently. + +“It doesn't matter what a girl's surname is. Besides, Blood is very +frequent in some parts of the State.” + +“She's very pretty, isn't she?” Dunham suggested. + +“Oh, pretty enough, yes,” replied Staniford. “Nothing is so common +as the pretty girl of our nation. Her beauty is part of the general +tiresomeness of the whole situation.” + +“Don't you think,” ventured his friend, further, “that she has rather a +lady-like air?” + +“She wanted to know,” said Staniford, with a laugh. + +Dunham was silent a while before he asked, “What do you suppose her +first name is?” + +“Jerusha, probably.” + +“Oh, impossible!” + +“Well, then,--Lurella. You have no idea of the grotesqueness of these +people's minds. I used to see a great deal of their intimate life when +I went on my tramps, and chanced it among them, for bed and board, +wherever I happened to be. We cultivated Yankees and the raw material +seem hardly of the same race. Where the Puritanism has gone out of +the people in spots, there's the rankest growth of all sorts of crazy +heresies, and the old scriptural nomenclature has given place to +something compounded of the fancifulness of story-paper romance and the +gibberish of spiritualism. They make up their names, sometimes, and call +a child by what sounds pretty to them. I wonder how the captain picked +up that scoundrel.” + +The turn of Staniford's thought to Hicks was suggested by the appearance +of Captain Jenness, who now issued from the cabin gangway, and came +toward them with the shadow of unwonted trouble in his face. The +captain, too, was smoking. + +“Well, gentlemen,” he began, with the obvious indirectness of a man not +used to diplomacy, “how do you like your accommodations?” + +Staniford silently acquiesced in Dunham's reply that they found them +excellent. “But you don't mean to say,” Dunham added, “that you're going +to give us beefsteak and all the vegetables of the season the whole way +over?” + +“No,” said the captain; “we shall put you on sea-fare soon enough. But +you'll like it. You don't want the same things at sea that you do on +shore; your appetite chops round into a different quarter altogether, +and you want salt beef; but you'll get it good. Your room's pretty +snug,” he suggested. + +“Oh, it's big enough,” said Staniford, to whom he had turned as perhaps +more in authority than Dunham. “While we're well we only sleep in it, +and if we're seasick it doesn't matter where we are.” + +The captain knocked the ash from his cigar with the tip of his fat +little finger, and looked down. “I was in hopes I could have let you +had a room apiece, but I had another passenger jumped on me at the last +minute. I suppose you see what's the matter with Mr. Hicks?” He looked +up from one to another, and they replied with a glance of perfect +intelligence. “I don't generally talk my passengers over with one +another, but I thought I'd better speak to you about him. I found him +yesterday evening at my agents', with his father. He's just been on a +spree, a regular two weeks' tear, and the old gentleman didn't know what +to do with him, on shore, any longer. He thought he'd send him to sea a +voyage, and see what would come of it, and he plead hard with me to take +him. I didn't want to take him, but he worked away at me till I couldn't +say no. I argued in my own mind that he couldn't get anything to drink +on my ship, and that he'd behave himself well enough as long as he was +sober.” The captain added ruefully, “He looks worse this morning than +he did last night. He looks bad. I told the old gentleman that if he got +into any trouble at Try-East, or any of the ports where we touched, +he shouldn't set foot on my ship again. But I guess he'll keep pretty +straight. He hasn't got any money, for one thing.” + +Staniford laughed. “He stops drinking for obvious reasons, if for no +others, like Artemus Ward's destitute inebriate. Did you think only of +us in deciding whether you should take him?” + +The captain looked up quickly at the young men, as if touched in a sore +place. “Well, there again I didn't seem to get my bearings just right. +I suppose you mean the young lady?” Staniford motionlessly and silently +assented. “Well, she's more of a young lady than I thought she was, when +her grandfather first come down here and talked of sending her over with +me. He was always speaking about his little girl, you know, and I got +the idea that she was about thirteen, or eleven, may be. I thought the +child might be some bother on the voyage, but thinks I, I'm used to +children, and I guess I can manage. Bless your soul! when I first see +her on the wharf yesterday, it most knocked me down! I never believed +she was half so tall, nor half so good-looking.” Staniford smiled at +this expression of the captain's despair, but the captain did not smile. +“Why, she was as pretty as a bird. Well, there I was. It was no time +then to back out. The old man wouldn't understood. Besides, there was +the young lady herself, and she seemed so forlorn and helpless that I +kind of pitied her. I thought, What if it was one of my own girls? And I +made up my mind that she shouldn't know from anything I said or did that +she wasn't just as much at home and just as much in place on my ship as +she would be in my house. I suppose what made me feel easier about it, +and took the queerness off some, was my having my own girls along last +voyage. To be sure, it ain't quite the same thing,” said the captain, +interrogatively. + +“Not quite,” assented Staniford. + +“If there was two of them,” said the captain, “I don't suppose I should +feel so bad about it. But thinks I, A lady's a lady the world over, +and a gentleman's a gentleman.” The captain looked significantly at +the young men. “As for that other fellow,” added Captain Jenness, “if I +can't take care of him, I think I'd better stop going to sea altogether, +and go into the coasting trade.” + +He resumed his cigar with defiance, and was about turning away when +Staniford spoke. “Captain Jenness, my friend and I had been talking this +little matter over just before you came up. Will you let me say that I'm +rather proud of having reasoned in much the same direction as yourself?” + +This was spoken with that air which gave Staniford a peculiar +distinction, and made him the despair and adoration of his friend: it +endowed the subject with seriousness, and conveyed a sentiment of grave +and noble sincerity. The captain held out a hand to each of the young +men, crossing his wrists in what seemed a favorite fashion with him. +“Good!” he cried, heartily. “I _thought_ I knew you.” + + + + +VII. + + +Staniford and Dunham drew stools to the rail, and sat down with their +cigars after the captain left them. The second mate passed by, and cast +a friendly glance at them; he had whimsical brown eyes that twinkled +under his cap-peak, while a lurking smile played under his heavy +mustache; but he did not speak. Staniford said, there was a pleasant +fellow, and he should like to sketch him. He was only an amateur artist, +and he had been only an amateur in life otherwise, so far; but he did +not pretend to have been anything else. + +“Then you're not sorry you came, Staniford?” asked Dunham, putting +his hand on his friend's knee. “He characteristically assumed the +responsibility, although the voyage by sailing-vessel rather than +steamer was their common whim, and it had been Staniford's preference +that decided them for Trieste rather than any nearer port. + +“No, I'm not sorry,--if you call it come, already. I think a bit of +Europe will be a very good thing for the present, or as long as I'm +in this irresolute mood. If I understand it, Europe is the place for +American irresolution. When I've made up my mind, I'll come home +again. I still think Colorado is the thing, though I haven't abandoned +California altogether; it's a question of cattle-range and sheep-ranch.” + +“You'll decide against both,” said Dunham. + +“How would you like West Virginia? They cattle-range in West Virginia, +too. They may sheep-ranch, too, for all I know,--no, that's in Old +Virginia. The trouble is that the Virginias, otherwise irreproachable, +are not paying fields for such enterprises. They say that one is a sure +thing in California, and the other is a sure thing in Colorado. They +give you the figures.” Staniford lit another cigar. + +“But why shouldn't you stay where you are, Staniford? You've money +enough left, after all.” + +“Yes, money enough for one. But there's something ignoble in living on a +small stated income, unless you have some object in view besides living, +and I haven't, you know. It's a duty I owe to the general frame of +things to make more money.” + +“If you turned your mind to any one thing, I'm sure you'd succeed where +you are,” Dunham urged. + +“That's just the trouble,” retorted his friend. “I can't turn my mind to +any one thing,--I'm too universally gifted. I paint a little, I model +a little, I play a very little indeed; I can write a book notice. The +ladies praise my art, and the editors keep my literature a long time +before they print it. This doesn't seem the highest aim of being. I have +the noble earth-hunger; I must get upon the land. That's why I've got +upon the water.” Staniford laughed again, and pulled comfortably at +his cigar. “Now, you,” he added, after a pause, in which Dunham did not +reply, “you have not had losses; you still have everything comfortable +about you. _Du hast Alles was Menschen begehr_, even to the _schönsten +Augen_ of the divine Miss Hibbard.” + +“Yes, Staniford, that's it. I hate your going out there all alone. Now, +if you were taking some nice girl with you!” Dunham said, with a lover's +fond desire that his friend should be in love, too. + +“To those wilds? To a redwood shanty in California, or a turf hovel in +Colorado? What nice girl would go? 'I will take some savage woman, she +shall rear my dusky race.'” + +“I don't like to have you take any risks of degenerating,” began Dunham. + +“With what you know to be my natural tendencies? Your prophetic eye +prefigures my pantaloons in the tops of my boots. Well, there is time +yet to turn back from the brutality of a patriarchal life. You must +allow that I've taken the longest way round in going West. In Italy +there are many chances; and besides, you know, I like to talk.” + +It seemed to be an old subject between them, and they discussed it +languidly, like some abstract topic rather than a reality. + +“If you only had some tie to bind you to the East, I should feel pretty +safe about you,” said Dunham, presently. + +“I have you,” answered his friend, demurely. + +“Oh, I'm nothing,” said Dunham, with sincerity. + +“Well, I may form some tie in Italy. Art may fall in love with me, +there. How would you like to have me settle in Florence, and set up +a studio instead of a ranch,--choose between sculpture and painting, +instead of cattle and sheep? After all, it does grind me to have lost +that money! If I had only been swindled out of it, I shouldn't have +cared; but when you go and make a bad thing of it yourself, with your +eyes open, there's a reluctance to place the responsibility where it +belongs that doesn't occur in the other case. Dunham, do you think it +altogether ridiculous that I should feel there was something sacred in +the money? When I remember how hard my poor old father worked to get it +together, it seems wicked that I should have stupidly wasted it on the +venture I did. I want to get it back; I want to make money. And so I'm +going out to Italy with you, to waste more. I don't respect myself as I +should if I were on a Pullman palace car, speeding westward. I'll own I +like this better.” + +“Oh, it's all right, Staniford,” said his friend. “The voyage will +do you good, and you'll have time to think everything over, and start +fairer when you get back.” + +“That girl,” observed Staniford, with characteristic abruptness, “is +a type that is commoner than we imagine in New England. We fair people +fancy we are the only genuine Yankees. I guess that's a mistake. There +must have been a good many dark Puritans. In fact, we always think of +Puritans as dark, don't we?” + +“I believe we do,” assented Dunham. “Perhaps on account of their black +clothes.” + +“Perhaps,” said Staniford. “At any rate, I'm so tired of the blonde type +in fiction that I rather like the other thing in life. Every novelist +runs a blonde heroine; I wonder why. This girl has the clear Southern +pallor; she's of the olive hue; and her eyes are black as sloes,--not +that I know what sloes are. Did she remind you of anything in +particular?” + +“Yes; a little of Faed's Evangeline, as she sat in the door-way of the +warehouse yesterday.” + +“Exactly. I wish the picture were more of a picture; but I don't know +that it matters. _She's_ more of a picture.” + +“'Pretty as a bird,' the captain said.” + +“Bird isn't bad. But the bird is in her manner. There's something +tranquilly alert in her manner that's like a bird; like a bird that +lingers on its perch, looking at you over its shoulder, if you come up +behind. That trick of the heavily lifted, half lifted eyelids,--I wonder +if it's a trick. The long lashes can't be; she can't make them curl up +at the edges. Blood,--Lurella Blood. And she wants to know.” Staniford's +voice fell thoughtful. + +“She's more slender than Faed's Evangeline. Faed painted rather too fat +a sufferer on that tombstone. Lurella Blood has a very pretty figure. +Lurella. Why Lurella?” + +“Oh, come, Staniford!” cried Dunham. “It isn't fair to call the girl by +that jingle without some ground for it.” + +“I'm sure her name's Lurella, for she wanted to know. Besides, there's +as much sense in it as there is in any name. It sounds very well. +Lurella. It is mere prejudice that condemns the novel collocation of +syllables.” + +“I wonder what she's thinking of now,--what's passing in her mind,” + mused Dunham aloud. + +“_You_ want to know, too, do you?” mocked his friend. “I'll tell you +what: processions of young men so long that they are an hour getting by +a given point. That's what's passing in every girl's mind--when +she's thinking. It's perfectly right. Processsions of young girls are +similarly passing in our stately and spacious intellects. It's the chief +business of the youth of one sex to think of the youth of the other +sex.” + +“Oh, yes, I know,” assented Dunham; “and I believe in it, too--” + +“Of course you do, you wicked wretch, you abandoned Lovelace, you +bruiser of ladies' hearts! You hope the procession is composed entirely +of yourself. What would the divine Hibbard say to your goings-on?” + +“Oh, don't, Staniford! It isn't fair,” pleaded Dunham, with the +flattered laugh which the best of men give when falsely attainted +of gallantry. “I was wondering whether she was feeling homesick, or +strange, or--” + +“I will go below and ask her,” said Staniford. “I know she will tell +me the exact truth. They always do. Or if you will take a guess of mine +instead of her word for it, I will hazard the surmise that she is not at +all homesick. What has a pretty young girl to regret in such a life as +she has left? It's the most arid and joyless existence under the sun. +She has never known anything like society. In the country with us, the +social side must always have been somewhat paralyzed, but there are +monumental evidences of pleasures in other days that are quite extinct +now. You see big dusty ball-rooms in the old taverns: ball-rooms that +have had no dancing in them for half a century, and where they give you +a bed sometimes. There used to be academies, too, in the hill towns, +where they furnished a rude but serviceable article of real learning, +and where the local octogenarian remembers seeing something famous in +the way of theatricals on examination-day; but neither his children nor +his grandchildren have seen the like. There's a decay of the religious +sentiment, and the church is no longer a social centre, with merry +meetings among the tombstones between the morning and the afternoon +service. Superficial humanitarianism of one kind or another has killed +the good old orthodoxy, as the railroads have killed the turnpikes and +the country taverns; and the common schools have killed the academies. +Why, I don't suppose this girl ever saw anything livelier than a +township cattle show, or a Sunday-school picnic, in her life. They don't +pay visits in the country except at rare intervals, and their evening +parties, when they have any, are something to strike you dead with pity. +They used to clear away the corn-husks and pumpkins on the barn floor, +and dance by the light of tin lanterns. At least, that's the traditional +thing. The actual thing is sitting around four sides of the room, +giggling, whispering, looking at photograph albums, and coaxing somebody +to play on the piano. The banquet is passed in the form of apples and +water. I have assisted at _some_ rural festivals where the apples were +omitted. Upon the whole, I wonder our country people don't all go mad. +They do go mad, a great many of them, and manage to get a little glimpse +of society in the insane asylums.” Staniford ended his tirade with a +laugh, in which he vented his humorous sense and his fundamental pity of +the conditions he had caricatured. + +“But how,” demanded Dunham, breaking rebelliously from the silence in +which he had listened, “do you account for her good manner?” + +“She probably was born with a genius for it. Some people are born with +a genius for one thing, and some with a genius for another. I, for +example, am an artistic genius, forced to be an amateur by the delusive +possession of early wealth, and now burning with a creative instinct +in the direction of the sheep or cattle business; you have the gift of +universal optimism; Lurella Blood has the genius of good society. Give +that girl a winter among nice people in Boston, and you would never know +that she was not born on Beacon Hill.” + +“Oh, I doubt that,” said Dunham. + +“You doubt it? Pessimist!” + +“But you implied just now that she had no sensibility,” pursued Dunham. + +“So I did!” cried Staniford, cheerfully. “Social genius and sensibility +are two very different things; the cynic might contend they were +incompatible, but I won't insist so far. I dare say she may regret the +natal spot; most of us have a dumb, brutish attachment to the _cari +luoghi_; but if she knows anything, she hates its surroundings, and must +be glad to get out into the world. I should like mightily to know how +the world strikes her, as far as she's gone. But I doubt if she's one +to betray her own counsel in any way. She looks deep, Lurella does.” + Staniford laughed again at the pain which his insistence upon the name +brought into Dunham's face. + + + + +VIII. + + +After dinner, nature avenged herself in the young men for their vigils +of the night before, when they had stayed up so late, parting with +friends, that they had found themselves early risers without having been +abed. They both slept so long that Dunham, leaving Staniford to a still +unfinished nap, came on deck between five and six o'clock. + +Lydia was there, wrapped against the freshening breeze in a red knit +shawl, and seated on a stool in the waist of the ship, in the Evangeline +attitude, and with the wistful, Evangeline look in her face, as she +gazed out over the far-weltering sea-line, from which all trace of the +shore had vanished. She seemed to the young man very interesting, and he +approached her with that kindness for all other women in his heart which +the lover feels in absence from his beloved, and with a formless sense +that some retribution was due her from him for the roughness with which +Staniford had surmised her natural history. Women had always been dear +and sacred to him; he liked, beyond most young men, to be with them; he +was forever calling upon them, getting introduced to them, waiting upon +them, inventing little services for them, corresponding with them, and +wearing himself out in their interest. It is said that women do not +value men of this sort so much as men of some other sorts. It was +long, at any rate, before Dunham--whom people always called Charley +Dunham--found the woman who thought him more lovely than every other +woman pronounced him; and naturally Miss Hibbard was the most exacting +of her sex. She required all those offices which Dunham delighted to +render, and many besides: being an invalid, she needed devotion. She had +refused Dunham before going out to Europe with her mother, and she had +written to take him back after she got there. He was now on his way +to join her in Dresden, where he hoped that he might marry her, and be +perfectly sacrificed to her ailments. She only lacked poverty in order +to be thoroughly displeasing to most men; but Dunham had no misgiving +save in regard to her money; he wished she had no money. + +“A good deal more motion, isn't there?” he said to Lydia, smiling +sunnily as he spoke, and holding his hat with one hand. “Do you find it +unpleasant?” + +“No,” she answered, “not at all. I like it.” + +“Oh, there isn't enough swell to make it uncomfortable, yet,” asserted +Dunham, looking about to see if there were not something he could do for +her. “And you may turn out a good sailor. Were you ever at sea before?” + +“No; this is the first time I was ever on a ship.” + +“Is it possible!” cried Dunham; he was now fairly at sea for the first +time himself, though by virtue of his European associations he seemed +to have made many voyages. It appeared to him that if there was nothing +else he could do for Lydia, it was his duty to talk to her. He found +another stool, and drew it up within easier conversational distance. +“Then you've never been out of sight of land before?” + +“No,” said Lydia. + +“That's very curious--I beg your pardon; I mean you must find it a great +novelty.” + +“Yes, it's very strange,” said the girl, seriously. “It looks like the +Flood. It seems as if all the rest of the world was drowned.” + +Dunham glanced round the vast horizon. “It _is_ like the Flood. And it +has that quality, which I've often noticed in sublime things, of seeming +to be for this occasion only.” + +“Yes?” said Lydia. + +“Why, don't you know? It seems as if it must be like a fine sunset, +and would pass in a few minutes. Perhaps we feel that we can't endure +sublimity long, and want it to pass.” + +“I could look at it forever,” replied Lydia. + +Dunham turned to see if this were young-ladyish rapture, but perceived +that she was affecting nothing. He liked seriousness, for he was, with +a great deal of affectation for social purposes, a very sincere person. +His heart warmed more and more to the lonely girl; to be talking to her +seemed, after all, to be doing very little for her, and he longed to be +of service. “Have you explored our little wooden world, yet?” he asked, +after a pause. + +Lydia paused too. “The ship?” she asked presently. “No; I've only been +in the cabin, and here; and this morning,” she added, conscientiously, +“Thomas showed me the cook's galley,--the kitchen.” + +“You've seen more than I have,” said Dunham. “Wouldn't you like to go +forward, to the bow, and see how it looks there?” + +“Yes, thank you,” answered Lydia, “I would.” + +She tottered a little in gaining her feet, and the wind drifted her +slightness a step or two aside. “Won't you take my arm, perhaps?” + suggested Dunham. + +“Thank you,” said Lydia, “I think I can get along.” But after a few +paces, a lurch of the ship flung her against Dunham's side; he caught +her hand, and passed it through his arm without protest from her. + +“Isn't it grand?” he asked triumphantly, as they stood at the prow, and +rose and sank with the vessel's careering plunges. It was no gale, but +only a fair wind; the water foamed along the ship's sides, and, as her +bows descended, shot forward in hissing jets of spray; away on every +hand flocked the white caps. “You had better keep my arm, here.” Lydia +did so, resting her disengaged hand on the bulwarks, as she bent over a +little on that side to watch the rush of the sea. “It really seems as if +there were more of a view here.” + +“It does, somehow,” admitted Lydia. + +“Look back at the ship's sails,” said Dunham. The swell and press of the +white canvas seemed like the clouds of heaven swooping down upon them +from all the airy heights. The sweet wind beat in their faces, and they +laughed in sympathy, as they fronted it. “Perhaps the motion is a little +too strong for you here?” he asked. + +“Oh, not at all!” cried the girl. + +He had done something for her by bringing her here, and he hoped to do +something more by taking her away. He was discomfited, for he was at +a loss what other attention to offer. Just at that moment a sound made +itself heard above the whistling of the cordage and the wash of the sea, +which caused Lydia to start and look round. + +“Didn't you think,” she asked, “that you heard hens?” + +“Why, yes,” said Dunham. “What could it have been? Let us investigate.” + +He led the way back past the forecastle and the cook's galley, and +there, in dangerous proximity to the pots and frying pans, they found a +coop with some dozen querulous and meditative fowl in it. + +“I heard them this morning,” said Lydia. “They seemed to wake me with +their crowing, and I thought--I was at home!” + +“I'm very sorry,” said Dunham, sympathetically. He wished Staniford were +there to take shame to himself for denying sensibility to this girl. + +The cook, smoking a pipe at the door of his galley, said, “Dey won't +trouble you much, miss. Dey don't gen'ly last us long, and I'll kill de +roosters first.” + +“Oh, come, now!” protested Dunham. “I wouldn't say that!” The cook and +Lydia stared at him in equal surprise. + +“Well,” answered the cook, “I'll kill the hens first, den. It don't make +any difference to me which I kill. I dunno but de hens is tenderer.” He +smoked in a bland indifference. + +“Oh, hold on!” exclaimed Dunham, in repetition of his helpless protest. + +Lydia stooped down to make closer acquaintance with the devoted birds. +They huddled themselves away from her in one corner of their prison, and +talked together in low tones of grave mistrust. “Poor things!” she said. +As a country girl, used to the practical ends of poultry, she knew as +well as the cook that it was the fit and simple destiny of chickens to +be eaten, sooner or later; and it must have been less in commiseration +of their fate than in self-pity and regret for the scenes they recalled +that she sighed. The hens that burrowed yesterday under the lilacs +in the door-yard; the cock that her aunt so often drove, insulted and +exclamatory, at the head of his harem, out of forbidden garden bounds; +the social groups that scratched and descanted lazily about the wide, +sunny barn doors; the anxious companies seeking their favorite perches, +with alarming outcries, in the dusk of summer evenings; the sentinels +answering each other from farm to farm before winter dawns, when all +the hills were drowned in snow, were of kindred with these hapless +prisoners. + +Dunham was touched at Lydia's compassion. “Would you like--would you +like to feed them?” he asked by a happy inspiration. He turned to the +cook, with his gentle politeness: “There's no objection to our feeding +them, I suppose?” + +“Laws, no!” said the cook. “Fats 'em up.” He went inside, and reappeared +with a pan full of scraps of meat and crusts of bread. + +“Oh, I say!” cried Dunham. “Haven't you got some grain, you know, of +some sort; some seeds, don't you know?” + +“They will like this,” said Lydia, while the cook stared in perplexity. +She took the pan, and opening the little door of the coop flung the +provision inside. But the fowls were either too depressed in spirit to +eat anything, or they were not hungry; they remained in their corner, +and merely fell silent, as if a new suspicion had been roused in their +unhappy breasts. + +“Dey'll come, to it,” observed the cook. + +Dunham felt far from content, and regarded the poultry with silent +disappointment. “Are you fond of pets?” he asked, after a while. + +“Yes, I used to have pet chickens when I was a little thing.” + +“You ought to adopt one of these,” suggested Dunham. “That white one is +a pretty creature.” + +“Yes,” said Lydia. “He looks as if he were Leghorn. Leghorn breed,” she +added, in reply to Dunham's look of inquiry. “He's a beauty.” + +“Let me get him out for you a moment!” cried the young man, in his +amiable zeal. Before Lydia could protest, or the cook interfere, he +had opened the coop-door and plunged his arm into the tumult which his +manoeuvre created within. He secured the cockerel, and drawing it forth +was about to offer it to Lydia, when in its struggles to escape it drove +one of its spurs into his hand. Dunham suddenly released it; and then +ensued a wild chase for its recapture, up and down the ship, in which it +had every advantage of the young man. At last it sprang upon the rail; +he put out his hand to seize it, when it rose with a desperate screech, +and flew far out over the sea. They watched the suicide till it sank +exhausted into a distant white-cap. + +“Dat's gone,” said the cook, philosophically. Dunham looked round. Half +the ship's company, alarmed by his steeple-chase over the deck, were +there, silently agrin. + +Lydia did not laugh. When he asked, still with his habitual sweetness, +but entirely at random, “Shall we--ah--go below?” she did not answer +definitely, and did not go. At the same time she ceased to be so timidly +intangible and aloof in manner. She began to talk to Dunham, instead +of letting him talk to her; she asked him questions, and listened with +deference to what he said on such matters as the probable length of the +voyage and the sort of weather they were likely to have. She did not +take note of his keeping his handkerchief wound round his hand, nor of +his attempts to recur to the subject of his mortifying adventure. When +they were again quite alone, the cook's respect having been won back +through his ethnic susceptibility to silver, she remembered that she +must go to her room. + +“In other words,” said Staniford, after Dunham had reported the whole +case to him, “she treated your hurt vanity as if you had been her pet +schoolboy. She lured you away from yourself, and got you to talking and +thinking of other things. Lurella is deep, I tell you. What consummate +tacticians the least of women are! It's a pity that they have to work so +often in such dull material as men; they ought always to have women to +operate on. The youngest of them has more wisdom in human nature than +the sages of our sex. I must say, Lurella is magnanimous, too. She might +have taken her revenge on you for pitying her yesterday when she sat in +that warehouse door on the wharf. It was rather fine in Lurella not to +do it. What did she say, Dunham? What did she talk about? Did she want +to know?” + +“No!” shouted Dunham. “She talked very well, like any young lady.” + +“Oh, all young ladies talk well, of course. But what did this one say? +What did she do, except suffer a visible pang of homesickness at the +sight of unattainable poultry? Come, you have represented the interview +with Miss Blood as one of great brilliancy.” + +“I haven't,” said Dunham. “I have done nothing of the kind. Her talk was +like any pleasant talk; it was refined and simple, and--unobtrusive.” + +“That is, it was in no way remarkable,” observed Staniford, with a +laugh. “I expected something better of Lurella; I expected something +salient. Well, never mind. She's behaved well by you, seeing what +a goose you had made of yourself. She behaved like a lady, and I've +noticed that she eats with her fork. It often happens in the country +that you find the women practicing some of the arts of civilization, +while their men folk are still sunk in barbaric uses. Lurella, I see, is +a social creature; she was born for society, as you were, and I +suppose you will be thrown a good deal together. We're all likely to be +associated rather familiarly, under the circumstances. But I wish you +would note down in your mind some points of her conversation. I'm really +curious to know what a girl of her traditions thinks about the world +when she first sees it. Her mind must be in most respects an unbroken +wilderness. She's had schooling, of course, and she knows her grammar +and algebra; but she can't have had any cultivation. If she were of an +earlier generation, one would expect to find something biblical in +her; but you can't count upon a Puritanic culture now among our country +folks.” + +“If you are so curious,” said Dunham, “why don't you study her mind, +yourself?” + +“No, no, that wouldn't do,” Staniford answered. “The light of your +innocence upon hers is invaluable. I can understand her better through +you. You must go on. I will undertake to make your peace with Miss +Hibbard.” + +The young men talked as they walked the deck and smoked in the +starlight. They were wakeful after their long nap in the afternoon, +and they walked and talked late, with the silences that old friends +can permit themselves. Staniford recurred to his loss of money and his +Western projects, which took more definite form now that he had placed +so much distance between himself and their fulfillment. With half a year +in Italy before him, he decided upon a cattle-range in Colorado. Then, +“I should like to know,” he said, after one of the pauses, “how two +young men of our form strike that girl's fancy. I haven't any personal +curiosity about her impressions, but I should like to know, as an +observer of the human race. If my conjectures are right, she's never met +people of our sort before.” + +“What sort of men has she been associated with?” asked Dunham. + +“Well, I'm not quite prepared to say. I take it that it isn't exactly +the hobbledehoy sort. She has probably looked high,--as far up as +the clerk in the store. He has taken her to drive in a buggy Saturday +afternoons, when he put on his ready-made suit,--and looked very well +in it, too; and they've been at picnics together. Or may be, as she's in +the school-teaching line, she's taken some high-browed, hollow-cheeked +high-school principal for her ideal. Or it is possible that she +has never had attention from any one. That is apt to happen to +self-respectful girls in rural communities, and their beauty doesn't +save them. Fellows, as they call themselves, like girls that have what +they call go, that make up to them. Lurella doesn't seem of that kind; +and I should not be surprised if you were the first gentleman who +had ever offered her his arm. I wonder what she thought of you. She's +acquainted by sight with the ordinary summer boarder of North America; +they penetrate everywhere, now; but I doubt if she's talked with them +much, if at all. She must be ignorant of our world beyond anything we +can imagine.” + +“But how do you account for her being so well dressed?” + +“Oh, that's instinct. You find it everywhere. In every little village +there is some girl who knows how to out-preen all the others. I wonder,” + added Staniford, in a more deeply musing tone, “if she kept from +laughing at you out of good feeling, or if she was merely overawed by +your splendor.” + +“She didn't laugh,” Dunham answered, “because she saw that it would have +added to my annoyance. My splendor had nothing to do with it.” + +“Oh, don't underrate your splendor, my dear fellow!” cried Staniford, +with a caressing ridicule that he often used with Dunham. “Of course, +_I_ know what a simple and humble fellow you are, but you've no idea how +that exterior of yours might impose upon the agricultural imagination; +it has its effect upon me, in my pastoral moods.” Dunham made a gesture +of protest, and Staniford went on: “Country people have queer ideas +of us, sometimes. Possibly Lurella was afraid of you. Think of that, +Dunham,--having a woman afraid of you, for once in your life! Well, +hurry up your acquaintance with her, Dunham, or I shall wear myself out +in mere speculative analysis. I haven't the _aplomb_ for studying the +sensibilities of a young lady, and catching chickens for her, so as to +produce a novel play of emotions. I thought this voyage was going to +be a season of mental quiet, but having a young lady on board seems to +forbid that kind of repose. I shouldn't mind a half dozen, but _one_ is +altogether too many. Poor little thing! I say, Dunham! There's something +rather pretty about having her with us, after all, isn't there? It gives +a certain distinction to our voyage. We shall not degenerate. We shall +shave every day, wind and weather permitting, and wear our best things.” + They talked of other matters, and again Staniford recurred to Lydia: “If +she has any regrets for her mountain home,--though I don't see why she +should have,--I hope they haven't kept her awake. My far-away cot on the +plains is not going to interfere with my slumbers.” + +Staniford stepped to the ship's side, and flung the end of his cigarette +overboard; it struck, a red spark amidst the lurid phosphorescence of +the bubbles that swept backward from the vessel's prow. + + + + +IX. + + +The weather held fine. The sun shone, and the friendly winds blew out +of a cloudless heaven; by night the moon ruled a firmament powdered with +stars of multitudinous splendor. The conditions inspired Dunham with a +restless fertility of invention in Lydia's behalf. He had heard of the +game of shuffle-board, that blind and dumb croquet, with which the jaded +passengers on the steamers appease their terrible leisure, and with the +help of the ship's carpenter he organized this pastime, and played it +with her hour after hour, while Staniford looked on and smoked in grave +observance, and Hicks lurked at a distance, till Dunham felt it on +his kind heart and tender conscience to invite him to a share in the +diversion. As his nerves recovered their tone, Hicks showed himself a +man of some qualities that Staniford would have liked in another man: +he was amiable, and he was droll, though apt to turn sulky if Staniford +addressed him, which did not often happen. He knew more than Dunham of +shuffle-board, as well as of tossing rings of rope over a peg set up a +certain space off in the deck,--a game which they eagerly took up in the +afternoon, after pushing about the flat wooden disks all the morning. +Most of the talk at the table was of the varying fortunes of the +players; and the yarn of the story-teller in the forecastle remained +half-spun, while the sailors off watch gathered to look on, and to bet +upon Lydia's skill. It puzzled Staniford to make out whether she felt +any strangeness in the situation, which she accepted with so much +apparent serenity. Sometimes, in his frequently recurring talks with +Dunham, he questioned whether their delicate precautions for saving her +feelings were not perhaps thrown away upon a young person who played +shuffle-board and ring-toss on the deck of the Aroostook with as much +self-possession as she would have played croquet on her native turf at +South Bradfield. + +“Their ideal of propriety up country is very different from ours,” he +said, beginning one of his long comments. “I don't say that it concerns +the conscience more than ours does; but they think evil of different +things. We're getting Europeanized,--I don't mean you, Dunham; in spite +of your endeavors you will always remain one of the most hopelessly +American of our species,--and we have our little borrowed anxieties +about the free association of young people. They have none whatever; +though they are apt to look suspiciously upon married people's +friendships with other people's wives and husbands. It's quite likely +that Lurella, with the traditions of her queer world, has not +imagined anything anomalous in her position. She may realize certain +inconveniences. But she must see great advantages in it. Poor girl! +How she must be rioting on the united devotion of cabin and forecastle, +after the scanty gallantries of a hill town peopled by elderly unmarried +women! I'm glad of it, for her sake. I wonder which she really prizes +most: your ornate attentions, or the uncouth homage of those sailors, +who are always running to fetch her rings and blocks when she makes +a wild shot. I believe I don't care and shouldn't disapprove of her +preference, whichever it was.” Staniford frowned before he added: “But +I object to Hicks and his drolleries. It's impossible for that little +wretch to think reverently of a young girl; it's shocking to see her +treating him as if he were a gentleman.” Hicks's behavior really gave no +grounds for reproach; and it was only his moral mechanism, as Staniford +called the character he constructed for him, which he could blame; +nevertheless, the thought of him gave an oblique cast to Staniford's +reflections, which he cut short by saying, “This sort of worship is +every woman's due in girlhood; but I suppose a fortnight of it will make +her a pert and silly coquette. What does she say to your literature, +Dunham?” + +Dunham had already begun to lend Lydia books,--his own and +Staniford's,--in which he read aloud to her, and chose passages for her +admiration; but he was obliged to report that she had rather a passive +taste in literature. She seemed to like what he said was good, but not +to like it very much, or to care greatly for reading; or else she had +never had the habit of talking books. He suggested this to Staniford, +who at once philosophized it. + +“Why, I rather like that, you know. We all read in such a literary way, +now; we don't read simply for the joy or profit of it; we expect to talk +about it, and say how it is this and that; and I've no doubt that we're +sub-consciously harassed, all the time, with an automatic process of +criticism. Now Lurella, I fancy, reads with the sense of the days when +people read in private, and not in public, as we do. She believes that +your serious books are all true; and she knows that my novels are all +lies--that's what some excellent Christians would call the fiction even +of George Eliot or of Hawthorne; she would be ashamed to discuss the +lives and loves of heroes and heroines who never existed. I think that's +first-rate. She must wonder at your distempered interest in them. If +one could get at it, I suppose the fresh wholesomeness of Lurella's mind +would be something delicious,--a quality like spring water.” + +He was one of those men who cannot rest in regard to people they meet +till they have made some effort to formulate them. He liked to ticket +them off; but when he could not classify them, he remained content with +his mere study of them. His habit was one that does not promote sympathy +with one's fellow creatures. He confessed even that it disposed him to +wish for their less acquaintance when once he had got them generalized; +they became then collected specimens. Yet, for the time being, his +curiosity in them gave him a specious air of sociability. He lamented +the insincerity which this involved, but he could not help it. The next +novelty in character was as irresistible as the last; he sat down before +it till it yielded its meaning, or suggested to him some analogy by +which he could interpret it. + +With this passion for the arrangement and distribution of his neighbors, +it was not long before he had placed most of the people on board in what +he called the psychology of the ship. He did not care that they should +fit exactly in their order. He rather preferred that they should have +idiosyncrasies which differentiated them from their species, and he +enjoyed Lydia's being a little indifferent about books for this and for +other reasons. “If she were literary, she would be like those vulgar +little persons of genius in the magazine stories. She would have read +all sorts of impossible things up in her village. She would have +been discovered by some aesthetic summer boarder, who had happened to +identify her with the gifted Daisy Dawn, and she would be going out on +the aesthetic's money for the further expansion of her spirit in Europe. +Somebody would be obliged to fall in love with her, and she would +sacrifice her career for a man who was her inferior, as we should be +subtly given to understand at the close. I think it's going to be as +distinguished by and by not to like books as it is not to write them. +Lurella is a prophetic soul; and if there's anything comforting about +her, it's her being so merely and stupidly pretty.” + +“She is not merely and stupidly pretty!” retorted Dunham. “She never +does herself justice when you are by. She can talk very well, and on +some subjects she thinks strongly.” + +“Oh, I'm sorry for that!” said Staniford. “But call me some time when +she's doing herself justice.” + +“I don't mean that she's like the women we know. She doesn't say witty +things, and she hasn't their responsive quickness; but her ideas are +her own, no matter how old they are; and what she says she seems to +be saying for the first time, and as if it had never been thought out +before.” + +“That is what I have been contending for,” said Staniford; “that is what +I meant by spring water. It is that thrilling freshness which charms +me in Lurella.” He laughed. “Have you converted her to your spectacular +faith, yet?” Dunham blushed. “You have tried,” continued Staniford. +“Tell me about it!” + +“I will not talk with you on such matters,” said Dunham, “till you know +how to treat serious things seriously.” + +“I shall know how when I realize that they are serious with you. Well, I +don't object to a woman's thinking strongly on religious subjects: it's +the only safe ground for her strong thinking, and even there she had +better feel strongly. Did you succeed in convincing her that Archbishop +Laud was a _saint incompris_, and the good King Charles a blessed +martyr.” + +Dunham did not answer till he had choked down some natural resentment. +He had, several years earlier, forsaken the pale Unitarian worship of +his family, because, Staniford always said, he had such a feeling for +color, and had adopted an extreme tint of ritualism. It was rumored at +one time, before his engagement to Miss Hibbard, that he was going to +unite with a celibate brotherhood; he went regularly into retreat at +certain seasons, to the vast entertainment of his friend; and, within +the bounds of good taste, he was a zealous propagandist of his faith, +of which he had the practical virtues in high degree. “I hope,” he +said presently, “that I know how to respect convictions, even of those +adhering to the Church in Error.” + +Staniford laughed again. “I see you have not converted Lurella. Well, +I like that in her, too. I wish I could have the arguments, _pro_ and +_con_. It would have been amusing. I suppose,” he pondered aloud, “that +she is a Calvinist of the deepest dye, and would regard me as a lost +spirit for being outside of her church. She would look down upon me from +one height, as I look down upon her from another. And really, as far as +personal satisfaction in superiority goes, she might have the advantage +of me. That's very curious, very interesting.” + +As the first week wore away, the wonted incidents of a sea voyage lent +their variety to the life on board. One day the ship ran into a school +of whales, which remained heavily thumping and lolling about in her +course, and blowing jets of water into the air, like so many breaks in +garden hose, Staniford suggested. At another time some flying-fish came +on board. The sailors caught a dolphin, and they promised a shark, by +and by. All these things were turned to account for the young girl's +amusement, as if they had happened for her. The dolphin died that she +might wonder and pity his beautiful death; the cook fried her some of +the flying-fish; some one was on the lookout to detect even porpoises +for her. A sail in the offing won the discoverer envy when he pointed +it out to her; a steamer, celebrity. The captain ran a point out of +his course to speak to a vessel, that she might be able to tell what +speaking a ship at sea was like. + +At table the stores which the young men had laid in for private use +became common luxuries, and she fared sumptuously every day upon +dainties which she supposed were supplied by the ship,--delicate jellies +and canned meats and syruped fruits; and, if she wondered at anything, +she must have wondered at the scrupulous abstinence with which Captain +Jenness, seconded by Mr. Watterson, refused the luxuries which his +bounty provided them, and at the constancy with which Staniford declined +some of these dishes, and Hicks declined others. Shortly after the +latter began more distinctly to be tolerated, he appeared one day on +deck with a steamer-chair in his hand, and offered it to Lydia's use, +where she sat on a stool by the bulwark. After that, as she reclined in +this chair, wrapped in her red shawl, and provided with a book or some +sort of becoming handiwork, she was even more picturesquely than +before the centre about which the ship's pride and chivalrous sentiment +revolved. They were Americans, and they knew how to worship a woman. + +Staniford did not seek occasions to please and amuse her, as the others +did. When they met, as they must, three times a day, at table, he took +his part in the talk, and now and then addressed her a perfunctory +civility. He imagined that she disliked him, and he interested himself +in imagining the ignorant grounds of her dislike. “A woman,” he said, +“must always dislike some one in company; it's usually another woman; as +there's none on board, I accept her enmity with meekness.” Dunham wished +to persuade him that he was mistaken. “Don't try to comfort me, Dunham,” + he replied. “I find a pleasure in being detested which is inconceivable +to your amiable bosom.” + +Dunham turned to go below, from where they stood at the head of the +cabin stairs. Staniford looked round, and saw Lydia, whom they had kept +from coming up; she must have heard him. He took his cigar from his +mouth, and caught up a stool, which he placed near the ship's side, +where Lydia usually sat, and without waiting for her concurrence got a +stool for himself, and sat down with her. + +“Well, Miss Blood,” he said, “it's Saturday afternoon at last, and we're +at the end of our first week. Has it seemed very long to you?” + +Lydia's color was bright with consciousness, but the glance she gave +Staniford showed him looking tranquilly and honestly at her. “Yes,” she +said, “it _has_ seemed long.” + +“That's merely the strangeness of everything. There's nothing like local +familiarity to make the time pass,--except monotony; and one gets both +at sea. Next week will go faster than this, and we shall all be at +Trieste before we know it. Of course we shall have a storm or two, and +that will retard us in fact as well as fancy. But you wouldn't feel that +you'd been at sea if you hadn't had a storm.” + +He knew that his tone was patronizing, but he had theorized the girl so +much with a certain slight in his mind that he was not able at once +to get the tone which he usually took towards women. This might not, +indeed, have pleased some women any better than patronage: it mocked +while it caressed all their little pretenses and artificialities; he +addressed them as if they must be in the joke of themselves, and did not +expect to be taken seriously. At the same time he liked them greatly, +and would not on any account have had the silliest of them different +from what she was. He did not seek them as Dunham did; their society was +not a matter of life or death with him; but he had an elder-brotherly +kindness for the whole sex. + +Lydia waited awhile for him to say something more, but he added nothing, +and she observed, with a furtive look: “I presume you've seen some very +severe storms at sea.” + +“No,” Staniford answered, “I haven't. I've been over several times, +but I've never seen anything alarming. I've experienced the ordinary +seasickening tempestuousness.” + +“Have you--have you ever been in Italy?” asked Lydia, after another +pause. + +“Yes,” he said, “twice; I'm very fond of Italy.” He spoke of it in a +familiar tone that might well have been discouraging to one of her total +unacquaintance with it. Presently he added of his own motion, looking +at her with his interest in her as a curious study, “You're going to +Venice, I think Mr. Dunham told me.” + +“Yes,” said Lydia. + +“Well, I think it's rather a pity that you shouldn't arrive there +directly, without the interposition of Trieste.” He scanned her yet more +closely, but with a sort of absence in his look, as if he addressed some +ideal of her. + +“Why?” asked Lydia, apparently pushed to some self-assertion by this way +of being looked and talked at. + +“It's the strangest place in the world,” said Staniford; and then he +mused again. “But I suppose--” He did not go on, and the word fell again +to Lydia. + +“I'm going to visit my aunt, who is staying there. She was where I live, +last summer, and she told us about it. But I couldn't seem to understand +it.” + +“No one can understand it, without seeing it.” + +“I've read some descriptions of it,” Lydia ventured. + +“They're of no use,--the books.” + +“Is Trieste a strange place, too?” + +“It's strange, as a hundred other places are,--and it's picturesque; but +there's only one Venice.” + +“I'm afraid sometimes,” she faltered, as if his manner in regard to this +peculiar place had been hopelessly exclusive, “that it will be almost +too strange.” + +“Oh, that's another matter,” said Staniford. “I confess I should be +rather curious to know whether you liked Venice. I like it, but I can +imagine myself sympathizing with people who detested it,--if they said +so. Let me see what will give you some idea of it. Do you know Boston +well?” + +“No; I've only been there twice,” Lydia acknowledged. + +“Then you've never seen the Back Bay by night, from the Long Bridge. +Well, let me see--” + +“I'm afraid,” interposed Lydia, “that I've not been about enough for you +to give me an idea from other places. We always go to Greenfield to do +our trading; and I've been to Keene and Springfield a good many times.” + +“I'm sorry to say I haven't,” said Staniford. “But I'll tell you: Venice +looks like an inundated town. If you could imagine those sunset clouds +yonder turned marble, you would have Venice as she is at sunset. You +must first think of the sea when you try to realize the place. If you +don't find the sea too strange, you won't find Venice so.” + +“I wish it would ever seem half as home-like!” cried the girl. + +“Then you find the ship--I'm glad you find the ship--home-like,” said +Staniford, tentatively. + +“Oh, yes; everything is so convenient and pleasant. It seems sometimes +as if I had always lived here.” + +“Well, that's very nice,” assented Staniford, rather blankly. “Some +people feel a little queer at sea--in the beginning. And you haven't--at +all?” He could not help this leading question, yet he knew its meanness, +and felt remorse for it. + +“Oh, _I_ did, at first,” responded the girl, but went no farther; and +Staniford was glad of it. After all, why should he care to know what was +in her mind? + +“Captain Jenness,” he merely said, “understands making people at home.” + +“Oh, yes, indeed,” assented Lydia. “And Mr. Watterson is very agreeable, +and Mr. Mason. I didn't suppose sailors were so. What soft, mild voices +they have!” + +“That's the speech of most of the Down East coast people.” + +“Is it? I like it better than our voices. Our voices are so sharp and +high, at home.” + +“It's hard to believe that,” said Staniford, with a smile. + +Lydia looked at him. “Oh, I wasn't born in South Bradfield. I was ten +years old when I went there to live.” + +“Where _were_ you born, Miss Blood?” he asked. + +“In California. My father had gone out for his health, but he died +there.” + +“Oh!” said Staniford. He had a book in his hand, and he began to +scribble a little sketch of Lydia's pose, on a fly-leaf. She looked +round and saw it. “You've detected me,” he said; “I haven't any right to +keep your likeness, now. I must make you a present of this work of art, +Miss Blood.” He finished the sketch with some ironical flourishes, and +made as if to tear out the leaf. + +“Oh!” cried Lydia, simply, “you will spoil the book!” + +“Then the book shall go with the picture, if you'll let it,” said +Staniford. + +“Do you mean to give it to me?” she asked, with surprise. + +“That was my munificent intention. I want to write your name in it. +What's the initial of your first name, Miss Blood?” + +“L, thank you,” said Lydia. + +Staniford gave a start. “No!” he exclaimed. It seemed a fatality. + +“My name is Lydia,” persisted the girl. “What letter should it begin +with?” + +“Oh--oh, I knew Lydia began with an L,” stammered Staniford, “but +I--I--I thought your first name was--” + +“What?” asked Lydia sharply. + +“I don't know. Lily,” he answered guiltily. + +“Lily _Blood_!” cried the girl. “Lydia is bad enough; but _Lily_ Blood! +They couldn't have been such fools!” + +“I beg your pardon. Of course not. I don't know how I could have got the +idea. It was one of those impressions--hallucinations--” Staniford found +himself in an attitude of lying excuse towards the simple girl, over +whom he had been lording it in satirical fancy ever since he had seen +her, and meekly anxious that she should not be vexed with him. He began +to laugh at his predicament, and she smiled at his mistake. “What is the +date?” he asked. + +“The 15th,” she said; and he wrote under the sketch, _Lydia Blood. Ship +Aroostook, August_ 15, 1874, and handed it to her, with a bow surcharged +with gravity. + +She took it, and regarded the picture without comment. + +“Ah!” said Staniford, “I see that you know how bad my sketch is. You +sketch.” + +“No, I don't know how to draw,” replied Lydia. + +“You criticise.” + +“No.” + +“So glad,” said Staniford. He began to like this. A young man must find +pleasure in sitting alone near a pretty young girl, and talking with her +about herself and himself, no matter how plain and dull her speech is; +and Staniford, though he found Lydia as blankly unresponsive as might be +to the flattering irony of his habit, amused himself in realizing that +here suddenly he was almost upon the terms of window-seat flirtation +with a girl whom lately he had treated with perfect indifference, and +just now with fatherly patronage. The situation had something more even +than the usual window-seat advantages; it had qualities as of a common +shipwreck, of their being cast away on a desolate island together. He +felt more than ever that he must protect this helpless loveliness, since +it had begun to please his imagination. “You don't criticise,” he said. +“Is that because you are so amiable? I'm sure you could, if you would.” + +“No,” returned Lydia; “I don't really know. But I've often wished I did +know.” + +“Then you didn't teach drawing, in your school?” + +“How did you know I had a school?” asked Lydia quickly. + +He disliked to confess his authority, because he disliked the authority, +but he said, “Mr. Hicks told us.” + +“Mr. Hicks!” Lydia gave a little frown as of instinctive displeasure, +which gratified Staniford. + +“Yes; the cabin-boy told him. You see, we are dreadful gossips on the +Aroostook,--though there are so few ladies--” It had slipped from him, +but it seemed to have no personal slant for Lydia. + +“Oh, yes; I told Thomas,” she said. “No; it's only a country school. +Once I thought I should go down to the State Normal School, and +study drawing there; but I never did. Are you--are you a painter, Mr. +Staniford?” + +He could not recollect that she had pronounced his name before; he +thought it came very winningly from her lips. “No, I'm not a painter. +I'm not anything.” He hesitated; then he added recklessly, “I'm a +farmer.” + +“A farmer?” Lydia looked incredulous, but grave. + +“Yes; I'm a horny-handed son of the soil. I'm a cattle-farmer; I'm a +sheep-farmer; I don't know which. One day I'm the one, and the next day +I'm the other.” Lydia looked mystified, and Staniford continued: “I +mean that I have no profession, and that sometimes I think of going into +farming, out West.” + +“Yes?” said Lydia. + +“How should I like it? Give me an opinion, Miss Blood.” + +“Oh, I don't know,” answered the girl. + +“You would never have dreamt that I was a farmer, would you?” + +“No, I shouldn't,” said Lydia, honestly. “It's very hard work.” + +“And I don't look fond of hard work?” + +“I didn't say that.” + +“And I've no right to press you for your meaning.” + +“What I meant was--I mean--Perhaps if you had never tried it you didn't +know what very hard work it was. Some of the summer boarders used to +think our farmers had easy times.” + +“I never was a summer boarder of that description. I know that farming +is hard work, and I'm going into it because I dislike it. What do you +think of that as a form of self-sacrifice?” + +“I don't see why any one should sacrifice himself uselessly.” + +“You don't? You have very little conception of martyrdom. Do you like +teaching school?” + +“No,” said Lydia promptly. + +“Why do you teach, then?” Staniford had blundered. He knew why she +taught, and he felt instantly that he had hurt her pride, more sensitive +than that of a more sophisticated person, who would have had no scruple +in saying that she did it because she was poor. He tried to retrieve +himself. “Of course, I understand that school-teaching is useful +self-sacrifice.” He trembled lest she should invent some pretext for +leaving him; he could not afford to be left at a disadvantage. “But do +you know, I would no more have taken you for a teacher than you me for a +farmer.” + +“Yes?” said Lydia. + +He could not tell whether she was appeased or not, and he rather feared +not. “You don't ask why. And I asked you why at once.” + +Lydia laughed. “Well, why?” + +“Oh, that's a secret. I'll tell you one of these days.” He had really no +reason; he said this to gain time. He was always honest in his talk with +men, but not always with women. + +“I suppose I look very young,” said Lydia. “I used to be afraid of the +big boys.” + +“If the boys were big enough,” interposed Staniford, “they must have +been afraid of you.” + +Lydia said, as if she had not understood, “I had hard work to get my +certificate. But I was older than I looked.” + +“That is much better,” remarked Staniford, “than being younger than +you look. I am twenty-eight, and people take me for thirty-four. I'm +a prematurely middle-aged man. I wish you would tell me, Miss Blood, a +little about South Bradfield. I've been trying to make out whether I was +ever there. I tramped nearly everywhere when I was a student. What sort +of people are they there?” + +“Oh, they are very nice people,” said Lydia. + +“Do you like them?” + +“I never thought whether I did. They are nearly all old. Their children +have gone away; they don't seem to live; they are just staying. When I +first came there I was a little girl. One day I went into the grave-yard +and counted the stones; there were three times as many as there were +living persons in the village.” + +“I think I know the kind of place,” said Staniford. “I suppose you're +not very homesick?” + +“Not for the place,” answered Lydia, evasively. + +“Of course,” Staniford hastened to add, “you miss your own family +circle.” To this she made no reply. It is the habit of people bred like +her to remain silent for want of some sort of formulated comment upon +remarks to which they assent. + +Staniford fell into a musing mood, which was without visible +embarrassment to the young girl, who must have been inured to much +severer silences in the society of South Bradfield. He remained staring +at her throughout his reverie, which in fact related to her. He was +thinking what sort of an old maid she would have become if she had +remained in that village. He fancied elements of hardness and sharpness +in her which would have asserted themselves as the joyless years went +on, like the bony structure of her face as the softness of youth left +it. She was saved from that, whatever was to be her destiny in Italy. +From South Bradfield to Venice,--what a prodigious transition! It seemed +as if it must transfigure her. “Miss Blood,” he exclaimed, “I wish I +could be with you when you first see Venice!” + +“Yes?” said Lydia. + +Even the interrogative comment, with the rising inflection, could not +chill his enthusiasm. “It is really the greatest sight in the world.” + +Lydia had apparently no comment to make on this fact. She waited +tranquilly a while before she said, “My father used to talk about +Italy to me when I was little. He wanted to go. My mother said +afterwards--after she had come home with me to South Bradfield--that +she always believed he would have lived if he had gone there. He had +consumption.” + +“Oh!” said Staniford softly. Then he added, with the tact of his sex, +“Miss Blood, you mustn't take cold, sitting here with me. This wind is +chilly. Shall I go below and get you some more wraps?” + +“No, thank you,” said Lydia; “I believe I will go down, now.” + +She went below to her room, and then came out into the cabin with +some sewing at which she sat and stitched by the lamp. The captain +was writing in his log-book; Dunham and Hicks were playing checkers +together. Staniford, from a corner of a locker, looked musingly +upon this curious family circle. It was not the first time that its +occupations had struck him oddly. Sometimes when they were all there +together, Dunham read aloud. Hicks knew tricks of legerdemain which he +played cleverly. The captain told some very good stories, and led off +in the laugh. Lydia always sewed and listened. She did not seem to find +herself strangely placed, and her presence characterized all that was +said and done with a charming innocence. As a bit of life, it was as +pretty as it was quaint. + +“Really,” Staniford said to Dunham, as they turned in, that night, “she +has domesticated us.” + +“Yes,” assented Dunham with enthusiasm; “isn't she a nice girl?” + +“She's intolerably passive. Or not passive, either. She says what she +thinks, but she doesn't seem to have thought of many things. Did she +ever tell you about her father?” + +“No,” said Dunham. + +“I mean about his dying of consumption?” + +“No, she never spoke of him to me. Was he--” + +“Um. It appears that we have been upon terms of confidence, then.” + Staniford paused, with one boot in his hand. “I should never have +thought it.” + +“What was her father?” asked Dunham. + +“Upon my word, I don't know. I didn't seem to get beyond elemental +statements of intimate fact with her. He died in California, where she +was born; and he always had a longing to go to Italy. That was rather +pretty.” + +“It's very touching, I think.” + +“Yes, of course. We might fancy this about Lurella: that she has a sort +of piety in visiting the scenes that her father wished to visit, and +that--Well, anything is predicable of a girl who says so little and +looks so much. She's certainly very handsome; and I'm bound to say that +her room could not have been better than her company, so far.” + + + +X. + +The dress that Lydia habitually wore was one which her aunt Maria +studied from the costume of a summer boarder, who had spent a preceding +summer at the sea-shore, and who found her yachting-dress perfectly +adapted to tramping over the South Bradfield hills. Thus reverting to +its original use on shipboard, the costume looked far prettier on Lydia +than it had on the summer boarder from whose unconscious person it had +been plagiarized. It was of the darkest blue flannel, and was fitly +set off with those bright ribbons at the throat which women know how +to dispose there according to their complexions. One day the bow was +scarlet, and another crimson; Staniford did not know which was better, +and disputed the point in vain with Dunham. They all grew to have a +taste in such matters. Captain Jenness praised her dress outright, +and said that he should tell his girls about it. Lydia, who had always +supposed it was a walking costume, remained discreetly silent when the +young men recognized its nautical character. She enjoyed its success; +she made some little changes in the hat she wore with it, which met the +approval of the cabin family; and she tranquilly kept her black silk in +reserve for Sunday. She came out to breakfast in it, and it swept the +narrow spaces, as she emerged from her state-room, with so rich and deep +a murmur that every one looked up. She sustained their united glance +with something tenderly deprecatory and appealingly conscious in her +manner, much as a very sensitive girl in some new finery meets the eyes +of her brothers when she does not know whether to cry or laugh at what +they will say. Thomas almost dropped a plate. “Goodness!” he said, +helplessly expressing the public sentiment in regard to a garment of +which he alone had been in the secret. No doubt it passed his fondest +dreams of its splendor; it fitted her as the sheath of the flower fits +the flower. + +Captain Jenness looked hard at her, but waited a decent season after +saying grace before offering his compliment, which he did in drawing the +carving-knife slowly across the steel. “Well, Miss Blood, that's right!” + Lydia blushed richly, and the young men made their obeisances across the +table. + +The flushes and pallors chased each other over her face, and the sight +of her pleasure in being beautiful charmed Staniford. “If she were used +to worship she would have taken our adoration more arrogantly,” he said +to his friend when they went on deck after breakfast. “I can place her; +but one's circumstance doesn't always account for one in America, and +I can't make out yet whether she's ever been praised for being pretty. +Some of our hill-country people would have felt like hushing up her +beauty, as almost sinful, and some would have gone down before it like +Greeks. I can't tell whether she knows it all or not; but if you suppose +her unconscious till now, it's pathetic. And black silks must be +too rare in her life not to be celebrated by a high tumult of inner +satisfaction. I'm glad we bowed down to the new dress.” + +“Yes,” assented Dunham, with an uneasy absence; “but--Staniford, I +should like to propose to Captain Jenness our having service this +morning. It is the eleventh Sunday after--” + +“Ah, yes!” said Staniford. “It is Sunday, isn't it? I _thought_ we had +breakfast rather later than usual. All over the Christian world, on land +and sea, there is this abstruse relation between a late breakfast and +religious observances.” + +Dunham looked troubled. “I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Staniford, +and I hope you won't say anything--” + +“To interfere with your proposition? My dear fellow, I am at least a +gentleman.” + +“I beg your pardon,” said Dunham, gratefully. + +Staniford even went himself to the captain with Dunham's wish; it is +true the latter assumed the more disagreeable part of proposing the +matter to Hicks, who gave a humorous assent, as one might to a joke of +doubtful feasibility. + +Dunham gratified both his love for social management and his zeal for +his church in this organization of worship; and when all hands were +called aft, and stood round in decorous silence, he read the lesson for +the day, and conducted the service with a gravity astonishing to the +sailors, who had taken him for a mere dandy. Staniford bore his part in +the responses from the same prayer-book with Captain Jenness, who kept +up a devout, inarticulate under-growl, and came out strong on particular +words when he got his bearings through his spectacles. Hicks and the +first officer silently shared another prayer-book, and Lydia offered +half hers to Mr. Mason. + +When the hymn was given out, she waited while an experimental search +for the tune took place among the rest. They were about to abandon the +attempt, when she lifted her voice and began to sing. She sang as she +did in the meeting-house at South Bradfield, and her voice seemed +to fill all the hollow height and distance; it rang far off like a +mermaid's singing, on high like an angel's; it called with the same deep +appeal to sense and soul alike. The sailors stood rapt; Dunham kept up +a show of singing for the church's sake. The others made no pretense +of looking at the words; they looked at her, and she began to falter, +hearing herself alone. Then Staniford struck in again wildly, and the +sea-voices lent their powerful discord, while the girl's contralto +thrilled through all. + +“Well, Miss Blood,” said the captain, when the service had ended in that +subordination of the spiritual to the artistic interest which marks +the process and the close of so much public worship in our day, “you've +given us a surprise. I guess we shall keep you pretty busy with our +calls for music, after this.” + +“She is a genius!” observed Staniford at his first opportunity with +Dunham. “I knew there must be something the matter. Of course she's +going out to school her voice; and she hasn't strained it in idle babble +about her own affairs! I must say that Lu--Miss Blood's power of holding +her tongue commands my homage. Was it her little _coup_ to wait till we +got into that hopeless hobble before she struck in?” + +“Coup? For shame, Staniford! Coup at such a time!” + +“Well, well! I don't say so. But for the theatre one can't begin +practicing these effects too soon. Really, that voice puts a new +complexion on Miss Blood. I have a theory to reconstruct. I have been +philosophizing her as a simple country girl. I must begin on an operatic +novice. I liked the other better. It gave value to the black silk; as a +singer she'll wear silk as habitually as a cocoon. She will have to +take some stage name; translate Blood into Italian. We shall know her +hereafter as La Sanguinelli; and when she comes to Boston we shall make +our modest brags about going out to Europe with her. I don't know; I +think I preferred the idyllic flavor I was beginning to find in the +presence of the ordinary, futureless young girl, voyaging under the +chaperonage of her own innocence,--the Little Sister of the Whole +Ship. But this crepusculant prima donna--no, I don't like it. Though +it explains some things. These splendid creatures are never sent half +equipped into the world. I fancy that where there's an operatic voice, +there's an operatic soul to go with it. Well, La Sanguinelli will wear +me out, yet! Suggest some new topic, Dunham; talk of something else, for +heaven's sake!” + +“Do you suppose,” asked Dunham, “that she would like to help get up some +_musicales_, to pass away the time?” + +“Oh, do you call that talking of something else? What an insatiate +organizer you are! You organize shuffleboard; you organize public +worship; you want to organize musicales. She would have to do all your +music for you.” + +“I think she would like to go in for it,” said Dunham. “It must be a +pleasure to exercise such a gift as that, and now that it's come out in +the way it has, it would be rather awkward for us not to recognize it.” + +Staniford refused point-blank to be a party to the new enterprise, and +left Dunham to his own devices at dinner, where he proposed the matter. + +“If you had my Persis here, now,” observed Captain Jenness, “with her +parlor organ, you could get along.” + +“I wish Miss Jenness was here,” said Dunham, politely. “But we must try +to get on as it is. With Miss Blood's voice to start with, nothing ought +to discourage us.” Dunham had a thin and gentle pipe of his own, and +a fairish style in singing, but with his natural modesty he would not +offer himself as a performer except in default of all others. “Don't you +sing, Mr. Hicks?” + +“Anything to oblige a friend,” returned Hicks. “But I don't sing--before +Miss Blood.” + +“Miss Blood,” said Staniford, listening in ironic safety, “you overawe +us all. I never did sing, but I think I should want to make an effort if +you were not by.” + +“But don't you--don't you play something, anything?” persisted Dunham, +in desperate appeal to Hicks. + +“Well, yes,” the latter admitted, “I play the flute a little.” + +“Flutes on water!” said Staniford. Hicks looked at him in sulky dislike, +but as if resolved not to be put down by him. + +“And have you got your flute with you?” demanded Dunham, joyously. + +“Yes, I have,” replied Hicks. + +“Then we are all right. I think I can carry a part, and if you will play +to Miss Blood's singing--” + +“Try it this evening, if you like,” said the other. + +“Well, ah--I don't know. Perhaps--we hadn't better begin this evening.” + +Staniford laughed at Dunham's embarrassment. “You might have a sacred +concert, and Mr. Hicks could represent the shawms and cymbals with his +flute.” + +Dunham looked sorry for Staniford's saying this. Captain Jenness stared +at him, as if his taking the names of these scriptural instruments in +vain were a kind of blasphemy, and Lydia seemed puzzled and a little +troubled. + +“I didn't think of its being Sunday,” said Hicks, with what Staniford +felt to be a cunning assumption of manly frankness, “or any more Sunday +than usual; seems as if we had had a month of Sundays already since +we sailed. I'm not much on religion myself, but I shouldn't like to +interfere with other people's principles.” + +Staniford was vexed with himself for his scornful pleasantry, and vexed +with the others for taking it so seriously and heavily, and putting him +so unnecessarily in the wrong. He was angry with Dunham, and he said to +Hicks, “Very just sentiments.” + +“I am glad you like them,” replied Hicks, with sullen apprehension of +the offensive tone. + +Staniford turned to Lydia. “I suppose that in South Bradfield your +Sabbath is over at sundown on Sunday evening.” + +“That used to be the custom,” answered the girl. “I've heard my +grandfather tell of it.” + +“Oh, yes,” interposed Captain Jenness. “They used to keep Saturday night +down our way, too. I can remember when I was a boy. It came pretty hard +to begin so soon, but it seemed to kind of break it, after all, having a +night in.” + +The captain did not know what Staniford began to laugh at. “Our Puritan +ancestors knew just how much human nature could stand, after all. We +did not have an uninterrupted Sabbath till the Sabbath had become much +milder. Is that it?” + +The captain had probably no very clear notion of what this meant, but +simply felt it to be a critical edge of some sort. “I don't know as you +can have too much religion,” he remarked. “I've seen some pretty rough +customers in the church, but I always thought, What would they be out of +it!” + +“Very true!” said Staniford, smiling. He wanted to laugh again, but he +liked the captain too well to do that; and then he began to rage in his +heart at the general stupidity which had placed him in the attitude of +mocking at religion, a thing he would have loathed to do. It seemed to +him that Dunham was answerable for his false position. “But we shall not +see the right sort of Sabbath till Mr. Dunham gets his Catholic church +fully going,” he added. + +They all started, and looked at Dunham as good Protestants must when +some one whom they would never have suspected of Catholicism turns out +to be a Catholic. Dunham cast a reproachful glance at his friend, but +said simply, “I am a Catholic,--that is true; but I do not admit the +pretensions of the Bishop of Rome.” + +The rest of the company apparently could not follow him in making this +distinction; perhaps some of them did not quite know who the Bishop of +Rome was. Lydia continued to look at him in fascination; Hicks seemed +disposed to whistle, if such a thing were allowable; Mr. Watterson +devoutly waited for the captain. “Well,” observed the captain at last, +with the air of giving the devil his due, “I've seen some very good +people among the Catholics.” + +“That's so, Captain Jenness,” said the first officer. + +“I don't see,” said Lydia, without relaxing her gaze, “why, if you are a +Catholic, you read the service of a Protestant church.” + +“It is not a Protestant church,” answered Dunham, gently, “as I have +tried to explain to you.” + +“The Episcopalian?” demanded Captain Jenness. + +“The Episcopalian,” sweetly reiterated Dunham. + +“I should like to know what kind of a church it is, then,” said Captain +Jenness, triumphantly. + +“An Apostolic church.” + +Captain Jenness rubbed his nose, as if this were a new kind of church to +him. + +“Founded by Saint Henry VIII. himself,” interjected Staniford. + +“No, Staniford,” said Dunham, with a soft repressiveness. And now a +threatening light of zeal began to burn in his kindly eyes. These souls +had plainly been given into his hands for ecclesiastical enlightenment. +“If our friends will allow me, I will explain--” + +Staniford's shaft had recoiled upon his own head. “O Lord!” he cried, +getting up from the table, “I can't stand _that_!” The others regarded +him, as he felt, even to that weasel of a Hicks, as a sheep of uncommon +blackness. He went on deck, and smoked a cigar without relief. He still +heard the girl's voice in singing; and he still felt in his nerves the +quality of latent passion in it which had thrilled him when she sang. +His thought ran formlessly upon her future, and upon what sort of +being was already fated to waken her to those possibilities of intense +suffering and joy which he imagined in her. A wound at his heart, +received long before, hurt vaguely; and he felt old. + + + + +XI. + + +No one said anything more of the musicales, and the afternoon and +evening wore away without general talk. Each seemed willing to keep +apart from the rest. Dunham suffered Lydia to come on deck alone after +tea, and Staniford found her there, in her usual place, when he went up +some time later. He approached her at once, and said, smiling down into +her face, to which the moonlight gave a pale mystery, “Miss Blood, did +you think I was very wicked to-day at dinner?” + +Lydia looked away, and waited a moment before she spoke. “I don't know,” + she said. Then, impulsively, “Did you?” she asked. + +“No, honestly, I don't think I was,” answered Staniford. “But I seemed +to leave that impression on the company. I felt a little nasty, that +was all; and I tried to hurt Mr. Dunham's feelings. But I shall make +it right with him before I sleep; he knows that. He's used to having me +repent at leisure. Do you ever walk Sunday night?” + +“Yes, sometimes,” said Lydia interrogatively. + +“I'm glad of that. Then I shall not offend against your scruples if I +ask you to join me in a little ramble, and you will refuse from purely +personal considerations. Will you walk with me?” + +“Yes.” Lydia rose. + +“And will you take my arm?” asked Staniford, a little surprised at her +readiness. + +“Thank you.” + +She put her hand upon his arm, confidently enough, and they began to +walk up and down the stretch of open deck together. + +“Well,” said Staniford, “did Mr. Dunham convince you all?” + +“I think he talks beautifully about it,” replied Lydia, with quaint +stiffness. + +“I am glad you see what a very good fellow he is. I have a real +affection for Dunham.” + +“Oh, yes, he's good. At first it surprised me. I mean--” + +“No, no,” Staniford quickly interrupted, “why did it surprise you to +find Dunham good?” + +“I don't know. You don't expect a person to be serious who is so--so--” + +“Handsome?” + +“No,--so--I don't know just how to say it: fashionable.” + +Staniford laughed. “Why, Miss Blood, you're fashionably dressed +yourself, not to go any farther, and you're serious.” + +“It's different with a man,” the girl explained. + +“Well, then, how about me?” asked Staniford. “Am I too well dressed to +be expected to be serious?” + +“Mr. Dunham always seems in earnest,” Lydia answered, evasively. + +“And you think one can't be in earnest without being serious?” Lydia +suffered one of those silences to ensue in which Staniford had already +found himself helpless. He knew that he should be forced to break it: +and he said, with a little spiteful mocking, “I suppose the young men of +South Bradfield are both serious and earnest.” + +“How?” asked Lydia. + +“The young men of South Bradfield.” + +“I told you that there were none. They all go away.” + +“Well, then, the young men of Springfield, of Keene, of Greenfield.” + +“I can't tell. I am not acquainted there.” + +Staniford had begun to have a disagreeable suspicion that her ready +consent to walk up and down with a young man in the moonlight might have +come from a habit of the kind. But it appeared that her fearlessness +was like that of wild birds in those desert islands where man has +never come. The discovery gave him pleasure out of proportion to its +importance, and he paced back and forth in a silence that no longer +chafed. Lydia walked very well, and kept his step with rhythmic unison, +as if they were walking to music together. “That's the time in her +pulses,” he thought, and then he said, “Then you don't have a great +deal of social excitement, I suppose,--dancing, and that kind of thing? +Though perhaps you don't approve of dancing?” + +“Oh, yes, I like it. Sometimes the summer boarders get up little dances +at the hotel.” + +“Oh, the summer boarders!” Staniford had overlooked them. “The young men +get them up, and invite the ladies?” he pursued. + +“There are no young men, generally, among the summer boarders. The +ladies dance together. Most of the gentlemen are old, or else invalids.” + +“Oh!” said Staniford. + +“At the Mill Village, where I've taught two winters, they have dances +sometimes,--the mill hands do.” + +“And do you go?” + +“No. They are nearly all French Canadians and Irish people.” + +“Then you like dancing because there are no gentlemen to dance with?” + +“There are gentlemen at the picnics.” + +“The picnics?” + +“The teachers' picnics. They have them every summer, in a grove by the +pond.” + +There was, then, a high-browed, dyspeptic high-school principal, and the +desert-island theory was probably all wrong. It vexed Staniford, when +he had so nearly got the compass of her social life, to find this +unexplored corner in it. + +“And I suppose you are leaving very agreeable friends among the +teachers?” + +“Some of them are pleasant. But I don't know them very well. I've only +been to one of the picnics.” + +Staniford drew a long, silent breath. After all, he knew everything. He +mechanically dropped a little the arm on which her hand rested, that it +might slip farther within. Her timid remoteness had its charm, and he +fell to thinking, with amusement, how she who was so subordinate to him +was, in the dimly known sphere in which he had been groping to find her, +probably a person of authority and consequence. It satisfied a certain +domineering quality in him to have reduced her to this humble attitude, +while it increased the protecting tenderness he was beginning to have +for her. His mind went off further upon this matter of one's different +attitudes toward different persons; he thought of men, and women +too, before whom he should instantly feel like a boy, if he could be +confronted with them, even in his present lordliness of mood. In a +fashion of his when he convicted himself of anything, he laughed aloud. +Lydia shrank a little from him, in question. “I beg your pardon,” he +said. “I was laughing at something I happened to think of. Do you ever +find yourself struggling very hard to be what you think people think you +are?” + +“Oh, yes,” replied Lydia. “But I thought no one else did.” + +“Everybody does the thing that we think no one else does,” said +Staniford, sententiously. + +“I don't know whether I quite like it,” said Lydia. “It seems like +hypocrisy. It used to worry me. Sometimes I wondered if I had any real +self. I seemed to be just what people made me, and a different person to +each.” + +“I'm glad to hear it, Miss Blood. We are companions in hypocrisy. As +we are such nonentities we shall not affect each other at all.” Lydia +laughed. “Don't you think so? What are you laughing at? I told you what +I was laughing at!” + +“But I didn't ask you.” + +“You wished to know.” + +“Yes, I did.” + +“Then you ought to tell me what I wish to know.” + +“It's nothing,” said Lydia. “I thought you were mistaken in what you +said.” + +“Oh! Then you believe that there's enough of you to affect me?” + +“No.” + +“The other way, then?” + +She did not answer. + +“I'm delighted!” exclaimed Staniford. “I hope I don't exert an +uncomfortable influence. I should be very unhappy to think so.” Lydia +stooped side-wise, away from him, to get a fresh hold of her skirt, +which she was carrying in her right hand, and she hung a little more +heavily upon his arm. “I hope I make you think better of yourself,--very +self-satisfied, very conceited even.” + +“No,” said Lydia. + +“You pique my curiosity beyond endurance. Tell me how I make you feel.” + +She looked quickly round at him, as if to see whether he was in earnest. +“Why, it's nothing,” she said. “You made me feel as if you were laughing +at everybody.” + +It flatters a man to be accused of sarcasm by the other sex, and +Staniford was not superior to the soft pleasure of the reproach. “Do you +think I make other people feel so, too?” + +“Mr. Dunham said--” + +“Oh! Mr. Dunham has been talking me over with you, has he? What did +he tell you of me? There is nobody like a true friend for dealing an +underhand blow at one's reputation. Wait till you hear my account of +Dunham! What did he say?” + +“He said that was only your way of laughing at yourself.” + +“The traitor! What did you say?” + +“I don't know that I said anything.” + +“You were reserving your opinion for my own hearing?” + +“No.” + +“Why don't you tell me what you thought? It might be of great use to me. +I'm in earnest, now; I'm serious. Will you tell me?” + +“Yes, some time,” said Lydia, who was both amused and mystified at this +persistence. + +“When? To-morrow?” + +“Oh, that's too soon. When I get to Venice!” + +“Ah! That's a subterfuge. You know we shall part in Trieste.” + +“I thought,” said Lydia, “you were coming to Venice, too.” + +“Oh, yes, but I shouldn't be able to see you there.” + +“Why not?” + +“Why not? Why, because--” He was near telling the young girl who hung +upon his arm, and walked up and down with him in the moonlight, that in +the wicked Old World towards which they were sailing young people could +not meet save in the sight and hearing of their elders, and that a +confidential analysis of character would be impossible between them +there. The wonder of her being where she was, as she was, returned upon +him with a freshness that it had been losing in the custom of the week +past. “Because you will be so much taken up with your friends,” he said, +lamely. He added quickly, “There's one thing I should like to know, Miss +Blood: did you hear what Mr. Dunham and I were saying, last night, when +we stood in the gangway and kept you from coming up?” + +Lydia waited a moment. Then she said, “Yes. I couldn't help hearing it.” + +“That's all right. I don't care for your hearing what I said. But--I +hope it wasn't true?” + +“I couldn't understand what you meant by it,” she answered, evasively, +but rather faintly. + +“Thanks,” said Staniford. “I didn't mean anything. It was merely the +guilty consciousness of a generally disagreeable person.” They walked up +and down many turns without saying anything. She could not have made +any direct protest, and it pleased him that she could not frame any +flourishing generalities. “Yes,” Staniford resumed, “I will try to see +you as I pass through Venice. And I will come to hear you sing when you +come out at Milan.” + +“Come out? At Milan?” + +“Why, yes! You are going to study at the conservatory in Milan?” + +“How did you know that?” demanded Lydia. + +“From hearing you to-day. May I tell you how much I liked your singing?” + +“My aunt thought I ought to cultivate my voice. But I would never go +upon the stage. I would rather sing in a church. I should like that +better than teaching.” + +“I think you're quite right,” said Staniford, gravely. “It's certainly +much better to sing in a church than to sing in a theatre. Though I +believe the theatre pays best.” + +“Oh, I don't care for that. All I should want would be to make a +living.” + +The reference to her poverty touched him. It was a confidence, coming +from one so reticent, that was of value. He waited a moment and said, +“It's surprising how well we keep our footing here, isn't it? There's +hardly any swell, but the ship pitches. I think we walk better together +than alone.” + +“Yes,” answered Lydia, “I think we do.” + +“You mustn't let me tire you. I'm indefatigable.” + +“Oh, I'm not tired. I like it,--walking.” + +“Do you walk much at home?” + +“Not much. It's a pretty good walk to the school-house.” + +“Oh! Then you like walking at sea better than you do on shore?” + +“It isn't the custom, much. If there were any one else, I should have +liked it there. But it's rather dull, going by yourself.” + +“Yes, I understand how that is,” said Staniford, dropping his teasing +tone. “It's stupid. And I suppose it's pretty lonesome at South +Bradfield every way.” + +“It is,--winters,” admitted Lydia. “In the summer you see people, at any +rate, but in winter there are days and days when hardly any one passes. +The snow is banked up everywhere.” + +He felt her give an involuntary shiver; and he began to talk to her +about the climate to which she was going. It was all stranger to her +than he could have realized, and less intelligible. She remembered +California very dimly, and she had no experience by which she could +compare and adjust his facts. He made her walk up and down more and more +swiftly, as he lost himself in the comfort of his own talking and of her +listening, and he failed to note the little falterings with which she +expressed her weariness. + +All at once he halted, and said, “Why, you're out of breath! I beg your +pardon. You should have stopped me. Let us sit down.” He wished to +walk across the deck to where the seats were, but she just perceptibly +withstood his motion, and he forbore. + +“I think I won't sit down,” she said. “I will go down-stairs.” She began +withdrawing her hand from his arm. He put his right hand upon hers, and +when it came out of his arm it remained in his hand. + +“I'm afraid you won't walk with me again,” said Staniford. “I've tired +you shamefully.” + +“Oh, not at all!” + +“And you will?” + +“Yes.” + +“Thanks. You're very amiable.” He still held her hand. He pressed it. +The pressure was not returned, but her hand seemed to quiver and throb +in his like a bird held there. For the time neither of them spoke, and +it seemed a long time. Staniford found himself carrying her hand towards +his lips; and she was helplessly, trustingly, letting him. + +He dropped her hand, and said, abruptly, “Good-night.” + +“Good-night,” she answered, and ceased from his side like a ghost. + + + + +XII. + + +Staniford sat in the moonlight, and tried to think what the steps were +that had brought him to this point; but there were no steps of which +he was sensible. He remembered thinking the night before that the +conditions were those of flirtation; to-night this had not occurred to +him. The talk had been of the dullest commonplaces; yet he had pressed +her hand and kept it in his, and had been about to kiss it. He bitterly +considered the disparity between his present attitude and the stand he +had taken when he declared to Dunham that it rested with them to guard +her peculiar isolation from anything that she could remember with pain +or humiliation when she grew wiser in the world. He recalled his rage +with Hicks, and the insulting condemnation of his bearing towards him +ever since; and could Hicks have done worse? He had done better: he had +kept away from her; he had let her alone. + +That night Staniford slept badly, and woke with a restless longing to +see the girl, and to read in her face whatever her thought of him had +been. But Lydia did not come out to breakfast. Thomas reported that she +had a headache, and that he had already carried her the tea and toast +she wanted. “Well, it seems kind of lonesome without her,” said the +captain. “It don't seem as if we could get along.” + +It seemed desolate to Staniford, who let the talk flag and fail round +him without an effort to rescue it. All the morning he lurked about, +keeping out of Dunham's way, and fighting hard through a dozen pages of +a book, to which he struggled to nail his wandering mind. A headache was +a little matter, but it might be even less than a headache. He belated +himself purposely at dinner, and entered the cabin just as Lydia issued +from her stateroom door. + +She was pale and looked heavy-eyed. As she lifted her glance to him, +she blushed; and he felt the answering red stain his face. When she sat +down, the captain patted her on the shoulder with his burly right hand, +and said he could not navigate the ship if she got sick. He pressed her +to eat of this and that; and when she would not, he said, well, there +was no use trying to force an appetite, and that she would be better all +the sooner for dieting. Hicks went to his state-room, and came out +with a box of guava jelly, from his private stores, and won a triumph +enviable in all eyes when Lydia consented to like it with the chicken. +Dunham plundered his own and Staniford's common stock of dainties for +her dessert; the first officer agreed and applauded right and left; +Staniford alone sat taciturn and inoperative, watching her face +furtively. Once her eyes wandered to the side of the table where he and +Dunham sat; then she colored and dropped her glance. + +He took his book again after dinner, and with his finger between the +leaves, at the last-read, unintelligible page, he went out to the bow, +and crouched down there to renew the conflict of the morning. It was not +long before Dunham followed. He stooped over to lay a hand on either of +Staniford's shoulders. + +“What makes you avoid me, old man?” he demanded, looking into +Staniford's face with his frank, kind eyes. + +“And I avoid you?” asked Staniford. + +“Yes; why?” + +“Because I feel rather shabby, I suppose. I knew I felt shabby, but I +didn't know I was avoiding you.” + +“Well, no matter. If you feel shabby, it's all right; but I hate to have +you feel shabby.” He got his left hand down into Staniford's right, and +a tacit reconciliation was transacted between them. Dunham looked about +for a seat, and found a stool, which he planted in front of Staniford. +“Wasn't it pleasant to have our little lady back at table, again?” + +“Very,” said Staniford. + +“I couldn't help thinking how droll it was that a person whom we all +considered a sort of incumbrance and superfluity at first should really +turn out an object of prime importance to us all. Isn't it amusing?” + +“Very droll.” + +“Why, we were quite lost without her, at breakfast. I couldn't have +imagined her taking such a hold upon us all, in so short a time. But +she's a pretty creature, and as good as she's pretty.” + +“I remember agreeing with you on those points before.” Staniford feigned +to suppress fatigue. + +Dunham observed him. “I know you don't take so much interest in her +as--as the rest of us do, and I wish you did. You don't know what a +lovely nature she is.” + +“No?” + +“No; and I'm sure you'd like her.” + +“Is it important that I should like her? Don't let your enthusiasm for +the sex carry you beyond bounds, Dunham.” + +“No, no. Not important, but very pleasant. And I think acquaintance with +such a girl would give you some new ideas of women.” + +“Oh, my old ones are good enough. Look here, Dunham,” said Staniford, +sharply, “what are you after?” + +“What makes you think I'm after anything?” + +“Because you're not a humbug, and because I am. My depraved spirit +instantly recognized the dawning duplicity of yours. But you'd better be +honest. You can't make the other thing work. What do you want?” + +“I want your advice. I want your help, Staniford.” + +“I thought so! Coming and forgiving me in that--apostolic manner.” + +“Don't!” + +“Well. What do you want my help for? What have you been doing?” + Staniford paused, and suddenly added: “Have you been making love to +Lurella?” He said this in his ironical manner, but his smile was rather +ghastly. + +“For shame, Staniford!” cried Dunham. But he reddened violently. + +“Then it isn't with Miss Hibbard that you want my help. I'm glad of +that. It would have been awkward. I'm a little afraid of Miss Hibbard. +It isn't every one has your courage, my dear fellow.” + +“I haven't been making love to her,” said Dunham, “but--I--” + +“But you what?” demanded Staniford sharply again. There had been less +tension of voice in his joking about Miss Hibbard. + +“Staniford,” said his friend, “I don't know whether you noticed her, at +dinner, when she looked across to our own side?” + +“What did she do?” + +“Did you notice that she--well, that she blushed a little?” + +Staniford waited a while before he answered, after a gulp, “Yes, I +noticed that.” + +“Well, I don't know how to put it exactly, but I'm afraid that I have +unwittingly wronged this young girl.” + +“Wronged her? What the devil _do_ you mean, Dunham?” cried Staniford, +with bitter impatience. + +“I'm afraid--I'm afraid--Why, it's simply this: that in trying to amuse +her, and make the time pass agreeably, and relieve her mind, and +all that, don't you know, I've given her the impression that +I'm--well--interested in her, and that she may have allowed +herself--insensibly, you know--to look upon me in that light, and that +she may have begun to think--that she may have become--” + +“Interested in you?” interrupted Staniford rudely. + +“Well--ah--well, that is--ah--well--yes!” cried Dunham, bracing himself +to sustain a shout of ridicule. But Staniford did not laugh, and Dunham +had courage to go on. “Of course, it sounds rather conceited to say so, +but the circumstances are so peculiar that I think we ought to recognize +even any possibilities of that sort.” + +“Oh, yes,” said Staniford, gravely. “Most women, I believe, are so +innocent as to think a man in love when he behaves like a lover. And +this one,” he added ruefully, “seems more than commonly ignorant of our +ways,--of our infernal shilly-shallying, purposeless no-mindedness. +She couldn't imagine a man--a gentleman--devoting himself to her by the +hour, and trying by every art to show his interest and pleasure in her +society, without imagining that he wished her to like him,--love him; +there's no half-way about it. She couldn't suppose him the shallow, +dawdling, soulless, senseless ape he really was.” Staniford was quite in +a heat by this time, and Dunham listened in open astonishment. + +“You are hard upon me,” he said. “Of course, I have been to blame; I +know that, I acknowledge it. But my motive, as you know well enough, was +never to amuse myself with her, but to contribute in any way I could to +her enjoyment and happiness. I--” + +“_You_!” cried Staniford. “What are you talking about?” + +“What are _you_ talking about?” demanded Dunham, in his turn. + +Staniford recollected himself. “I was speaking of abstract flirtation. I +was firing into the air.” + +“In my case, I don't choose to call it flirtation,” returned Dunham. “My +purpose, I am bound to say, was thoroughly unselfish and kindly.” + +“My dear fellow,” said Staniford, with a bitter smile, “there can be no +unselfishness and no kindliness between us and young girls, unless we +mean business,--love-making. You may be sure that they feel it so, if +they don't understand it so.” + +“I don't agree with you. I don't believe it. My own experience is that +the sweetest and most generous friendships may exist between us, without +a thought of anything else. And as to making love, I must beg you to +remember that my love has been made once for all. I never dreamt of +showing Miss Blood anything but polite attention.” + +“Then what are you troubled about?” + +“I am troubled--” Dunham stopped helplessly, and Staniford laughed in a +challenging, disagreeable way, so that the former perforce resumed: + +“I'm troubled about--about her possible misinterpretation.” + +“Oh! Then in this case of sweet and generous friendship the party of the +second part may have construed the sentiment quite differently! Well, +what do you want me to do? Do you want me to take the contract off your +hands?” + +“You put it grossly,” said Dunham. + +“And _you_ put it offensively!” cried the other. “My regard for the +young lady is as reverent as yours. You have no right to miscolor my +words.” + +“Staniford, you are too bad,” said Dunham, hurt even more than angered. +“If I've come to you in the wrong moment--if you are vexed at anything, +I'll go away, and beg your pardon for boring you.” + +Staniford was touched; he looked cordially into his friend's face. “I +_was_ vexed at something, but you never can come to me at the wrong +moment, old fellow. I beg _your_ pardon. _I_ see your difficulty plainly +enough, and I think you're quite right in proposing to hold up,--for +that's what you mean, I take it?” + +“Yes,” said Dunham, “it is. And I don't know how she will like it. She +will be puzzled and grieved by it. I hadn't thought seriously about the +matter till this morning, when she didn't come to breakfast. You know +I've been in the habit of asking her to walk with me every night after +tea; but Saturday evening you were with her, and last night I felt sore +about the affairs of the day, and rather dull, and I didn't ask her. I +think she noticed it. I think she was hurt.” + +“You think so?” said Staniford, peculiarly. + +“I might not have thought so,” continued Dunham, “merely because she did +not come to breakfast; but her blushing when she looked across at dinner +really made me uneasy.” + +“Very possibly you're right.” Staniford mused a while before he spoke +again. “Well, what do you wish me to do?” + +“I must hold up, as you say, and of course she will feel the difference. +I wish--I wish at least you wouldn't avoid her, Staniford. That's all. +Any little attention from you--I know it bores you--would not only +break the loneliness, but it would explain that--that my--attentions +didn't--ah--hadn't meant anything.” + +“Oh!” + +“Yes; that it's common to offer them. And she's a girl of so much force +of character that when she sees the affair in its true light--I suppose +I'm to blame! Yes, I ought to have told her at the beginning that I +was engaged. But you can't force a fact of that sort upon a new +acquaintance: it looks silly.” Dunham hung his head in self-reproach. + +“Well?” asked Staniford. + +“Well, that's all! No, it _isn't_ all, either. There's something else +troubles me. Our poor little friend is a blackguard, I suppose?” + +“Hicks?” + +“Yes.” + +“You have invited him to be the leader of your orchestra, haven't you?” + +“Oh, don't, Staniford!” cried Dunham in his helplessness. “I should hate +to see her dependent in any degree upon that little cad for society.” + Cad was the last English word which Dunham had got himself used to. +“That was why I hoped that you wouldn't altogether neglect her. She's +here, and she's no choice but to remain. We can't leave her to herself +without the danger of leaving her to Hicks. You see?” + +“Well,” said Staniford gloomily, “I'm not sure that you couldn't leave +her to a worse cad than Hicks.” Dunham looked up in question. “To me, +for example.” + +“Oh, hallo!” cried Dunham. + +“I don't see how I'm to be of any use,” continued the other. “I'm not a +squire of dames; I should merely make a mess of it.” + +“You're mistaken, Staniford,--I'm sure you are,--in supposing that she +dislikes you,” urged his friend. + +“Oh, very likely.” + +“I know that she's simply afraid of you.” + +“Don't flatter, Dunham. Why should I care whether she fears me or +affects me? No, my dear fellow. This is irretrievably your own affair. +I should be glad to help you out if I knew how. But I don't. In the mean +time your duty is plain, whatever happens. You can't overdo the sweet +and the generous in this wicked world without paying the penalty.” + +Staniford smiled at the distress in which Dunham went his way. He +understood very well that it was not vanity, but the liveliness of a +sensitive conscience, that had made Dunham search his conduct for the +offense against the young girl's peace of heart which he believed he had +committed, and it was the more amusing because he was so guiltless of +harm. Staniford knew who was to blame for the headache and the blush. He +knew that Dunham had never gone so far; that his chivalrous pleasure in +her society might continue for years free from flirtation. But in +spite of this conviction a little poignant doubt made itself felt, and +suddenly became his whole consciousness. “Confound him!” he mused. “I +wonder if she really could care anything for him!” He shut his book, and +rose to his feet with such a burning in his heart that he could not have +believed himself capable of the greater rage he felt at what he just +then saw. It was Lydia and Hicks seated together in the place where he +had sat with her. She leaned with one arm upon the rail, in an attitude +that brought all her slim young grace into evidence. She seemed on +very good terms with him, and he was talking and making her laugh as +Staniford had never heard her laugh before--so freely, so heartily. + + + + +XIII. + + +The atoms that had been tending in Staniford's being toward a certain +form suddenly arrested and shaped themselves anew at the vibration +imparted by this laughter. He no longer felt himself Hicks's possible +inferior, but vastly better in every way, and out of the turmoil of his +feelings in regard to Lydia was evolved the distinct sense of having +been trifled with. Somehow, an advantage had been taken of his +sympathies and purposes, and his forbearance had been treated with +contempt. + +The conviction was neither increased nor diminished by the events of +the evening, when Lydia brought out some music from her state-room, and +Hicks appeared, flute in hand, from his, and they began practicing one +of the pieces together. It was a pretty enough sight. Hicks had +been gradually growing a better-looking fellow; he had an undeniable +picturesqueness, as he bowed his head over the music towards hers; +and she, as she held the sheet with one hand for him to see, while she +noiselessly accompanied herself on the table with the fingers of the +other, and tentatively sang now this passage and now that, was divine. +The picture seemed pleasing to neither Staniford nor Dunham; they went +on deck together, and sat down to their cigarettes in their wonted +place. They did not talk of Lydia, or of any of the things that had +formed the basis of their conversation hitherto, but Staniford returned +to his Colorado scheme, and explained at length the nature of his +purposes and expectations. He had discussed these matters before, but he +had never gone into them so fully, nor with such cheerful earnestness. +He said he should never marry,--he had made up his mind to that; but +he hoped to make money enough to take care of his sister's boy Jim +handsomely, as the little chap had been named for him. He had been +thinking the matter over, and he believed that he should get back by +rail and steamer as soon as he could after they reached Trieste. He was +not sorry he had come; but he could not afford to throw away too much +time on Italy, just then. + +Dunham, on his part, talked a great deal of Miss Hibbard, and of +some curious psychological characteristics of her dyspepsia. He asked +Staniford whether he had ever shown him the photograph of Miss Hibbard +taken by Sarony when she was on to New York the last time: it was a +three-quarters view, and Dunham thought it the best she had had done. He +spoke of her generous qualities, and of the interest she had always had +in the Diet Kitchen, to which, as an invalid, her attention had been +particularly directed: and he said that in her last letter she had +mentioned a project for establishing diet kitchens in Europe, on the +Boston plan. When their talk grew more impersonal and took a wider +range, they gathered suggestion from the situation, and remarked upon +the immense solitude of the sea. They agreed that there was something +weird in the long continuance of fine weather, and that the moon had a +strange look. They spoke of the uncertainty of life. Dunham regretted, +as he had often regretted before, that his friend had no fixed religious +belief; and Staniford gently accepted his solicitude, and said that he +had at least a conviction if not a creed. He then begged Dunham's pardon +in set terms for trying to wound his feelings the day before; and in the +silent hand-clasp that followed they renewed all the cordiality of their +friendship. From time to time, as they talked, the music from below came +up fitfully, and once they had to pause as Lydia sang through the song +that she and Hicks were practicing. + +As the days passed their common interest in the art brought Hicks +and the young girl almost constantly together, and the sound of their +concerting often filled the ship. The musicales, less formal than +Dunham had intended, and perhaps for that reason a source of rapidly +diminishing interest with him, superseded both ring-toss and +shuffle-board, and seemed even more acceptable to the ship's company as an +entertainment. One evening, when the performers had been giving a piece +of rather more than usual excellence and difficulty, one of the sailors, +deputed by his mates, came aft, with many clumsy shows of deference, and +asked them to give Marching through Georgia. Hicks found this out of his +repertory, but Lydia sang it. Then the group at the forecastle shouted +with one voice for Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching, and so +beguiled her through the whole list of war-songs. She ended with one +unknown to her listeners, but better than all the rest in its pathetic +words and music, and when she had sung The Flag's come back to +Tennessee, the spokesman of the sailors came aft again, to thank her for +his mates, and to say they would not spoil that last song by asking +for anything else. It was a charming little triumph for her, as she sat +surrounded by her usual court: the captain was there to countenance the +freedom the sailors had taken, and Dunham and Staniford stood near, but +Hicks, at her right hand, held the place of honor. + +The next night Staniford found her alone in the waist of the ship, and +drew up a stool beside the rail where she sat. + +“We all enjoyed your singing so much, last night, Miss Blood. I think +Mr. Hicks plays charmingly, but I believe I prefer to hear your voice +alone.” + +“Thank you,” said Lydia, looking down, demurely. + +“It must be a great satisfaction to feel that you can give so much +pleasure.” + +“I don't know,” she said, passing the palm of one hand over the back of +the other. + +“When you are a _prima donna_ you mustn't forget your old friends of the +Aroostook. We shall all take vast pride in you.” + +It was not a question, and Lydia answered nothing. Staniford, who had +rather obliged himself to this advance, with some dim purpose of showing +that nothing had occurred to alienate them since the evening, of their +promenade, without having proved to himself that it was necessary to do +this, felt that he was growing angry. It irritated him to have her sit +as unmoved after his words as if he had not spoken. + +“Miss Blood,” he said, “I envy you your gift of snubbing people.” + +Lydia looked at him. “Snubbing people?” she echoed. + +“Yes; your power of remaining silent when you wish to put down some one +who has been wittingly or unwittingly impertinent.” + +“I don't know what you mean,” she said, in a sort of breathless way. + +“And you didn't intend to mark your displeasure at my planning your +future?” + +“No! We had talked of that. I--” + +“And you were not vexed with me for anything? I have been afraid that +I--that you--” Staniford found that he was himself getting short of +breath. He had begun with the intention of mystifying her, but matters +had suddenly taken another course, and he was really anxious to know +whether any disagreeable associations with that night lingered in her +mind. With this longing came a natural inability to find the right word. +“I was afraid--” he repeated, and then he stopped again. Clearly, he +could not tell her that he was afraid he had gone too far; but this +was what he meant. “You don't walk with me, any more, Miss Blood,” he +concluded, with an air of burlesque reproach. + +“You haven't asked me--since,” she said. + +He felt a singular value and significance in this word, since. It showed +that her thoughts had been running parallel with his own; it permitted, +if it did not signify, that he should resume the mood of that time, +where their parting had interrupted it. He enjoyed the fact to the +utmost, but he was not sure that he wished to do what he was permitted. +“Then I didn't tire you?” he merely asked. He was not sure, now he came +to think of it, that he liked her willingness to recur to that time. He +liked it, but not quite in the way he would have liked to like it. + +“No,” she said. + +“The fact is,” he went on aimlessly, “that I thought I had rather abused +your kindness. Besides,” he added, veering off, “I was afraid I should +be an interruption to the musical exercises.” + +“Oh, no,” said Lydia. “Mr. Dunham hasn't arranged anything yet.” + Staniford thought this uncandid. It was fighting shy of Hicks, who was +the person in his own mind; and it reawakened a suspicion which was +lurking there. “Mr. Dunham seems to have lost his interest.” + +This struck Staniford as an expression of pique; it reawakened quite +another suspicion. It was evident that she was hurt at the cessation +of Dunham's attentions. He was greatly minded to say that Dunham was a +fool, but he ended by saying, with sarcasm, “I suppose he saw that he +was superseded.” + +“Mr. Hicks plays well,” said Lydia, judicially, “but he doesn't really +know so much of music as Mr. Dunham.” + +“No?” responded Staniford, with irony. “I will tell Dunham. No doubt +he's been suffering the pangs of professional jealousy. That must be the +reason why he keeps away.” + +“Keeps away?” asked Lydia. + +“_Now_ I've made an ass of myself!” thought Staniford. “You said that he +seemed to have lost his interest,” he answered her. + +“Oh! Yes!” assented Lydia. And then she remained rather distraught, +pulling at the ruffling of her dress. + +“Dunham is a very accomplished man,” said Staniford, finding the usual +satisfaction in pressing his breast against the thorn. “He's a great +favorite in society. He's up to no end of things.” Staniford uttered +these praises in a curiously bitter tone. “He's a capital talker. Don't +you think he talks well?” + +“I don't know; I suppose I haven't seen enough people to be a good +judge.” + +“Well, you've seen enough people to know that he's very good looking?” + +“Yes?” + +“You don't mean to say you don't think him good looking?” + +“No,--oh, no, I mean--that is--I don't know anything about his looks. +But he resembles a lady who used to come from Boston, summers. I thought +he must be her brother.” + +“Oh, then you think he looks effeminate!” cried Staniford, with inner +joy. “I assure you,” he added with solemnity, “Dunham is one of the +manliest fellows in the world!” + +“Yes?” said Lydia. + +Staniford rose. He was smiling gayly as he looked over the broad stretch +of empty deck, and down into Lydia's eyes. “Wouldn't you like to take a +turn, now?” + +“Yes,” she said promptly, rising and arranging her wrap across her +shoulders, so as to leave her hands free. She laid one hand in his arm +and gathered her skirt with the other, and they swept round together for +the start and confronted Hicks. + +“Oh!” cried Lydia, with what seemed dismay, “I promised Mr. Hicks to +practice a song with him.” She did not try to release her hand from +Staniford's arm, but was letting it linger there irresolutely. + +Staniford dropped his arm, and let her hand fall. He bowed with icy +stiffness, and said, with a courtesy so fierce that Mr. Hicks, on +whom he glared as he spoke, quailed before it, “I yield to your prior +engagement.” + + + + +XIV. + + +It was nothing to Staniford that she should have promised Hicks to +practice a song with him, and no process of reasoning could have made +it otherwise. The imaginary opponent with whom he scornfully argued the +matter had not a word for himself. Neither could the young girl answer +anything to the cutting speeches which he mentally made her as he +sat alone chewing the end of his cigar; and he was not moved by the +imploring looks which his fancy painted in her face, when he made +believe that she had meekly returned to offer him some sort of +reparation. Why should she excuse herself? he asked. It was he who ought +to excuse himself for having been in the way. The dialogue went on at +length, with every advantage to the inventor. + +He was finally aware of some one standing near and looking down at +him. It was the second mate, who supported himself in a conversational +posture by the hand which he stretched to the shrouds above their heads. +“Are you a good sailor, Mr. Staniford?” he inquired. He and Staniford +were friends in their way, and had talked together before this. + +“Do you mean seasickness? Why?” Staniford looked up at the mate's face. + +“Well, we're going to get it, I guess, before long. We shall soon be off +the Spanish coast. We've had a great run so far.” + +“If it comes we must stand it. But I make it a rule never to be seasick +beforehand.” + +“Well, I ain't one to borrow trouble, either. It don't run in the +family. Most of us like to chance things, I chanced it for the whole +war, and I come out all right. Sometimes it don't work so well.” + +“Ah?” said Staniford, who knew that this was a leading remark, but +forbore, as he knew Mason wished, to follow it up directly. + +“One of us chanced it once too often, and of course it was a woman.” + +“The risk?” + +“Not the risk. My oldest sister tried tamin' a tiger. Ninety-nine times +out of a hundred, a tiger won't tame worth a cent. But her pet was such +a lamb most the while that she guessed she'd chance it. It didn't work. +She's at home with mother now,--three children, of course,--and he's in +hell, I s'pose. He was killed 'long-side o' me at Gettysburg. Ike was a +good fellow when he was sober. But my souls, the life he led that poor +girl! Yes, when a man's got that tiger in him, there ought to be some +quiet little war round for puttin' him out of his misery.” Staniford +listened silently, waiting for the mate to make the application of his +grim allegory. “I s'pose I'm prejudiced; but I do _hate_ a drunkard; and +when I see one of 'em makin' up to a girl, I want to go to her, and tell +her she'd better take a real tiger out the show, at once.” + +The idea which these words suggested sent a thrill to Staniford's heart, +but he continued silent, and the mate went on, with the queer smile, +which could be inferred rather than seen, working under his mustache +and the humorous twinkle of his eyes evanescently evident under his cap +peak. + +“I don't go round criticisn' my superior officers, and _I_ don't say +anything about the responsibility the old man took. The old man's all +right, accordin' to his lights; he ain't had a tiger in the family. But +if that chap was to fall overboard,--well, I don't know _how_ long it +would take to lower a boat, if I was to listen to my _conscience_. There +ain't really any help for him. He's begun too young ever to get over it. +He won't be ashore at Try-East an hour before he's drunk. If our men had +any spirits amongst 'em that could be begged, bought, or borrowed, he'd +be drunk now, right along. Well, I'm off watch,” said the mate, at the +tap of bells. “Guess we'll get our little gale pretty soon.” + +“Good-night,” said Staniford, who remained pondering. He presently rose, +and walked up and down the deck. He could hear Lydia and Hicks trying +that song: now the voice, and now the flute; then both together; and +presently a burst of laughter. He began to be angry with her ignorance +and inexperience. It became intolerable to him that a woman should +be going about with no more knowledge of the world than a child, +and entangling herself in relations with all sorts of people. It was +shocking to think of that little sot, who had now made his infirmity +known for all the ship's company, admitted to association with her which +looked to common eyes like courtship. From the mate's insinuation that +she ought to be warned, it was evident that they thought her +interested in Hicks; and the mate had come, like Dunham, to leave the +responsibility with Staniford. It only wanted now that Captain Jenness +should appear with his appeal, direct or indirect. + +While Staniford walked up and down, and scorned and raged at the idea +that he had anything to do with the matter, the singing and fluting came +to a pause in the cabin; and at the end of the next tune, which brought +him to the head of the gangway stairs, he met Lydia emerging. He stopped +and spoke to her, having instantly resolved, at sight of her, not to do +so. + +“Have you come up for breath, like a mermaid?” he asked. “Not that I'm +sure mermaids do.” + +“Oh, no,” said Lydia. “I think I dropped my handkerchief where we were +sitting.” + +Staniford suspected, with a sudden return to a theory of her which he +had already entertained, that she had not done so. But she went lightly +by him, where he stood stolid, and picked it up; and now he suspected +that she had dropped it there on purpose. + +“You have come back to walk with me?” + +“No!” said the girl indignantly. “I have not come back to walk with +you!” She waited a moment; then she burst out with, “How dare you say +such a thing to me? What right have you to speak to me so? What have I +done to make you think that I would come back to--” + +The fierce vibration in her voice made him know that her eyes were +burning upon him and her lips trembling. He shrank before her passion +as a man must before the justly provoked wrath of a woman, or even of a +small girl. + +“I stated a hope, not a fact,” he said in meek uncandor. “Don't you +think you ought to have done so?” + +“I don't--I don't understand you,” panted Lydia, confusedly arresting +her bolts in mid-course. + +Staniford pursued his guilty advantage; it was his only chance. “I gave +way to Mr. Hicks when you had an engagement with me. I thought--you +would come back to keep your engagement.” He was still very meek. + +“Excuse me,” she said with self-reproach that would have melted the +heart of any one but a man who was in the wrong, and was trying to get +out of it at all hazards. “I didn't know what you meant--I--” + +“If I had meant what you thought,” interrupted Staniford nobly, for he +could now afford to be generous, “I should have deserved much more than +you said. But I hope you won't punish my awkwardness by refusing to walk +with me.” + +He knew that she regarded him earnestly before she said, “I must get my +shawl and hat.” + +“Let me go!” he entreated. + +“You couldn't find them,” she answered, as she vanished past him. She +returned, and promptly laid her hand in his proffered arm; it was as if +she were eager to make him amends for her harshness. + +Staniford took her hand out, and held it while he bowed low toward her. +“I declare myself satisfied.” + +“I don't understand,” said Lydia, in alarm and mortification. + +“When a subject has been personally aggrieved by his sovereign, his +honor is restored if they merely cross swords.” + +The girl laughed her delight in the extravagance. She must have been +more or less than woman not to have found his flattery delicious. “But +we are republicans!” she said in evasion. + +“To be sure, we are republicans. Well, then, Miss Blood, answer your +free and equal one thing: is it a case of conscience?” + +“How?” she asked, and Staniford did not recoil at the rusticity. This +how for what, and the interrogative yes, still remained. Since their +first walk, she had not wanted to know, in however great surprise she +found herself. + +“Are you going to walk with me because you had promised?” + +“Why, of course,” faltered Lydia. + +“That isn't enough.” + +“Not enough?” + +“Not enough. You must walk with me because you like to do so.” + +Lydia was silent. + +“Do you like to do so?” + +“I can't answer you,” she said, releasing her hand from him. + +“It was not fair to ask you. What I wish to do is to restore the +original status. You have kept your engagement to walk with me, and +your conscience is clear. Now, Miss Blood, may I have your company for a +little stroll over the deck of the Aroostook?” He made her another very +low bow. + +“What must I say?” asked Lydia, joyously. + +“That depends upon whether you consent. If you consent, you must say, 'I +shall be very glad.'” + +“And if I don't?” + +“Oh, I can't put any such decision into words.” + +Lydia mused a moment. “I shall be very glad,” she said, and put her hand +again into the arm he offered. + +As happens after such a passage they were at first silent, while they +walked up and down. + +“If this fine weather holds,” said Staniford, “and you continue as +obliging as you are to-night, you can say, when people ask you how you +went to Europe, that you walked the greater part of the way. Shall you +continue so obliging? Will you walk with me every fine night?” pursued +Staniford. + +“Do you think I'd better say so?” she asked, with the joy still in her +voice. + +“Oh, I can't decide for you. I merely formulate your decisions after you +reach them,--if they're favorable.” + +“Well, then, what is this one?” + +“Is it favorable?” + +“You said you would formulate it.” She laughed again, and Staniford +started as one does when a nebulous association crystallizes into a +distinctly remembered fact. + +“What a curious laugh you have!” he said. “It's like a nun's laugh. Once +in France I lodged near the garden of a convent where the nuns kept a +girls' school, and I used to hear them laugh. You never happened to be a +nun, Miss Blood?” + +“No, indeed!” cried Lydia, as if scandalized. + +“Oh, I merely meant in some previous existence. Of course, I didn't +suppose there was a convent in South Bradfield.” He felt that the +girl did not quite like the little slight his irony cast upon South +Bradfield, or rather upon her for never having been anywhere else. He +hastened to say, “I'm sure that in the life before this you were of the +South somewhere.” + +“Yes?” said Lydia, interested and pleased again as one must be in +romantic talk about one's self. “Why do you think so?” + +He bent a little over toward her, so as to look into the face she +instinctively averted, while she could not help glancing at him from the +corner of her eye. “You have the color and the light of the South,” + he said. “When you get to Italy, you will live in a perpetual +mystification. You will go about in a dream of some self of yours that +was native there in other days. You will find yourself retrospectively +related to the olive faces and the dark eyes you meet; you will +recognize sisters and cousins in the patrician ladies when you see their +portraits in the palaces where you used to live in such state.” + +Staniford spiced his flatteries with open burlesque; the girl entered +into his fantastic humor. “But if I was a nun?” she asked, gayly. + +“Oh, I forgot. You were a nun. There was a nun in Venice once, about two +hundred years ago, when you lived there, and a young English lord who +was passing through the town was taken to the convent to hear her sing; +for she was not only of 'an admirable beauty,' as he says, but sang +'extremely well.' She sang to him through the grating of the convent, +and when she stopped he said, 'Die whensoever you will, you need to +change neither voice nor face to be an angel!' Do you think--do you +dimly recollect anything that makes you think--it might--Consider +carefully: the singing extremely well, and--” He leant over again, and +looked up into her face, which again she could not wholly withdraw. + +“No, no!” she said, still in his mood. + +“Well, you must allow it was a pretty speech.” + +“Perhaps,” said Lydia, with sudden gravity, in which there seemed to +Staniford a tender insinuation of reproach, “he was laughing at her.” + +“If he was, he was properly punished. He went on to Rome, and when he +came back to Venice the beautiful nun was dead. He thought that his +words 'seemed fatal.' Do you suppose it would kill you _now_ to be +jested with?” + +“I don't think people like it generally.” + +“Why, Miss Blood, you are intense!” + +“I don't know what you mean by that,” said Lydia. + +“You like to take things seriously. You can't bear to think that people +are not the least in earnest, even when they least seem so.” + +“Yes,” said the girl, thoughtfully, “perhaps that's true. Should you +like to be made fun of, yourself?” + +“I shouldn't mind it, I fancy, though it would depend a great deal upon +who made fun of me. I suppose that women always laugh at men,--at their +clumsiness, their want of tact, the fit of their clothes.” + +“I don't know. I should not do that with any one I--” + +“You liked? Oh, none of them do!” cried Staniford. + +“I was not going to say that,” faltered the girl. + +“What were you going to say?” + +She waited a moment. “Yes, I was going to say that,” she assented with +a sigh of helpless veracity. “What makes you laugh?” she asked, in +distress. + +“Something I like. I'm different from you: I laugh at what I like; I +like your truthfulness,--it's charming.” + +“I didn't know that truth need be charming.” + +“It had better be, in women, if it's to keep even with the other thing.” + Lydia seemed shocked; she made a faint, involuntary motion to withdraw +her hand, but he closed his arm upon it. “Don't condemn me for thinking +that fibbing is charming. I shouldn't like it at all in you. Should you +in me?” + +“I shouldn't in any one,” said Lydia. + +“Then what is it you dislike in me?” he suddenly demanded. + +“I didn't say that I disliked anything in you.” + +“But you have made fun of something in me?” + +“No, no!” + +“Then it wasn't the stirring of a guilty conscience when you asked me +whether I should like to be made fun of? I took it for granted you'd +been doing it.” + +“You are very suspicious.” + +“Yes; and what else?” + +“Oh, you like to know just what every one thinks and feels.” + +“Go on!” cried Staniford. “Analyze me, formulate me!” + +“That's all.” + +“All I come to?” + +“All I have to say.” + +“That's very little. Now, I'll begin on you. You don't care what people +think or feel.” + +“Oh, yes, I do. I care too much.” + +“Do you care what I think?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then I think you're too unsuspicious.” + +“Ought I to suspect somebody?” she asked, lightly. + +“Oh, that's the way with all your sex. One asks you to be suspicious, +and you ask whom you shall suspect. You can do nothing in the abstract. +I should like to be suspicious for you. Will you let me?” + +“Oh, yes, if you like to be.” + +“Thanks. I shall be terribly vigilant,--a perfect dragon. And you really +invest me with authority?” + +“Yes.” + +“That's charming.” Staniford drew a long breath. After a space of +musing, he said, “I thought I should be able to begin by attacking some +one else, but I must commence at home, and denounce myself as quite +unworthy of walking to and fro, and talking nonsense to you. You must +beware of me, Miss Blood.” + +“Why?” asked the girl. + +“I am very narrow-minded and prejudiced, and I have violent antipathies. +I shouldn't be able to do justice to any one I disliked.” + +“I think that's the trouble with all of us,” said Lydia. + +“Oh, but only in degree. I should not allow, if I could help it, a man +whom I thought shabby, and coarse at heart, the privilege of speaking to +any one I valued,--to my sister, for instance. It would shock me to find +her have any taste in common with such a man, or amused by him. Don't +you understand?” + +“Yes,” said Lydia. It seemed to him as if by some infinitely subtle and +unconscious affinition she relaxed toward him as they walked. This was +incomparably sweet and charming to Staniford,--too sweet as recognition +of his protecting friendship to be questioned as anything else. He felt +sure that she had taken his meaning, and he rested content from further +trouble in regard to what it would have been impossible to express. Her +tacit confidence touched a kindred spring in him, and he began to talk +to her of himself: not of his character or opinions,--they had already +gone over them,--but of his past life, and his future. Their strangeness +to her gave certain well-worn topics novelty, and the familiar project +of a pastoral career in the far West invested itself with a color of +romance which it had not worn before. She tried to remember, at his +urgence, something about her childhood in California; and she told him a +great deal more about South Bradfield. She described its characters +and customs, and, from no vantage-ground or stand-point but her native +feeling of their oddity, and what seemed her sympathy with him, made him +see them as one might whose life had not been passed among them. Then +they began to compare their own traits, and amused themselves to find +how many they had in common. Staniford related a singular experience of +his on a former voyage to Europe, when he dreamed of a collision, and +woke to hear a great trampling and uproar on deck, which afterwards +turned out to have been caused by their bare escape from running into an +iceberg. She said that she had had strange dreams, too, but mostly when +she was a little girl; once she had had a presentiment that troubled +her, but it did not come true. They both said they did not believe in +such things, and agreed that it was only people's love of mystery that +kept them noticed. He permitted himself to help her, with his disengaged +hand, to draw her shawl closer about the shoulder that was away from +him. He gave the action a philosophical and impersonal character by +saying immediately afterwards: “The sea is really the only mystery +left us, and that will never be explored. They circumnavigate the whole +globe,--” here he put the gathered shawl into the fingers which +she stretched through his arm to take it, and she said, “Oh, thank +you!”--“but they don't describe the sea. War and plague and famine +submit to the ameliorations of science,”--the closely drawn shawl +pressed her against his shoulder; his mind wandered; he hardly knew what +he was saying,--“but the one utterly inexorable calamity--the same now +as when the first sail was spread--is a shipwreck.” + +“Yes,” she said, with a deep inspiration. And now they walked back and +forth in silence broken only by a casual word or desultory phrase. Once +Staniford had thought the conditions of these promenades perilously +suggestive of love-making; another time he had blamed himself for not +thinking of this; now he neither thought nor blamed himself for not +thinking. The fact justified itself, as if it had been the one perfectly +right and wise thing in a world where all else might be questioned. + +“Isn't it pretty late?” she asked, at last. + +“If you're tired, we'll sit down,” he said. + +“What time is it?” she persisted. + +“Must I look?” he pleaded. They went to a lantern, and he took out his +watch and sprang the case open. “Look!” he said. “I sacrifice myself on +the altar of truth.” They bent their heads low together over the +watch; it was not easy to make out the time. “It's nine o'clock,” said +Staniford. + +“It can't be; it was half past when I came up,” answered Lydia. + +“One hand's at twelve and the other at nine,” he said, conclusively. + +“Oh, then it's a quarter to twelve.” She caught away her hand from his +arm, and fled to the gangway. “I didn't dream it was so late.” + +The pleasure which her confession brought to his face faded at sight of +Hicks, who was turning the last pages of a novel by the cabin lamp, as +he followed Lydia in. It was the book that Staniford had given her. + +“Hullo!” said Hicks, with companionable ease, looking up at her. “Been +having quite a tramp.” + +She did not seem troubled by the familiarity of an address that incensed +Staniford almost to the point of taking Hicks from his seat, and tossing +him to the other end of the cabin. “Oh, you've finished my book,” she +said. “You must tell me how you like it, to-morrow.” + +“I doubt it,” said Hicks. “I'm going to be seasick to-morrow. The +captain's been shaking his head over the barometer and powwowing with +the first officer. Something's up, and I guess it's a gale. Good-by; I +shan't see you again for a week or so.” + +He nodded jocosely to Lydia, and dropped his eyes again to his book, +ignoring Staniford's presence. The latter stood a moment breathing +quick; then he controlled himself and went into his room. His coming +roused Dunham, who looked up from his pillow. “What time is it?” he +asked, stupidly. + +“Twelve,” said Staniford. + +“Had a pleasant walk?” + +“If you still think,” said Staniford, savagely, “that she's painfully +interested in you, you can make your mind easy. She doesn't care for +either of us.” + +“_Either_ of us?” echoed Dunham. He roused himself. + +“Oh, go to sleep; _go_ to sleep!” cried Staniford. + + + + +XV. + + +The foreboded storm did not come so soon as had been feared, but the +beautiful weather which had lasted so long was lost in a thickened +sky and a sullen sea. The weather had changed with Staniford, too. The +morning after the events last celebrated, he did not respond to the +glance which Lydia gave him when they met, and he hardened his heart to +her surprise, and shunned being alone with her. He would not admit to +himself any reason for his attitude, and he could not have explained +to her the mystery that at first visibly grieved her, and then seemed +merely to benumb her. But the moment came when he ceased to take a +certain cruel pleasure in it, and he approached her one morning on deck, +where she stood holding fast to the railing where she usually sat, and +said, as if there had been no interval of estrangement between them, but +still coldly, “We have had our last walk for the present, Miss Blood. I +hope you will grieve a little for my loss.” + +She turned on him a look that cut him to the heart, with what he fancied +its reproach and its wonder. She did not reply at once, and then she did +not reply to his hinted question. + +“Mr. Staniford,” she began. It was the second time he had heard her +pronounce his name; he distinctly remembered the first. + +“Well?” he said. + +“I want to speak to you about lending that book to Mr. Hicks. I ought to +have asked you first.” + +“Oh, no,” said Staniford. “It was yours.” + +“You gave it to me,” she returned. + +“Well, then, it was yours,--to keep, to lend, to throw away.” + +“And you didn't mind my lending it to him?” she pursued. “I--” + +She stopped, and Staniford hesitated, too. Then he said, “I didn't +dislike your lending it; I disliked his having it. I will acknowledge +that.” + +She looked up at him as if she were going to speak, but checked herself, +and glanced away. The ship was plunging heavily, and the livid +waves were racing before the wind. The horizon was lit with a yellow +brightness in the quarter to which she turned, and a pallid gleam +defined her profile. Captain Jenness was walking fretfully to and fro; +he glanced now at the yellow glare, and now cast his eye aloft at the +shortened sail. While Staniford stood questioning whether she meant to +say anything more, or whether, having discharged her conscience of an +imagined offense, she had now reached one of her final, precipitous +silences, Captain Jenness suddenly approached them, and said to him, “I +guess you'd better go below with Miss Blood.” + +The storm that followed had its hazards, but Staniford's consciousness +was confined to its discomforts. The day came, and then the dark came, +and both in due course went, and came again. Where he lay in his berth, +and whirled and swung, and rose and sank, as lonely as a planetary +fragment tossing in space, he heard the noises of the life without. +Amidst the straining of the ship, which was like the sharp sweep of +a thunder-shower on the deck overhead, there plunged at irregular +intervals the wild trample of heavily-booted feet, and now and then the +voices of the crew answering the shouted orders made themselves hollowly +audible. In the cabin there was talking, and sometimes even laughing. +Sometimes he heard the click of knives and forks, the sardonic rattle of +crockery. After the first insane feeling that somehow he must get +ashore and escape from his torment, he hardened himself to it through +an immense contempt, equally insane, for the stupidity of the sea, its +insensate uproar, its blind and ridiculous and cruel mischievousness. +Except for this delirious scorn he was a surface of perfect passivity. + +Dunham, after a day of prostration, had risen, and had perhaps shortened +his anguish by his resolution. He had since taken up his quarters on a +locker in the cabin; he looked in now and then upon Staniford, with +a cup of tea, or a suggestion of something light to eat; once he even +dared to boast of the sublimity of the ocean. Staniford stared at him +with eyes of lack-lustre indifference, and waited for him to be gone. +But he lingered to say, “You would laugh to see what a sea-bird our lady +is! She hasn't been sick a minute. And Hicks, you'll be glad to know, is +behaving himself very well. Really, I don't think we've done the fellow +justice. I think you've overshadowed him, and that he's needed your +absence to show himself to advantage.” + +Staniford disdained any comment on this except a fierce “Humph!” and +dismissed Dunham by turning his face to the wall. He refused to think of +what he had said. He lay still and suffered indefinitely, and no longer +waited for the end of the storm. There had been times when he thought +with acquiescence of going to the bottom, as a probable conclusion; now +he did not expect anything. At last, one night, he felt by inexpressibly +minute degrees something that seemed surcease of his misery. It might +have been the end of all things, for all he cared; but as the lull +deepened, he slept without knowing what it was, and when he woke in the +morning he found the Aroostook at anchor in smooth water. + +She was lying in the roads at Gibraltar, and before her towered the +embattled rock. He crawled on deck after a while. The captain was going +ashore, and had asked such of his passengers as liked, to go with him +and see the place. When Staniford appeared, Dunham was loyally refusing +to leave his friend till he was fairly on foot. At sight of him they +suspended their question long enough to welcome him back to animation, +with the patronage with which well people hail a convalescent. Lydia +looked across the estrangement of the past days with a sort of inquiry, +and Hicks chose to come forward and accept a cold touch of the hand from +him. Staniford saw, with languid observance, that Lydia was very fresh +and bright; she was already equipped for the expedition, and could never +have had any doubt in her mind as to going. She had on a pretty walking +dress which he had not seen before, and a hat with the rim struck +sharply upward behind, and her masses of dense, dull black hair pulled +up and fastened somewhere on the top of her head. Her eyes shyly +sparkled under the abrupt descent of the hat-brim over her forehead. + +His contemptuous rejection of the character of invalid prevailed with +Dunham; and Staniford walked to another part of the ship, to cut short +the talk about himself, and saw them row away. + +“Well, you've had a pretty tough time, they say,” said the second mate, +lounging near him. “I don't see any fun in seasickness _myself_.” + +“It's a ridiculous sort of misery,” said Staniford. + +“I hope we shan't have anything worse on board when that chap gets back. +The old man thinks he can keep an eye on him.” The mate was looking +after the boat. + +“The captain says he hasn't any money,” Staniford remarked carelessly. +The mate went away without saying anything more, and Staniford returned +to the cabin, where he beheld without abhorrence the preparations for +his breakfast. But he had not a great appetite, in spite of his long +fast. He found himself rather light-headed, and came on deck again after +a while, and stretched himself in Hicks's steamer chair, where Lydia +usually sat in it. He fell into a dull, despairing reverie, in which he +blamed himself for not having been more explicit with her. He had merely +expressed his dislike of Hicks; but expressed without reasons it was a +groundless dislike, which she had evidently not understood, or had not +cared to heed; and since that night, now so far away, when he had spoken +to her, he had done everything he could to harden her against himself. +He had treated her with a stupid cruelty, which a girl like her would +resent to the last; he had forced her to take refuge in the politeness +of a man from whom he was trying to keep her. + +His heart paused when he saw the boat returning in the afternoon without +Hicks. The others reported that they had separated before dinner, and +that they had not seen him since, though Captain Jenness had spent an +hour trying to look him up before starting back to the ship. The captain +wore a look of guilty responsibility, mingled with intense exasperation, +the two combining in as much haggardness as his cheerful visage could +express. “If he's here by six o'clock,” he said, grimly, “all well and +good. If not, the Aroostook sails, any way.” + +Lydia crept timidly below. Staniford complexly raged to see that the +anxiety about Hicks had blighted the joy of the day for her. + +“How the deuce could he get about without any money?” he demanded of +Dunham, as soon as they were alone. + +Dunham vainly struggled to look him in the eye. “Staniford,” he +faltered, with much more culpability than some criminals would confess a +murder, “I lent him five dollars!” + +“You lent him five dollars!” gasped Staniford. + +“Yes,” replied Dunham, miserably; “he got me aside, and asked me for it. +What could I do? What would you have done yourself?” + +Staniford made no answer. He walked some paces away, and then returned +to where Dunham stood helpless. “He's lying about there dead-drunk, +somewhere, I suppose. By Heaven, I could almost wish he was. He couldn't +come back, then, at any rate.” + +The time lagged along toward the moment appointed by the captain, and +the preparations for the ship's departure were well advanced, when +a boat was seen putting out from shore with two rowers, and rapidly +approaching the Aroostook. In the stern, as it drew nearer, the familiar +figure of Hicks discovered itself in the act of waving a handkerchief He +scrambled up the side of the ship in excellent spirits, and gave Dunham +a detailed account of his adventures since they had parted. As always +happens with such scapegraces, he seemed to have had a good time, +however he had spoiled the pleasure of the others. At tea, when Lydia +had gone away, he clapped down a sovereign near Dunham's plate. + +“Your five dollars,” he said. + +“Why, how--” Dunham began. + +“How did I get on without it? My dear boy, I sold my watch! A ship's +time is worth no more than a setting hen's,--eh, captain?--and why take +note of it? Besides, I always like to pay my debts promptly: +there's nothing mean about me. I'm not going ashore again without my +pocket-book, I can tell you.” He winked shamelessly at Captain Jenness. +“If you hadn't been along, Dunham, I couldn't have made a raise, I +suppose. _You_ wouldn't have lent me five dollars, Captain Jenness.” + +“No, I wouldn't,” said the captain, bluntly. + +“And I believe you'd have sailed without me, if I hadn't got back on +time.” + +“I would,” said the captain, as before. + +Hicks threw back his head, and laughed. Probably no human being had +ever before made so free with Captain Jenness at his own table; but the +captain must have felt that this contumacy was part of the general +risk which he had taken in taking Hicks, and he contented himself with +maintaining a silence that would have appalled a less audacious spirit. +Hicks's gayety, however, was not to be quelled in that way. + +“Gibraltar wouldn't be a bad place to put up at for a while,” he said. +“Lots of good fellows among the officers, they say, and fun going all +the while. First-class gunning in the Cork Woods at St. Roque. If +it hadn't been for the _res angusta domi_,--you know what I mean, +captain,--I should have let you get along with your old dug-out, as +the gentleman in the water said to Noah.” His hilarity had something +alarmingly knowing in it; there was a wildness in the pleasure with +which he bearded the captain, like that of a man in his first cups; yet +he had not been drinking. He played round the captain's knowledge of +the sanative destitution in which he was making the voyage with mocking +recurrence; but he took himself off to bed early, and the captain came +through his trials with unimpaired temper. Dunham disappeared not long +afterwards; and Staniford's vague hope that Lydia might be going on deck +to watch the lights of the town die out behind the ship as they sailed +away was disappointed. The second mate made a point of lounging near him +where he sat alone in their wonted place. + +“Well,” he said, “he did come back sober.” + +“Yes,” said Staniford. + +“Next to not comin' back at all,” the mate continued, “I suppose it was +the best thing he could do.” He lounged away. Neither his voice nor his +manner had that quality of disappointment which characterizes those who +have mistakenly prophesied evil. Staniford had a mind to call him back, +and ask him what he meant; but he refrained, and he went to bed at last +resolved to unburden himself of the whole Hicks business once for all. +He felt that he had had quite enough of it, both in the abstract and in +its relation to Lydia. + + + + +XVI. + + +Hicks did not join the others at breakfast. They talked of what Lydia +had seen at Gibraltar, where Staniford had been on a former voyage. +Dunham had made it a matter of conscience to know all about it +beforehand from his guide-books, and had risen early that morning to +correct his science by his experience in a long entry in the diary which +he was keeping for Miss Hibbard. The captain had the true sea-farer's +ignorance, and was amused at the things reported by his passengers of +a place where he had been ashore so often; Hicks's absence doubtless +relieved him, but he did not comment on the cabin-boy's announcement +that he was still asleep, except to order him let alone. + +They were seated at their one o'clock dinner before the recluse made +any sign. Then he gave note of his continued existence by bumping and +thumping sounds within his state-room, as if some one were dressing +there in a heavy sea. + +“Mr. Hicks seems to be taking his rough weather retrospectively,” said +Staniford, with rather tremulous humor. + +The door was flung open, and Hicks reeled out, staying himself by the +door-knob. Even before he appeared, a reek of strong waters had preceded +him. He must have been drinking all night. His face was flushed, and +his eyes were bloodshot. He had no collar on; but he wore a cravat and +otherwise he was accurately and even fastidiously dressed. He balanced +himself by the door-knob, and measured the distance he had to make +before reaching his place at the table, smiling, and waving a delicate +handkerchief, which he held in his hand: “Spilt c'logne, tryin' to +scent my hic--handkerchief. Makes deuced bad smell--too much c'logne; +smells--alcoholic. Thom's, bear a hand, 's good f'low. No? All right, +go on with your waitin'. B-ic--business b'fore pleasure, 's feller says. +Play it alone, I guess.” + +The boy had shrunk back in dismay, and Hicks contrived to reach his +place by one of those precipitate dashes with which drunken men attain a +point, when the luck is with them. He looked smilingly round the circle +of faces. Staniford and the captain exchanged threatening looks of +intelligence, while Mr. Watterson and Dunham subordinately waited their +motion. But the advantage, as in such cases, was on the side of Hicks. +He knew it, with a drunkard's subtlety, and was at his ease. + +“No app'tite, friends; but thought I'd come out, keep you from feeling +lonesome.” He laughed and hiccuped, and smiled upon them all. “Well, +cap'n,” he continued, “'covered from 'tigues day, sterday? You look +blooming's usual. Thom's, pass the--pass the--victuals lively, my son, +and fetch along coffee soon. Some the friends up late, and want their +coffee. Nothing like coffee, carry off'fee's.” He winked to the men, all +round; and then added, to Lydia: “Sorry see you in this state--I mean, +sorry see me--Can't make it that way either; up stump on both routes. +What I mean is, sorry hadn't coffee first. But _you're_ all right--all +right! Like see anybody offer you disrespec', 'n I'm around. Tha's all.” + +Till he addressed her, Lydia had remained motionless, first with +bewilderment, and then with open abhorrence. She could hardly have seen +in South Bradfield a man who had been drinking. Even in haying, or other +sharpest stress of farmwork, our farmer and his men stay themselves with +nothing stronger than molasses-water, or, in extreme cases, cider with +a little corn soaked in it; and the Mill Village, where she had taught +school, was under the iron rule of a local vote for prohibition. She +stared in stupefaction at Hicks's heated, foolish face; she started +at his wild movements, and listened with dawning intelligence to his +hiccup-broken speech, with its thickened sibilants and its wandering +emphasis. When he turned to her, and accompanied his words with a +reassuring gesture, she recoiled, and as if breaking an ugly fascination +she gave a low, shuddering cry, and looked at Staniford. + +“Thomas,” he said, “Miss Blood was going to take her dessert on deck +to-day. Dunham?” + +Dunham sprang to his feet, and led her out of the cabin. + +The movement met Hicks's approval. “Tha's right; 'sert on deck, 'joy +landscape and pudding together,--Rhine steamer style. All right. Be +up there m'self soon's I get my coffee.” He winked again with drunken +sharpness. “I know wha's what. Be up there m'self, 'n a minute.” + +“If you offer to go up,” said Staniford, in a low voice, as soon as +Lydia was out of the way, “I'll knock you down!” + +“Captain,” said Mr. Watterson, venturing, perhaps for the first time in +his whole maritime history, upon a suggestion to his superior officer, +“shall I clap him in irons?” + +“Clap him in irons!” roared Captain Jenness. “Clap him in bed! Look +here, you!” He turned to Hicks, but the latter, who had been bristling +at Staniford's threat, now relaxed in a crowing laugh:-- + +“Tha's right, captain. Irons no go, 'cept in case mutiny; bed perfectly +legal 't all times. Bed is good. But trouble is t' enforce it.” + +“Where's your bottle?” demanded the captain, rising from the seat in +which a paralysis of fury had kept him hitherto. “I want your bottle.” + +“Oh, bottle's all right! Bottle's under pillow. Empty,--empty's Jonah's +gourd; 'nother sea-faring party,--Jonah. S'cure the shadow ere the +substance fade. Drunk all the brandy, old boy. Bottle's a canteen; +'vantage of military port to houseless stranger. Brought the brandy +on board under my coat; nobody noticed,--so glad get me back. Prodigal +son's return,--fatted calf under his coat.” + +The reprobate ended his boastful confession with another burst of +hiccuping, and Staniford helplessly laughed. + +“Do me proud,” said Hicks. “Proud, I 'sure you. Gentleman, every time, +Stanny. Know good thing when you see it--hear it, I mean.” + +“Look here, Hicks,” said Staniford, choosing to make friends with the +mammon of unrighteousness, if any good end might be gained by it. “You +know you're drunk, and you're not fit to be about. Go back to bed, +that's a good fellow; and come out again, when you're all right. You +don't want to do anything you'll be sorry for.” + +“No, no! No, you don't, Stanny. Coffee'll make me all right. Coffee +always does. Coffee--Heaven's lash besh gift to man. 'Scovered +subse-subs'quently to grape. See? Comes after claret in course of +nature. Captain doesn't understand the 'lusion. All right, captain. +Little learning dangerous thing.” He turned sharply on Mr. Watterson, +who had remained inertly in his place. “Put me in irons, heh! _You_ put +me in irons, you old Triton. Put _me_ in irons, will you?” His +amiable mood was passing; before one could say so, it was past. He was +meditating means of active offense. He gathered up the carving-knife and +fork, and held them close under Mr. Watterson's nose. “Smell that!” he +said, and frowned as darkly as a man of so little eyebrow could. + +At this senseless defiance Staniford, in spite of himself, broke into +another laugh, and even Captain Jenness grinned. Mr. Watterson sat with +his head drawn as far back as possible, and with his nose wrinkled at +the affront offered it. “Captain,” he screamed, appealing even in this +extremity to his superior, “shall I fetch him _one?_” + +“No, no!” cried Staniford, springing from his chair; “don't hit him! He +isn't responsible. Let's get him into his room.” + +“Fetch me _one_, heh?” said Hicks, rising, with dignity, and beginning +to turn up his cuffs. “_One_! It'll take more than one, fetch _me_. +Stan' up, 'f you're man enough.” He was squaring at Mr. Watterson, +when he detected signs of strategic approach in Staniford and Captain +Jenness. He gave a wild laugh, and shrank into a corner. “No! No, you +don't, boys,” he said. + +They continued their advance, one on either side, and reinforced by Mr. +Watterson hemmed him in. The drunken man has the advantage of his sober +brother in never seeming to be on the alert. Hicks apparently entered +into the humor of the affair. “Sur-hic-surrender!” he said, with a smile +in his heavy eyes. He darted under the extended arms of Captain Jenness, +who was leading the centre of the advance, and before either wing could +touch him he was up the gangway and on the deck. + +Captain Jenness indulged one of those expressions, very rare with him, +which are supposed to be forgiven to good men in moments of extreme +perplexity, and Mr. Watterson profited by the precedent to unburden his +heart in a paraphrase of the captain's language. Staniford's laugh had +as much cursing in it as their profanity. + +He mechanically followed Hicks to the deck, prepared to renew the +attempt for his capture there. But Hicks had not stopped near Dunham +and Lydia. He had gone forward on the other side of the ship, and was +leaning quietly on the rail, and looking into the sea. Staniford paused +irresolute for a moment, and then sat down beside Lydia, and they +all tried to feign that nothing unpleasant had happened, or was still +impending. But their talk had the wandering inconclusiveness which was +inevitable, and the eyes of each from time to time furtively turned +toward Hicks. + +For half an hour he hardly changed his position. At the end of that +time, they found him looking intently at them; and presently he began to +work slowly back to the waist of the ship, but kept to his own side. He +was met on the way by the second mate, when nearly opposite where they +sat. + +“Ain't you pretty comfortable where you are?” they heard the mate +asking. “Guess I wouldn't go aft any further just yet.” + +“_You're_ all right, Mason,” Hicks answered. “Going below--down cellar, +'s feller says; go to bed.” + +“Well, that's a pious idea,” said the mate. “You couldn't do better than +that. I'll lend you a hand.” + +“Don't care 'f I do,” responded Hicks, taking the mate's proffered arm. +But he really seemed to need it very little; he walked perfectly well, +and he did not look across at the others again. + +At the head of the gangway he encountered Captain Jenness and Mr. +Watterson, who had completed the perquisition they had remained to make +in his state-room. Mr. Watterson came up empty-handed; but the captain +bore the canteen in which the common enemy had been so artfully conveyed +on board. He walked, darkly scowling, to the rail, and flung the canteen +into the sea. Hicks, who had saluted his appearance with a glare as +savage as his own, yielded to his whimsical sense of the futility of +this vengeance. He gave his fleeting, drunken laugh: “Good old boy, +Captain Jenness. Means well--means well. But lacks--lacks--forecast. +Pounds of cure, but no prevention. Not much on bite, but death on bark. +Heh?” He waggled his hand offensively at the captain, and disappeared, +loosely floundering down the cabin stairs, holding hard by the +hand-rail, and fumbling round with his foot for the steps before he put +it down. + +“As soon as he's in his room, Mr. Watterson, you lock him in.” The +captain handed his officer a key, and walked away forward, with a +hang-dog look on his kindly face, which he kept averted from his +passengers. + +The sound of Hicks's descent had hardly ceased when clapping and +knocking noises were heard again, and the face of the troublesome little +wretch reappeared. He waved Mr. Watterson aside with his left hand, and +in default of specific orders the latter allowed him to mount to +the deck again. Hicks stayed himself a moment, and lurched to where +Staniford and Dunham sat with Lydia. + +“What I wish say Miss Blood is,” he began,--“what I wish say is, +peculiar circumstances make no difference with man if man's gentleman. +What I say is, everybody 'spec's--What I say is, circumstances +don't alter cases; lady's a lady--What I want do is beg you fellows' +pardon--beg _her_ pardon--if anything I said that firs' morning--” + +“Go away!” cried Staniford, beginning to whiten round the nostrils. +“Hold your tongue!” + +Hicks fell back a pace, and looked at him with the odd effect of now +seeing him for the first time. “What _you_ want?” he asked. “What you +mean? Slingin' criticism ever since you came on this ship! What you mean +by it? Heh? What you mean?” + +Staniford rose, and Lydia gave a start. He cast an angry look at her. +“Do you think I'd hurt him?” he demanded. + +Hicks went on: “Sorry, very sorry, 'larm a lady,--specially lady we all +respec'. But this particular affair. Touch--touches my honor. You said,” + he continued, “'f I came on deck, you'd knock me down. Why don't you do +it? Wha's the matter with you? Sling criticism ever since you been +on ship, and 'fraid do it! 'Fraid, you hear? 'F-ic--'fraid, I +say.” Staniford slowly walked away forward, and Hicks followed him, +threatening him with word and gesture. Now and then Staniford thrust +him aside, and addressed him some expostulation, and Hicks laughed and +submitted. Then, after a silent excursion to the other side of the ship, +he would return and renew his one-sided quarrel. Staniford seemed to +forbid the interference of the crew, and alternately soothed and baffled +his tedious adversary, who could still be heard accusing him of slinging +criticism, and challenging him to combat. He leaned with his back to the +rail, and now looked quietly into Hicks's crazy face, when the latter +paused in front of him, and now looked down with a worried, wearied air. +At last he crossed to the other side, and began to come aft again. + +“Mr. Dunham!” cried Lydia, starting up. “I know what Mr. Staniford wants +to do. He wants to keep him away from me. Let me go down to the cabin. I +can't walk; _please_ help me!” Her eyes were full of tears, and the hand +trembled that she laid on Dunham's arm, but she controlled her voice. + +He softly repressed her, while he intently watched Staniford. “No, no!” + +“But he can't bear it much longer,” she pleaded. “And if he should--” + +“Staniford would never strike him,” said Dunham, calmly. “Don't be +afraid. Look! He's coming back with him; he's trying to get him below; +they'll shut him up there. That's the only chance. Sit down, please.” + She dropped into her seat, hid her eyes for an instant, and then fixed +them again on the two young men. + +Hicks had got between Staniford and the rail. He seized him by the arm, +and, pulling him round, suddenly struck at him. It was too much for his +wavering balance: his feet shot from under him, and he went backwards in +a crooked whirl and tumble, over the vessel's side. + +Staniford uttered a cry of disgust and rage. “Oh, you little brute!” he +shouted, and with what seemed a single gesture he flung off his coat and +the low shoes he wore, and leaped the railing after him. + +The cry of “Man overboard!” rang round the ship, and Captain Jenness's +order, “Down with your helm! Lower a boat, Mr. Mason!” came, quick as it +was, after the second mate had prepared to let go; and he and two of +the men were in the boat, and she was sliding from her davits, while the +Aroostook was coming up to the light wind and losing headway. + +When the boat touched the water, two heads had appeared above the +surface terribly far away. “Hold on, for God's sake! We'll be there in a +second.” + +“All right!” Staniford's voice called back. “Be quick.” The heads rose +and sank with the undulation of the water. The swift boat appeared to +crawl. + +By the time it reached the place where they had been seen, the heads +disappeared, and the men in the boat seemed to be rowing blindly about. +The mate stood upright. Suddenly he dropped and clutched at something +over the boat's side. The people on the ship could see three hands on +her gunwale; a figure was pulled up into the boat, and proved to be +Hicks; then Staniford, seizing the gunwale with both hands, swung +himself in. + +A shout went up from the ship, and Staniford waved his hand. Lydia +waited where she hung upon the rail, clutching it hard with her hands, +till the boat was along-side. Then from white she turned fire-red, and +ran below and locked herself in her room. + + + + +XVII. + + +Dunham followed Staniford to their room, and helped him off with his +wet clothes. He tried to say something ideally fit in recognition of +his heroic act, and he articulated some bald commonplaces of praise, and +shook Staniford's clammy hand. “Yes,” said the latter, submitting; “but +the difficulty about a thing of this sort is that you don't know whether +you haven't been an ass. It has been pawed over so much by the romancers +that you don't feel like a hero in real life, but a hero of fiction. +I've a notion that Hicks and I looked rather ridiculous going over the +ship's side; I know we did, coming back. No man can reveal his greatness +of soul in wet clothes. Did Miss Blood laugh?” + +“Staniford!” said Dunham, in an accent of reproach. “You do her great +injustice. She felt what you had done in the way you would wish,--if you +cared.” + +“What did she say?” asked Staniford, quickly. + +“Nothing. But--” + +“That's an easy way of expressing one's admiration of heroic behavior. +I hope she'll stick to that line. I hope she won't feel it at all +necessary to say anything in recognition of my prowess; it would be +extremely embarrassing. I've got Hicks back again, but I couldn't stand +any gratitude for it. Not that I'm ashamed of the performance. Perhaps +if it had been anybody but Hicks, I should have waited for them to +lower a boat. But Hicks had peculiar claims. You couldn't let a man +you disliked so much welter round a great while. Where is the poor old +fellow? Is he clothed and in his right mind again?” + +“He seemed to be sober enough,” said Dunham, “when he came on board; but +I don't think he's out yet.” + +“We must let Thomas in to gather up this bathing-suit,” observed +Staniford. “What a Newportish flavor it gives the place!” He was +excited, and in great gayety of spirits. + +He and Dunham went out into the cabin, where they found Captain Jenness +pacing to and fro. “Well, sir,” he said, taking Staniford's hand, +and crossing his right with his left, so as to include Dunham in his +congratulations, “you ought to have been a sailor!” Then he added, as if +the unqualified praise might seem fulsome, “But if you'd been a sailor, +you wouldn't have tried a thing like that. You'd have had more sense. +The chances were ten to one against you.” + +Staniford laughed. “Was it so bad as that? I shall begin to respect +myself.” + +The captain did not answer, but his iron grip closed hard upon +Staniford's hand, and he frowned in keen inspection of Hicks, who at +that moment came out of his state-room, looking pale and quite sobered. +Captain Jenness surveyed him from head to foot, and then from foot +to head, and pausing at the level of his eyes he said, still holding +Staniford by the hand: “The trouble with a man aboard ship is that he +can't turn a blackguard out-of-doors just when he likes. The Aroostook +puts in at Messina. You'll be treated well till we get there, and then +if I find you on my vessel five minutes after she comes to anchor, I'll +heave you overboard, and I'll take care that nobody jumps after you. Do +you hear? And you won't find me doing any such fool kindness as I did +when I took you on board, soon again.” + +“Oh, I say, Captain Jenness,” began Staniford. + +“He's all right,” interrupted Hicks. “I'm a blackguard; I know it; and I +don't think I was worth fishing up. But you've done it, and I mustn't go +back on you, I suppose.” He lifted his poor, weak, bad little face, and +looked Staniford in the eyes with a pathos that belied the slang of his +speech. The latter released his hand from Captain Jenness and gave it to +Hicks, who wrung it, as he kept looking him in the eyes, while his +lips twitched pitifully, like a child's. The captain gave a quick snort +either of disgust or of sympathy, and turned abruptly about and bundled +himself up out of the cabin. + +“I say!” exclaimed Staniford, “a cup of coffee wouldn't be bad, would +it? Let's have some coffee, Thomas, about as quick as the cook can make +it,” he added, as the boy came out from his stateroom with a lump of wet +clothes in his hands. “You wanted some coffee a little while ago,” he +said to Hicks, who hung his head at the joke. + +For the rest of the day Staniford was the hero of the ship. The men +looked at him from a distance, and talked of him together. Mr. Watterson +hung about whenever Captain Jenness drew near him, as if in the hope +of overhearing some acceptable expression in which he could second his +superior officer. Failing this, and being driven to despair, “Find the +water pretty cold, sir?” he asked at last; and after that seemed to +feel that he had discharged his duty as well as might be under the +extraordinary circumstances. + +The second mate, during the course of the afternoon, contrived to pass +near Staniford. “Why, there wa'n't no _need_ of your doing it,” he said, +in a bated tone. “I could ha' had him out with the boat, _soon enough_.” + +Staniford treasured up these meagre expressions of the general +approbation, and would not have had them different. From this time, +within the narrow bounds that brought them all necessarily together in +some sort, Hicks abolished himself as nearly as possible. He chose often +to join the second mate at meals, which Mr. Mason, in accordance with +the discipline of the ship, took apart both from the crew and his +superior officers. Mason treated the voluntary outcast with a sort of +sarcastic compassion, as a man whose fallen state was not without its +points as a joke to the indifferent observer, and yet might appeal to +the pity of one who knew such cases through the misery they inflicted. +Staniford heard him telling Hicks about his brother-in-law, and dwelling +upon the peculiar relief which the appearance of his name in the +mortality list gave all concerned in him. Hicks listened in apathetic +patience and acquiescence; but Staniford thought that he enjoyed, as +much as he could enjoy anything, the second officer's frankness. For his +own part, he found that having made bold to keep this man in the world +he had assumed a curious responsibility towards him. It became his +business to show him that he was not shunned by his fellow-creatures, +to hearten and cheer him up. It was heavy work. Hicks with his joke was +sometimes odious company, but he was also sometimes amusing; without +it, he was of a terribly dull conversation. He accepted Staniford's +friendliness too meekly for good comradery; he let it add, apparently, +to his burden of gratitude, rather than lessen it. Staniford smoked with +him, and told him stories; he walked up and down with him, and made a +point of parading their good understanding, but his spirits seemed to +sink the lower. “Deuce take him!” mused his benefactor; “he's in love +with her!” But he now had the satisfaction, such as it was, of seeing +that if he was in love he was quite without hope. Lydia had never +relented in her abhorrence of Hicks since the day of his disgrace. There +seemed no scorn in her condemnation, but neither was there any mercy. +In her simple life she had kept unsophisticated the severe morality of a +child, and it was this that judged him, that found him unpardonable and +outlawed him. He had never ventured to speak to her since that day, and +Staniford never saw her look at him except when Hicks was not looking, +and then with a repulsion which was very curious. Staniford could have +pitied him, and might have interceded so far as to set him nearer right +in her eyes; but he felt that she avoided him, too; there were no more +walks on the deck, no more readings in the cabin; the checker-board, +which professed to be the History of England, In 2 Vols., remained a +closed book. The good companionship of a former time, in which they had +so often seemed like brothers and sister, was gone. “Hicks has smashed +our Happy Family,” Staniford said to Dunham, with little pleasure in his +joke. “Upon my word, I think I had better have left him in the water.” + Lydia kept a great deal in her own room; sometimes when Staniford came +down into the cabin he found her there, talking with Thomas of little +things that amuse children; sometimes when he went on deck in the +evening she would be there in her accustomed seat, and the second mate, +with face and figure half averted, and staying himself by one hand on +the shrouds, would be telling her something to which she listened with +lifted chin and attentive eyes. The mate would go away when Staniford +appeared, but that did not help matters, for then Lydia went too. At +table she said very little; she had the effect of placing herself more +and more under the protection of the captain. The golden age, when they +had all laughed and jested so freely and fearlessly together, under her +pretty sovereignty, was past, and they seemed far dispersed in a common +exile. Staniford imagined she grew pale and thin; he asked Dunham if he +did not see it, but Dunham had not observed. “I think matters have taken +a very desirable shape, socially,” he said. “Miss Blood will reach her +friends as fancy-free as she left home.” + +“Yes,” Staniford assented vaguely; “that's the great object.” + +After a while Dunham asked, “She's never said anything to you about your +rescuing Hicks?” + +“Rescuing? What rescuing? They'd have had him out in another minute, +any way,” said Staniford, fretfully. Then he brooded angrily upon the +subject: “But I can tell you what: considering all the circumstances, +she might very well have said something. It looks obtuse, or it looks +hard. She must have known that it all came about through my trying to +keep him away from her.” + +“Oh, yes; she knew that,” said Dunham; “she spoke of it at the time. But +I thought--” + +“Oh, she did! Then I think that it would be very little if she +recognized the mere fact that something had happened.” + +“Why, you said you hoped she wouldn't. You said it would be +embarrassing. You're hard to please, Staniford.” + +“I shouldn't choose to have her speak for _my_ pleasure,” Staniford +returned. “But it argues a dullness and coldness in her--” + +“I don't believe she's dull; I don't believe she's cold,” said Dunham, +warmly. + +“What _do_ you believe she is?” + +“Afraid.” + +“Pshaw!” said Staniford. + +The eve of their arrival at Messina, he discharged one more duty by +telling Hicks that he had better come on to Trieste with them. “Captain +Jenness asked me to speak to you about it,” he said. “He feels a little +awkward, and thought I could open the matter better.” + +“The captain's all right,” answered Hicks, with unruffled humility, +“but I'd rather stop at Messina. I'm going to get home as soon as I +can,--strike a bee-line.” + +“Look here!” said Staniford, laying his hand on his shoulder. “How are +you going to manage for money?” + +“Monte di Pietà,” replied Hicks. “I've been there before. Used to have +most of my things in the care of the state when I was studying medicine +in Paris. I've got a lot of rings and trinkets that'll carry me through, +with what's left of my watch.” + +“Are you sure?” + +“Sure.” + +“Because you can draw on me, if you're going to be short.” + +“Thanks,” said Hicks. “There's something I should like to ask you,” he +added, after a moment. “I see as well as you do that Miss Blood isn't +the same as she was before. I want to know--I can't always be sure +afterwards--whether I did or said anything out of the way in her +presence.” + +“You were drunk,” said Staniford, frankly, “but beyond that you were +irreproachable, as regarded Miss Blood. You were even exemplary.” + +“Yes, I know,” said Hicks, with a joyless laugh. “Sometimes it takes +that turn. I don't think I could stand it if I had shown her any +disrespect. She's a lady,--a perfect lady; she's the best girl I ever +saw.” + +“Hicks,” said Staniford, presently, “I haven't bored you in regard to +that little foible of yours. Aren't you going to try to do something +about it?” + +“I'm going home to get them to shut me up somewhere,” answered Hicks. +“But I doubt if anything can be done. I've studied the thing; I am a +doctor,--or I would be if I were not a drunkard,--and I've diagnosed the +case pretty thoroughly. For three months or four months, now, I shall +be all right. After that I shall go to the bad for a few weeks; and I'll +have to scramble back the best way I can. Nobody can help me. That +was the mistake this last time. I shouldn't have wanted anything at +Gibraltar if I could have had my spree out at Boston. But I let them +take me before it was over, and ship me off. I thought I'd try it. Well, +it was like a burning fire every minute, all the way. I thought I +should die. I tried to get something from the sailors; I tried to steal +Gabriel's cooking-wine. When I got that brandy in Gibraltar I was wild. +Talk about heroism! I tell you it was superhuman, keeping that canteen +corked till night! I was in hopes I could get through it,--sleep it +off,--and nobody be any the wiser. But it wouldn't work. O Lord, Lord, +Lord!” + +Hicks was as common a soul as could well be. His conception of life was +vulgar, and his experience of it was probably vulgar. He had a good mind +enough, with abundance of that humorous brightness which may hereafter +be found the most national quality of the Americans; but his ideals were +pitiful, and the language of his heart was a drolling slang. Yet his +doom lifted him above his low conditions, and made him tragic; his +despair gave him the dignity of a mysterious expiation, and set him +apart with all those who suffer beyond human help. Without deceiving +himself as to the quality of the man, Staniford felt awed by the +darkness of his fate. + +“Can't you try somehow to stand up against it, and fight it off? You're +so young yet, it can't--” + +The wretched creature burst into tears. “Oh, try,--try! You don't +know what you're talking about. Don't you suppose I've had reasons for +trying? If you could see how my mother looks when I come out of one of +my drunks,--and my father, poor old man! It's no use; I tell you it's no +use. I shall go just so long, and then I shall want it, and _will_ have +it, unless they shut me up for life. My God, I wish I was dead! Well!” + He rose from the place where they had been sitting together, and held +out his hand to Staniford. “I'm going to be off in the morning before +you're out, and I'll say good-by now. I want you to keep this chair, and +give it to Miss Blood, for me, when you get to Trieste.” + +“I will, Hicks,” said Staniford, gently. + +“I want her to know that I was ashamed of myself. I think she'll like to +know it.” + +“I will say anything to her that you wish,” replied Staniford. + +“There's nothing else. If ever you see a man with my complaint fall +overboard again, think twice before you jump after him.” + +He wrung Staniford's hand, and went below, leaving him with a dull +remorse that he should ever have hated Hicks, and that he could not +quite like him even now. + +But he did his duty by him to the last. He rose at dawn, and was on deck +when Hicks went over the side into the boat which was to row him to the +steamer for Naples, lying at anchor not far off. He presently returned, +to Staniford's surprise, and scrambled up to the deck of the Aroostook. +“The steamer sails to-night,” he said, “and perhaps I couldn't raise the +money by that time. I wish you'd lend me ten napoleons. I'll send 'em to +you from London. There's my father's address: I'm going to telegraph +to him.” He handed Staniford a card, and the latter went below for the +coins. “Thanks,” said Hicks, when he reappeared with them. “Send 'em to +you where?” + +“Care Blumenthals', Venice. I'm going to be there some weeks.” + +In the gray morning light the lurid color of tragedy had faded out of +Hicks. He was merely a baddish-looking young fellow whom Staniford had +lent ten napoleons that he might not see again. Staniford watched the +steamer uneasily, both from the Aroostook and from the shore, where he +strolled languidly about with Dunham part of the day. When she sailed in +the evening, he felt that Hicks's absence was worth twice the money. + + + + +XVIII. + + +The young men did not come back to the ship at night, but went to a +hotel, for the greater convenience of seeing the city. They had talked +of offering to show Lydia about, but their talk had not ended in +anything. Vexed with himself to be vexed at such a thing, Staniford at +the bottom of his heart still had a soreness which the constant sight +of her irritated. It was in vain that he said there was no occasion, +perhaps no opportunity, for her to speak, yet he was hurt that she +seemed to have seen nothing uncommon in his risking his own life for +that of a man like Hicks. He had set the action low enough in his own +speech; but he knew that it was not ignoble, and it puzzled him that it +should be so passed over. She had not even said a word of congratulation +upon his own escape. It might be that she did not know how, or did not +think it was her place to speak. She was curiously estranged. He felt as +if he had been away, and she had grown from a young girl into womanhood +during his absence. This fantastic conceit was strongest when he met her +with Captain Jenness one day. He had found friends at the hotel, as one +always does in Italy, if one's world is at all wide,--some young ladies, +and a lady, now married, with whom he had once violently flirted. She +was willing that he should envy her husband; that amused him in his +embittered mood; he let her drive him about; and they met Lydia and the +captain, walking together. Staniford started up from his lounging ease, +as if her limpid gaze had searched his conscience, and bowed with an air +which did not escape his companion. + +“Ah! Who's that?” she asked, with the boldness which she made pass for +eccentricity. + +“A lady of my acquaintance,” said Staniford, at his laziest again. + +“A lady?” said the other, with an inflection that she saw hurt. “Why +the marine animal, then? She bowed very prettily; she blushed prettily, +too.” + +“She's a very pretty girl,” replied Staniford. + +“Charming! But why blush?” + +“I've heard that there are ladies who blush for nothing.” + +“Is she Italian?” + +“Yes,--in voice.” + +“Oh, an American _prima donna_!” Staniford did not answer. “Who is she? +Where is she from?” + +“South Bradfield, Mass.” Staniford's eyes twinkled at her pursuit, +which he did not trouble himself to turn aside, but baffled by mere +impenetrability. + +The party at the hotel suggested that the young men should leave their +ship and go on with them to Naples; Dunham was tempted, for he could +have reached Dresden sooner by land; but Staniford overruled him, and at +the end of four days they went back to the Aroostook. They said it +was like getting home, but in fact they felt the change from the airy +heights and breadths of the hotel to the small cabin and the closets +in which they slept; it was not so great alleviation as Captain Jenness +seemed to think that one of them could now have Hicks's stateroom. But +Dunham took everything sweetly, as his habit was; and, after all, they +were meeting their hardships voluntarily. Some of the ladies came with +them in the boat which rowed them to the Aroostook; the name made them +laugh; that lady who wished Staniford to regret her waved him her hand +kerchief as the boat rowed away again. She had with difficulty been kept +from coming on board by the refusal of the others to come with her. She +had contrived to associate herself with him again in the minds of the +others, and this, perhaps, was all that she desired. But the +sense of her frivolity--her not so much vacant-mindedness as +vacant-heartedness--was like a stain, and he painted in Lydia's face +when they first met the reproach which was in his own breast. + +Her greeting, however, was frank and cordial; it was a real welcome. +Staniford wondered if it were not more frank and cordial than he quite +liked, and whether she was merely relieved by Hicks's absence, or had +freed herself from that certain subjection in which she had hitherto +been to himself. + +Yet it was charming to see her again as she had been in the happiest +moments of the past, and to feel that, Hicks being out of her world, +her trust of everybody in it was perfect once more. She treated that +interval of coldness and diffidence as all women know how to treat a +thing which they wish not to have been; and Staniford, a man on whom no +pleasing art of her sex was ever lost, admired and gratefully accepted +the effect of this. He fell luxuriously into the old habits again. They +had still almost the time of a steamer's voyage to Europe before them; +it was as if they were newly setting sail from America. The first night +after they left Messina Staniford found her in her place in the waist of +the ship, and sat down beside her there, and talked; the next night she +did not come; the third she came, and he asked her to walk with him. The +elastic touch of her hand on his arm, the rhythmic movement of her steps +beside him, were things that seemed always to have been. She told him of +what she had seen and done in Messina. This glimpse of Italy had vividly +animated her; she had apparently found a world within herself as well as +without. + +With a suddenly depressing sense of loss, Staniford had a prevision +of splendor in her, when she should have wholly blossomed out in that +fervid air of art and beauty; he would fain have kept her still a +wilding rosebud of the New England wayside. He hated the officers who +should wonder at her when she first came into the Square of St. Mark +with her aunt and uncle. + +Her talk about Messina went on; he was thinking of her, and not of her +talk; but he saw that she was not going to refer to their encounter. +“You make me jealous of the objects of interest in Messina,” he said. +“You seem to remember seeing everything but me, there.” + +She stopped abruptly. “Yes,” she said, after a deep breath, “I saw you +there;” and she did not offer to go on again. + +“Where were you going, that morning?” + +“Oh, to the cathedral. Captain Jenness left me there, and I looked all +through it till he came back from the consulate.” + +“Left you there alone!” cried Staniford. + +“Yes; I told him I should not feel lonely, and I should not stir out +of it till he came back. I took one of those little pine chairs and sat +down, when I got tired, and looked at the people coming to worship, and +the strangers with their guide-books.” + +“Did any of them look at you?” + +“They stared a good deal. It seems to be the custom in Europe; but I +told Captain Jenness I should probably have to go about by myself in +Venice, as my aunt's an invalid, and I had better get used to it.” + +She paused, and seemed to be referring the point to Staniford. + +“Yes,--oh, yes,” he said. + +“Captain Jenness said it was their way, over here,” she resumed; “but he +guessed I had as much right in a church as anybody.” + +“The captain's common sense is infallible,” answered Staniford. He was +ashamed to know that the beautiful young girl was as improperly alone +in church as she would have been in a café, and he began to hate the +European world for the fact. It seemed better to him that the Aroostook +should put about and sail back to Boston with her, as she was,--better +that she should be going to her aunt in South Bradfield than to her aunt +in Venice. “We shall soon be at our journey's end, now,” he said, after +a while. + +“Yes; the captain thinks in about eight days, if we have good weather.” + +“Shall you be sorry?” + +“Oh, I like the sea very well.” + +“But the new life you are coming to,--doesn't that alarm you sometimes?” + +“Yes, it does,” she admitted, with a kind of reluctance. + +“So much that you would like to turn back from it?” + +“Oh, no!” she answered quickly. Of course not, Staniford thought; +nothing could be worse than going back to South Bradfield. “I keep +thinking about it,” she added. “You say Venice is such a very strange +place. Is it any use my having seen Messina?” + +“Oh, all Italian cities have something in common.” + +“I presume,” she went on, “that after I get there everything will become +natural. But I don't like to look forward. It--scares me. I can't form +any idea of it.” + +“You needn't be afraid,” said Staniford. “It's only more beautiful than +anything you can imagine.” + +“Yes--yes; I know,” Lydia answered. + +“And do you really dread getting there?” + +“Yes, I dread it,” she said. + +“Why,” returned Staniford lightly, “so do I; but it's for a different +reason, I'm afraid. I should like such a voyage as this to go on +forever. Now and then I think it will; it seems always to have gone on. +Can you remember when it began?” + +“A great while ago,” she answered, humoring his fantasy, “but I can +remember.” She paused a long while. “I don't know,” she said at last, +“whether I can make you understand just how I feel. But it seems to me +as if I had died, and this long voyage was a kind of dream that I was +going to wake up from in another world. I often used to think, when I +was a little girl, that when I got to heaven it would be lonesome--I +don't know whether I can express it. You say that Italy--that Venice--is +so beautiful; but if I don't know any one there--” She stopped, as if +she had gone too far. + +“But you do know somebody there,” said Staniford. “Your aunt--” + +“Yes,” said the girl, and looked away. + +“But the people in this long dream,--you're going to let some of them +appear to you there,” he suggested. + +“Oh, yes,” she said, reflecting his lighter humor, “I shall want to see +them, or I shall not know I am the same person, and I must be sure of +myself, at least.” + +“And you wouldn't like to go back to earth--to South Bradfield again?” + he asked presently. + +“No,” she answered. “All that seems over forever. I couldn't go back +there and be what I was. I could have stayed there, but I couldn't go +back.” + +Staniford laughed. “I see that it isn't the other world that's got hold +of you! It's _this_ world! I don't believe you'll be unhappy in Italy. +But it's pleasant to think you've been so contented on the Aroostook +that you hate to leave it. I don't believe there's a man on the ship +that wouldn't feel personally flattered to know that you liked being +here. Even that poor fellow who parted from us at Messina was anxious +that you should think as kindly of him as you could. He knew that he had +behaved in a way to shock you, and he was very sorry. He left a message +with me for you. He thought you would like to know that he was ashamed +of himself.” + +“I pitied him,” said Lydia succinctly. It was the first time that she +had referred to Hicks, and Staniford found it in character for her to +limit herself to this sparse comment. Evidently, her compassion was a +religious duty. Staniford's generosity came easy to him. + +“I feel bound to say that Hicks was not a bad fellow. I disliked him +immensely, and I ought to do him justice, now he's gone. He deserved all +your pity. He's a doomed man; his vice is irreparable; he can't resist +it.” Lydia did not say anything: women do not generalize in these +matters; perhaps they cannot pity the faults of those they do not love. +Staniford only forgave Hicks the more. “I can't say that up to the last +moment I thought him anything but a poor, common little creature; and +yet I certainly did feel a greater kindness for him after--what I--after +what had happened. He left something more than a message for you, Miss +Blood; he left his steamer chair yonder, for you.” + +“For me?” demanded Lydia. Staniford felt her thrill and grow rigid upon +his arm, with refusal. “I will not have it. He had no right to do so. +He--he--was dreadful! I will give it to you!” she said, suddenly. “He +ought to have given it to you. You did everything for him; you saved his +life.” + +It was clear that she did not sentimentalize Hicks's case; and Staniford +had some doubt as to the value she set upon what he had done, even now +she had recognized it. + +He said, “I think you overestimate my service to him, possibly. I dare +say the boat could have picked him up in good time.” + +“Yes, that's what the captain and Mr. Watterson and Mr. Mason all said,” + assented Lydia. + +Staniford was nettled. He would have preferred a devoted belief that but +for him Hicks must have perished. Besides, what she said still gave no +clew to her feeling in regard to himself. He was obliged to go on, +but he went on as indifferently as he could. “However, it was hardly a +question for me at the time whether he could have been got out without +my help. If I had thought about it at all--which I didn't--I suppose I +should have thought that it wouldn't do to take any chances.” + +“Oh, no,” said Lydia, simply, “you couldn't have done anything less than +you did.” + +In his heart Staniford had often thought that he could have done very +much less than jump overboard after Hicks, and could very properly have +left him to the ordinary life-saving apparatus of the ship. But if he +had been putting the matter to some lady in society who was aggressively +praising him for his action, he would have said just what Lydia had said +for him,--that he could not have done anything less. He might have said +it, however, in such a way that the lady would have pursued his retreat +from her praises with still fonder applause; whereas this girl seemed to +think there was nothing else to be said. He began to stand in awe of her +heroic simplicity. If she drew every-day breath in that lofty air, what +could she really think of him, who preferred on principle the atmosphere +of the valley? “Do you know, Miss Blood,” he said gravely, “that you pay +me a very high compliment?” + +“How?” she asked. + +“You rate my maximum as my mean temperature.” He felt that she listened +inquiringly. “I don't think I'm habitually up to a thing of that kind,” + he explained. + +“Oh, no,” she assented, quietly; “but when he struck at you so, you had +to do everything.” + +“Ah, you have the pitiless Puritan conscience that takes the life out of +us all!” cried Staniford, with sudden bitterness. Lydia seemed startled, +shocked, and her hand trembled on his arm, as if she had a mind to take +it away. “I was a long time laboring up to that point. I suppose you are +always there!” + +“I don't understand,” she said, turning her head round with the slow +motion of her beauty, and looking him full in the face. + +“I can't explain now. I will, by and by,--when we get to Venice,” he +added, with quick lightness. + +“You put off everything till we get to Venice,” she said, doubtfully. + +“I beg your pardon. It was you who did it the last time.” + +“Was it?” She laughed. “So it was! I was thinking it was you.” + +It consoled him a little that she should have confused them in her +thought, in this way. “What was it you were to tell me in Venice?” he +asked. + +“I can't think, now.” + +“Very likely something of yourself--or myself. A third person might say +our conversational range was limited.” + +“Do you think it is very egotistical?” she asked, in the gay tone which +gave him relief from the sense of oppressive elevation of mind in her. + +“It is in me,--not in you.” + +“But I don't see the difference.” + +“I will explain sometime.” + +“When we get to Venice?” + +They both laughed. It was very nonsensical; but nonsense is sometimes +enough. + +When they were serious again, “Tell me,” he said, “what you thought of +that lady in Messina, the other day.” + +She did not affect not to know whom he meant. She merely said, “I only +saw her a moment.” + +“But you thought something. If we only see people a second we form some +opinion of them.” + +“She is very fine-appearing,” said Lydia. + +Staniford smiled at the countrified phrase; he had observed that when +she spoke her mind she used an instinctive good language; when she would +not speak it, she fell into the phraseology of the people with whom +she had lived. “I see you don't wish to say, because you think she is +a friend of mine. But you can speak out freely. We were not friends; we +were enemies, if anything.” + +Staniford's meaning was clear enough to himself; but Lydia paused, as if +in doubt whether he was jesting or not, before she asked, “Why were you +riding with her then?” + +“I was driving with her,” he replied, “I suppose, because she asked me.” + +“_Asked_ you!” cried the girl; and he perceived her moral recoil both +from himself and from a woman who could be so unseemly. That lady would +have found it delicious if she could have known that a girl placed like +Lydia was shocked at her behavior. But he was not amused. He was touched +by the simple self-respect that would not let her suffer from what was +not wrong in itself, but that made her shrink from a voluntary semblance +of unwomanliness. It endeared her not only to his pity, but to that +sense which in every man consecrates womanhood, and waits for some woman +to be better than all her sex. Again he felt the pang he had remotely +known before. What would she do with these ideals of hers in that +depraved Old World,--so long past trouble for its sins as to have got +a sort of sweetness and innocence in them,--where her facts would be +utterly irreconcilable with her ideals, and equally incomprehensible? + +They walked up and down a few turns without speaking again of that lady. +He knew that she grew momently more constrained toward him; that the +pleasure of the time was spoiled for her; that she had lost her trust in +him, and this half amused, half afflicted him. It did not surprise him +when, at their third approach to the cabin gangway, she withdrew her +hand from his arm and said, stiffly, “I think I will go down.” But she +did not go at once. She lingered, and after a certain hesitation she +said, without looking at him, “I didn't express what I wanted to, about +Mr. Hicks, and--what you did. It is what I thought you would do.” + +“Thanks,” said Staniford, with sincere humility. He understood how she +had had this in her mind, and how she would not withhold justice from +him because he had fallen in her esteem; how rather she would be the +more resolute to do him justice for that reason. + + + + +XIX. + + +He could see that she avoided being alone with him the next day, but he +took it for a sign of relenting, perhaps helpless relenting, that she +was in her usual place on deck in the evening. He went to her, and, “I +see that you haven't forgiven me,” he said. + +“Forgiven you?” she echoed. + +“Yes,” he said, “for letting that lady ask me to drive with her.” + +“I never said--” she began. + +“Oh, no! But I knew it, all the same. It was not such a very wicked +thing, as those things go. But I liked your not liking it. Will you let +me say something to you?” + +“Yes,” she answered, rather breathlessly. + +“You must think it's rather an odd thing to say, as I ask leave. It is; +and I hardly know how to say it. I want to tell you that I've made bold +to depend a great deal upon your good opinion for my peace of mind, of +late, and that I can't well do without it now.” + +She stole the quickest of her bird-like glances at him, but did not +speak; and though she seemed, to his anxious fancy, poising for flight, +she remained, and merely looked away, like the bird that will not or +cannot fly. + +“You don't resent my making you my outer conscience, do you, and my +knowing that you're not quite pleased with me?” + +She looked down and away with one of those turns of the head, so +precious when one who beholds them is young, and caught at the fringe of +her shawl. “I have no right,” she began. + +“Oh, I give you the right!” he cried, with passionate urgence. “You have +the right. Judge me!” She only looked more grave, and he hurried on. +“It was no great harm of her to ask me; that's common enough; but it was +harm of me to go if I didn't quite respect her,--if I thought her silly, +and was willing to be amused with her. One hasn't any right to do that. +I saw this when I saw you.” She still hung her head, and looked away. “I +want you to tell me something,” he pursued. “Do you remember once--the +second time we talked together--that you said Dunham was in earnest, and +you wouldn't answer when I asked you about myself? Do you remember?” + +“Yes,” said the girl. + +“I didn't care, then. I care very much now. You don't think me--you +think I can be in earnest when I will, don't you? And that I can +regret--that I really wish--” He took the hand that played with the +shawl-fringe, but she softly drew it away. + +“Ah, I see!” he said. “You can't believe in me. You don't believe that I +can be a good man--like Dunham!” + +She answered in the same breathless murmur, “I think you are good.” Her +averted face drooped lower. + +“I will tell you all about it, some day!” he cried, with joyful +vehemence. “Will you let me?” + +“Yes,” she answered, with the swift expulsion of breath that sometimes +comes with tears. She rose quickly and turned away. He did not try to +keep her from leaving him. His heart beat tumultuously; his brain seemed +in a whirl. It all meant nothing, or it meant everything. + +“What is the matter with Miss Blood?” asked Dunham, who joined him at +this moment. “I just spoke to her at the foot of the gangway stairs, and +she wouldn't answer me.” + +“Oh, I don't know about Miss Blood--I don't know what's the matter,” + said Staniford. “Look here, Dunham; I want to talk with you--I want to +tell you something--I want you to advise me--I--There's only one thing +that can explain it, that can excuse it. There's only one thing that can +justify all that I've done and said, and that can not only justify it, +but can make it sacredly and eternally right,--right for her and right +for me. Yes, it's reason for all, and for a thousand times more. It +makes it fair for me to have let her see that I thought her beautiful +and charming, that I delighted to be with her, that I--Dunham,” cried +Staniford, “I'm in love!” + +Dunham started at the burst in which these ravings ended. “Staniford,” + he faltered, with grave regret, “I _hope_ not!” + +“You hope not? You--you--What do you mean? How else can I free myself +from the self-reproach of having trifled with her, of--” + +Dunham shook his head compassionately. “You can't do it that way. Your +only safety is to fight it to the death,--to run from it.” + +“But if I don't _choose_ to fight it?” shouted Staniford,--“if I don't +_choose_ to run from it? If I--” + +“For Heaven's sake, hush! The whole ship will hear you, and you oughtn't +to breathe it in the desert. I saw how it was going! I dreaded it; I +knew it; and I longed to speak. I'm to blame for not speaking!” + +“I should like to know what would have authorized you to speak?” + demanded Staniford, haughtily. + +“Only my regard for you; only what urges me to speak now! You +_must_ fight it, Staniford, whether you choose or not. Think of +yourself,--think of her! Think--you have always been my ideal of honor +and truth and loyalty--think of her husband--” + +“Her husband!” gasped Staniford. “Whose husband? What the deuce--_who_ +the deuce--are you talking about, Dunham?” + +“Mrs. Rivers.” + +“Mrs. Rivers? That flimsy, feather-headed, empty-hearted--eyes-maker! +That frivolous, ridiculous--Pah! And did you think that I was talking of +_her_? Did you think I was in love with _her_?” + +“Why,” stammered Dunham, “I supposed--I thought--At Messina, you know--” + +“Oh!” Staniford walked the deck's length away. “Well, Dunham,” he said, +as he came back, “you've spoilt a pretty scene with your rot about +Mrs. Rivers. I was going to be romantic! But perhaps I'd better say in +ordinary newspaper English that I've just found out that I'm in love +with Miss Blood.” + +“With _her_!” cried Dunham, springing at his hand. + +“Oh, come now! Don't _you_ be romantic, after knocking _my_ chance.” + +“Why, but Staniford!” said Dunham, wringing his hand with a lover's joy +in another's love and his relief that it was not Mrs. Rivers. “I never +should have dreamt of such a thing!” + +“Why?” asked Staniford, shortly. + +“Oh, the way you talked at first, you know, and--” + +“I suppose even people who get married have something to take back about +each other,” said Staniford, rather sheepishly. “However,” he added, +with an impulse of frankness, “I don't know that I should have dreamt of +it myself, and I don't blame you. But it's a fact, nevertheless.” + +“Why, of course. It's splendid! Certainly. It's magnificent!” There was +undoubtedly a qualification, a reservation, in Dunham's tone. He +might have thought it right to bring the inequalities of the affair to +Staniford's mind. With all his effusive kindliness of heart and manner, +he had a keen sense of social fitness, a nice feeling for convention. +But a man does not easily suggest to another that the girl with whom he +has just declared himself in love is his inferior. What Dunham finally +did say was: “It jumps with all your ideas--all your old talk about not +caring to marry a society girl--” + +“Society might be very glad of such a girl!” said Staniford, stiffly. + +“Yes, yes, certainly; but I mean--” + +“Oh, I know what you mean. It's all right,” said Staniford. “But +it isn't a question of marrying yet. I can't be sure she understood +me,--I've been so long understanding myself. And yet, she must, she +must! She must believe it by this time, or else that I'm the most +infamous scoundrel alive. When I think how I have sought her out, and +followed her up, and asked her judgment, and hung upon her words, I feel +that I oughtn't to lose a moment in being explicit. I don't care for +myself; she can take me or leave me, as she likes; but if she doesn't +understand, she mustn't be left in suspense as to my meaning.” He seemed +to be speaking to Dunham, but he was really thinking aloud, and Dunham +waited for some sort of question before he spoke. “But it's a great +satisfaction to have had it out with myself. I haven't got to pretend +any more that I hang about her, and look at her, and go mooning round +after her, for this no-reason and that; I've got the best reason in the +world for playing the fool,--I'm in love!” He drew a long, deep +breath. “It simplifies matters immensely to have reached the point +of acknowledging that. Why, Dunham, those four days at Messina almost +killed me! They settled it. When that woman was in full fascination +it made me gasp. I choked for a breath of fresh air; for a taste of +spring-water; for--Lurella!” It was a long time since Staniford had used +this name, and the sound of it made him laugh. “It's droll--but I always +think of her as Lurella; I wish it _was_ her name! Why, it was like +heaven to see her face when I got back to the ship. After we met her +that day at Messina, Mrs. Rivers tried her best to get out of me who +it was, and where I met her. But I flatter myself that I was equal to +_that_ emergency.” + +Dunham said nothing, at once. Then, “Staniford,” he faltered, “she got +it out of me.” + +“Did you tell her who Lu--who Miss Blood was?” + +“Yes.” + +“And how I happened to be acquainted with her?” + +“Yes.” + +“And that we were going on to Trieste with her?” + +“She had it out of me before I knew,” said Dunham. “I didn't realize +what she was after; and I didn't realize how peculiar the situation +might seem--” + +“I see nothing peculiar in the situation,” interrupted Staniford, +haughtily. Then he laughed consciously. “Or, yes, I do; of course I do! +You must know _her_ to appreciate it, though.” He mused a while before +he added: “No wonder Mrs. Rivers was determined to come aboard! I wish +we had let her,--confound her! She'll think I was ashamed of it. There's +nothing to be ashamed of! By Heaven, I should like to hear any one--” + Staniford broke off, and laughed, and then bit his lip, smiling. +Suddenly he burst out again, frowning: “I won't view it in that light. I +refuse to consider it from that point of view. As far as I'm concerned, +it's as regular as anything else in life. It's the same to me as if she +were in her own house, and I had come there to tell her that she has my +future in her hand. She's such a lady by instinct that she's made it all +a triumph, and I thank God that I haven't done or said anything to mar +it. Even that beast of a Hicks didn't; it's no merit. I've made love to +her,--I own it; of course I have, because I was in love with her; and my +fault has been that I haven't made love to her openly, but have gone +on fancying that I was studying her character, or some rubbish of that +sort. But the fault is easily repaired.” He turned about, as if he were +going to look for Lydia at once, and ask her to be his wife. But he +halted abruptly, and sat down. “No; that won't do,” he said. “That won't +do at all.” He remained thinking, and Dunham, unwilling to interrupt his +reverie, moved a few paces off. “Dunham, don't go. I want your advice. +Perhaps I don't see it in the right light.” + +“How is it you see it, my dear fellow?” asked Dunham. + +“I don't know whether I've a right to be explicit with her, here. It +seems like taking an advantage. In a few days she will be with her +friends--” + +“You must wait,” said Dunham, decisively. “You can't speak to her before +she is in their care; it wouldn't be the thing. You're quite right about +that.” + +“No, it wouldn't be the thing,” groaned Staniford. “But how is it all to +go on till then?” he demanded desperately. + +“Why, just as it has before,” answered Dunham, with easy confidence. + +“But is that fair to her?” + +“Why not? You mean to say to her at the right time all that a man can. +Till that time comes I haven't the least doubt she understands you.” + +“Do you think so?” asked Staniford, simply. He had suddenly grown very +subject and meek to Dunham. + +“Yes,” said the other, with the superiority of a betrothed lover; “women +are very quick about those things.” + +“I suppose you're right,” sighed Staniford, with nothing of his wonted +arrogant pretension in regard to women's moods and minds, “I suppose +you're right. And you would go on just as before?” + +“I would, indeed. How could you change without making her unhappy--if +she's interested in you?” + +“That's true. I could imagine worse things than going on just as before. +I suppose,” he added, “that something more explicit has its charms; +but a mutual understanding is very pleasant,--if it _is_ a mutual +understanding.” He looked inquiringly at Dunham. + +“Why, as to that, of course I don't know. You ought to be the best judge +of that. But I don't believe your impressions would deceive you.” + +“Yours did, once,” suggested Staniford, in suspense. + +“Yes; but I was not in love with her,” explained Dunham. + +“Of course,” said Staniford, with a breath of relief. “And you +think--Well, I must wait!” he concluded, grimly. “But don't--don't +mention this matter, Dunham, unless I do. Don't keep an eye on me, +old fellow. Or, yes, you must! You can't help it. I want to tell +you, Dunham, what makes me think she may be a not wholly uninterested +spectator of my--sentiments.” He made full statement of words and looks +and tones. Dunham listened with the patience which one lover has with +another. + + + + +XX. + + +The few days that yet remained of their voyage were falling in the +latter half of September, and Staniford tried to make the young girl +see the surpassing loveliness of that season under Italian skies; the +fierceness of the summer is then past, and at night, when chiefly they +inspected the firmament, the heaven has begun to assume something of the +intense blue it wears in winter. She said yes, it was very beautiful, +but she could not see that the days were finer, or the skies bluer, +than those of September at home; and he laughed at her loyalty to the +American weather. “Don't _you_ think so, too?” she asked, as if it +pained her that he should like Italian weather better. + +“Oh, yes,--yes,” he said. Then he turned the talk on her, as he did +whenever he could. “I like your meteorological patriotism. If I were a +woman, I should stand by America in everything.” + +“Don't you as a man?” she pursued, still anxiously. + +“Oh, certainly,” he answered. “But women owe our continent a double debt +of fidelity. It's the Paradise of women, it's their Promised Land, where +they've been led up out of the Egyptian bondage of Europe. It's the +home of their freedom. It is recognized in America that women have +consciences and souls.” + +Lydia looked very grave. “Is it--is it so different with women in +Europe?” she faltered. + +“Very,” he replied, and glanced at her half-laughingly, half-tenderly. + +After a while, “I wish you would tell me,” she said, “just what you +mean. I wish you would tell me what is the difference.” + +“Oh, it's a long story. I will tell you--when we get to Venice.” The +well-worn jest served its purpose again; she laughed, and he continued: +“By the way, just when will that be? The captain says that if this wind +holds we shall be in Trieste by Friday afternoon. I suppose your friends +will meet you there on Saturday, and that you'll go back with them to +Venice at once.” + +“Yes,” assented Lydia. + +“Well, if I should come on Monday, would that be too soon?” + +“Oh, no!” she answered. He wondered if she had been vaguely hoping that +he might go directly on with her to Venice. They were together all day, +now, and the long talks went on from early morning, when they met before +breakfast on deck, until late at night, when they parted there, with +blushed and laughed good-nights. Sometimes the trust she put upon his +unspoken promises was terrible; it seemed to condemn his reticence as +fantastic and hazardous. With her, at least, it was clear that this love +was the first; her living and loving were one. He longed to testify the +devotion which he felt, to leave it unmistakable and safe past accident; +he thought of making his will, in which he should give her everything, +and declare her supremely dear; he could only rid himself of this by +drawing up the paper in writing, and then he easily tore it in pieces. + +They drew nearer together, not only in their talk about each other, but +in what they said of different people in their relation to themselves. +But Staniford's pleasure in the metaphysics of reciprocal appreciation, +his wonder at the quickness with which she divined characters he +painfully analyzed, was not greater than his joy in the pretty hitch of +the shoulder with which she tucked her handkerchief into the back pocket +of her sack, or the picturesqueness with, which she sat facing him, and +leant upon the rail, with her elbow wrapped in her shawl, and the +fringe gathered in the hand which propped her cheek. He scribbled his +sketch-book full of her contours and poses, which sometimes he caught +unawares, and which sometimes she sat for him to draw. One day, as they +sat occupied in this, “I wonder,” he said, “if you have anything of my +feeling, nowadays. It seems to me as if the world had gone on a pleasure +excursion, without taking me along, and I was enjoying myself very much +at home.” + +“Why, yes,” she said, joyously; “do you have that feeling, too?” + +“I wonder what it is makes us feel so,” he ventured. + +“Perhaps,” she returned, “the long voyage.” + +“I shall hate to have the world come back, I believe,” he said, +reverting to the original figure. “Shall you?” + +“You know I don't know much about it,” she answered, in lithe evasion, +for which she more than atoned with a conscious look and one of her dark +blushes. Yet he chose, with a curious cruelty, to try how far she was +his. + +“How odd it would be,” he said, “if we never should have a chance to +talk up this voyage of ours when it is over!” + +She started, in a way that made his heart smite him. “Why, you said +you--” And then she caught herself, and struggled pitifully for the +self-possession she had lost. She turned her head away; his pulse +bounded. + +“Did you think I wouldn't? I am living for that.” He took the hand +that lay in her lap; she seemed to try to free it, but she had not the +strength or will; she could only keep her face turned from him. + + + + +XXI. + + +They arrived Friday afternoon in Trieste, and Captain Jenness +telegraphed his arrival to Lydia's uncle as he went up to the consulate +with his ship's papers. The next morning the young men sent their +baggage to a hotel, but they came back for a last dinner on the +Aroostook. They all pretended to be very gay, but everybody was +perturbed and distraught. Staniford and Dunham had paid their way +handsomely with the sailors, and they had returned with remembrances in +florid scarfs and jewelry for Thomas and the captain and the officers. +Dunham had thought they ought to get something to give Lydia as a +souvenir of their voyage; it was part of his devotion to young ladies to +offer them little presents; but Staniford overruled him, and said there +should be nothing of the kind. They agreed to be out of the way when +her uncle came, and they said good-by after dinner. She came on deck +to watch them ashore. Staniford would be the last to take leave. As he +looked into her eyes, he saw brave trust of him, but he thought a sort +of troubled wonder, too, as if she could not understand his reticence, +and suffered from it. There was the same latent appeal and reproach in +the pose in which she watched their boat row away. She stood with one +hand resting on the rail, and her slim grace outlined against the sky. +He waved his hand; she answered with a little languid wave of hers; then +she turned away. He felt as if he had forsaken her. + +The afternoon was very long. Toward night-fall he eluded Dunham, and +wandered back to the ship in the hope that she might still be there. +But she was gone. Already everything was changed. There was bustle and +discomfort; it seemed years since he had been there. Captain Jenness +was ashore somewhere; it was the second mate who told Staniford of her +uncle's coming. + +“What sort of person was he?” he asked vaguely. + +“Oh, well! _Dum_ an Englishman, any way,” said Mason, in a tone of easy, +sociable explanation. + +The scruple to which Staniford had been holding himself for the past +four or five days seemed the most incredible of follies,--the most +fantastic, the most cruel. He hurried back to the hotel; when he found +Dunham coming out from the _table d'hôte_ he was wild. + +“I have been the greatest fool in the world, Dunham,” he said. “I +have let a quixotic quibble keep me from speaking when I ought to have +spoken.” + +Dunham looked at him in stupefaction. “Where have you been?” he +inquired. + +“Down to the ship. I was in hopes that she might be still there. But +she's gone.” + +“The Aroostook _gone_?” + +“Look here, Dunham,” cried Staniford, angrily, “this is the second time +you've done that! If you are merely thick-witted, much can be forgiven +to your infirmity; but if you've a mind to joke, let me tell you you +choose your time badly.” + +“I'm not joking. I don't know what you're talking about. I may be +thick-witted, as you say; or you may be scatter-witted,” said Dunham, +indignantly. “What are you after, any way?” + +“What was my reason for not being explicit with her; for going away from +her without one honest, manly, downright word; for sneaking off without +telling her that she was more than life to me, and that if she cared +for me as I cared for her I would go on with her to Venice, and meet her +people with her?” + +“Why, I don't know,” replied Dunham, vaguely. “We agreed that there +would be a sort of--that she ought to be in their care before--” + +“Then I can tell you,” interrupted Staniford, “that we agreed upon the +greatest piece of nonsense that ever was. A man can do no more than +offer himself, and if he does less, after he's tried everything to show +that he's in love with a woman, and to make her in love with him, he's +a scamp to refrain from a bad motive, and an ass to refrain from a good +one. Why in the name of Heaven _shouldn't_ I have spoken, instead of +leaving her to eat her heart out in wonder at my delay, and to doubt and +suspect and dread--Oh!” he shouted, in supreme self-contempt. + +Dunham had nothing to urge in reply. He had fallen in with what he +thought Staniford's own mind in regard to the course he ought to take; +since he had now changed his mind, there seemed never to have been any +reason for that course. + +“My dear fellow,” he said, “it isn't too late yet to see her, I dare +say. Let us go and find what time the trains leave for Venice.” + +“Do you suppose I can offer myself in the _salle d'attente_?” sneered +Staniford. But he went with Dunham to the coffee-room, where they found +the Osservatore Triestino and the time-table of the railroad. The last +train left for Venice at ten, and it was now seven; the Austrian Lloyd +steamer for Venice sailed at nine. + +“Pshaw!” said Staniford, and pushed the paper away. He sat brooding over +the matter before the table on which the journals were scattered, while +Dunham waited for him to speak. At last he said, “I can't stand it; I +must see her. I don't know whether I told her I should come on to-morrow +night or not. If she should be expecting me on Monday morning, and I +should be delayed--Dunham, will you drive round with me to the Austrian +Lloyd's wharf? They may be going by the boat, and if they are they'll +have left their hotel. We'll try the train later. I should like to find +out if they are on board. I don't know that I'll try to speak with them; +very likely not.” + +“I'll go, certainly,” answered Dunham, cordially. + +“I'll have some dinner first,” said Staniford. “I'm hungry.” + +It was quite dark when they drove on to the wharf at which the boat for +Venice lay. When they arrived, a plan had occurred to Staniford, +through the timidity which had already succeeded the boldness of his +desperation. “Dunham,” he said, “I want you to go on board, and see if +she's there. I don't think I could stand not finding her. Besides, if +she's cheerful and happy, perhaps I'd better not see her. You can come +back and report. Confound it, you know, I should be so conscious before +that infernal uncle of hers. You understand!” + +“Yes, yes,” returned Dunham, eager to serve Staniford in a case like +this. “I'll manage it.” + +“Well,” said Staniford, beginning to doubt the wisdom of either going +aboard, “do it if you think best. I don't know--” + +“Don't know what?” asked Dunham, pausing in the door of the _fiacre_. + +“Oh, nothing, nothing! I hope we're not making fools of ourselves.” + +“You're morbid, old fellow!” said Dunham, gayly. He disappeared in the +darkness, and Staniford waited, with set teeth, till he came back. He +seemed a long time gone. When he returned, he stood holding fast to the +open fiacre-door, without speaking. + +“Well!” cried Staniford, with bitter impatience. + +“Well what?” Dunham asked, in a stupid voice. + +“Were they there?” + +“I don't know. I can't tell.” + +“Can't tell, man? Did you go to see?” + +“I think so. I'm not sure.” + +A heavy sense of calamity descended upon Staniford's heart, but patience +came with it. “What's the matter, Dunham?” he asked, getting out +tremulously. + +“I don't know. I think I've had a fall, somewhere. Help me in.” + +Staniford got out and helped him gently to the seat, and then mounted +beside him, giving the order for their return. “Where is your hat?” he +asked, finding that Dunham was bareheaded. + +“I don't know. It doesn't matter. Am I bleeding?” + +“It's so dark, I can't see.” + +“Put your hand here.” He carried Staniford's hand to the back of his +head. + +“There's no blood; but you've had an ugly knock there.” + +“Yes, that's it,” said Dunham. “I remember now; I slipped and struck my +head.” He lapsed away in a torpor; Staniford could learn nothing more +from him. + +The hurt was not what Staniford in his first anxiety had feared, but +the doctor whom they called at the hotel was vague and guarded as to +everything but the time and care which must be given in any event. +Staniford despaired; but there was only one thing to do. He sat down +beside his friend to take care of him. + +His mind was a turmoil of regrets, of anxieties, of apprehensions; but +he had a superficial calmness that enabled him to meet the emergencies +of the case. He wrote a letter to Lydia which he somehow knew to be +rightly worded, telling her of the accident. In terms which conveyed to +her all that he felt, he said that he should not see her at the time he +had hoped, but promised to come to Venice as soon as he could quit his +friend. Then, with a deep breath, he put that affair away for the time, +and seemed to turn a key upon it. + +He called a waiter, and charged him to have his letter posted at once. +The man said he would give it to the _portier_, who was sending out some +other letters. He returned, ten minutes later, with a number of +letters which he said the portier had found for him at the post-office. +Staniford glanced at them. It was no time to read them then, and he put +them into the breast pocket of his coat. + + + + +XXII. + + +At the hotel in Trieste, to which Lydia went with her uncle before +taking the train for Venice, she found an elderly woman, who made her a +courtesy, and, saying something in Italian, startled her by kissing her +hand. + +“It's our Veronica,” her uncle explained; “she wants to know how she can +serve you.” He gave Veronica the wraps and parcels he had been carrying. +“Your aunt thought you might need a maid.” + +“Oh, no!” said Lydia. “I always help myself.” + +“Ah, I dare say,” returned her uncle. “You American ladies are so--up to +snuff, as you say. But your aunt thought we'd better have her with us, +in any case.” + +“And she sent her all the way from Venice?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, I never did!” said Lydia, not lightly, but with something of +contemptuous severity. + +Her uncle smiled, as if she had said something peculiarly acceptable +to him, and asked, hesitatingly, “When you say you never did, you know, +what is the full phrase?” + +Lydia looked at him. “Oh! I suppose I meant I never heard of such a +thing.” + +“Ah, thanks, thanks!” said her uncle. He was a tall, slender man of +fifty-five or sixty, with a straight gray mustache, and not at all the +typical Englishman, but much more English-looking than if he had been. +His bearing toward Lydia blended a fatherly kindness and a colonial +British gallantry, such as one sees in elderly Canadian gentlemen +attentive to quite young Canadian ladies at the provincial +watering-places. He had an air of adventure, and of uncommon pleasure +and no small astonishment in Lydia's beauty. They were already good +friends; she was at her ease with him; she treated him as if he were an +old gentleman. At the station, where Veronica got into the same carriage +with them, Lydia found the whole train very queer-looking, and he +made her describe its difference from an American train. He said, “Oh, +yes--yes, engine,” when she mentioned the locomotive, and he apparently +prized beyond its worth the word cow-catcher, a fixture which Lydia +said was wanting to the European locomotive, and left it very stubby. He +asked her if she would allow him to set it down; and he entered the word +in his note-book, with several other idioms she had used. He said that +he amused himself in picking up these things from his American friends. +He wished to know what she called this and that and the other thing, and +was equally pleased whether her nomenclature agreed or disagreed with +his own. Where it differed, he recorded the fact, with her leave, in +his book. He plied her with a thousand questions about America, with all +parts of which he seemed to think her familiar; and she explained with +difficulty how very little of it she had seen. He begged her not to let +him bore her, and to excuse the curiosity of a Britisher, “As I suppose +you'd call me,” he added. + +Lydia lifted her long-lashed lids half-way, and answered, “No, I +shouldn't call you so.” + +“Ah, yes,” he returned, “the Americans always disown it. But I don't +mind it at all, you know. I like those native expressions.” Where they +stopped for refreshments he observed that one of the dishes, which was +flavored to the national taste, had a pretty tall smell, and seemed +disappointed by Lydia's unresponsive blankness at a word which a +countryman of hers--from Kentucky--had applied to the odor of the +Venetian canals. He suffered in like measure from a like effect in her +when he lamented the complications that had kept him the year before +from going to America with Mrs. Erwin, when she revisited her old +stomping-ground. + +As they rolled along, the warm night which had fallen after the +beautiful day breathed through the half-dropped window in a rich, soft +air, as strange almost as the flying landscape itself. Mr. Erwin began +to drowse, and at last he fell asleep; but Veronica kept her eyes +vigilantly fixed upon Lydia, always smiling when she caught her glance, +and offering service. At the stations, so orderly and yet so noisy, +where the passengers were held in the same meek subjection as at +Trieste, people got in and out of the carriage; and there were officers, +at first in white coats, and after they passed the Italian frontier in +blue, who stared at Lydia. One of the Italians, a handsome young hussar, +spoke to her. She could not know what he said; but when he crossed +over to her side of the carriage, she rose and took her place beside +Veronica, where she remained even after he left the carriage. She was +sensible of growing drowsy. Then she was aware of nothing till she woke +up with her head on Veronica's shoulder, against which she had fallen, +and on which she had been patiently supported for hours. “Ecco Venezia!” + cried the old woman, pointing to a swarm of lights that seemed to float +upon an expanse of sea. Lydia did not understand; she thought she was +again on board the Aroostook, and that the lights she saw were the +lights of the shipping in Boston harbor. The illusion passed, and left +her heart sore. She issued from the glare of the station upon the quay +before it, bewildered by the ghostly beauty of the scene, but shivering +in the chill of the dawn, and stunned by the clamor of the gondoliers. A +tortuous course in the shadow of lofty walls, more deeply darkened from +time to time by the arch of a bridge, and again suddenly pierced by the +brilliance of a lamp that shot its red across the gloom, or plunged +it into the black water, brought them to a palace gate at which they +stopped, and where, after a dramatic ceremony of sliding bolts and the +reluctant yielding of broad doors on a level with the water, she passed +through a marble-paved court and up a stately marble staircase to her +uncle's apartment. “You're at home, now, you know,” he said, in a kindly +way, and took her hand, very cold and lax, in his for welcome. She could +not answer, but made haste to follow Veronica to her room, whither the +old woman led the way with a candle. It was a gloomily spacious chamber, +with sombre walls and a lofty ceiling with a faded splendor of gilded +paneling. Some tall, old-fashioned mirrors and bureaus stood about, with +rugs before them on the stone floor; in the middle of the room was a +bed curtained with mosquito-netting. Carved chairs were pushed here and +there against the wall. Lydia dropped into one of these, too strange and +heavy-hearted to go to bed in that vastness and darkness, in which her +candle seemed only to burn a small round hole. She longed forlornly +to be back again in her pretty state-room on the Aroostook; vanishing +glimpses and echoes of the faces and voices grown so familiar in the +past weeks haunted her; the helpless tears ran down her cheeks. + +There came a tap at her door, and her aunt's voice called, “Shall I +come in?” and before she could faintly consent, her aunt pushed in, +and caught her in her arms, and kissed her, and broke into a twitter of +welcome and compassion. “You poor child! Did you think I was going to +let you go to sleep without seeing you, after you'd come half round the +world to see me?” Her aunt was dark and slight like Lydia, but not so +tall; she was still a very pretty woman, and she was a very effective +presence now in the long white morning-gown of camel's hair, somewhat +fantastically embroidered in crimson silk, in which she drifted about +before Lydia's bewildered eyes. “Let me see how you look! Are you as +handsome as ever?” She held the candle she carried so as to throw its +light full upon Lydia's face. “Yes!” she sighed. “How pretty you are! +And at your age you'll look even better by daylight! I had begun to +despair of you; I thought you couldn't be all I remembered; but you +are,--you're more! I wish I had you in Rome, instead of Venice; +there would be some use in it. There's a great deal of society +there,--_English_ society; but never mind: I'm going to take you to +church with me to-morrow,--the English service; there are lots of +English in Venice now, on their way south for the winter. I'm crazy to +see what dresses you've brought; your aunt Maria has told me how she +fitted you out. I've got two letters from her since you started, and +they're all perfectly well, dear. Your black silk will do nicely, +with bright ribbons, especially; I hope you haven't got it spotted or +anything on the way over.” She did not allow Lydia to answer, nor seem +to expect it. “You've got your mother's eyes, Lydia, but your father had +those straight eyebrows: you're very much like him. Poor Henry! And now +I'm having you get something to eat. I'm not going to risk coffee on +you, for fear it will keep you awake; though you can drink it in this +climate with _comparative_ impunity. Veronica is warming you a bowl of +_bouillon_, and that's all you're to have till breakfast!” + +“Why, aunt Josephine,” said the girl, not knowing what bouillon was, and +abashed by the sound of it, “I'm not the least hungry. You oughtn't to +take the trouble--” + +“You'll be hungry when you begin to eat. I'm so impatient to hear about +your voyage! I am going to introduce you to some very nice people, +here,--English people. There are no Americans living in Venice; and the +Americans in Europe are so queer! You've no idea how droll our customs +seem here; and I much prefer the English. Your poor uncle can never get +me to ask Americans. I tell him I'm American enough, and he'll have to +get on without others. Of course, he's perfectly delighted to get at +you. You've quite taken him by storm, Lydia; he's in raptures about your +looks. It's what I told him before you came; but I couldn't believe it +till I took a look at you. I couldn't have gone to sleep without it. Did +Mr. Erwin talk much with you?” + +“He was very pleasant. He talked--as long as he was awake,” said Lydia. + +“I suppose he was trying to pick up Americanisms from you; he's always +doing it. I keep him away from Americans as much as I can: but he will +get at them on the cars and at the hotels. He's always asking them such +ridiculous questions, and I know some of them just talk nonsense to +him.” + +Veronica came in with a tray, and a bowl of bouillon on it; and Mrs. +Erwin pulled up a light table, and slid about, serving her, in +her cabalistic dress, like an Oriental sorceress performing her +incantations. She volubly watched Lydia while she ate her supper, and at +the end she kissed her again. “Now you feel better,” she said. “I knew +it would cheer you up more than any one thing. There's nothing like +something to eat when you're homesick. I found that out when I was off +at school.” + +Lydia was hardly kissed so much at home during a year as she had been +since meeting Mrs. Erwin. Her aunt Maria sparely embraced her when she +went and came each week from the Mill Village; anything more than this +would have come of insincerity between them; but it had been agreed that +Mrs. Erwin's demonstrations of affection, of which she had been lavish +during her visit to South Bradfield, might not be so false. Lydia +accepted them submissively, and she said, when Veronica returned for the +tray, “I hate to give you so much trouble. And sending her all the way +to Trieste on my account,--I felt ashamed. There wasn' a thing for her +to do.” + +“Why, of course not!” exclaimed her aunt. “But what did you think I was +made of? Did you suppose I was going to have you come on a night-journey +alone with your uncle? It would have been all over Venice; it would have +been ridiculous. I sent Veronica along for a dragon.” + +“A dragon? I don't understand,” faltered Lydia. + +“Well, you will,” said her aunt, putting the palms of her hands against +Lydia's, and so pressing forward to kiss her. “We shall have breakfast +at ten. Go to bed!” + + + + +XXIII. + + +When Lydia came to breakfast she found her uncle alone in the room, +reading Galignani's Messenger. He put down his paper, and came forward +to take her hand. “You are all right this morning, I see, Miss Lydia,” + he said. “You were quite up a stump, last night, as your countrymen +say.” + +At the same time hands were laid upon her shoulders from behind, and she +was pulled half round, and pushed back, and held at arm's-length. It was +Mrs. Erwin, who, entering after her, first scanned her face, and then, +with one devouring glance, seized every detail of her dress--the black +silk which had already made its effect--before she kissed her. “You +_are_ lovely, my dear! I shall spoil you, I know; but you're worth it! +What lashes you have, child! And your aunt Maria made and fitted that +dress? She's a genius!” + +“Miss Lydia,” said Mr. Erwin, as they sat down, “is of the fortunate age +when one rises young every morning.” He looked very fresh himself in +his clean-shaven chin, and his striking evidence of snowy wristbands and +shirt-bosom. “Later in life, you can't do that. She looks as blooming,” + he added, gallantly, “as a basket of chips,--as you say in America.” + +“Smiling,” said Lydia, mechanically correcting him. + +“Ah! It is? Smiling,--yes; thanks. It's very good either way; very +characteristic. It would be curious to know the origin of a saying +like that. I imagine it goes back to the days of the first settlers. +It suggests a wood-chopping period. Is it--ah--in general use?” he +inquired. + +“Of course it isn't, Henshaw!” said his wife. + +“You've been a great while out of the country, my dear,” suggested Mr. +Erwin. + +“Not so long as not to know that your Americanisms are enough to make +one wish we had held our tongues ever since we were discovered, or had +never been discovered at all. I want to ask Lydia about her voyage. I +haven't heard a word yet. Did your aunt Maria come down to Boston with +you?” + +“No, grandfather brought me.” + +“And you had good weather coming over? Mr. Erwin told me you were not +seasick.” + +“We had one bad storm, before we reached Gibraltar; but I wasn't +seasick.” + +“Were the other passengers?” + +“One was.” Lydia reddened a little, and then turned somewhat paler than +at first. + +“What is it, Lydia?” her aunt subtly demanded. “Who was the one that was +sick?” + +“Oh, a gentleman,” answered Lydia. + +Her aunt looked at her keenly, and for whatever reason abruptly left the +subject. “Your silk,” she said, “will do very well for church, Lydia.” + +“Oh, I say, now!” cried her husband, “you're not going to make her go to +church to-day!” + +“Yes, I am! There will be more people there to-day than any other time +this fall. She must go.” + +“But she's tired to death,--quite tuckered, you know.” + +“Oh, I'm rested, now,” said Lydia. “I shouldn't like to miss going to +church.” + +“Your silk,” continued her aunt, “will be quite the thing for church.” + She looked hard at the dress, as if it were not quite the thing for +breakfast. Mrs. Erwin herself wore a morning-dress of becoming delicacy, +and an airy French cap; she had a light fall of powder on her face. +“What kind of overthing have you got?” she asked. + +“There's a sack goes with this,” said the girl, suggestively. + +“That's nice! What is your bonnet?” + +“I haven't any bonnet. But my best hat is nice. I could--” + +“_No_ one goes to church in a hat! You can't do it. It's simply +impossible.” + +“Why, my dear,” said her husband, “I saw some very pretty American girls +in hats at church, last Sunday.” + +“Yes, and everybody _knew_ they were Americans by their hats!” retorted +Mrs. Erwin. + +“_I_ knew they were Americans by their good looks,” said Mr. Erwin, “and +what you call their stylishness.” + +“Oh, it's all well enough for you to talk. _You're_ an Englishman, and +you could wear a hat, if you liked. It would be set down to character. +But in an American it would be set down to greenness. If you were an +American, you would have to wear a bonnet.” + +“I'm glad, then, I'm not an American,” said her husband; “I don't think +I should look well in a bonnet.” + +“Oh, stuff, Henshaw! You know what I mean. And I'm not going to have +English people thinking we're ignorant of the common decencies of life. +Lydia shall not go to church in a hat; she had better _never_ go. I will +lend her one of my bonnets. Let me see, _which_ one.” She gazed at Lydia +in critical abstraction. “I wear rather young bonnets,” she mused aloud, +“and we're both rather dark. The only difficulty is I'm so much more +delicate--” She brooded upon the question in a silence, from which she +burst exulting. “The very thing! I can fuss it up in no time. It won't +take two minutes to get it ready. And you'll look just killing in it.” + She turned grave again. “Henshaw,” she said, “I _wish_ you would go to +church this morning!” + +“I would do almost anything for you, Josephine; but really, you know, +you oughtn't to ask that. I was there last Sunday; I can't go every +Sunday. It's bad enough in England; a man ought to have some relief on +the Continent.” + +“Well, well. I suppose I oughtn't to ask you,” sighed his wife, +“especially as you're going with us to-night.” + +“I'll go to-night, with pleasure,” said Mr. Erwin. He rose when his wife +and Lydia left the table, and opened the door for them with a certain +courtesy he had; it struck even Lydia's uneducated sense as something +peculiarly sweet and fine, and it did not overawe her own simplicity, +but seemed of kind with it. + +The bonnet, when put to proof, did not turn out to be all that it was +vaunted. It looked a little odd, from the first; and Mrs. Erwin, when +she was herself dressed, ended by taking it off, and putting on Lydia +the hat previously condemned. “You're divine in that,” she said. “And +after all, you are a traveler, and I can say that some of your things +were spoiled coming over,--people always get things ruined in a sea +voyage,--and they'll think it was your bonnet.” + +“I kept my things very nicely, aunt Josephine,” said Lydia +conscientiously. “I don't believe anything was hurt.” + +“Oh, well, you can't tell till you've unpacked; and we're not +responsible for what people happen to think, you know. Wait!” her aunt +suddenly cried. She pulled open a drawer, and snatched two ribbons from +it, which she pinned to the sides of Lydia's hat, and tied in a bow +under her chin; she caught out a lace veil, and drew that over the front +of the hat, and let it hang in a loose knot behind. “Now,” she said, +pushing her up to a mirror, that she might see, “it's a bonnet; and I +needn't say _any_thing!” + +They went in Mrs. Erwin's gondola to the palace in which the English +service was held, and Lydia was silent, as she looked shyly, almost +fearfully, round on the visionary splendors of Venice. + +Mrs. Erwin did not like to be still. “What are you thinking of, Lydia?” + she asked. + +“Oh! I suppose I was thinking that the leaves were beginning to turn in +the sugar orchard,” answered Lydia faithfully. “I was thinking how still +the sun would be in the pastures, there, this morning. I suppose the +stillness here put me in mind of it. One of these bells has the same +tone as our bell at home.” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Erwin. “Everybody finds a familiar bell in Venice. +There are enough of them, goodness knows. I don't see why you call it +still, with all this clashing and banging. I suppose this seems very odd +to you, Lydia,” she continued, indicating the general Venetian effect. +“It's an old story to me, though. The great beauty of Venice is that you +get more for your money here than you can anywhere else in the world. +There isn't much society, however, and you mustn't expect to be very +gay.” + +“I have never been gay,” said Lydia. + +“Well, that's no reason you shouldn't be,” returned her aunt. “If you +were in Florence, or Rome, or even Naples, you could have a good time. +There! I'm glad your uncle didn't hear me say that!” + +“What?” asked Lydia. + +“Good time; that's an Americanism.” + +“Is it?” + +“Yes. He's perfectly delighted when he catches me in one. I try to break +myself of them, but I don't always know them myself. Sometimes I feel +almost like never talking at all. But you can't do that, you know.” + +“No,” assented Lydia. + +“And you have to talk Americanisms if you're an American. You mustn't +think your uncle isn't obliging, Lydia. He is. I oughtn't to have asked +him to go to church,--it bores him so much. I used to feel terribly +about it once, when we were first married. But things have changed very +much of late years, especially with all this scientific talk. In England +it's quite different from what it used to be. Some of the best people in +society are skeptics now, and that makes it quite another thing.” Lydia +looked grave, but she said nothing, and her aunt added, “I wouldn't have +asked him, but I had a little headache, myself.” + +“Aunt Josephine,” said Lydia, “I'm afraid you're doing too much for me. +Why didn't you let me come alone?” + +“Come alone? To church!” Mrs. Erwin addressed her in a sort of whispered +shriek. “It would have been perfectly scandalous.” + +“To go to church alone?” demanded Lydia, astounded. + +“Yes. A young girl mustn't go _any_where alone.” + +“Why?” + +“I'll explain to you, sometime, Lydia; or rather, you'll learn for +yourself. In Italy it's very different from what it is in America.” + Mrs. Erwin suddenly started up and bowed with great impressiveness, as a +gondola swept towards them. The gondoliers wore shirts of blue silk, +and long crimson sashes. On the cushions of the boat, beside a hideous +little man who was sucking the top of an ivory-handled stick, reclined +a beautiful woman, pale, with purplish rings round the large black eyes +with which, faintly smiling, she acknowledged Mrs. Erwin's salutation, +and then stared at Lydia. + +“Oh, you may look, and you may look, and you may look!” cried Mrs. +Erwin, under her breath. “You've met more than your match at last! +The Countess Tatocka,” she explained to Lydia. “That was her palace we +passed just now,--the one with the iron balconies. Did you notice +the gentleman with her? She always takes to those monsters. He's a +Neapolitan painter, and ever so talented,--clever, that is. He's dead in +love with her, they say.” + +“Are they engaged?” asked Lydia. + +“Engaged!” exclaimed Mrs. Erwin, with her shriek in dumb show. “Why, +child, she's married!” + +“To _him_?” demanded the girl, with a recoil. + +“No! To her husband.” + +“To her husband?” gasped Lydia. “And she--” + +“Why, she isn't quite well seen, even in Venice,” Mrs. Erwin explained. +“But she's rich, and her _conversazioni_ are perfectly brilliant. She's +very artistic, and she writes poetry,--Polish poetry. I _wish_ she could +hear you sing, Lydia! I know she'll be frantic to see you again. But +I don't see how it's to be managed; her house isn't one you can take a +young girl to. And _I_ can't ask her: your uncle detests her.” + +“Do you go to her house?” Lydia inquired stiffly. + +“Why, as a foreigner, _I_ can go. Of course, Lydia, you can't be as +particular about everything on the Continent as you are at home.” + +The former oratory of the Palazzo Grinzelli, which served as the +English chapel, was filled with travelers of both the English-speaking +nationalities, as distinguishable by their dress as by their faces. +Lydia's aunt affected the English style, but some instinctive elegance +betrayed her, and every Englishwoman there knew and hated her for an +American, though she was a precisian in her liturgy, instant in all the +responses and genuflexions. She found opportunity in the course of +the lesson to make Lydia notice every one, and she gave a telegrammic +biography of each person she knew, with a criticism of the costume of +all the strangers, managing so skillfully that by the time the sermon +began she was able to yield the text a statuesquely close attention, and +might have been carved in marble where she sat as a realistic conception +of Worship. + +The sermon came to an end; the ritual proceeded; the hymn, with the +hemming and hawing of respectable inability, began, and Lydia lifted her +voice with the rest. Few of the people were in their own church; some +turned and stared at her; the bonnets and the back hair of those who +did not look were intent upon her; the long red neck of one elderly +Englishman, restrained by decorum from turning his head toward her, +perspired with curiosity. Mrs. Erwin fidgeted, and dropped her eyes from +the glances which fell to her for explanation of Lydia, and hurried away +with her as soon as the services ended. In the hall on the water-floor +of the palace, where they were kept waiting for their gondola a while, +she seemed to shrink even from the small, surly greetings with which +people whose thoughts are on higher things permit themselves to +recognize fellow-beings of their acquaintance in coming out of church. +But an old lady, who supported herself with a cane, pushed through the +crowd to where they stood aloof, and, without speaking to Mrs. Erwin, +put out her hand to Lydia; she had a strong, undaunted, plain face, in +which was expressed the habit of doing what she liked. “My dear,” she +said, “how wonderfully you sing! Where did you get that heavenly voice? +You are an American; I see that by your beauty. You are Mrs. Erwin's +niece, I suppose, whom she expected. Will you come and sing to me? You +must bring her, Mrs. Erwin.” + +She hobbled away without waiting for an answer, and Lydia and her aunt +got into their gondola. “_Oh_! How glad I am!” cried Mrs. Erwin, in a +joyful flutter. “She's the very tip-top of the English here; she has +a whole palace, and you meet the very best people at her house. I was +afraid when you were singing, Lydia, that they would think your voice +was too good to be good form,--that's an expression you must get; it +means everything,--it sounded almost professional. I wanted to nudge +you to sing a little lower, or different, or something; but I couldn't, +everybody was looking so. No matter. It's all right now. If _she_ liked +it, nobody else will dare to breathe. You can see that she has taken a +fancy to you; she'll make a great pet of you.” + +“Who is she?” asked Lydia, bluntly. + +“Lady Fenleigh. Such a character,--so eccentric! But really, I suppose, +very hard to live with. It must have been quite a release for poor Sir +Fenleigh.” + +“She didn't seem in mourning,” said Lydia. “Has he been dead long?” + +“Why, he isn't dead at all! He is what you call a grass-widower. The +best soul in the world, everybody says, and very, very fond of her; but +she couldn't stand it; he was _too_ good, don't you understand? They've +lived apart a great many years. She's lived a great deal in Asia +Minor,--somewhere. She likes Venice; but of course there's no telling +how long she may stay. She has another house in Florence, all ready to +go and be lived in at a day's notice. I wish I had presented you! It +did go through my head; but it didn't seem as if I _could_ get the Blood +out. It _is_ a fearful name, Lydia; I always felt it so when I was a +girl, and I was _so_ glad to marry out of it; and it sounds so terribly +American. I think you must take your mother's name, my dear. Latham is +rather flattish, but it's worlds better than Blood.” + +“I am not ashamed of my father's name,” said Lydia. + +“But you'll have to change it some day, at any rate,--when you get +married.” + +Lydia turned away. “I will be called Blood till then. If Lady +Fenleigh--” + +“Yes, my dear,” promptly interrupted her aunt, “I know that sort of +independence. I used to have whole Declarations of it. But you'll get +over that, in Europe. There was a time--just after the war--when the +English quite liked our sticking up for ourselves; but that's past now. +They like us to be outlandish, but they don't like us to be independent. +How did you like the sermon? Didn't you think we had a nicely-dressed +congregation?” + +“I thought the sermon was very short,” answered Lydia. + +“Well, that's the English way, and I like it. If you get in all the +service, you _must_ make the sermon short.” + +Lydia did not say anything for a little while. Then she asked, “Is the +service the same at the evening meeting?” + +“Evening meeting?” repeated Mrs. Erwin. + +“Yes,--the church to-night.” + +“Why, child, there isn't any church to-night! What _are_ you talking +about?” + +“Didn't uncle--didn't Mr. Erwin say he would go with us to-night?” + +Mrs. Erwin seemed about to laugh, and then she looked embarrassed. “Why, +Lydia,” she cried at last, “he didn't mean church; he meant--opera!” + +“Opera! Sunday night! Aunt Josephine, do you go to the theatre on +Sabbath evening?” + +There was something appalling in the girl's stern voice. Mrs. Erwin +gathered herself tremulously together for defense. “Why, of course, +Lydia, I don't approve of it, though I never _was_ Orthodox. Your uncle +likes to go; and if everybody's there that you want to see, and they +will give the best operas Sunday night, what are you to do?” + +Lydia said nothing, but a hard look came into her face, and she shut her +lips tight. + +“Now you see, Lydia,” resumed her aunt, with an air of deductive +reasoning from the premises, “the advantage of having a bonnet on, even +if it's only a make-believe. I don't believe a soul knew it. All those +Americans had hats. You were the only American girl there with a bonnet. +I'm sure that it had more than half to do with Lady Fenleigh's speaking +to you. It showed that you had been well brought up.” + +“But I never wore a bonnet to church at home,” said Lydia. + +“That has nothing to do with it, if they thought you did. And Lydia,” + she continued, “I was thinking while you were singing there that I +wouldn't say anything at once about your coming over to cultivate your +voice. That's got to be such an American thing, now. I'll let it out +little by little,--and after Lady Fenleigh's quite taken you under her +wing. Perhaps we may go to Milan with you, or to Naples,--there's a +conservatory there, too; and we can pull up stakes as easily as not. +Well!” said Mrs. Erwin, interrupting herself, “I'm glad Henshaw wasn't +by to hear _that_ speech. He'd have had it down among his Americanisms +instantly. I don't know whether it _is_ an Americanism; but he puts down +all the outlandish sayings he gets hold of to Americans; he has no +end of English slang in his book. Everything has opened _beautifully_, +Lydia, and I intend you shall have the _best_ time!” She looked fondly +at her brother's child. “You've no idea how much you remind me of your +poor father. You have his looks exactly. I always thought he would come +out to Europe before he died. We used to be so proud of his looks at +home! I can remember that, though I was the youngest, and he was ten +years older than I. But I always did worship beauty. A perfect Greek, +Mr. Rose-Black calls me: you'll see him; he's an English painter staying +here; he comes a _great_ deal.” + +“Mrs. Erwin, Mrs. Erwin!” called a lady's voice from a gondola behind +them. The accent was perfectly English, but the voice entirely Italian. +“Where are you running to?” + +“Why, Miss Landini!” retorted Mrs. Erwin, looking back over her +shoulder. “Is that you? Where in the world are _you_ going?” + +“Oh, I've been to pay a visit to my old English teacher. He's awfully +ill with rheumatism; but awfully! He can't turn in bed.” + +“Why, poor man! This is my niece whom I told you I was expecting! +Arrived last night! We've been to church!” Mrs. Erwin exclaimed each of +the facts. + +The Italian girl stretched her hand across the gunwales of the boats, +which their respective gondoliers had brought skillfully side by side, +and took Lydia's hand. “I'm glad to see you, my dear. But my God, how +beautiful you Americans are! But you don't look American, you know; +you look Spanish! I shall come a great deal to see you, and practice my +English.” + +“Come home with, us now, Miss Landini, and have lunch,” said Mrs. Erwin. + +“No, my dear, I can't. My aunt will be raising the devil if I'm not +there to drink coffee with her; and I've been a great while away now. +Till tomorrow!” Miss Landini's gondolier pushed his boat away, and rowed +it up a narrow canal on the right. + +“I suppose,” Mrs. Erwin explained, “that she's really her +mother,--everybody says so; but she always calls her aunt. Dear knows +who her father was. But she's a very bright girl, Lydia, and you'll like +her. Don't you think she speaks English wonderfully for a person who's +never been out of Venice?” + +“Why does she swear?” asked Lydia, stonily. + +“_Swear_? Oh, I know what you mean. That's the funniest thing about Miss +Landini. Your uncle says it's a shame to correct her; but I do, whenever +I think of it. Why, you know, such words as God and devil don't sound +at all wicked in Italian, and ladies use them quite commonly. She +understands that it isn't good form to do so in English, but when +she gets excited she forgets. Well, you can't say but what _she_ was +impressed, Lydia!” + +After lunch, various people came to call upon Mrs. Erwin. Several of +them were Italians who were learning English, and they seemed to think +it inoffensive to say that they were glad of the opportunity to practice +the language with Lydia. They talked local gossip with her aunt, and +they spoke of an approaching visit to Venice from the king; it seemed to +Lydia that the king's character was not good. + +Mr. Rose-Black, the English artist, came. He gave himself the effect of +being in Mrs. Erwin's confidence, apparently without her authority, and +he bestowed a share of this intimacy upon Lydia. He had the manner of +a man who had been taken up by people above him, and the impudence of a +talent which had not justified the expectations formed of it. He softly +reproached Mrs. Erwin for running away after service before he could +speak to her, and told her how much everybody had been enchanted by her +niece's singing. “At least, they said it was your niece.” + +“Oh, yes, Mr. Rose-Black, let me introduce you to Miss--” Lydia looked +hard, even to threatening, at her aunt, and Mrs. Erwin added, “Blood.” + +“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Rose-Black, with his picked-up politeness, +“I didn't get the name.” + +“Blood,” said Mrs. Erwin, more distinctly. + +“Aöh!” said Mr. Rose-Black, in a cast-off accent of jaded +indifferentism, just touched with displeasure. “Yes,” he added, +dreamily, to Lydia, “it was divine, you know. You might say it needed +training; but it had the _naïve_ sweetness we associate with your +countrywomen. They're greatly admired in England now, you know, for +their beauty. Oh, I assure you, it's quite the thing to admire American +ladies. I want to arrange a little lunch at my studio for Mrs. Erwin and +yourself; and I want you to abet me in it, Miss Blood.” Lydia stared at +him, but he was not troubled. “I'm going to ask to sketch you. Really, +you know, there's a poise--something bird-like--a sort of repose in +movement--” He sat in a corner of the sofa, with his head fallen back, +and abandoned to an absent enjoyment of Lydia's pictorial capabilities. +He was very red; his full beard, which started as straw color, changed +to red when it got a little way from his face. He wore a suit of rough +blue, the coat buttoned tightly about him, and he pulled a glove through +his hand as he talked. He was scarcely roused from his reverie by the +entrance of an Italian officer, with his hussar jacket hanging upon one +shoulder, and his sword caught up in his left hand. He ran swiftly to +Mrs. Erwin, and took her hand. + +“Ah, my compliments! I come practice my English with you a little. Is it +well said, a little, or do you say a small?” + +“A little, cavaliere,” answered Mrs. Erwin, amiably. “But you must say a +good deal, in this case.” + +“Yes, yes,--good deal. For what?” + +“Let me introduce you to my niece. Colonel Pazzelli,” said Mrs. Erwin. + +“Ah! Too much honor, too much honor!” murmured the cavaliere. He brought +his heels together with a click, and drooped towards Lydia till his +head was on a level with his hips. Recovering himself, he caught up his +eye-glasses, and bent them on Lydia. “Very please, very honored, much--” + He stopped, and looked confused, and Lydia turned pale and red. + +“Now, won't you play that pretty _barcarole_ you played the other night +at Lady Fenleigh's?” entreated Mrs. Erwin. + +Colonel Pazzelli wrenched himself from the fascination of Lydia's +presence, and lavished upon Mrs. Erwin the hoarded English of a week. +“Yes, yes; very nice, very good. With much pleasure. I thank you. Yes, +I play.” He was one of those natives who in all the great Italian +cities haunt English-speaking societies; they try to drink tea without +grimacing, and sing for the ladies of our race, who innocently pet them, +finding them so very like other women in their lady-like sweetness and +softness; it is said they boast among their own countrymen of their +triumphs. The cavaliere unbuckled his sword, and laying it across a +chair sat down at the piano. He played not one but many barcaroles, and +seemed loath to leave the instrument. + +“Now, Lydia,” said Mrs. Erwin, fondly, “won't you sing us something?” + +“Do!” called Mr. Rose-Black from the sofa, with the intonation of a +spoiled first-cousin, or half-brother. + +“I don't feel like singing to-day,” answered Lydia, immovably. Mrs. +Erwin was about to urge her further, but other people came in,--some +Jewish ladies, and then a Russian, whom Lydia took at first for an +American. They all came and went, but Mr. Rose-Black remained in his +corner of the sofa, and never took his eyes from Lydia's face. At last +he went, and then Mr. Erwin looked in. + +“Is that beast gone?” he asked. “I shall be obliged to show him the +door, yet, Josephine. You ought to snub him. He's worse than his +pictures. Well, you've had a whole raft of folks today,--as your +countrymen say.” + +“Yes, thank Heaven,” cried Mrs. Erwin, “and they're all gone. I don't +want Lydia to think that I let everybody come to see me on Sunday. +Thursday is my day, Lydia, but a few privileged friends understand that +they can drop in Sunday afternoon.” She gave Lydia a sketch of the life +and character of each of these friends. “And now I must tell you that +your manner is very good, Lydia. That reserved way of yours is quite the +thing for a young girl in Europe: I suppose it's a gift; I never could +get it, even when I _was_ a girl. But you mustn't show any _hauteur_, +even when you dislike people, and you refused to sing with _rather_ +too much _aplomb_. I don't suppose it was noticed though,--those ladies +coming in at the same time. Really, I thought Mr. Rose-Black and Colonel +Pazzelli were trying to outstare each other! It was certainly amusing. +I never saw such an evident case, Lydia! The poor cavaliere looked as if +he had seen you somewhere before in a dream, and was struggling to make +it all out.” + +Lydia remained impassive. Presently she said she would go to her room, +and write home before dinner. When she went out Mrs. Erwin fetched a +deep sigh, and threw herself upon her husband's sympathy. + +“She's terribly unresponsive,” she began. “I supposed she'd be in +raptures with the place, at least, but you wouldn't know there was +anything at all remarkable in Venice from anything she's said. We have +met ever so many interesting people to-day,--the Countess Tatocka, and +Lady Fenleigh, and Miss Landini, and everybody, but I don't really think +she's said a word about a soul. She's too queer for anything.” + +“I dare say she hasn't the experience to be astonished from,” suggested +Mr. Erwin easily. “She's here as if she'd been dropped down from her +village.” + +“Yes, that's true,” considered his wife. “But it's hard, with Lydia's +air and style and self-possession, to realize that she _is_ merely a +village girl.” + +“She may be much more impressed than she chooses to show,” Mr. Erwin +continued. “I remember a very curious essay by a French writer about +your countrymen: he contended that they were characterized by a savage +stoicism through their contact with the Indians.” + +“Nonsense, Henshaw! There hasn't been an Indian _near_ South Bradfield +for two hundred years. And besides that, am _I_ stoical?” + +“I'm bound to say,” replied her husband, “that so far as you go, you're +a complete refutation of the theory.” + +“I hate to see a young girl so close,” fretted Mrs. Erwin. “But +perhaps,” she added, more cheerfully, “she'll be the easier managed, +being so passive. She doesn't seem at all willful,--that's one comfort.” + +She went to Lydia's room just before dinner, and found the girl with her +head fallen on her arms upon the table, where she had been writing. She +looked up, and faced her aunt with swollen eyes. + +“Why, poor thing!” cried Mrs. Erwin. “What is it, dear? What is it, +Lydia?” she asked, tenderly, and she pulled Lydia's face down upon her +neck. + +“Oh, nothing,” said Lydia. “I suppose I was a little homesick; writing +home made me.” + +She somewhat coldly suffered Mrs. Erwin to kiss her and smooth her hair, +while she began to talk with her of her grandfather and her aunt at +home. “But this is going to be home to you now,” said Mrs. Erwin, “and +I'm not going to let you be sick for any other. I want you to treat me +just like a mother, or an older sister. Perhaps I shan't be the wisest +mother to you in the world, but I mean to be one of the best. Come, now, +bathe your eyes, my dear, and let's go to dinner. I don't like to +keep your uncle waiting.” She did not go at once, but showed Lydia the +appointments of the room, and lightly indicated what she had caused to +be done, and what she had done with her own hands, to make the place +pretty for her. “And now shall I take your letter, and have your uncle +post it this evening?” She picked up the letter from the table. “Hadn't +you any wax to seal it? You know they don't generally mucilage their +envelopes in Europe.” + +Lydia blushed. “I left it open for you to read. I thought you ought to +know what I wrote.” + +Mrs. Erwin dropped her hands in front of her, with the open letter +stretched between them, and looked at her niece in rapture. “Lydia,” she +cried, “one would suppose you had lived all your days in Europe! Showing +me your letter, this way,--why, it's quite like a Continental girl.” + +“I thought it was no more than right you should see what I was writing +home,” said Lydia, unresponsively. + +“Well, no matter, even if it _was_ right,” replied Mrs. Erwin. “It comes +to the same thing. And now, as you've been quite a European daughter, +I'm going to be a real American mother.” She took up the wax, and sealed +Lydia's letter without looking into it. “There!” she said, triumphantly. + +She was very good to Lydia all through dinner, and made her talk of the +simple life at home, and the village characters whom she remembered from +her last summer's visit. That amused Mr. Erwin, who several times, when, +his wife was turning the talk upon Lydia's voyage over, intervened with +some new question about the life of the queer little Yankee hill-town. +He said she must tell Lady Fenleigh about it,--she was fond of picking +up those curios; it would make any one's social fortune who could +explain such a place intelligibly in London; when they got to having +typical villages of the different civilizations at the international +expositions,--as no doubt they would,--somebody must really send South +Bradfield over. He pleased himself vastly with this fancy, till Mrs. +Erwin, who had been eying Lydia critically from time to time, as if +making note of her features and complexion, said she had a white cloak, +and that in Venice, where one need not dress a great deal for the opera, +Lydia could wear it that night. + +Lydia looked up in astonishment, but she sat passive during her aunt's +discussion of her plans. When they rose from table, she said, at her +stiffest and coldest, “Aunt Josephine, I want you to excuse me from +going with you to-night. I don't feel like going.” + +“Not feel like going!” exclaimed her aunt in dismay. “Why, your uncle +has taken a box!” + +Lydia opposed nothing to this argument. She only said, “I would rather +not go.” + +“Oh, but you _will_, dear,” coaxed her aunt. “You would enjoy it so +much.” + +“I thought you understood from what I said to-day,” replied Lydia, “that +I could not go.” + +“Why, no, I didn't! I knew you objected; but if I thought it was proper +for you to go--” + +“I should not go at home,” said Lydia, in the same immovable fashion. + +“Of course not. Every place has its customs, and in Venice it has +_always_ been the custom to go to the opera on Sunday night.” This fact +had no visible weight with Lydia, and after a pause her aunt added, +“Didn't Paul himself say to do in Rome as the Romans do?” + +“No, aunt Josephine,” cried Lydia, indignantly, “he did _not_!” + +Mrs. Erwin turned to her husband with a face of appeal, and he answered, +“Really, my dear, I think you're mistaken. I always had the impression +that the saying was--an Americanism of some sort.” + +“But it doesn't matter,” interposed Lydia decisively. “I couldn't go, if +I didn't think it was right, whoever said it.” + +“Oh, well,” began Mrs. Erwin, “if you wouldn't mind what _Paul_ said--” + She suddenly checked herself, and after a little silence she resumed, +kindly, “I won't try to force you, Lydia. I didn't realize what a very +short time it is since you left home, and how you still have all those +ideas. I wouldn't distress you about them for the world, my dear. I want +you to feel at home with me, and I'll make it as like home for you as I +can in everything. Henshaw, I think you must go alone, this evening. I +will stay with Lydia.” + +“Oh, no, no! I couldn't let you; I can't let you! I shall not know what +to do if I keep you at home. Oh, don't leave it that way, please! I +shall feel so badly about it--” + +“Why, we can both stay,” suggested Mr. Erwin, kindly. + +Lydia's lips trembled and her eyes glistened, and Mrs. Erwin said, +“I'll go with you, Henshaw. I'll be ready in half an hour. I won't dress +_much_.” She added this as if not to dress a great deal at the opera +Sunday night might somehow be accepted as an observance of the Sabbath. + + + + +XXIV. + + +The next morning Veronica brought Lydia a little scrawl from her aunt, +bidding the girl come and breakfast with her in her room at nine. + +“Well, my dear,” her aunt called to her from her pillow, when she +appeared, “you find me flat enough, this morning. If there was anything +wrong about going to the opera last night, I was properly punished +for it. Such wretched stuff as _I_ never heard! And instead of the new +ballet that they promised, they gave an old thing that I had seen till +I was sick of it. You didn't miss much, I can tell you. How fresh and +bright you _do_ look, Lydia!” she sighed. “Did you sleep well? Were you +lonesome while we were gone? Veronica says you were reading the whole +evening. Are you fond of reading?” + +“I don't think I am, very,” said Lydia. “It was a book that I began on +the ship. It's a novel.” She hesitated. “I wasn't reading it; I was just +looking at it.” + +“What a queer child you are! I suppose you were dying to read it, and +wouldn't because it was Sunday. Well!” Mrs. Erwin put her hand under +her pillow, and pulled out a gossamer handkerchief, with which she +delicately touched her complexion here and there, and repaired with an +instinctive rearrangement of powder the envious ravages of a slight rash +about her nose. “I respect your high principles beyond anything, Lydia, +and if they can only be turned in the right direction they will never be +any disadvantage to you.” Veronica came in with the breakfast on a tray, +and Mrs. Erwin added, “Now, pull up that little table, and bring your +chair, my dear, and let us take it easy. I like to talk while I'm +breakfasting. Will you pour out my chocolate? That's it, in the ugly +little pot with the wooden handle; the copper one's for you, with coffee +in it. I never could get that repose which seems to come perfectly +natural to you. I was always inclined to be a little rowdy, my dear, and +I've had to fight hard against it, without any help from _either_ of my +husbands; men like it; they think it's funny. When I was first married, +I was very young, and so was he; it was a real love match; and my +husband was very well off, and when I began to be delicate, nothing +would do but he must come to Europe with me. How little I ever expected +to outlive him!” + +“You don't look very sick now,” began Lydia. + +“Ill,” said her aunt. “You must say ill. Sick is an Americanism.” + +“It's in the Bible,” said Lydia, gravely. + +“Oh, there are a great many words in the _Bible_ you can't use,” + returned her aunt. “No, I don't look ill now, and I'm worlds better. But +I couldn't live a year in any other climate, I suppose. You seem to +take after your mother's side. Well, as I was saying, the European ways +didn't come natural to me, at all. I used to have a great deal of gayety +when I was a girl, and I liked beaux and attentions; and I had very free +ways. I couldn't get their stiffness here for years and years, and all +through my widowhood it was one wretched failure with me. Do what I +would, I was always violating the most essential rules, and the worst of +it was that it only seemed to make me the more popular. I do believe it +was nothing but my rowdiness that attracted Mr. Erwin; but I determined +when I had got an Englishman I would make one bold strike for the +proprieties, and have them, or die in the attempt. I determined that no +Englishwoman I ever saw should outdo me in strict conformity to all the +usages of European society. So I cut myself off from all the Americans, +and went with nobody but the English.” + +“Do you like them better?” asked Lydia, with the blunt, child-like +directness that had already more than once startled her aunt. + +“_Like_ them! I detest them! If Mr. Erwin were a real Englishman, I +think I should go crazy; but he's been so little in his own country--all +his life in India, nearly, and the rest on the Continent,--that +he's quite human; and no American husband was ever more patient and +indulgent; and _that_'s saying a good deal. He would be glad to have +nothing but Americans around; he has an enthusiasm for them,--or for +what he supposes they are. Like the English! You ought to have heard +them during our war; it would have made your blood boil! And then how +they came crawling round after it was all over, and trying to pet us up! +Ugh!” + +“If you feel so about them,” said Lydia, as before, “why do you want to +go with them so much?” + +“My dear,” cried her aunt, “_to beat them with their own weapons on +their own ground_,--to show them that an American can be more European +than any of them, if she chooses! And now you've come here with looks +and temperament and everything just to my hand. You're more +beautiful than any English girl ever dreamt of being; you're very +distinguished-looking; your voice is perfectly divine; and you're colder +than an iceberg. _Oh_, if I only had one winter with you in Rome, +I think I should die in peace!” Mrs. Erwin paused, and drank her +chocolate, which she had been letting cool in the eagerness of her +discourse. “But, never mind,” she continued, “we will do the best we can +here. I've seen English girls going out two or three together, without +protection, in Rome and Florence; but I mean that you shall be quite +Italian in that respect. The Italians never go out without a chaperone +of some sort, and you must never be seen without me, or your uncle, or +Veronica. Now I'll tell you how you must do at parties, and so on. You +must be very retiring; you're that, any way; but you must always keep +close to me. It doesn't do for young people to talk much together in +society; it makes scandal about a girl. If you dance, you must always +hurry back to me. Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Erwin, “I remember how, when +I was a girl, I used to hang on to the young men's arms, and promenade +with them after a dance, and go out to supper with them, and flirt on +the stairs,--_such_ times! But that wouldn't do here, Lydia. It would +ruin a girl's reputation; she could hardly walk arm in arm with a young +man if she was engaged to him.” Lydia blushed darkly red, and then +turned paler than usual, while her aunt went on. “You might do +it, perhaps, and have it set down to American eccentricity or +under-breeding, but I'm not going to have that. I intend you to be just +as dull and diffident in society as if you were an Italian, and _more_ +than if you were English. Your voice, of course, is a difficulty. If +you sing, that will make you conspicuous, in spite of everything. But I +don't see why that can't be turned to advantage; it's no worse than your +beauty. Yes, if you're so splendid-looking and so gifted, and at the +same time as stupid as the rest, it's so much clear gain. It will come +easy for you to be shy with men, for I suppose you've hardly ever talked +with any, living up there in that out-of-the-way village; and your +manner is very good. It's reserved, and yet it isn't green. The way,” + continued Mrs. Erwin, “to treat men in Europe is to behave as if they +were guilty till they prove themselves innocent. All you have to do is +to reverse all your American ideas. But here I am, lecturing you as if +you had been just such a girl as I was, with half a dozen love affairs +on her hands at once, and no end of gentlemen friends. Europe won't +be hard for you, my dear, for you haven't got anything to unlearn. But +_some_ girls that come over!--it's perfectly ridiculous, the trouble +they get into, and the time they have getting things straight. They take +it for granted that men in good society are gentlemen,--what we mean by +gentlemen.” + +Lydia had been letting her coffee stand, and had scarcely tasted the +delicious French bread and the sweet Lombard butter of which her aunt +ate so heartily. “Why, child,” said Mrs. Erwin, at last, “where is your +appetite? One would think you were the elderly invalid who had been up +late. Did you find it too exciting to sit at home _looking_ at a novel? +What was it? If it's a new story I should like to see it. But you didn't +bring a novel from South Bradfield with you?” + +“No,” said Lydia, with a husky reluctance. “One of the--passengers gave +it to me.” + +“Had you many passengers? But of course not. That was what made it so +delightful when I came over that way. I was newly married then, and with +spirits--oh dear me!--for anything. It was one adventure, the whole way; +and we got so well acquainted, it was like one family. I suppose your +grandfather put you in charge of some family. I know artists sometimes +come out that way, and people for their health.” + +“There was no family on our ship,” said Lydia. “My state-room had been +fixed up for the captain's wife--” + +“Our captain's wife was along, too,” interposed Mrs. Erwin. “She was +such a joke with us. She had been out to Venice on a voyage before, and +used to be always talking about the Du-_cal_ Palace. And did they really +turn out of their state-room for you?” + +“She was not along,” said Lydia. + +“Not along?” repeated Mrs. Erwin, feebly. “Who--who were the other +passengers?” + +“There were three gentlemen,” answered Lydia. + +“Three gentlemen? Three men? Three--And you--and--” Mrs. Erwin fell back +upon her pillow, and remained gazing at Lydia, with a sort of remote +bewildered pity, as at perdition, not indeed beyond compassion, but far +beyond help. Lydia's color had been coming and going, but now it settled +to a clear white. Mrs. Erwin commanded herself sufficiently to resume: +“And there were--there were--no other ladies?” + +“No.” + +“And you were--” + +“I was the only woman on board,” replied Lydia. She rose abruptly, +striking the edge of the table in her movement, and setting its china +and silver jarring. “Oh, I know what you mean, aunt Josephine, but two +days ago I couldn't have dreamt it! From the time the ship sailed till I +reached this wicked place, there wasn't a word said nor a look looked to +make me think I wasn't just as right and safe there as if I had been in +my own room at home. They were never anything but kind and good to me. +They never let me think that they could be my enemies, or that I must +suspect them and be on the watch against them. They were Americans! +I had to wait for one of your Europeans to teach me that,--for that +officer who was here yesterday--” + +“The cavaliere? Why, where--” + +“He spoke to me in the cars, when Mr. Erwin was asleep! Had he any right +to do so?” + +“He would think he had, if he thought you were alone,” said Mrs. Erwin, +plaintively. “I don't see how we could resent it. It was simply a +mistake on his part. And now you see, Lydia--” + +“Oh, I see how my coming the way I have will seem to all these people!” + cried Lydia, with passionate despair. “I know how it will seem to that +married woman who lets a man be in love with her, and that old woman +who can't live with her husband because he's too good and kind, and that +girl who swears and doesn't know who her father is, and that impudent +painter, and that officer who thinks he has the right to insult women if +he finds them alone! I wonder the sea doesn't swallow up a place where +even Americans go to the theatre on the Sabbath!” + +“Lydia, Lydia! It isn't so bad as it seems to you,” pleaded her aunt, +thrown upon the defensive by the girl's outburst. “There are ever so +many good and nice people in Venice, and I know them, too,--Italians as +well as foreigners. And even amongst those you saw, Miss Landini is one +of the kindest girls in the world, and she had just been to see her +old teacher when we met her,--she half takes care of him; and Lady +Fenleigh's a perfect mother to the poor; and I never was at the Countess +Tatocka's except in the most distant way, at a ball where everybody +went; and is it better to let your uncle go to the opera alone, or to go +with him? You told me to go with him yourself; and they consider Sunday +over, on the Continent, after morning service, any way!” + +“Oh, it makes no difference!” retorted Lydia, wildly. “I am going away. +I am going home. I have money enough to get to Trieste, and the ship is +there, and Captain Jenness will take me back with him. Oh!” she moaned. +“_He_ has been in Europe, too, and I suppose he's like the rest of you; +and he thought because I was alone and helpless he had the right to--Oh, +I see it, I see now that he never meant anything, and--Oh, oh, oh!” She +fell on her knees beside the bed, as if crushed to them by the cruel +doubt that suddenly overwhelmed her, and flung out her arms on Mrs. +Erwin's coverlet--it was of Venetian lace sewed upon silk, a choice bit +from the palace of one of the ducal families--and buried her face in it. + +Her aunt rose from her pillow, and looked in wonder and trouble at +the beautiful fallen head, and the fair young figure shaken with sobs. +“He--who--what are you talking about, Lydia? Whom do you mean? Did +Captain Jenness--” + +“No, no!” wailed the girl, “the one that gave me the book.” + +“The one that gave you the book? The book you were looking at last +night?” + +“Yes,” sobbed Lydia, with her voice muffled in the coverlet. + +Mrs. Erwin lay down again with significant deliberation. Her face was +still full of trouble, but of bewilderment no longer. In moments of +great distress the female mind is apt to lay hold of some minor anxiety +for its distraction, and to find a certain relief in it. “Lydia,” said +her aunt in a broken voice, “I wish you wouldn't cry in the coverlet: +it doesn't hurt the lace, but it stains the silk.” Lydia swept her +handkerchief under her face but did not lift it. Her aunt accepted the +compromise. “How came he to give you the book?” + +“Oh, I don't know. I can't tell. I thought it was because--because--It +was almost at the very beginning. And after that he walked up and down +with me every night, nearly; and he tried to be with me all he could; +and he was always saying things to make me think--Oh dear, oh _dear_, oh +dear! And he _tried_ to make me care for him! Oh, it was cruel, cruel!” + +“You mean that he made love to you?” asked her aunt. + +“Yes--no--I don't know. He tried to make me care for him, and to make me +think he cared for me.” + +“Did he say he cared for you? Did he--” + +“No!” + +Mrs. Erwin mused a while before she said, “Yes, it was cruel indeed, +poor child, and it was cowardly, too.” + +“Cowardly?” Lydia lifted her face, and flashed a glance of tearful fire +at her aunt. “He is the bravest man in the world! And the most generous +and high-minded! He jumped into the sea after that wicked Mr. Hicks, and +saved his life, when he disliked him worse than anything!” + +“_Who_ was Mr. Hicks?” + +“He was the one that stopped at Messina. He was the one that got some +brandy at Gibraltar, and behaved so dreadfully, and wanted to fight +him.” + +“Whom?” + +“This one. The one who gave me the book. And don't you see that his +being so good makes it all the worse? Yes; and he pretended to be glad +when I told him I thought he was good,--he got me to say it!” She had +her face down again in her handkerchief. “And I suppose _you_ think it +was horrible, too, for me to take his arm, and talk and walk with him +whenever he asked me!” + +“No, not for you, Lydia,” said her aunt, gently. “And don't you think +now,” she asked after a pause, “that he cared for you?” + +“Oh, I _did_ think so,--I _did_ believe it; but now, _now_--” + +“Now, what?” + +“Now, I'm afraid that may be he was only playing with me, and putting +me off; and pretending that he had something to tell me when he got to +Venice, and he never meant anything by anything.” + +“Is he coming to--” her aunt began, but Lydia broke vehemently out +again. + +“If he had cared for me, why couldn't he have told me so at once, and +not had me wait till he got to Venice? He _knew_ I--” + +“There are two ways of explaining it,” said Mrs. Erwin. “He _may_ +have been in earnest, Lydia, and felt that he had no right to be more +explicit till you were in the care of your friends. That would be the +European way which you consider so bad,” said Mrs. Erwin. “Under the +circumstances, it was impossible for him to keep any distance, and +all he could do was to postpone his declaration till there could be +something like good form about it. Yes, it might have been that.” She +was silent, but the troubled look did not leave her face. “I am sorry +for you, Lydia,” she resumed, “but I don't know that I wish he was +in earnest.” Lydia looked up at her in dismay. “It might be far less +embarrassing the other way, however painful. He may not be at all a +suitable person.” The tears stood in Lydia's eyes, and all her face +expressed a puzzled suspense. “Where was he from?” asked Mrs. Erwin, +finally; till then she had been more interested in the lover than the +man. + +“Boston,” mechanically answered Lydia. + +“What was his name?” + +“Mr. Staniford,” owned Lydia, with a blush. + +Her aunt seemed dispirited at the sound. “Yes, I know who they are,” she +sighed. + +“And aren't they nice? Isn't he--suitable?” asked Lydia, tremulously. + +“Oh, poor child! He's only _too_ suitable. I can't explain to you, +Lydia; but at home he wouldn't have looked at a girl like you. What sort +of looking person is he?” + +“He's rather--red; and he has--light hair.” + +“It must be the family I'm thinking of,” said Mrs. Erwin. She had lived +nearly twenty years in Europe, and had seldom revisited her native +city; but at the sound of a Boston name she was all Bostonian again. +She rapidly sketched the history of the family to which she imagined +Staniford to belong. “I remember his sister; I used to see her at +school. She must have been five or six years younger than I; and this +boy--” + +“Why, he's twenty-eight years old!” interrupted Lydia. + +“How came he to tell you?” + +“I don't know. He said that he looked thirty-four.” + +“Yes; _she_ was always a forward thing too,--with her freckles,” said +Mrs. Erwin, musingly, as if lost in reminiscences, not wholly pleasing, +of Miss Staniford. + +“_He_ has freckles,” admitted Lydia. + +“Yes, it's the one,” said Mrs. Erwin. “He couldn't have known what your +family was from anything you said?” + +“We never talked about our families.” + +“Oh, I dare say! You talked about yourselves?” + +“Yes.” + +“All the time?” + +“Pretty nearly.” + +“And he didn't try to find out who or what you were?” + +“He asked a great deal about South Bradfield.” + +“Of course, that was where he thought you had always belonged.” Mrs. +Erwin lay quiescent for a while, in apparent uncertainty as to how she +should next attack the subject. “How did you first meet?” + +Lydia began with the scene on Lucas Wharf, and little by little told +the whole story up to the moment of their parting at Trieste. There were +lapses and pauses in the story, which her aunt was never at a loss to +fill aright. At the end she said, “If it were not for his promising to +come here and see you, I should say Mr. Staniford had been flirting, +and as it is he may not regard it as anything more than flirtation. Of +course, there was his being jealous of Mr. Dunham and Mr. Hicks, as +he certainly was; and his wanting to explain about that lady at +Messina--yes, that looked peculiar; but he may not have meant anything +by it. His parting so at Trieste with you, that might be either because +he was embarrassed at its having got to be such a serious thing, or +because he really felt badly. Lydia,” she asked at last, “what made +_you_ think he cared for you?” + +“I don't know,” said the girl; her voice had sunk to a husky whisper. “I +didn't believe it till he said he wanted me to be his--conscience, and +tried to make me say he was good, and--” + +“That's a certain kind of man's way of flirting. It may mean nothing at +all. I could tell in an instant, if I saw him.” + +“He said he would be here this afternoon,” murmured Lydia, tremulously. + +“This afternoon!” cried Mrs. Erwin. “I must get up!” + +At her toilette she had the exaltation and fury of a champion arming for +battle. + + + + +XXV. + + +Mr. Erwin entered about the completion of her preparations, and without +turning round from her glass she said, “I want you to think of the worst +thing you can, Henshaw. I don't see how I'm ever to lift up my head +again.” As if this word had reminded her of her head, she turned it from +side to side, and got the effect in the glass, first of one ear-ring, +and then of the other. Her husband patiently waited, and she now +confronted him. “You may as well know first as last, Henshaw, and I want +you to prepare yourself for it. Nothing can be done, and you will +just have to live through it. Lydia--has come over--on that +ship--alone,--with three young men,--and not the shadow--not the +ghost--of another woman--on board!” Mrs. Erwin gesticulated with her +hand-glass in delivering the words, in a manner at once intensely +vivid and intensely solemn, yet somehow falling short of the due tragic +effect. Her husband stood pulling his mustache straight down, while +his wife turned again to the mirror, and put the final touches to +her personal appearance with hands which she had the effect of having +desperately washed of all responsibility. He stood so long in this +meditative mood that she was obliged to be peremptory with his image in +the glass. “Well?” she cried. + +“Why, my dear,” said Mr. Erwin, at last, “they were all Americans +together, you know.” + +“And what difference does that make?” demanded Mrs. Erwin, whirling from +his image to the man again. + +“Why, of course, you know, it isn't as if they were--English.” Mrs. +Erwin flung down three hair-pins upon her dressing-case, and visibly +despaired. “Of course you don't expect your countrymen--” His wife's +appearance was here so terrible that he desisted, and resumed by saying, +“Don't be vexed, my dear. I--I rather like it, you know. It strikes me +as a genuine bit of American civilization.” + +“American civilization! Oh, Henshaw!” wailed Mrs. Erwin, “is it possible +that after all I've said, and done, and lived, you still think that any +one but a girl from the greenest little country place could do such a +thing as that? Well, it is no use trying to enlighten English people. +You like it, do you? Well, I'm not sure that the Englishman who +misunderstands American things and likes them isn't a little worse than +the Englishman who misunderstands them and dislikes them. You _all_ +misunderstand them. And would you like it, if one of the young men had +been making love to Lydia?” + +The amateur of our civilization hesitated and was serious, but he said +at last, “Why, you know, I'm not surprised. She's so uncommonly pretty. +I--I suppose they're engaged?” he suggested. + +His wife held her peace for scorn. Then she said, “The gentleman is of a +very good Boston family, and would no more think of engaging himself +to a young girl without the knowledge of her friends than you would. +Besides, he's been in Europe a great deal.” + +“I wish I could meet some Americans who hadn't been in Europe,” said Mr. +Erwin. “I should like to see what you call the simon-pure American. As +for the young man's not engaging himself, it seems to me that he didn't +avail himself of his national privileges. I should certainly have done +it in his place, if I'd been an American.” + +“Well, if you'd been an American, you wouldn't,” answered his wife. + +“Why?” + +“Because an American would have had too much delicacy.” + +“I don't understand that.” + +“I know you don't, Henshaw. And there's where you show yourself an +Englishman.” + +“Really,” said her husband, “you're beginning to crow, my dear. Come, +I like that a great deal better than your cringing to the effete +despotisms of the Old World, as your Fourth of July orators have it. +It's almost impossible to get a bit of good honest bounce out of an +American, nowadays,--to get him to spread himself, as you say.” + +“All that is neither here nor there, Henshaw,” said his wife. “The +question is how to receive Mr. Staniford--that's his name--when he +comes. How are we to regard him? He's coming here to see Lydia, and she +thinks he's coming to propose.” + +“Excuse me, but how does she regard him?” + +“Oh, there's no question about that, poor child. She's _dead_ in love +with him, and can't understand why he didn't propose on shipboard.” + +“And she isn't an Englishman, either!” exulted Mr. Erwin. “It appears +that there are Americans and Americans, and that the men of your nation +have more delicacy than the women like.” + +“Don't be silly,” said his wife. “Of course, women always think what +they would do in such cases, if they were men; but if men did what women +think they would do if they were men, the women would be disgusted.” + +“Oh!” + +“Yes. Her feeling in the matter is no guide.” + +“Do you know his family?” asked Mr. Erwin. + +“I think I do. Yes, I'm sure I do.” + +“Are they nice people?” + +“Haven't I told you they were a good Boston family?” + +“Then upon my word, I don't see that we've to take any attitude at all. +I don't see that we've to regard him in one way or the other. It quite +remains for him to make the first move.” + +As if they had been talking of nothing but dress before, Mrs. Erwin +asked: “Do you think I look better in this black mexicaine, or would you +wear your écru?” + +“I think you look very well in this. But why--He isn't going to propose +to you, I hope?” + +“I must have on something decent to receive him in. What time does the +train from Trieste get in?” + +“At three o'clock.” + +“It's one, now. There's plenty of time, but there isn't any too much. +I'll go and get Lydia ready. Or perhaps you'll tap on her door, Henshaw, +and send her here. Of course, this is the end of her voice,--if it is +the end.” + +“It's the end of having an extraordinarily pretty girl in the house. +I don't at all like it, you know,--having her whisked away in this +manner.” + +Mrs. Erwin refused to let her mind wander from the main point. “He'll be +round as soon as he can, after he arrives. I shall expect him by four, +at the latest.” + +“I fancy he'll stop for his dinner before he comes,” said Mr. Erwin. + +“Not at all,” retorted his wife, haughtily. And with his going out of +the room, she set her face in a resolute cheerfulness, for the task of +heartening Lydia when she should appear; but it only expressed misgiving +when the girl came in with her yachting-dress on. “Why, Lydia, shall you +wear that?” + +Lydia swept her dress with a downward glance. + +“I thought I would wear it. I thought he--I should seem--more natural +in it. I wore it all the time on the ship, except Sundays. He said--he +liked it the best.” + +Mrs. Erwin shook her head. “It wouldn't do. Everything must be on a new +basis now. He might like it; but it would be too romantic, wouldn't it, +don't you think?” She shook her head still, but less decisively. “Better +wear your silk. Don't you think you'd better wear your silk? This is +very pretty, and the dark blue does become you, awfully. Still, I don't +know--_I_ don't know, either! A great many English wear those careless +things in the house. Well, _wear_ it, Lydia! You _do_ look perfectly +killing in it. I'll tell you: your uncle was going to ask you to go +out in his boat; he's got one he rows himself, and this is a boating +costume; and you know you could time yourselves so as to get back just +right, and you could come in with this on--” + +Lydia turned pale. “Oughtn't I--oughtn't I--to be here?” she faltered. + +Her aunt laughed gayly. “Why, he'll ask for _me_, Lydia.” + +“For you?” asked Lydia, doubtfully. + +“Yes. And I can easily keep him till you get back. If you're here by +four--” + +“The train,” said Lydia, “arrives at three.” + +“How did you know?” asked her aunt, keenly. + +Lydia's eyelids fell even lower than their wont. + +“I looked it out in that railroad guide in the parlor.” + +Her aunt kissed her. “And you've thought the whole thing out, dear, +haven't you? I'm glad to see you so happy about it.” + +“Yes,” said the girl, with a fluttering breath, “I have thought it out, +and _I believe him_. I--” She tried to say something more, but could +not. + +Mrs. Erwin rang the bell, and sent for her husband. “He knows about it, +Lydia,” she said. + +“He's just as much interested as we are, dear, but you needn't be +worried. He's a perfect post for not showing a thing if you don't want +him to. He's really quite superhuman, in that,--equal to a woman. You +can talk Americanisms with him. If we sat here staring at each other +till four o'clock,--he _must_ go to his hotel before he comes here; and +I say four at the earliest; and it's much more likely to be five or six, +or perhaps evening,--I should die!” + +Mr. Erwin's rowing was the wonder of all Venice. There was every reason +why he should fall overboard at each stroke, as he stood to propel the +boat in the gondolier fashion, except that he never yet had done so. It +was sometimes his fortune to be caught on the shallows by the falling +tide; but on that day he safely explored the lagoons, and returned +promptly at four o'clock to the palace. + +His wife was standing on the balcony, looking out for them, and she +smiled radiantly down into Lydia's anxiously lifted face. But when +she met the girl at the head of the staircase in the great hall, she +embraced her, and said, with the same gay smile, “He hasn't come yet, +dear, and of course he won't come till after dinner. If I hadn't been as +silly as you are, Lydia, I never should have let you expect him sooner. +He'll want to go to his hotel: and no matter how impatient he is, he'll +want to dress, and be a little ceremonious about his call. You know +we're strangers to him, whatever _you_ are.” + +“Yes,” said Lydia, mechanically. She was going to sit down, as she was; +of her own motion she would not have stirred from the place till he +came, or it was certain he would not come; but her aunt would not permit +the despair into which she saw her sinking. + +She laughed resolutely, and said, “I think we must give up the little +sentimentality of meeting him in that dress, now. Go and change it, +Lydia. Put on your silk,--or wait: let me go with you. I want to try +some little effects with your complexion. We've experimented with the +simple and familiar, and now we'll see what can be done in the way of +the magnificent and unexpected. I'm going to astonish the young man with +a Venetian beauty; you know you look Italian, Lydia.” + +“Yes, he said so,” answered Lydia. + +“Did he? That shows he has an eye, and he'll appreciate what we are +going to do.” + +She took Lydia to her own room, for the greater convenience of her +experiments, and from that moment she did not allow her to be alone; she +scarcely allowed her to be silent; she made her talk, she kept her in +movement. At dinner she permitted no lapse. “Henshaw,” she said, “Lydia +has been telling me about a storm they had just before they reached +Gibraltar. I wish you would tell her of the typhoon you were in when you +first went out to India.” Her husband obeyed; and then recurring to the +days of his civil employment in India, he told stories of tiger-hunts, +and of the Sepoy mutiny. Mrs. Erwin would not let them sit very long +at table. After dinner she asked Lydia to sing, and she suffered her to +sing all the American songs her uncle asked for. At eight o'clock she +said with a knowing little look at Lydia, which included a sub-wink +for her husband, “You may go to your café alone, this evening, Henshaw. +Lydia and I are going to stay at home and talk South Bradfield gossip. +I've hardly had a moment with her yet.” But when he was gone, she took +Lydia to her own room again, and showed her all her jewelry, and passed +the time in making changes in the girl's toilette. + +It was like the heroic endeavor of the arctic voyager who feels the +deadly chill in his own veins, and keeps himself alive by rousing his +comrade from the torpor stealing over him. They saw in each other's eyes +that if they yielded a moment to the doubt in their hearts they were +lost. + +At ten o'clock Mrs. Erwin said abruptly, “Go to bed, Lydia!” Then the +girl broke down, and abandoned herself in a storm of tears. “Don't cry, +dear, don't cry,” pleaded her aunt. “He will be here in the morning, I +know he will. He has been delayed.” + +“No, he's not coming,” said Lydia, through her sobs. + +“Something has happened,” urged Mrs. Erwin. + +“No,” said Lydia, as before. Her tears ceased as suddenly as they had +come. She lifted her head, and drying her eyes looked into her aunt's +face. “Are you ashamed of me?” she asked hoarsely. + +“Ashamed of you? Oh, poor child--” + +“I can't pretend anything. If I had never told you about it at all, I +could have kept it back till I died. But now--But you will never hear +me speak of it again. It's over.” She took up her candle, and stiffly +suffering the compassionate embrace with which her aunt clung to her, +she walked across the great hall in the vain splendor in which she had +been adorned, and shut the door behind her. + + + + +XXVI. + + +Dunham lay in a stupor for twenty-four hours, and after that he was +delirious, with dim intervals of reason in which they kept him from +talking, till one morning he woke and looked up at Staniford with a +perfectly clear eye, and said, as if resuming the conservation, “I +struck my head on a pile of chains.” + +“Yes,” replied Staniford, with a wan smile, “and you've been out of it +pretty near ever since. You mustn't talk.” + +“Oh, I'm all right,” said Dunham. “I know about my being hurt. I shall +be cautious. Have you written to Miss Hibbard? I hope you haven't!” + +“Yes, I have,” replied Staniford. “But I haven't sent the letter,” he +added, in answer to Dunham's look of distress. “I thought you were going +to pull through, in spite of the doctor,--he's wanted to bleed you, and +I could hardly keep his lancet out of you,--and so I wrote, mentioning +the accident and announcing your complete restoration. The letter merely +needs dating and sealing. I'll look it up and have it posted.” He began +a search in the pockets of his coat, and then went to his portfolio. + +“What day is this?” asked Dunham. + +“Friday,” said Staniford, rummaging his portfolio. + +“Have you been in Venice?” + +“Look here, Dunham! If you begin in that way, I can't talk to you. +It shows that you're still out of your head. How could I have been in +Venice?” + +“But Miss Blood; the Aroostook--” + +“Miss Blood went to Venice with her uncle last Saturday. The Aroostook +is here in Trieste. The captain has just gone away. He's stood watch and +watch with me, while you were off on business.” + +“But didn't you go to Venice on Monday?” + +“Well, hardly,” answered Staniford. + +“No, you stayed with me,--I see,” said Dunham. + +“Of course, I wrote to her at once,” said Staniford, huskily, “and +explained the matter as well as I could without making an ado about it. +But now you stop, Dunham. If you excite yourself, there'll be the deuce +to pay again.” + +“I'm not excited,” said Dunham, “but I can't help thinking how +disappointed--But of course you've heard from her?” + +“Well, there's hardly time, yet,” said Staniford, evasively. + +“Why, yes, there is. Perhaps your letter miscarried.” + +“Don't!” cried Staniford, in a hollow under-voice, which he broke +through to add, “Go to sleep, now, Dunham, or keep quiet, somehow.” + +Dunham was silent for a while, and Staniford continued his search, which +he ended by taking the portfolio by one corner, and shaking its contents +out on the table. “I don't seem to find it; but I've put it away +somewhere. I'll get it.” He went to another coat, that hung on the back +of a chair, and fumbled in its pockets. “Hello! Here are those letters +they brought me from the post-office Saturday night,--Murray's, and +Stanton's, and that bore Farrington's. I forgot all about them.” He ran +the unopened letters over in his hand. “Ah, here's my familiar scrawl--” + He stopped suddenly, and walked away to the window, where he stood with +his back to Dunham. + +“Staniford! What is it?” + +“It's--it's my letter to _her_” said Staniford, without looking round. + +“Your letter to Miss Blood--not gone?” Staniford, with his face still +from him, silently nodded. “Oh!” moaned Dunham, in self-forgetful +compassion. “How could it have happened?” + +“I see perfectly well,” said the other, quietly, but he looked round at +Dunham with a face that was haggard. “I sent it out to be posted by the +_portier_, and he got it mixed up with these letters for me, and brought +it back.” + +The young men were both silent, but the tears stood in Dunham's eyes. +“If it hadn't been for me, it wouldn't have happened,” he said. + +“No,” gently retorted Staniford, “if it hadn't been for _me_, it +wouldn't have happened. I made you come from Messina with me, when you +wanted to go on to Naples with those people; if I'd had any sense, I +should have spoken fully to her before we parted; and it was I who sent +you to see if she were on the steamer, when you fell and hurt yourself. +I know who's to blame, Dunham. What day did I tell you this was?” + +“Friday.” + +“A week! And I told her to expect me Monday afternoon. A week without +a word or a sign of any kind! Well, I might as well take passage in the +Aroostook, and go back to Boston again.” + +“Why, no!” cried Dunham, “you must take the first train to Venice. Don't +lose an instant. You can explain everything as soon as you see her.” + +Staniford shook his head. “If all her life had been different, if she +were a woman of the world, it would be different; she would know how to +account for some little misgivings on my part; but as it is she wouldn't +know how to account for even the appearance of them. What she must have +suffered all this week--I can't think of it!” He sat down and turned his +face away. Presently he sprang up again. “But I'm going, Dunham. I guess +you won't die now; but you may die if you like. I would go over your +dead body!” + +“Now you are talking sense,” said Dunham. + +Staniford did not listen; he had got out his railroad guide and was +studying it. “No; there are only those two trains a day. The seven +o'clock has gone; and the next starts at ten to-night. Great heavens! +I could walk it sooner! Dunham,” he asked, “do you think I'd better +telegraph?” + +“What would you say?” + +“Say that there's been a mistake; that a letter miscarried; that I'll be +there in the morning; that--” + +“Wouldn't that be taking her anxiety a little too much for granted?” + +“Yes, that's true. Well, you've got your wits about you now, Dunham,” + cried Staniford, with illogical bitterness. “Very probably,” he added, +gloomily, “she doesn't care anything for me, after all.” + +“That's a good frame of mind to go in,” said Dunham. + +“Why is it?” demanded Staniford. “Did I ever presume upon any supposed +interest in her?” + +“You did at first,” replied Dunham. + +Staniford flushed angrily. But you cannot quarrel with a man lying +helpless on his back; besides, what Dunham said was true. + +The arrangements for Staniford's journey were quickly made,--so quickly +that when he had seen the doctor, and had been down to the Aroostook and +engaged Captain Jenness to come and take his place with Dunham for the +next two nights, he had twelve hours on his hands before the train +for Venice would leave, and he started at last with but one clear +perception,--that at the soonest it must be twelve hours more before he +could see her. + +He had seemed intolerably slow in arriving on the train, but once +arrived in Venice he wished that he had come by the steamboat, which +would not be in for three hours yet. In despair he went to bed, +considering that after he had tossed there till he could endure it no +longer, he would still have the resource of getting up, which he would +not have unless he went to bed. When he lay down, he found himself +drowsy; and while he wondered at this, he fell asleep, and dreamed a +strange dream, so terrible that he woke himself by groaning in spirit, +a thing which, as he reflected, he had never done before. The sun was +piercing the crevice between his shutters, and a glance at his watch +showed him that it was eleven o'clock. + +The shadow of his dream projected itself into his waking mood, and +steeped it in a gloom which he could not escape. He rose and dressed, +and meagrely breakfasted. Without knowing how he came there, he stood +announced in Mrs. Erwin's parlor, and waited for her to receive him. + +His card was brought in to her where she lay in bed. After supporting +Lydia through the first sharp shock of disappointment, she had yielded +to the prolonged strain, and the girl was now taking care of her. +She gave a hysterical laugh as she read the name on the card Veronica +brought, and crushing it in her hand, “He's come!” she cried. + +“I will not see him!” said Lydia instantly. + +“No,” assented her aunt. “It wouldn't be at all the thing. Besides, +he's asked for me. Your uncle might see him, but he's out of the way; +of course he _would_ be out of the way. Now, let me see!” The excitement +inspired her; she rose in bed, and called for the pretty sack in which +she ordinarily breakfasted, and took a look at herself in a hand-glass +that lay on the bed. Lydia did not move; she scarcely seemed to breathe; +but a swift pulse in her neck beat visibly. “If it would be decent to +keep him waiting so long, I could dress, and see him myself. I'm _well_ +enough.” Mrs. Erwin again reflected. “Well,” she said at last, “you must +see him, Lydia.” + +“I--” began the girl. + +“Yes, you. Some one must. It will be all right. On second thought, I +believe I should send you, even if I were quite ready to go myself. This +affair has been carried on so far on the American plan, and I think I +shall let you finish it without my interference. Yes, as your uncle +said when I told him, you're all Americans together; and you _are_. Mr. +Staniford has come to see you, though he asks for me. That's perfectly +proper; but I can't see him, and I want you to excuse me to him.” + +“What would you--what must I--” Lydia began again. + +“No, Lydia,” interrupted her aunt. “I won't tell you a thing. I might +have advised you when you first came; but now, I--Well, I think I've +lived too long in Europe to be of use in such a case, and I won't have +anything to do with it. I won't tell you how to meet him, or what to +say; but oh, child,”--here the woman's love of loving triumphed in her +breast,--“I wish I was in your place! Go!” + +Lydia slowly rose, breathless. + +“Lydia!” cried her aunt. “Look at me!” Lydia turned her head. “Are you +going to be hard with him?” + +“I don't know what he's coming for,” said Lydia dishonestly. + +“But if he's coming for what you hope?” + +“I don't hope for anything.” + +“But you did. Don't be severe. You're terrible when you're severe.” + +“I will be just.” + +“Oh, no, you mustn't, my dear. It won't do at all to be _just_ with men, +poor fellows. Kiss me, Lydia!” She pulled her down, and kissed her. When +the girl had got as far as the door, “Lydia, Lydia!” she called after +her. Lydia turned. “Do you realize what dress you've got on?” Lydia +looked down at her robe; it was the blue flannel yachting-suit of the +Aroostook, which she had put on for convenience in taking care of +her aunt. “Isn't it too ridiculous?” Mrs. Erwin meant to praise the +coincidence, not to blame the dress. Lydia smiled faintly for answer, +and the next moment she stood at the parlor door. + +Staniford, at her entrance, turned from looking out of the window and +saw her as in his dream, with her hand behind her, pushing the door to; +but the face with which she looked at him was not like the dead, sad +face of his dream. It was thrillingly alive, and all passions were blent +in it,--love, doubt, reproach, indignation; the tears stood in her eyes, +but a fire burnt through the tears. With his first headlong impulse +to console, explain, deplore, came a thought that struck him silent at +sight of her. He remembered, as he had not till then remembered, in +all his wild longing and fearing, that there had not yet been anything +explicit between them; that there was no engagement; and that he had +upon the face of things, at least, no right to offer her more than some +formal expression of regret for not having been able to keep his promise +to come sooner. While this stupefying thought gradually filled his whole +sense to the exclusion of all else, he stood looking at her with a dumb +and helpless appeal, utterly stunned and wretched. He felt the life die +out of his face and leave it blank, and when at last she spoke, he +knew that it was in pity of him, or contempt of him. “Mrs. Erwin is not +well,” she said, “and she wished me--” + +But he broke in upon her: “Oh, don't talk to me of Mrs. Erwin! It was +you I wanted to see. Are _you_ well? Are you alive? Do you--” He stopped +as precipitately as he began; and after another hopeless pause, he went +on piteously: “I don't know where to begin. I ought to have been here +five days ago. I don't know what you think of me, or whether you have +thought of me at all; and before I can ask I must tell you why I wanted +to come then, and why I come now, and why I think I must have come back +from the dead to see you. You are all the world to me, and have been +ever since I saw you. It seems a ridiculously unnecessary thing to say, +I have been looking and acting and living it so long; but I say it, +because I choose to have you know it, whether you ever cared for me or +not. I thought I was coming here to explain why I had not come sooner, +but I needn't do that unless--unless--” He looked at her where she still +stood aloof, and he added: “Oh, answer me something, for pity's sake! +Don't send me away without a word. There have been times when you +wouldn't have done that!” + +“Oh, I _did_ care for you!” she broke out. “You know I did--” + +He was instantly across the room, beside her. “Yes, yes, I know it!” But +she shrank away. + +“You tried to make me believe you cared for me, by everything you could +do. And I did believe you then; and yes, I believed you afterwards, when +I didn't know what to believe. You were the one true thing in the world +to me. But it seems that you didn't believe it yourself.” + +“That I didn't believe it myself? That I--I don't know what you mean.” + +“You took a week to think it over! I have had a week, too, and I have +thought it over, too. You have come too late.” + +“Too late? You don't, you can't, mean--Listen to me, Lydia; I want to +tell you--” + +“No, there is nothing you can tell me that would change me. I know it, I +understand it all.” + +“But you don't understand what kept me.” + +“I don't wish to know what made you break your word. I don't care to +know. I couldn't go back and feel as I did to you. Oh, that's gone! It +isn't that you did not come--that you made me wait and suffer; but you +knew how it would be with me after I got here, and all the things I +should find out, and how I should feel! And you stayed away! I don't +know whether I can forgive you, even; oh, I'm afraid I don't; but I can +never care for you again. Nothing but a case of life and death--” + +“It was a case of life and death!” + +Lydia stopped in her reproaches, and looked at him with wistful doubt, +changing to a tender fear. + +“Oh, have you been hurt? Have you been sick?” she pleaded, in a breaking +voice, and made some unconscious movement toward him. He put out his +hand, and would have caught one of hers, but she clasped them in each +other. + +“No, not I,--Dunham--” + +“Oh!” said Lydia, as if this were not at all enough. + +“He fell and struck his head, the night you left. I thought he would +die.” Staniford reported his own diagnosis, not the doctor's; but he was +perhaps in the right to do this. “I had made him go down to the wharf +with me; I wanted to see you again, before you started, and I thought we +might find you on the boat.” He could see her face relenting; her hands +released each other. “He was delirious till yesterday. I couldn't leave +him.” + +“Oh, why didn't you write to me?” She ignored Dunham as completely as +if he had never lived. “You knew that I--” Her voice died away, and her +breast rose. + +“I did write--” + +“But how,--I never got it.” + +“No,--it was not posted, through a cruel blunder. And then I thought--I +got to thinking that you didn't care--” + +“Oh,” said the girl. “Could you doubt me?” + +“You doubted me,” said Staniford, seizing his advantage. “I brought the +letter with me to prove _my_ truth.” She did not look at him, but she +took the letter, and ran it greedily into her pocket. “It's well I did +so, since you don't believe my word.” + +“Oh, yes,--yes, I know it,” she said; “I never doubted it!” Staniford +stood bemazed, though he knew enough to take the hands she yielded +him; but she suddenly caught them away again, and set them against his +breast. “I was very wrong to suspect you ever; I'm sorry I did; but +there's something else. I don't know how to say what I want to say. But +it must be said.” + +“Is it something disagreeable?” asked Staniford, lightly. + +“It's right,” answered Lydia, unsmilingly. + +“Oh, well, don't say it!” he pleaded; “or don't say it now,--not till +you've forgiven me for the anxiety I've caused you; not till you've +praised me for trying to do what I thought the right thing. You can't +imagine how hard it was for one who hasn't the habit!” + +“I do praise you for it. There's nothing to forgive _you_; but I can't +let you care for me unless I know--unless”--She stopped, and then, “Mr. +Staniford,” she began firmly, “since I came here, I've been learning +things that I didn't know before. They have changed the whole world to +me, and it can never be the same again.” + +“I'm sorry for that; but if they haven't changed you, the world may go.” + +“No, not if we're to live in it,” answered the girl, with the soberer +wisdom women keep at such times. “It will have to be known how we met. +What will people say? They will laugh.” + +“I don't think they will in my presence,” said Staniford, with swelling +nostrils. “They may use their pleasure elsewhere.” + +“And I shouldn't care for their laughing, either,” said Lydia. “But oh, +why did you come?” + +“Why did I come?” + +“Was it because you felt bound by anything that's happened, and you +wouldn't let me bear the laugh alone? I'm not afraid for myself. I shall +never blame you. You can go perfectly free.” + +“But I don't want to go free!” + +Lydia looked at him with piercing earnestness. “Do you think I'm proud?” + she asked. + +“Yes, I think you are,” said Staniford, vaguely. + +“It isn't for myself that I should be proud with other people. But I +would rather die than bring ridicule upon one I--upon you.” + +“I can believe that,” said Staniford, devoutly, and patiently +reverencing the delay of her scruples. + +“And if--and--” Her lips trembled, but she steadied her trembling voice. +“If they laughed at you, and thought of me in a slighting way because--” + Staniford gave a sort of roar of grief and pain to know how her heart +must have been wrung before she could come to this. “You were all so +good that you didn't let me think there was anything strange about it--” + +“Oh, good heavens! We only did what it was our precious and sacred +privilege to do! We were all of one mind about it from the first. +But don't torture yourself about it, my darling. It's over now; it's +past--no, it's present, and it will always be, forever, the dearest and +best thing in life Lydia, do you believe that I love you?” + +“Oh, I must!” + +“And don't you believe that I'm telling you the truth when I say that +I wouldn't, for all the world can give or take, change anything that's +been?” + +“Yes, I do believe you. Oh, I haven't said at all what I wanted to say! +There was a great deal that I ought to say. I can't seem to recollect +it.” + +He smiled to see her grieving at this recreance of her memory to her +conscience. “Well, you shall have a whole lifetime to recall it in.” + +“No, I must try to speak now. And you must tell me the truth now,--no +matter what it costs either of us.” She laid her hands upon his extended +arms, and grasped them intensely. “There's something else. I want to ask +you what _you_ thought when you found me alone on that ship with all +of you.” If she had stopped at this point, Staniford's cause might +have been lost, but she went on: “I want to know whether you were ever +ashamed of me, or despised me for it; whether you ever felt that because +I was helpless and friendless there, you had the right to think less of +me than if you had first met me here in this house.” + +It was still a terrible question, but it offered a loop-hole of escape, +which Staniford was swift to seize. Let those who will justify the +answer with which he smiled into her solemn eyes: “I will leave you to +say.” A generous uncandor like this goes as far with a magnanimous and +serious-hearted woman as perhaps anything else. + +“Oh, I knew it, I knew it!” cried Lydia. And then, as he caught her to +him at last, “Oh--oh--are you _sure_ it's right?” + +“I have no doubt of it,” answered Staniford. Nor had he any question of +the strategy through which he had triumphed in this crucial test. He +may have thought that there were always explanations that had to be made +afterwards, or he may have believed that he had expiated in what he had +done and suffered for her any slight which he had felt; possibly, he +considered that she had asked more than she had a right to do. It is +certain that he said with every appearance of sincerity, “It began the +moment I saw you on the wharf, there, and when I came to know my mind +I kept it from you only till I could tell you here. But now I wish I +hadn't! Life is too short for such a week as this.” + +“No,” said Lydia, “you acted for the best, and you are--good.” + +“I'll keep that praise till I've earned it,” answered Staniford. + + + + +XXVII. + + +In the Campo Santi Apostoli at Venice there stands, a little apart from +the church of that name, a chapel which has been for many years the +place of worship for the Lutheran congregation. It was in this church +that Staniford and Lydia were married six weeks later, before the altar +under Titian's beautiful picture of Christ breaking bread. + +The wedding was private, but it was not quite a family affair. Miss +Hibbard had come down with her mother from Dresden, to complete Dunham's +cure, and she was there with him perfectly recovered; he was not quite +content, of course, that the marriage should not take place in the +English chapel, but he was largely consoled by the candles burning on +the altar. The Aroostook had been delayed by repairs which were found +necessary at Trieste, and Captain Jenness was able to come over and +represent the ship at the wedding ceremony, and at the lunch which +followed. He reserved till the moment of parting a supreme expression of +good-will. When he had got a hand of Lydia's and one of Staniford's in +each of his, with his wrists crossed, he said, “Now, I ain't one to tack +round, and stand off and on a great deal, but what I want to say is just +this: the Aroostook sails next week, and if you two are a mind to go +back in her, the ship's yours, as I said to Miss Blood, here,--I mean +Mis' Staniford; well, I _hain't_ had much time to get used to it!--when +she first come aboard there at Boston. I don't mean any pay; I want you +to go back as my guests. You can use the cabin for your parlor; and I +promise you I won't take any other passengers _this_ time. I declare,” + said Captain Jenness, lowering his voice, and now referring to Hicks for +the first time since the day of his escapade, “I did feel dreadful about +that fellow!” + +“Oh, never mind,” replied Staniford. “If it hadn't been for Hicks +perhaps I mightn't have been here.” He exchanged glances with his wife, +that showed they had talked all that matter over. + +The captain grew confidential. “Mr. Mason told me he saw you lending +that chap money. I hope he didn't give you the slip?” + +“No; it came to me here at Blumenthals' the other day.” + +“Well, that's right! It all worked together for good, as you say. Now +you come!” + +“What do you say, my dear?” asked Staniford, on whom the poetic fitness +of the captain's proposal had wrought. + +Women are never blinded by romance, however much they like it in the +abstract. “It's coming winter. Do you think you wouldn't be seasick?” + returned the bride of an hour, with the practical wisdom of a matron. + +Staniford laughed. “She's right, captain. I'm no sailor. I'll get home +by the all-rail route as far as I can.” + +Captain Jenness threw back his head, and laughed too. “Good! That's +about it.” And he released their hands, so as to place one hairy paw on +a shoulder of each. “You'll get along together, I guess.” + +“But we're just as much obliged to you as if we went, Captain Jenness. +And tell all the crew that I'm homesick for the Aroostook, and thank +all for being so kind to me; and I thank _you_, Captain Jenness!” Lydia +looked at her husband, and then startled the captain with a kiss. + +He blushed all over, but carried it off as boldly as he could. “Well, +well,” he said, “that's right! If you change your minds before the +Aroostook sails, you let me know.” + +This affair made a great deal of talk in Venice, where the common stock +of leisure is so great that each person may without self-reproach +devote a much larger share of attention to the interests of the others +than could be given elsewhere. The decorous fictions in which Mrs. Erwin +draped the singular facts of the acquaintance and courtship of Lydia +and Staniford were what unfailingly astonished and amused him, and he +abetted them without scruple. He found her worldliness as innocent as +the unworldliness of Lydia, and he gave Mrs. Erwin his hearty sympathy +when she ingenuously owned that the effort to throw dust in the eyes +of her European acquaintance was simply killing her. He found endless +refreshment in the contemplation of her attitude towards her burdensome +little world, and in her reasons for enslaving herself to it. He was +very good friends with both of the Erwins. When he could spare the time +from Lydia, he went about with her uncle in his boat, and respected his +skill in rowing it without falling overboard. He could not see why any +one should be so much interested in the American character and dialect +as Mr. Erwin was; but he did not object, and he reflected that after all +they were not what their admirer supposed them. + +The Erwins came with the Stanifords as far as Paris on their way home, +and afterwards joined them in California, where Staniford bought a +ranch, and found occupation if not profit in its management. Once cut +loose from her European ties, Mrs. Erwin experienced an incomparable +repose and comfort in the life of San Francisco; it was, she declared, +the life for which she had really been adapted, after all; and in the +climate of Santa Barbara she found all that she had left in Italy. In +that land of strange and surprising forms of every sort, her husband +has been very happy in the realization of an America surpassing even his +wildest dreams, and he has richly stored his note-book with philological +curiosities. He hears around him the vigorous and imaginative locutions +of the Pike language, in which, like the late Canon Kingsley, he finds +a Scandinavian hugeness; and pending the publication of his Hand-Book +of Americanisms, he is in confident search of the miner who uses his +pronouns cockney-wise. Like other English observers, friendly and +unfriendly, he does not permit the facts to interfere with his +preconceptions. + +Staniford's choice long remained a mystery to his acquaintances, and +was but partially explained by Mrs. Dunham, when she came home. “Why, I +suppose he fell in love with her,” she said. “Of course, thrown together +that way, as they were, for six weeks, it might have happened to +anybody; but James Staniford was always the most consummate flirt that +breathed; and he never could see a woman, without coming up, in that +metaphysical way of his, and trying to interest her in him. He was +always laughing at women, but there never was a man who cared more for +them. From all that I could learn from Charles, he began by making fun +of her, and all at once he became perfectly infatuated with her. I don't +see why. I never could get Charles to tell me anything remarkable that +she said or did. She was simply a country girl, with country ideas, and +no sort of cultivation. Why, there was _nothing_ to her. He's done the +wisest thing he could by taking her out to California. She never would +have gone down, here. I suppose James Staniford knew that as well as any +of us; and if he finds it worth while to bury himself with her there, +we've no reason to complain. She did _sing_, wonderfully; that is, her +voice was perfectly divine. But of course that's all over, now. She +didn't seem to care much for it; and she really knew so little of life +that I don't believe she could form the idea of an artistic career, or +feel that it was any sacrifice to give it up. James Staniford was not +worth any such sacrifice; but she couldn't know that either. She was +good, I suppose. She was very stiff, and she hadn't a word to say for +herself. I think she was cold. To be sure, she was a beauty; I really +never saw anything like it,--that pale complexion some brunettes have, +with her hair growing low, and such eyes and lashes!” + +“Perhaps the beauty had something to do with his falling in love with +her,” suggested a listener. The ladies present tried to look as if this +ought not to be sufficient. + +“Oh, very likely,” said Mrs. Dunham. She added, with an air of being +the wreck of her former self, “But we all know what becomes of _beauty_ +after marriage.” + +The mind of Lydia's friends had been expressed in regard to her +marriage, when the Stanifords, upon their arrival home from Europe, paid +a visit to South Bradfield. It was in the depths of the winter following +their union, and the hill country, stern and wild even in midsummer, +wore an aspect of savage desolation. It was sheeted in heavy snow, +through which here and there in the pastures, a craggy bowlder lifted +its face and frowned, and along the woods the stunted pines and hemlocks +blackened against a background of leafless oaks and birches. A northwest +wind cut shrill across the white wastes, and from the crests of the +billowed drifts drove a scud of stinging particles in their faces, while +the sun, as high as that of Italy, coldly blazed from a cloudless blue +sky. Ezra Perkins, perched on the seat before them, stiff and silent +as if he were frozen there, drove them from Bradfield Junction to +South Bradfield in the long wagon-body set on bob-sleds, with which he +replaced his Concord coach in winter. At the station he had sparingly +greeted Lydia, as if she were just back from Greenfield, and in the +interest of personal independence had ignored a faint motion of hers +to shake hands; at her grandfather's gate, he set his passengers down +without a word, and drove away, leaving Staniford to get in his trunk as +he might. + +“Well, I declare,” said Miss Maria, who had taken one end of the trunk +in spite of him, and was leading the way up through the path cleanly +blocked out of the snow, “that Ezra Perkins is enough to make you wish +he'd _stayed_ in Dakoty!” + +Staniford laughed, as he had laughed at everything on the way from the +station, and had probably thus wounded Ezra Perkins's susceptibilities. +The village houses, separated so widely by the one long street, +each with its path neatly tunneled from the roadway to the gate; the +meeting-house, so much vaster than the present needs of worship, and +looking blue-cold with its never-renewed single coat of white paint; +the graveyard set in the midst of the village, and showing, after Ezra +Perkins's disappearance, as many signs of life as any other locality, +realized in the most satisfactory degree his theories of what winter +must be in such a place as South Bradfield. The burning smell of the +sheet-iron stove in the parlor, with its battlemented top of filigree +iron work; the grimness of the horsehair-covered best furniture; the +care with which the old-fashioned fire-places had been walled up, and +all accessible character of the period to which the house belonged had +been effaced, gave him an equal pleasure. He went about with his arm +round Lydia's waist, examining these things, and yielding to the joy +they caused him, when they were alone. “Oh, my darling,” he said, in one +of these accesses of delight, “when I think that it's my privilege to +take you away from all this, I begin to feel not so very unworthy, after +all.” + +But he was very polite, as Miss Maria owned, when Mr. and Mrs. Goodlow +came in during the evening, with two or three unmarried ladies of the +village, and he kept them from falling into the frozen silence which +habitually expresses social enjoyment in South Bradfield when strangers +are present. He talked about the prospects of Italian advancement to an +equal state of intellectual and moral perfection with rural New England, +while Mr. Goodlow listened, rocking himself back and forth in the +hair-cloth arm-chair. Deacon Latham, passing his hand continually +along the stove battlements, now and then let his fingers rest on the +sheet-iron till he burnt them, and then jerked them suddenly away, to +put them, back the next moment, in his absorbing interest. Miss Maria, +amidst a murmur of admiration from the ladies, passed sponge-cake and +coffee: she confessed afterwards that the evening had been so brilliant +to her as to seem almost wicked; and the other ladies, who owned to +having lain awake all night on her coffee, said that if they _had_ +enjoyed themselves they were properly punished for it. + +When they were gone, and Lydia and Staniford had said good-night, and +Miss Maria, coming in from the kitchen with a hand-lamp for her father, +approached the marble-topped centre-table to blow out the large lamp of +pea-green glass with red woollen wick, which had shed the full +radiance of a sun-burner upon the festival, she faltered at a manifest +unreadiness in the old man to go to bed, though the fire was low, and +they had both resumed the drooping carriage of people in going about +cold houses. He looked excited, and, so far as his unpracticed visage +could intimate the emotion, joyous. + +“Well, there, Maria!” he said. “You can't say but what he's a +master-hand to converse, any way. I'd know as I ever see Mr. Goodlow more +struck up with any one. He looked as if every word done him good; I +presume it put him in mind of meetin's with brother ministers: I don't +suppose but what he misses it some, here. You can't say but what he's a +fine appearin' young man. I d'know as I see anything wrong in his kind +of dressin' up to the nines, as you may say. As long's he's got the +money, I don't see what harm it is. It's all worked for good, Lyddy's +going out that way; though it did seem a mysterious providence at the +time.” + +“Well!” began Miss Maria. She paused, as if she had been hurried too +far by her feelings, and ought to give them a check before proceeding. +“Well, I don't presume you'd notice it, but she's got a spot on her +silk, so't a whole breadth's got to come out, and be let in again bottom +side up. I guess there's a pair of 'em, for carelessness.” She waited a +moment before continuing: “I d'know as I like to see a husband puttin' +his arm round his wife, even when he don't suppose any one's lookin'; +but I d'know but what it's natural, too. But it's one comfort to see't +she ain't the least mite silly about _him_. He's dreadful freckled.” + Miss Maria again paused thoughtfully, while her father burnt his fingers +on the stove for the last time, and took them definitively away. “I +don't say but what he talked well enough, as far forth as talkin' +_goes_; Mr. Goodlow said at the door't he didn't know's he ever passed +_many_ such evenin's since he'd been in South Bradfield, and I d'know as +_I_ have. I presume he has his faults; we ain't any of us perfect; but +he _does_ seem terribly wrapped up in Lyddy. I don't say but what he'll +make her a good husband, if she must _have_ one. I don't suppose but +what people might think, as you may say, 't she'd made out pretty well; +and if Lyddy's suited, I d'know as anybody else has got any call to be +over particular.” + +THE END. + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Lady of the Aroostook, by William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 7797-0.txt or 7797-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/7/9/7797/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, Earle Beach and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lady of the Aroostook + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: March, 2005 [EBook #7797] +This file was first posted on May 17, 2003 +Last Updated: February 25, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, Earle Beach, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK + </h1> + <h3> + <b> By William Dean Howells </b> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXVII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK + </h1> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + In the best room of a farm-house on the skirts of a village in the hills + of Northern Massachusetts, there sat one morning in August three people + who were not strangers to the house, but who had apparently assembled in + the parlor as the place most in accord with an unaccustomed finery in + their dress. One was an elderly woman with a plain, honest face, as kindly + in expression as she could be perfectly sure she felt, and no more; she + rocked herself softly in the haircloth arm-chair, and addressed as father + the old man who sat at one end of the table between the windows, and + drubbed noiselessly upon it with his stubbed fingers, while his lips, + puckered to a whistle, emitted no sound. His face had that distinctly + fresh-shaven effect which once a week is the advantage of shaving no + oftener: here and there, in the deeper wrinkles, a frosty stubble had + escaped the razor. He wore an old-fashioned, low black satin stock, over + the top of which the linen of his unstarched collar contrived with + difficulty to make itself seen; his high-crowned, lead-colored straw hat + lay on the table before him. At the other end of the table sat a young + girl, who leaned upon it with one arm, propping her averted face on her + hand. The window was open beside her, and she was staring out upon the + door-yard, where the hens were burrowing for coolness in the soft earth + under the lilac bushes; from time to time she put her handkerchief to her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like this part of it, father,” said the elderly woman,—“Lyddy's + seeming to feel about it the way she does right at the last moment, as you + may say.” The old man made a noise in his throat as if he might speak; but + he only unpuckered his mouth, and stayed his fingers, while the other + continued: “I don't want her to go now, no more than ever I did. I ain't + one to think that eatin' up everything on your plate keeps it from + wastin', and I never was; and I say that even if you couldn't get the + money back, it would cost no more to have her stay than to have her go.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose,” said the old man, in a high, husky treble, “but what I + could get some of it back from the captain; may be all. He didn't seem any + ways graspin'. I don't want Lyddy should feel, any more than you do, + Maria, that we're glad to have her go. But what I look at is this: as long + as she has this idea—Well, it's like this—I d'know as I can + express it, either.” He relapsed into the comfort people find in giving up + a difficult thing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know!” returned the woman. “I understand it's an opportunity; you + might call it a leadin', almost, that it would be flyin' in the face of + Providence to refuse. I presume her gifts were given her for improvement, + and it would be the same as buryin' them in the ground for her to stay up + here. But I do say that I want Lyddy should feel just <i>so</i> about + goin', or not go at all. It ain't like goin' among strangers, though, if + it <i>is</i> in a strange land. They're her father's own kin, and if + they're any ways like him they're warm-<i>hearted</i> enough, if that's + all you want. I guess they'll do what's right by Lyddy when she gets + there. And I try to look at it this way: that long before that maple by + the gate is red she'll be with her father's own sister; and I for one + don't mean to let it worry me.” She made search for her handkerchief, and + wiped away the tears that fell down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” returned the old man; “and before the leaves are on the ground we + shall more'n have got our first letter from her. I declare for't,” he + added, after a tremulous pause, “I was goin' to say how Lyddy would enjoy + readin' it to us! I don't seem to get it rightly into my head that she's + goin' away.” + </p> + <p> + “It ain't as if Lyddy was leavin' any life behind her that's over and + above pleasant,” resumed the woman. “She's a good girl, and I never want + to see a more uncomplainin'; but I know it's duller and duller here all + the while for her, with us two old folks, and no young company; and I + d'know as it's been any better the two winters she's taught in the Mill + Village. That's what reconciles me, on Lyddy's account, as much as + anything. I ain't one to set much store on worldly ambition, and I never + was; and I d'know as I care for Lyddy's advancement, as you may call it. I + believe that as far forth as true happiness goes she'd be as well off here + as there. But I don't say but what she would be more satisfied in the end, + and as long as you can't have happiness, in this world, I say you'd better + have satisfaction. Is that Josiah Whitman's hearse goin' past?” she asked, + rising from her chair, and craning forward to bring her eyes on a level + with the window, while she suspended the agitation of the palm-leaf fan + which she had not ceased to ply during her talk; she remained a moment + with the quiescent fan pressed against her bosom, and then she stepped out + of the door, and down the walk to the gate. “Josiah!” she called, while + the old man looked and listened at the window. “Who you be'n buryin'?” + </p> + <p> + The man halted his hearse, and answered briefly, “Mirandy Holcomb.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I thought the funeral wa'n't to be till tomorrow! Well, I declare,” + said the woman, as she reëntered the room and sat down again in her + rocking-chair, “I didn't ask him whether it was Mr. Goodlow or Mr. Baldwin + preached the sermon. I was so put out hearin' it was Mirandy, you might + say I forgot to ask him anything. Mirandy was always a well woman till + they moved down to the Mill Village and began takin' the hands to board,—so + many of 'em. When I think of Lyddy's teachin' there another winter,—well, + I could almost rejoice that she was goin' away. She ain't a mite too + strong as it is.” + </p> + <p> + Here the woman paused, and the old man struck in with his quaint treble + while she fanned herself in silence: “I do suppose the voyage is goin' to + be everything for her health. She'll be from a month to six weeks gettin' + to Try-East, and that'll be a complete change of air, Mr. Goodlow says. + And she won't have a care on her mind the whole way out. It'll be a season + of rest and quiet. I did wish, just for the joke of the thing, as you may + say, that the ship had be'n goin' straight to Venus, and Lyddy could 'a' + walked right in on 'em at breakfast, some morning. I should liked it to + be'n a surprise. But there wa'n't any ship at Boston loadin' for Venus, + and they didn't much believe I'd find one at New York. So I just took up + with the captain of the Aroostook's offer. He says she can telegraph to + her folks at Venus as soon as she gets to Try-East, and she's welcome to + stay on the ship till they come for her. I didn't think of their havin' + our mod'n improvements out there; but he says they have telegraphs and + railroads everywheres, the same as we do; and they're <i>real</i> kind and + polite when you get used to 'em. The captain, he's as nice a man as I ever + see. His wife's be'n two or three voyages with him in the Aroostook, and + he'll know just how to have Lyddy's comfort looked after. He showed me the + state-room she's goin' to have. Well, it ain't over and above large, but + it's pretty as a pink: all clean white paint, with a solid mahogany edge + to the berth, and a mahogany-framed lookin'-glass on one side, and little + winders at the top, and white lace curtains to the bed. He says he had it + fixed up for his wife, and he lets Lyddy have it all for her own. She can + set there and do her mendin' when she don't feel like comin' into the + cabin. The cabin—well, I wish you could see that cabin, Maria! The + first mate is a fine-appearing man, too. Some of the sailors looked pretty + rough; but I guess it was as much their clothes as anything; and I d'know + as Lyddy'd <i>have</i> a great deal to do with them, any way.” The old + man's treble ceased, and at the same moment the shrilling of a locust in + one of the door-yard maples died away; both voices, arid, nasal, and high, + lapsed as one into a common silence. + </p> + <p> + The woman stirred impatiently in her chair, as if both voices had been + repeating something heard many times before. They seemed to renew her + discontent. “Yes, I know; I know all that, father. But it ain't the + mahogany I think of. It's the child's gettin' there safe and well.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the old man, “I asked the captain about the seasickness, and + he says she ain't nigh so likely to be sick as she would on the steamer; + the motion's more regular, and she won't have the smell of the machinery. + That's what he said. And he said the seasickness would do her good, any + way. I'm sure I don't want her to be sick any more than you do, Maria.” He + added this like one who has been unjustly put upon his defense. + </p> + <p> + They now both remained silent, the woman rocking herself and fanning, and + the old man holding his fingers suspended from their drubbing upon the + table, and looking miserably from the woman in the rocking-chair to the + girl at the window, as if a strict inquiry into the present situation + might convict him of it in spite of his innocence. The girl still sat with + her face turned from them, and still from time to time she put her + handkerchief to her eyes and wiped away the tears. The locust in the maple + began again, and shrilled inexorably. Suddenly the girl leaped to her + feet. + </p> + <p> + “There's the stage!” she cried, with a tumult in her voice and manner, and + a kind of choking sob. She showed, now that she stood upright, the slim + and elegant shape which is the divine right of American girlhood, clothed + with the stylishness that instinctive taste may evoke, even in a hill + town, from study of paper patterns, Harper's Bazar, and the costume of + summer boarders. Her dress was carried with spirit and effect. + </p> + <p> + “Lydia Blood!” cried the other woman, springing responsively to her feet, + also, and starting toward the girl, “don't you go a step without you feel + just like it! Take off your things this minute and stay, if you wouldn't + jus' as lives go. It's hard enough to <i>have</i> you go, child, without + seemin' to force you!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, aunt Maria,” answered the girl, piteously, “it almost kills me to go; + but <i>I'm</i> doing it, not you. I know how you'd like to have me stay. + But don't say it again, or I couldn't bear up; and I'm going now, if I + have to be carried.” + </p> + <p> + The old man had risen with the others; he was shorter than either, and as + he looked at them he seemed half awed, half bewildered, by so much drama. + Yet it was comparatively very little. The girl did not offer to cast + herself upon her aunt's neck, and her aunt did not offer her an embrace, + it was only their hearts that clung together as they simply shook hands + and kissed each other. Lydia whirled away for her last look at herself in + the glass over the table, and her aunt tremulously began to put to rights + some slight disorder in the girl's hat. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” she said sharply, “are Lyddy's things all ready there by the + door, so's not to keep Ezra Perkins waitin'? You know he always grumbles + so. And then he <i>gets</i> you to the cars so't you have to wait half an + hour before they start.” She continued to pin and pull at details of + Lydia's dress, to which she descended from her hat. “It sets real nice on + you, Lyddy. I guess you'll think of the time we had gettin' it made up, + when you wear it out there.” Miss Maria Latham laughed nervously. + </p> + <p> + With a harsh banging and rattling, a yellow Concord coach drew up at the + gate where Miss Maria had stopped the hearse. The driver got down, and + without a word put Lydia's boxes and bags into the boot, and left two or + three light parcels for her to take into the coach with her. + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria went down to the gate with her father and niece. “Take the back + seat, father!” she said, as the old man offered to take the middle place. + “Let them that come later have what's left. You'll be home to-night, + father; I'll set up for you. Good-by again, Lyddy.” She did not kiss the + girl again, or touch her hand. Their decent and sparing adieux had been + made in the house. As Miss Maria returned to the door, the hens, cowering + conscience-stricken under the lilacs, sprang up at sight of her with a + screech of guilty alarm, and flew out over the fence. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I vow,” soliloquized Miss Maria, “from where she set Lyddy must + have seen them pests under the lilacs the whole time, and never said a + word.” She pushed the loosened soil into place with the side of her ample + slipper, and then went into the house, where she kindled a fire in the + kitchen stove, and made herself a cup of Japan tea: a variety of the herb + which our country people prefer, apparently because it affords the same + stimulus with none of the pleasure given by the Chinese leaf. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + Lydia and her grandfather reached Boston at four o'clock, and the old man + made a bargain, as he fancied, with an expressman to carry her baggage + across the city to the wharf at which the Aroostook lay. The expressman + civilly offered to take their small parcels without charge, and deliver + them with the trunk and large bag; but as he could not check them all her + grandfather judged it safest not to part with them, and he and Lydia + crowded into the horse-car with their arms and hands full. The conductor + obliged him to give up the largest of these burdens, and hung the + old-fashioned oil-cloth sack on the handle of the brake behind, where Mr. + Latham with keen anxiety, and Lydia with shame, watched it as it swayed + back and forth with the motion of the car and threatened to break loose + from its hand-straps and dash its bloated bulk to the ground. The old man + called out to the conductor to be sure and stop in Scollay's Square, and + the people, who had already stared uncomfortably at Lydia's bundles, all + smiled. Her grandfather was going to repeat his direction as the conductor + made no sign of having heard it, when his neighbor said kindly, “The car + always stops in Scollay's Square.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why couldn't he say so?” retorted the old man, in his high nasal + key; and now the people laughed outright. He had the nervous restlessness + of age when out of its wonted place: he could not remain quiet in the car, + for counting and securing his parcels; when they reached Scollay's Square, + and were to change cars, he ran to the car they were to take, though there + was abundant time, and sat down breathless from his effort. He was eager + then that they should not be carried too far, and was constantly turning + to look out of the window to ascertain their whereabouts. His vigilance + ended in their getting aboard the East Boston ferry-boat in the car, and + hardly getting ashore before the boat started. They now gathered up their + burdens once more, and walked toward the wharf they were seeking, past + those squalid streets which open upon the docks. At the corners they + entangled themselves in knots of truck-teams and hucksters' wagons and + horse-cars; once they brought the traffic of the neighborhood to a + stand-still by the thoroughness of their inability and confusion. They + wandered down the wrong wharf amidst the slime cast up by the fishing + craft moored in the dock below, and made their way over heaps of chains + and cordage, and through the hand-carts pushed hither and thither with + their loads of fish, and so struggled back to the avenue which ran along + the top of all the wharves. The water of the docks was of a livid + turbidity, which teemed with the gelatinous globes of the sun-fish; and + people were rowing about there in pleasure-boats, and sailors on floats + were painting the hulls of the black ships. The faces of the men they met + were red and sunburned mostly,—not with the sunburn of the fields, + but of the sea; these men lurched in their gait with an uncouth heaviness, + yet gave them way kindly enough; but certain dull-eyed, frowzy-headed + women seemed to push purposely against her grandfather, and one of them + swore at Lydia for taking up all the sidewalk with her bundles. There were + such dull eyes and slattern heads at the open windows of the shabby + houses; and there were gaunt, bold-faced young girls who strolled up and + down the pavements, bonnetless and hatless, and chatted into the windows, + and joked with other such girls whom they met. Suddenly a wild outcry rose + from the swarming children up one of the intersecting streets, where a + woman was beating a small boy over the head with a heavy stick: the boy + fell howling and writhing to the ground, and the cruel blows still rained + upon him, till another woman darted from an open door and caught the child + up with one hand, and with the other wrenched the stick away and flung it + into the street. No words passed, and there was nothing to show whose + child the victim was; the first woman walked off, and while the boy rubbed + his head and arms, and screamed with the pain, the other children, whose + sports had been scarcely interrupted, were shouting and laughing all about + him again. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” said Lydia faintly, “let us go down here, and rest a moment + in the shade. I'm almost worn out.” She pointed to the open and quiet + space at the side of the lofty granite warehouse which they had reached. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess I'll set down a minute, too,” said her grandfather. + “Lyddy,” he added, as they released their aching arms from their bags and + bundles, and sank upon the broad threshold of a door which seemed to have + been shut ever since the decay of the India trade, “I don't believe but + what it would have be'n about as cheap in the end to come down in a hack. + But I acted for what I thought was the best. I supposed we'd be'n there + before now, and the idea of givin' a dollar for ridin' about ten minutes + did seem sinful. I ain't noways afraid the ship will sail without you. + Don't you fret any. I don't seem to know rightly just where I am, but + after we've rested a spell I'll leave you here, and inquire round. It's a + real quiet place, and I guess your things will be safe.” + </p> + <p> + He took off his straw hat and fanned his face with it, while Lydia leaned + her head against the door frame and closed her eyes. Presently she heard + the trampling of feet going by, but she did not open her eyes till the + feet paused in a hesitating way, and a voice asked her grandfather, in the + firm, neat tone which she had heard summer boarders from Boston use, “Is + the young lady ill?” She now looked up, and blushed like fire to see two + handsome young men regarding her with frank compassion. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said her grandfather; “a little beat out, that's all. We've been + trying to find Lucas Wharf, and we don't seem somehow just to hit on it.” + </p> + <p> + “This is Lucas Wharf,” said the young man. He made an instinctive gesture + of salutation toward his hat, with the hand in which he held a cigar; he + put the cigar into his mouth as he turned from them, and the smoke drifted + fragrantly back to Lydia as he tramped steadily and strongly on down the + wharf, shoulder to shoulder with his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I declare for't, so it is,” said her grandfather, getting stiffly + to his feet and retiring a few paces to gain a view of the building at the + base of which they had been sitting. “Why, I might known it by this + buildin'! But where's the Aroostook, if this is Lucas Wharf?” He looked + wistfully in the direction the young men had taken, but they were already + too far to call after. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” said the girl, “do I look pale?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you don't now,” answered the old man, simply. “You've got a good + color now.” + </p> + <p> + “What right had he,” she demanded, “to speak to you about me?” + </p> + <p> + “I d'know but what you did look rather pale, as you set there with your + head leaned back. I d'know as I noticed much.” + </p> + <p> + “He took us for two beggars,—two tramps!” she exclaimed, “sitting + here with our bundles scattered round us!” + </p> + <p> + The old man did not respond to this conjecture; it probably involved + matters beyond his emotional reach, though he might have understood them + when he was younger. He stood a moment with his mouth puckered to a + whistle, but made no sound, and retired a step or two farther from the + building and looked up at it again. Then he went toward the dock and + looked down into its turbid waters, and returned again with a face of + hopeless perplexity. “This is Lucas Wharf, and no mistake,” he said. “I + know the place first-rate, now. But what I can't make out is, What's got + the Aroostook?” + </p> + <p> + A man turned the corner of the warehouse from the street above, and came + briskly down towards them, with his hat off, and rubbing his head and face + with a circular application of a red silk handkerchief. He was dressed in + a suit of blue flannel, very neat and shapely, and across his ample + waistcoat stretched a gold watch chain; in his left hand he carried a + white Panama hat. He was short and stout; his round florid face was full + of a sort of prompt kindness; his small blue eyes twinkled under shaggy + brows whose sandy color had not yet taken the grizzled tone of his + close-clipped hair and beard. From his clean wristbands his hands came + out, plump and large; stiff, wiry hairs stood up on their backs, and under + these various designs in tattooing showed their purple. + </p> + <p> + Lydia's grandfather stepped out to meet and halt this stranger, as he drew + near, glancing quickly from the girl to the old man, and then at their + bundles. “Can you tell me where a ship named the Aroostook is, that was + layin' at this wharf—Lucas Wharf—a fortnight ago, and better?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess I can, Mr. Latham,” answered the stranger, with a quizzical + smile, offering one of his stout hands to Lydia's grandfather. “You don't + seem to remember your friends very well, do you?” + </p> + <p> + The old man gave a kind of crow expressive of an otherwise unutterable + relief and comfort. “Well, if it ain't Captain Jenness! I be'n so turned + about, I declare for't, I don't believe I'd ever known you if you hadn't + spoke up. Lyddy,” he cried with a child-like joy, “this is Captain + Jenness!” + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness having put on his hat changed Mr. Latham's hand into his + left, while he stretched his great right hand across it and took Lydia's + long, slim fingers in its grasp, and looked keenly into her face. “Glad to + see you, glad to see you, Miss Blood. (You see I've got your name down on + my papers.) Hope you're well. Ever been a sea-voyage before? Little + homesick, eh?” he asked, as she put her handkerchief to her eyes. He kept + pressing Lydia's hand in the friendliest way. “Well, that's natural. And + you're excited; that's natural, too. But we're not going to have any + homesickness on the Aroostook, because we're going to make her home to + you.” At this speech all the girl's gathering forlornness broke in a sob. + “That's right!” said Captain Jenness. “Bless you, I've got a girl just + about your age up at Deer Isle, myself!” He dropped her hand, and put his + arm across her shoulders. “Good land, I know what girls are, I hope! These + your things?” He caught up the greater part of them into his capacious + hands, and started off down the wharf, talking back at Lydia and her + grandfather, as they followed him with the light parcels he had left them. + “I hauled away from the wharf as soon as I'd stowed my cargo, and I'm at + anchor out there in the stream now, waiting till I can finish up a few + matters of business with the agents and get my passengers on board. When + you get used to the strangeness,” he said to Lydia, “you won't be a bit + lonesome. Bless your heart! My wife's been with me many a voyage, and the + last time I was out to Messina I had both my daughters.” + </p> + <p> + At the end of the wharf, Captain Jenness stopped, and suddenly calling + out, “Here!” began, as she thought, to hurl Lydia's things into the water. + But when she reached the same point, she found they had all been caught, + and deposited in a neat pile in a boat which lay below, where two sailors + stood waiting the captain's further orders. He keenly measured the + distance to the boat with his eye, and then he bade the men work round + outside a schooner which lay near; and jumping on board this vessel, he + helped Lydia and her grandfather down, and easily transferred them to the + small boat. The men bent to their oars, and pulled swiftly out toward a + ship that lay at anchor a little way off. A light breeze crept along the + water, which was here blue and clear, and the grateful coolness and + pleasant motion brought light into the girl's cheeks and eyes. Without + knowing it she smiled. “That's right!” cried Captain Jenness, who had + applauded her sob in the same terms. “<i>You'll</i> like it, first-rate. + Look at that ship! <i>That's</i> the Aroostook. <i>Is</i> she a beauty, or + ain't she?” + </p> + <p> + The stately vessel stood high from the water, for Captain Jenness's cargo + was light, and he was going out chiefly for a return freight. Sharp jibs + and staysails cut their white outlines keenly against the afternoon blue + of the summer heaven; the topsails and courses dripped, half-furled, from + the yards stretching across the yellow masts that sprang so far aloft; the + hull glistened black with new paint. When Lydia mounted to the deck she + found it as clean scrubbed as her aunt's kitchen floor. Her glance of + admiration was not lost upon Captain Jenness. “Yes, Miss Blood,” said he, + “one difference between an American ship and any other sort is dirt. I + wish I could take you aboard an English vessel, so you could appreciate + the Aroostook. But I guess you don't need it,” he added, with a proud + satisfaction in his laugh. “The Aroostook ain't in order yet; wait till + we've been a few days at sea.” The captain swept the deck with a loving + eye. It was spacious and handsome, with a stretch of some forty or fifty + feet between the house at the stern and the forecastle, which rose + considerably higher; a low bulwark was surmounted by a heavy rail + supported upon turned posts painted white. Everything, in spite of the + captain's boastful detraction, was in perfect trim, at least to landfolk's + eyes. “Now come into the cabin,” said the captain. He gave Lydia's traps, + as he called them, in charge of a boy, while he led the way below, by a + narrow stairway, warning Lydia and her grandfather to look out for their + heads as they followed. “There!” he said, when they had safely arrived, + inviting their inspection of the place with a general glance of his own. + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you, Lyddy?” asked her grandfather, with simple joy in + the splendors about them. “Solid mahogany trimmin's everywhere.” There was + also a great deal of milk-white paint, with some modest touches of gilding + here and there. The cabin was pleasantly lit by the long low windows which + its roof rose just high enough to lift above the deck, and the fresh air + entered with the slanting sun. Made fast to the floor was a heavy table, + over which hung from the ceiling a swinging shelf. Around the little + saloon ran lockers cushioned with red plush. At either end were four or + five narrow doors, which gave into as many tiny state-rooms. The boy came + with Lydia's things, and set them inside one of these doors; and when he + came out again the captain pushed it open, and called them in. “Here!” + said he. “Here's where my girls made themselves at home the last voyage, + and I expect you'll find it pretty comfortable. They say you don't feel + the motion so much,—<i>I</i> don't know anything about the motion,—and + in smooth weather you can have that window open sometimes, and change the + air. It's light and it's large. Well, I had it fitted up for my wife; but + she's got kind of on now, you know, and she don't feel much like going any + more; and so I always give it to my nicest passenger.” This was an + unmistakable compliment, and Lydia blushed to the captain's entire + content. “That's a rug she hooked,” he continued, touching with his toe + the carpet, rich in its artless domestic dyes as some Persian fabric, that + lay before the berth. “These gimcracks belong to my girls; they left 'em.” + He pointed to various slight structures of card-board worked with crewel, + which were tacked to the walls. “Pretty snug, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia, “it's nicer than I thought it could be, even after what + grandfather said.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's right!” exclaimed the captain. “I like your way of speaking + up. I wish you could know my girls. How old are you now?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm nineteen,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you're just between my girls!” cried the captain. “Sally is + twenty-one, and Persis is eighteen. Well, now, Miss Blood,” he said, as + they returned to the cabin, “you can't begin to make yourself at home too + soon for me. I used to sail to Cadiz and Malaga a good deal; and when I + went to see any of them Spaniards he'd say, 'This house is yours.' Well, + that's what I say: This ship is yours as long as you stay in her. And I <i>mean</i> + it, and that's more than <i>they</i> did!” Captain Jenness laughed + mightily, took some of Lydia's fingers in his left hand and squeezed them, + and clapped her grandfather on the shoulder with his right. Then he + slipped his hand down the old man's bony arm to the elbow, and held it, + while he dropped his head towards Lydia, and said, “We shall be glad to + have him stay to supper, and as much longer as he likes, heh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Lydia; “grandfather must go back on the six o'clock train. + My aunt expects him.” Her voice fell, and her face suddenly clouded. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” cried the captain. Then he pulled out his watch, and held it as + far away as the chain would stretch, frowning at it with his head aslant. + “Well!” he burst out. “He hasn't got any too much time on his hands.” The + old man gave a nervous start, and the girl trembled. “Hold on! Yes; + there's time. It's only fifteen minutes after five.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but we were more than half an hour getting down here,” said Lydia, + anxiously. “And grandfather doesn't know the way back. He'll be sure to + get lost. I <i>wish</i> we'd come in a carriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't 'a' kept the carriage waitin' on expense, Lyddy,” retorted her + grandfather, “But I tell you,” he added, with something like resolution, + “if I could find a carriage anywheres near that wharf, I'd take it, just + as <i>sure</i>! I wouldn't miss that train for more'n half a dollar. It + would cost more than that at a hotel to-night, let alone how your aunt + Maria'd feel.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, look here!” said Captain Jenness, naturally appealing to the girl. + “Let <i>me</i> get your grandfather back. I've got to go up town again, + any way, for some last things, with an express wagon, and we can ride + right to the depot in that. Which depot is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Fitchburg,” said the old man eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “That's right!” commented the captain. “Get you there in plenty of time, + if we don't lose any now. And I'll tell you what, my little girl,” he + added, turning to Lydia: “if it'll be a comfort to you to ride up with us, + and see your grandfather off, why come along! <i>My</i> girls went with me + the last time on an express wagon.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Lydia. “I want to. But it wouldn't be any comfort. I + thought that out before I left home, and I'm going to say good-by to + grandfather here.” + </p> + <p> + “First-rate!” said Captain Jenness, bustling towards the gangway so as to + leave them alone. A sharp cry from the old man arrested him. + </p> + <p> + “Lyddy! Where's your trunks?” + </p> + <p> + “Why!” said the girl, catching her breath in dismay, “where <i>can</i> + they be? I forgot all about them.” + </p> + <p> + “I got the checks fast enough,” said the old man, “and I shan't give 'em + up without I get the trunks. They'd ought to had 'em down here long ago; + and now if I've got to pester round after 'em I'm sure to miss the train.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall we do?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Let's see your checks,” said the captain, with an evident ease of mind + that reassured her. When her grandfather had brought them with difficulty + from the pocket visited last in the order of his search, and laid them in + the captain's waiting palm, the latter endeavored to get them in focus. + “What does it say on 'em?” he asked, handing them to Lydia. “My eyes never + <i>did</i> amount to anything on shore.” She read aloud the name of the + express stamped on them. The captain gathered them back into his hand, and + slipped them into his pocket, with a nod and wink full of comfort. “I'll + see to it,” he said. “At any rate, this ship ain't a-going to sail without + them, if she waits a week. Now, then, Mr. Latham!” + </p> + <p> + The old man, who waited, when not directly addressed or concerned, in a + sort of blank patience, suddenly started out of his daze, and following + the captain too alertly up the gangway stairs drove his hat against the + hatch—with a force that sent him back into Lydia's arms. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, grandfather, are you hurt?” she piteously asked, trying to pull up + the hat that was jammed down over his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit! But I guess my hat's about done for,—without I can get + it pressed over; and I d'know as this kind of straw <i>doos</i> press.” + </p> + <p> + “First-rate!” called the captain from above. “Never mind the hat.” But the + girl continued fondly trying to reshape it, while the old man fidgeted + anxiously, and protested that he would be sure to be left. It was like a + half-shut accordion when she took it from his head; when she put it back + it was like an accordion pulled out. + </p> + <p> + “All ready!” shouted Captain Jenness from the gap in the bulwark, where he + stood waiting to descend into the small boat. The old man ran towards him + in his senile haste, and stooped to get over the side into the boat below. + </p> + <p> + “Why, grandfather!” cried the girl in a breaking voice, full of keen, yet + tender reproach. + </p> + <p> + “I declare for't,” he said, scrambling back to the deck. “I 'most forgot. + I be'n so put about.” He took Lydia's hand loosely into his own, and bent + forward to kiss her. She threw her arms round him, and while he remained + looking over her shoulder, with a face of grotesque perplexity, and + saying, “Don't cry, Lyddy, don't cry!” she pressed her face tighter into + his withered neck, and tried to muffle her homesick sobs. The sympathies + as well as the sensibilities often seem dulled by age. They have both + perhaps been wrought upon too much in the course of the years, and can no + longer respond to the appeal or distress which they can only dimly + realize; even the heart grows old. “Don't you, don't you, Lyddy!” repeated + the old man. “You mustn't. The captain's waitin'; and the cars—well, + every minute I lose makes it riskier and riskier; and your aunt Maria, + she's always so uneasy, you know!” + </p> + <p> + The girl was not hurt by his anxiety about himself; she was more anxious + about him than about anything else. She quickly lifted her head, and + drying her eyes, kissed him, forcing her lips into the smile that is more + heart-breaking to see than weeping. She looked over the side, as her + grandfather was handed carefully down to a seat by the two sailors in the + boat, and the captain noted her resolute counterfeit of cheerfulness. + “That's right!” he shouted up to her. “Just like my girls when their + mother left 'em. But bless you, they soon got over it, and so'll you. Give + way, men,” he said, in a lower voice, and the boat shot from the ship's + side toward the wharf. He turned and waved his handkerchief to Lydia, and, + stimulated apparently by this, her grandfather felt in his pockets for his + handkerchief; he ended after a vain search by taking off his hat and + waving that. + </p> + <p> + When he put it on again, it relapsed into that likeness of a half-shut + accordion from which Lydia had rescued it; but she only saw the face under + it. + </p> + <p> + As the boat reached the wharf an express wagon drove down, and Lydia saw + the sarcastic parley which she could not hear between the captain and the + driver about the belated baggage which the latter put off. Then she saw + the captain help her grandfather to the seat between himself and the + driver, and the wagon rattled swiftly out of sight. One of the sailors + lifted Lydia's baggage over the side of the wharf to the other in the + boat, and they pulled off to the ship with it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + Lydia went back to the cabin, and presently the boy who had taken charge + of her lighter luggage came dragging her trunk and bag down the gangway + stairs. Neither was very large, and even a boy of fourteen who was small + for his age might easily manage them. + </p> + <p> + “You can stow away what's in 'em in the drawers,” said the boy. “I suppose + you didn't notice the drawers,” he added, at her look of inquiry. He went + into her room, and pushing aside the valance of the lower berth showed + four deep drawers below the bed; the charming snugness of the arrangement + brought a light of housewifely joy to the girl's face. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's as good as a bureau. They will hold everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” exulted the boy; “they're for two persons' things. The captain's + daughters, they both had this room. Pretty good sized too; a good deal the + captain's build. You won't find a better stateroom than this on a steamer. + I've been on 'em.” The boy climbed up on the edge of the upper drawer, and + pulled open the window at the top of the wall. “Give you a little air, I + guess. If you want I should, the captain said I was to bear a hand helping + you to stow away what was in your trunks.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia, quickly. “I'd just as soon do it alone.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said the boy. “If I was you, I'd do it now. I don't know just + when the captain means to sail; but after we get outside, it might be + rough, and it's better to have everything pretty snug by that time. I'll + haul away the trunks when you've got 'em empty. If I shouldn't happen to + be here, you can just call me at the top of the gangway, and I'll come. My + name's Thomas,” he said. He regarded Lydia inquiringly a moment before he + added: “If you'd just as lives, I rather you'd call me Thomas, and not <i>steward</i>. + They said you'd call me steward,” he explained, in a blushing, deprecating + confidence; “and as long as I've not got my growth, it kind of makes them + laugh, you know,—especially the second officer.” + </p> + <p> + “I will call you Thomas,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” The boy glanced up at the round clock screwed to the cabin + wall. “I guess you won't have to call me anything unless you hurry. I + shall be down here, laying the table for supper, before you're done. The + captain said I was to lay it for you and him, and if he didn't get back in + time you was to go to eating, any way. Guess you won't think Captain + Jenness is going to starve anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been many voyages with Captain Jenness before this?” asked + Lydia, as she set open her trunk, and began to lay her dresses out on the + locker. Homesickness, like all grief, attacks in paroxysms. One gust of + passionate regret had swept over the girl; before another came, she could + occupy herself almost cheerfully with the details of unpacking. + </p> + <p> + “Only one before,” said the boy. “The last one, when his daughters went + out. I guess it was their coaxing got mother to let me go. <i>My</i> + father was killed in the war.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he?” asked Lydia, sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I didn't know much about it at the time; so little. Both your + parents living?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia. “They're both dead. They died a long while ago. I've + always lived with my aunt and grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought there must be something the matter,—your coming with your + grandfather,” said the boy. “I don't see why you don't let me carry in + some of those dresses for you. I'm used to helping about.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you may,” answered Lydia, “if you want.” A native tranquil kindness + showed itself in her voice and manner, but something of the habitual + authority of a school-mistress mingled with it. “You must be careful not + to rumple them if I let you.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess not. I've got older sisters at home. They hated to have me leave. + But I looked at it this way: If I was ever going to sea—and I <i>was</i>—I + couldn't get such another captain as Captain Jenness, nor such another + crew; all the men from down our way; and I don't mind the second mate's + jokes much. He doesn't mean anything by them; likes to plague, that's all. + He's a first-rate sailor.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia was kneeling before one of the trunks, and the boy was stooping over + it, with a hand on either knee. She had drawn out her only black silk + dress, and was finding it rather crumpled. “I shouldn't have thought it + would have got so much jammed, coming fifty miles,” she soliloquized. “But + they seemed to take a pleasure in seeing how much they could bang the + trunks.” She rose to her feet and shook out the dress, and drew the skirt + several times over her left arm. + </p> + <p> + The boy's eyes glistened. “Goodness!” he said. “Just new, ain't it? Going + to wear it any on board?” + </p> + <p> + “Sundays, perhaps,” answered Lydia thoughtfully, still smoothing and + shaping the dress, which she regarded at arm's-length, from time to time, + with her head aslant. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it's the latest style?” pursued the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is,” said Lydia. “We sent to Boston for the pattern. I hate to + pack it into one of those drawers,” she mused. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't,” replied Thomas. “There's a whole row of hooks.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know!” cried Lydia. She followed Thomas into her state-room. + “Well, well! They do seem to have thought of everything!” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so,” exulted the boy. “Look here!” He showed her a little + niche near the head of the berth strongly framed with glass, in which a + lamp was made fast. “Light up, you know, when you want to read, or feel + kind of lonesome.” Lydia clasped her hands in pleasure and amaze. “Oh, I + tell you Captain Jenness meant to have things about right. The other + state-rooms don't begin to come up to this.” He dashed out in his zeal, + and opened their doors, that she might triumph in the superiority of her + accommodations without delay. These rooms were cramped together on one + side; Lydia's was in a comparatively ample corner by itself. + </p> + <p> + She went on unpacking her trunk, and the boy again took his place near + her, in the same attitude as before. “I tell you,” he said, “I shall like + to see you with that silk on. Have you got any other nice ones?” + </p> + <p> + “No; only this I'm wearing,” answered Lydia, half amused and half honest + in her sympathy with his ardor about her finery. “They said not to bring + many clothes; they would be cheaper over there.” She had now reached the + bottom of her trunk. She knew by the clock that her grandfather could + hardly have left the city on his journey home, but the interval of time + since she had parted with him seemed vast. It was as if she had started to + Boston in a former life; the history of the choosing and cutting and + making of these clothes was like a dream of preëxistence. She had never + had so many things new at once, and it had been a great outlay, but her + aunt Maria had made the money go as far as possible, and had spent it with + that native taste, that genius for dress, which sometimes strikes the + summer boarder in the sempstresses of the New England hills. Miss Latham's + gift was quaintly unrelated to herself. In dress, as in person and manner, + she was uncompromisingly plain and stiff. All the more lavishly, + therefore, had it been devoted to the grace and beauty of her sister's + child, who, ever since she came to find a home in her grandfather's house, + had been more stylishly dressed than any other girl in the village. The + summer boarders, whom the keen eye of Miss Latham studied with unerring + sense of the best new effects in costume, wondered at Lydia's elegance, as + she sat beside her aunt in the family pew, a triumph of that grim artist's + skill. Lydia knew that she was well dressed, but she knew that after all + she was only the expression of her aunt's inspirations. Her own gift was + of another sort. Her father was a music-teacher, whose failing health had + obliged him to give up his profession, and who had taken the traveling + agency of a parlor organ manufactory for the sake of the out-door life. + His business had brought him to South Bradfield, where he sold an organ to + Deacon Latham's church, and fell in love with his younger daughter. He + died a few years after his marriage, of an ancestral consumption, his sole + heritage from the good New England stock of which he came. His skill as a + pianist, which was considerable, had not descended to his daughter, but + her mother had bequeathed her a peculiarly rich and flexible voice, with a + joy in singing which was as yet a passion little affected by culture. It + was this voice which, when Lydia rose to join in the terrible hymning of + the congregation at South Bradfield, took the thoughts of people off her + style and beauty; and it was this which enchanted her father's sister + when, the summer before the date of which we write, that lady had come to + America on a brief visit, and heard Lydia sing at her parlor organ in the + old homestead. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin had lived many years abroad, chiefly in Italy, for the sake of + the climate. She was of delicate health, and constantly threatened by the + hereditary disease that had left her the last of her generation, and she + had the fastidiousness of an invalid. She was full of generous impulses + which she mistook for virtues; but the presence of some object at once + charming and worthy was necessary to rouse these impulses. She had been + prosperously married when very young, and as a pretty American widow she + had wedded in second marriage at Naples one of those Englishmen who have + money enough to live at ease in Latin countries; he was very fond of her, + and petted her. Having no children she might long before have thought + definitely of poor Henry's little girl, as she called Lydia, but she had + lived very comfortably indefinite in regard to her ever since the father's + death. Now and then she had sent the child a handsome present or a sum of + money. She had it on her conscience not to let her be wholly a burden to + her grandfather; but often her conscience drowsed. When she came to South + Bradfield, she won the hearts of the simple family, which had been rather + hardened against her, and she professed an enthusiasm for Lydia. She + called her pretty names in Italian, which she did not pronounce well; she + babbled a great deal about what ought to be done for her, and went away + without doing anything; so that when a letter finally came, directing + Lydia to be sent out to her in Venice, they were all surprised, in the + disappointment to which they had resigned themselves. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin wrote an epistolary style exasperatingly vacuous and diffuse, + and, like many women of that sort, she used pencil instead of ink, always + apologizing for it as due now to her weak eyes, and now to her weak wrist, + and again to her not being able to find the ink. Her hand was full of + foolish curves and dashes, and there were no spaces between the words at + times. Under these conditions it was no light labor to get at her meaning; + but the sum of her letter was that she wished Lydia to come out to her at + once, and she suggested that, as they could have few opportunities or none + to send her with people going to Europe, they had better let her come the + whole way by sea. Mrs. Erwin remembered—in the space of a page and a + half—that nothing had ever done <i>her</i> so much good as a long + sea voyage, and it would be excellent for Lydia, who, though she looked so + strong, probably needed all the bracing up she could get. She had made + inquiries,—or, what was the same thing, Mr. Erwin had, for her,—and + she found that vessels from American ports seldom came to Venice; but they + often came to Trieste, which was only a few hours away; and if Mr. Latham + would get Lydia a ship for Trieste at Boston, she could come very safely + and comfortably in a few weeks. She gave the name of a Boston house + engaged in the Mediterranean trade to which Mr. Latham could apply for + passage; if they were not sending any ship themselves, they could probably + recommend one to him. + </p> + <p> + This was what happened when Deacon Latham called at their office a few + days after Mrs. Erwin's letter came. They directed him to the firm + dispatching the Aroostook, and Captain Jenness was at their place when the + deacon appeared there. The captain took cordial possession of the old man + at once, and carried him down to the wharf to look at the ship and her + accommodations. The matter was quickly settled between them. At that time + Captain Jenness did not know but he might have other passengers out; at + any rate he would look after the little girl (as Deacon Latham always said + in speaking of Lydia) the same as if she were his own child. + </p> + <p> + Lydia knelt before her trunk, thinking of the remote events, the extinct + associations of a few minutes and hours and days ago; she held some cuffs + and collars in her hand, and something that her aunt Maria had said + recurred to her. She looked up into the intensely interested face of the + boy, and then laughed, bowing her forehead on the back of the hand that + held these bits of linen. + </p> + <p> + The boy blushed. “What are you laughing at?” he asked, half piteously, + half indignantly, like a boy used to being badgered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing,” said Lydia. “My aunt told me if any of these things should + happen to want doing up, I had better get the stewardess to help me.” She + looked at the boy in a dreadfully teasing way, softly biting her lip. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you're going to begin <i>that</i> way!” he cried in affliction. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not,” she answered, promptly. “I like boys. I've taught school two + winters, and I like boys first-rate.” + </p> + <p> + Thomas was impersonally interested again. “Time! <i>You</i> taught + school?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “You look pretty young for a school-teacher!” + </p> + <p> + “Now you're making fun of me,” said Lydia, astutely. + </p> + <p> + The boy thought he must have been, and was consoled. “Well, you began it,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “I oughtn't to have done so,” she replied with humility; “and I won't any + more. There!” she said, “I'm not going to open my bag now. You can take + away the trunk when you want, Thomas.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said the boy. The idea of a school-mistress was perhaps + beginning to awe him a little. “Put your bag in your state-room first.” He + did this, and when he came back from carrying away her trunk he began to + set the table. It was a pretty table, when set, and made the little cabin + much cosier. When the boy brought the dishes from the cook's galley, it + was a barbarously abundant table. There was cold boiled ham, ham and eggs, + fried fish, baked potatoes, buttered toast, tea, cake, pickles, and + watermelon; nothing was wanting. “I tell you,” said Thomas, noticing + Lydia's admiration, “the captain lives well lay-days.” + </p> + <p> + “Lay-days?” echoed Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “The days we're in port,” the boy explained. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should think as much!” She ate with the hunger that tranquillity + bestows upon youth after the swift succession of strange events, and the + conflict of many emotions. The captain had not returned in time, and she + ate alone. + </p> + <p> + After a while she ventured to the top of the gangway stairs, and stood + there, looking at the novel sights of the harbor, in the red sunset light, + which rose slowly from the hulls and lower spars of the shipping, and + kindled the tips of the high-shooting masts with a quickly fading + splendor. A delicate flush responded in the east, and rose to meet the + denser crimson of the west; a few clouds, incomparably light and + diaphanous, bathed themselves in the glow. It was a summer sunset, + portending for the land a morrow of great heat. But cool airs crept along + the water, and the ferry-boats, thrust shuttlewise back and forth between + either shore, made a refreshing sound as they crushed a broad course to + foam with their paddles. People were pulling about in small boats; from + some the gay cries and laughter of young girls struck sharply along the + tide. The noise of the quiescent city came off in a sort of dull moan. The + lamps began to twinkle in the windows and the streets on shore; the + lanterns of the ships at anchor in the stream showed redder and redder as + the twilight fell. The homesickness began to mount from Lydia's heart in a + choking lump to her throat; for one must be very happy to endure the + sights and sounds of the summer evening anywhere. She had to shield her + eyes from the brilliancy of the kerosene when she went below into the + cabin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + Lydia did not know when the captain came on board. Once, talking in the + cabin made itself felt through her dreams, but the dense sleep of weary + youth closed over her again, and she did not fairly wake till morning. + Then she thought she heard the crowing of a cock and the cackle of hens, + and fancied herself in her room at home; the illusion passed with a pang. + The ship was moving, with a tug at her side, the violent respirations of + which were mingled with the sound of the swift rush of the vessels through + the water, the noise of feet on the deck, and of orders hoarsely shouted. + </p> + <p> + The girl came out into the cabin, where Thomas was already busy with the + breakfast table, and climbed to the deck. It was four o'clock of the + summer's morning; the sun had not yet reddened the east, but the stars + were extinct, or glimmered faint points immeasurably withdrawn in the vast + gray of the sky. At that hour there is a hovering dimness over all, but + the light on things near at hand is wonderfully keen and clear, and the + air has an intense yet delicate freshness that seems to breathe from the + remotest spaces of the universe,—a waft from distances beyond the + sun. On the land the leaves and grass are soaked with dew; the densely + interwoven songs of the birds are like a fabric that you might see and + touch. But here, save for the immediate noises on the ship, which had + already left her anchorage far behind, the shouting of the tug's + escape-pipes, and the huge, swirling gushes from her powerful wheel, a + sort of spectacular silence prevailed, and the sounds were like a part of + this silence. Here and there a small fishing schooner came lagging slowly + in, as if belated, with scarce wind enough to fill her sails; now and then + they met a steamboat, towering white and high, a many-latticed bulk, with + no one to be seen on board but the pilot at his wheel, and a few sleepy + passengers on the forward promenade. The city, so beautiful and stately + from the bay, was dropping, and sinking away behind. They passed green + islands, some of which were fortified: the black guns looked out over the + neatly shaven glacis; the sentinel paced the rampart. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” shouted Captain Jenness, catching sight of Lydia where she + lingered at the cabin door. “You are an early bird. Glad to see you up! + Hope you rested well! Saw your grandfather off all right, and kept him + from taking the wrong train with my own hand. He's terribly excitable. + Well, I suppose I shall be just so, at his age. Here!” The captain caught + up a stool and set it near the bulwark for her. “There! You make yourself + comfortable wherever you like. You're at home, you know.” He was off again + in a moment. Lydia cast her eye over at the tug. On the deck, near the + pilot-house, stood the young man who had stopped the afternoon before, + while she sat at the warehouse door, and asked her grandfather if she were + not ill. At his feet was a substantial valise, and over his arm hung a + shawl. He was smoking, and seated near him, on another valise, was his + companion of the day before, also smoking. In the instant that Lydia + caught sight of them, she perceived that they both recognized her and + exchanged, as it were, a start of surprise. But they remained as before, + except that he who was seated drew out a fresh cigarette, and without + looking up reached to the other for a light. They were both men of good + height, and they looked fresh and strong, with something very alert in + their slight movements,—sudden turns of the head and brisk nods, + which were not nervously quick. Lydia wondered at their presence there in + an ignorance which could not even conjecture. She knew too little to know + that they could not have any destination on the tug, and that they would + not be making a pleasure-excursion at that hour in the morning. Their + having their valises with them deepened the mystery, which was not solved + till the tug's engines fell silent, and at an unnoticed order a space in + the bulwark not far from Lydia was opened and steps were let down the side + of the ship. Then the young men, who had remained, to all appearance, + perfectly unconcerned, caught up their valises and climbed to the deck of + the Aroostook. They did not give her more than a glance out of the corners + of their eyes, but the surprise of their coming on board was so great a + shock that she did not observe that the tug, casting loose from the ship, + was describing a curt and foamy semicircle for her return to the city, and + that the Aroostook, with a cloud of snowy canvas filling overhead, was + moving over the level sea with the light ease of a bird that half swims, + half flies, along the water. A sudden dismay, which was somehow not fear + so much as an overpowering sense of isolation, fell upon the girl. She + caught at Thomas, going forward with some dishes in his hand, with a + pathetic appeal. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Thomas?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to the cook's galley to help dish up the breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the cook's galley?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know? The kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go with you. I should like to see the kitchen.” She trembled with + eagerness. Arrived at the door of the narrow passage that ran across the + deck aft of the forecastle, she looked in and saw, amid a haze of frying + and broiling, the short, stocky figure of a negro, bow-legged, and + unnaturally erect from the waist up. At sight of Lydia, he made a + respectful duck forward with his uncouth body. “Why, are you the cook?” + she almost screamed in response to this obeisance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss,” said the man, humbly, with a turn of the pleading black eyes + of the negro. + </p> + <p> + Lydia grew more peremptory: “Why—why—I thought the cook was a + woman!” + </p> + <p> + “Very sorry, miss,” began the negro, with a deprecatory smile, in a slow, + mild voice. + </p> + <p> + Thomas burst into a boy's yelling laugh: “Well, if that ain't the best + joke on Gabriel! He'll never hear the last of it when I tell it to the + second officer!” + </p> + <p> + “Thomas!” cried Lydia, terribly, “you shall <i>not</i>!” She stamped her + foot. “Do you hear me?” + </p> + <p> + The boy checked his laugh abruptly. “Yes, ma'am,” he said submissively. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then!” returned Lydia. She stalked proudly back to the cabin + gangway, and descending shut herself into her state-room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + A few hours later Deacon Latham came into the house with a milk-pan full + of pease. He set this down on one end of the kitchen table, with his straw + hat beside it, and then took a chair at the other end and fell into the + attitude of the day before, when he sat in the parlor with Lydia and Miss + Maria waiting for the stage; his mouth was puckered to a whistle, and his + fingers were held above the board in act to drub it. Miss Maria turned the + pease out on the table, and took the pan into her lap. She shelled at the + pease in silence, till the sound of their pelting, as they were dropped on + the tin, was lost in their multitude; then she said, with a sharp, + querulous, pathetic impatience, “Well, father, I suppose you're thinkin' + about Lyddy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Maria, I be,” returned her father, with uncommon plumpness, as if + here now were something he had made up his mind to stand to. “I been + thinkin' that Lyddy's a woman grown, as you may say.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” admitted Miss Maria, “she's a woman, as far forth as that goes. + What put it into your head?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I d'know as I know. But it's just like this: I got to thinkin' + whether she mightn't get to feelin' rather lonely on the voyage, without + any other woman to talk to.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said Miss Maria, tranquilly, “she's goin' to feel lonely enough + at times, any way, poor thing! But I told her if she wanted advice or help + about anything just to go to the stewardess. That Mrs. Bland that spent + the summer at the Parkers' last year was always tellin' how they went to + the stewardess for most everything, and she give her five dollars in gold + when they got into Boston. I shouldn't want Lyddy should give so much as + that, but I should want she should give something, as long's it's the + custom.” + </p> + <p> + “They don't have 'em on sailin' vessels, Captain Jenness said; they only + have 'em on steamers,” said Deacon Latham. + </p> + <p> + “Have what?” asked Miss Maria, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Stewardesses. They've got a cabin-boy.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria desisted a moment from her work; then she answered, with a + gruff shortness peculiar to her, “Well, then, she can go to the cook, I + suppose. It wouldn't matter which she went to, I presume.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon Latham looked up with the air of confessing to sin before the whole + congregation. “The cook's a man,—a black man,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria dropped a handful of pods into the pan, and sent a handful of + peas rattling across the table on to the floor. “Well, who in Time”—the + expression was strong, but she used it without hesitation, and was never + known to repent it “<i>will</i> she go to, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I declare for't,” said her father, “I don't know. I d'know as I ever + thought it out fairly before; but just now when I was pickin' the pease + for you, my mind got to dwellin' on Lyddy, and then it come to me all at + once: there she was, the only <i>one</i> among a whole shipful, and I—I + didn't know but what she might think it rather of a strange position for + her.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oh</i>!” exclaimed Miss Maria, petulantly. “I guess Lyddy'd know how + to conduct herself wherever she was; she's a born lady, if ever there was + one. But what I think is—” Miss Maria paused, and did not say what + she thought; but it was evidently not the social aspect of the matter + which was uppermost in her mind. In fact, she had never been at all afraid + of men, whom she regarded as a more inefficient and feebler-minded kind of + women. + </p> + <p> + “The only thing't makes me feel easier is what the captain said about the + young men,” said Deacon Latham. + </p> + <p> + “What young men?” asked Miss Maria. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I told you about 'em!” retorted the old man, with some exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “You told me about two young men that stopped on the wharf and pitied + Lyddy's worn-out looks.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you the rest? I declare for't, I don't believe I did; I + be'n so put about. Well, as we was drivin' up to the depot, we met the + same two young men, and the captain asked 'em, 'Are you goin' or not + a-goin'?'—just that way; and they said, 'We're goin'.' And he said, + 'When you comin' aboard?' and he told 'em he was goin' to haul out this + mornin' at three o'clock. And they asked what tug, and he told 'em, and + they fixed it up between 'em all then that they was to come aboard from + the tug, when she'd got the ship outside; and that's what I suppose they + did. The captain he said to me he hadn't mentioned it before, because he + wa'n't sure't they'd go till that minute. He give 'em a first-rate of a + character.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria said nothing for a long while. The subject seemed one with + which she did not feel herself able to grapple. She looked all about the + kitchen for inspiration, and even cast a searching glance into the + wood-shed. Suddenly she jumped from her chair, and ran to the open window: + “Mr. Goodlow! Mr. Goodlow! I wish you'd come in here a minute.” + </p> + <p> + She hurried to meet the minister at the front door, her father lagging + after her with the infantile walk of an old man. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Goodlow took off his straw hat as he mounted the stone step to the + threshold, and said good-morning; they did not shake hands. He wore a + black alpaca coat, and waistcoat of farmer's satin; his hat was dark + straw, like Deacon Latham's, but it was low-crowned, and a line of + ornamental openwork ran round it near the top. + </p> + <p> + “Come into the settin'-room,” said Miss Maria. “It's cooler, in there.” + She lost no time in laying the case before the minister. She ended by + saying, “Father, he don't feel just right about it, and I d'know as I'm + quite clear in my own mind.” + </p> + <p> + The minister considered a while in silence before he said, “I think + Lydia's influence upon those around her will be beneficial, whatever her + situation in life may be.” + </p> + <p> + “There, father!” cried Miss Maria, in reproachful relief. + </p> + <p> + “You're right, Maria, you're right!” assented the old man, and they both + waited for the minister to continue. + </p> + <p> + “I rejoiced with you,” he said, “when this opportunity for Lydia's + improvement offered, and I am not disposed to feel anxious as to the ways + and means. Lydia is no fool. I have observed in her a dignity, a sort of + authority, very remarkable in one of her years.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess the boys at the school down to the Mill Village found out she had + authority enough,” said Miss Maria, promptly materializing the idea. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Mr. Goodlow. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I told father, in the first place,” said Miss Maria. “I guess + Lyddy'd know how to conduct herself wherever she was,—just the words + I used.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't deny it, Maria, I don't deny it,” shrilly piped the old man. “I + ain't afraid of any harm comin' to Lyddy any more'n what you be. But what + I said was, Wouldn't she feel kind of strange, sort of lost, as you may + say, among so many, and she the only <i>one</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “She will know how to adapt herself to circumstances,” said Mr. Goodlow. + “I was conversing last summer with that Mrs. Bland who boarded at Mr. + Parker's, and she told me that girls in Europe are brought up with no + habits of self-reliance whatever, and that young ladies are never seen on + the streets alone in France and Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think,” asked Miss Maria, hesitating to accept this ridiculous + statement, “that Mrs. Bland exaggerated some?” + </p> + <p> + “She <i>talked</i> a great deal,” admitted Mr. Goodlow. “I should be sorry + if Lydia ever lost anything of that native confidence of hers in her own + judgment, and her ability to take care of herself under any circumstances, + and I do not think she will. She never seemed conceited to me, but she <i>was</i> + the most self-reliant girl I ever saw.” + </p> + <p> + “You've hit it there, Mr. Goodlow. Such a spirit as she always had!” + sighed Miss Maria. “It was just so from the first. It used to go to my + heart to see that little thing lookin' after herself, every way, and not + askin' anybody's help, but just as quiet and proud about it! She's her + mother, all over. And yest'day, when she set here waitin' for the stage, + and it did seem as if I should have to give up, hearin' her sob, sob, sob,—why, + Mr. Goodlow, she hadn't any more idea of backin' out than—than—” + Miss Maria relinquished the search for a comparison, and went into another + room for a handkerchief. “I don't believe she cared over and above about + goin', from the start,” said Miss Maria, returning, “but when once she'd + made up her mind to it, there she was. I d'know as she <i>took</i> much of + a fancy to her aunt, but you couldn't told from anything that Lyddy said. + Now, if I have anything on my mind, I have to blat it right out, as you + may say; I can't seem to bear it a minute; but Lyddy's different. Well,” + concluded Miss Maria, “I guess there ain't goin' to any harm come to her. + But it did give me a kind of start, first off, when father up and got to + feelin' sort of bad about it. I d'know as I should thought much about it, + if he hadn't seemed to. I d'know as I should ever thought about anything + except her not havin' any one to advise with about her clothes. It's the + only thing she ain't handy with: she won't know what to wear. I'm afraid + she'll spoil her silk. I d'know but what father's <i>been</i> hasty in not + lookin' into things carefuller first. He most always does repent + afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't repent beforehand!” retorted Deacon Latham. “And I tell you, + Maria, I never saw a much finer man than Captain Jenness; and the cabin's + everything I said it was, and more. Lyddy reg'larly went off over it; 'n' + I guess, as Mr. Goodlow says, she'll influence 'em for good. Don't you + fret about her clothes any. You fitted her out in apple-pie order, and + she'll soon be there. 'T ain't but a little ways to Try-East, any way, to + what it is some of them India voyages, Captain Jenness said. He had his + own daughters out the last voyage; 'n' I guess he can tell Lyddy when it's + weather to wear her silk. I d'know as I'd better said anything about what + I was thinkin'. I don't want to be noways rash, and yet I thought I + couldn't be too partic'lar.” + </p> + <p> + For a silent moment Miss Maria looked sourly uncertain as to the + usefulness of scruples that came so long after the fact. Then she said + abruptly to Mr. Goodlow, “Was it you or Mr. Baldwin, preached Mirandy + Holcomb's fune'l sermon?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + One of the advantages of the negative part assigned to women in life is + that they are seldom forced to commit themselves. They can, if they + choose, remain perfectly passive while a great many things take place in + regard to them; they need not account for what they do not do. From time + to time a man must show his hand, but save for one supreme exigency a + woman need never show hers. She moves in mystery as long as she likes; and + mere reticence in her, if she is young and fair, interprets itself as good + sense and good taste. + </p> + <p> + Lydia was, by convention as well as by instinct, mistress of the situation + when she came out to breakfast, and confronted the young men again with + collected nerves, and a reserve which was perhaps a little too proud. The + captain was there to introduce them, and presented first Mr. Dunham, the + gentleman who had spoken to her grandfather on the wharf, and then Mr. + Staniford, his friend and senior by some four or five years. They were + both of the fair New England complexion; but Dunham's eyes were blue, and + Staniford's dark gray. Their mustaches were blonde, but Dunham's curled + jauntily outward at the corners, and his light hair waved over either + temple from the parting in the middle. Staniford's mustache was cut short; + his hair was clipped tight to his shapely head, and not parted at all; he + had a slightly aquiline nose, with sensitive nostrils, showing the + cartilage; his face was darkly freckled. They were both handsome fellows, + and fittingly dressed in rough blue, which they wore like men with the + habit of good clothes; they made Lydia such bows as she had never seen + before. Then the Captain introduced Mr. Watterson, the first officer, to + all, and sat down, saying to Thomas, with a sort of guilty and embarrassed + growl, “Ain't he out yet? Well, we won't wait,” and with but little change + of tone asked a blessing; for Captain Jenness in his way was a religious + man. + </p> + <p> + There was a sixth plate laid, but the captain made no further mention of + the person who was not out yet till shortly after the coffee was poured, + when the absentee appeared, hastily closing his state-room door behind + him, and then waiting on foot, with a half-impudent, half-intimidated air, + while Captain Jenness, with a sort of elaborate repressiveness, presented + him as Mr. Hicks. He was a short and slight young man, with a small sandy + mustache curling tightly in over his lip, floating reddish-blue eyes, and + a deep dimple in his weak, slightly retreating chin. He had an air at once + amiable and baddish, with an expression, curiously blended, of monkey-like + humor and spaniel-like apprehensiveness. He did not look well, and till he + had swallowed two cups of coffee his hand shook. The captain watched him + furtively from under his bushy eyebrows, and was evidently troubled and + preoccupied, addressing a word now and then to Mr. Watterson, who, by + virtue of what was apparently the ship's discipline, spoke only when he + was spoken to, and then answered with prompt acquiescence. Dunham and + Staniford exchanged not so much a glance as a consciousness in regard to + him, which seemed to recognize and class him. They talked to each other, + and sometimes to the captain. Once they spoke to Lydia. Mr. Dunham, for + example, said, “Miss—ah—Blood, don't you think we are + uncommonly fortunate in having such lovely weather for a start-off?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dunham arrested himself in the use of his fork. “I beg your pardon?” + he smiled. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to be a question, and after a moment's doubt Lydia answered, “I + didn't know it was strange to have fine weather at the start.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I can assure you it is,” said Dunham, with a certain lady-like + sweetness of manner which he had. “According to precedent, we ought to be + all deathly seasick.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at <i>this</i> time of year,” said Captain Jenness. + </p> + <p> + “Not at this time of <i>year</i>,” repeated Mr. Watterson, as if the + remark were an order to the crew. + </p> + <p> + Dunham referred the matter with a look to his friend, who refused to take + part in it, and then he let it drop. But presently Staniford himself + attempted the civility of some conversation with Lydia. He asked her + gravely, and somewhat severely, if she had suffered much from the heat of + the day before. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia, “it was very hot.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm told it was the hottest day of the summer, so far,” continued + Staniford, with the same severity. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know!” cried Lydia. + </p> + <p> + The young man did not say anything more. + </p> + <p> + As Dunham lit his cigar at Staniford's on deck, the former said + significantly, “What a very American thing!” + </p> + <p> + “What a bore!” answered the other. + </p> + <p> + Dunham had never been abroad, as one might imagine from his calling + Lydia's presence a very American thing, but he had always consorted with + people who had lived in Europe; he read the Revue des Deux Mondes + habitually, and the London weekly newspapers, and this gave him the + foreign stand-point from which he was fond of viewing his native world. + “It's incredible,” he added. “Who in the world can she be?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>I</i> don't know,” returned Staniford, with a cold disgust. “I + should object to the society of such a young person for a month or six + weeks under the most favorable circumstances, and with frequent respites; + but to be imprisoned on the same ship with her, and to have her on one's + mind and in one's way the whole time, is more than I bargained for. + Captain Jenness should have told us; though I suppose he thought that if + <i>she</i> could stand it, <i>we</i> might. There's that point of view. + But it takes all ease and comfort out of the prospect. Here comes that + blackguard.” Staniford turned his back towards Mr. Hicks, who was + approaching, but Dunham could not quite do this, though he waited for the + other to speak first. + </p> + <p> + “Will you—would you oblige me with a light?” Mr. Hicks asked, taking + a cigar from his case. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Dunham, with the comradery of the smoker. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hicks seemed to gather courage from his cigar. “You didn't expect to + find a lady passenger on board, did you?” His poor disagreeable little + face was lit up with unpleasant enjoyment of the anomaly. Dunham hesitated + for an answer. + </p> + <p> + “One never can know what one's fellow passengers are going to be,” said + Staniford, turning about, and looking not at Mr. Hicks's face, but his + feet, with an effect of being, upon the whole, disappointed not to find + them cloven. He added, to put the man down rather than from an exact + belief in his own suggestion, “She's probably some relation of the + captain's.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that's the joke of it,” said Hicks, fluttered with his superior + knowledge. “I've been pumping the cabin-boy, and he says the captain never + saw her till yesterday. She's an up-country school-marm, and she came down + here with her grandfather yesterday. She's going out to meet friends of + hers in Venice.” The little man pulled at his cigar, and coughed and + chuckled, and waited confidently for the impression. + </p> + <p> + “Dunham,” said Staniford, “did I hand you that sketch-block of mine to put + in your bag, when we were packing last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've got it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad of that. Did you see Murray yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he was at Cambridge.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought he was to have met you at Parker's.” The conversation no longer + included Mr. Hicks or the subject he had introduced; after a moment's + hesitation, he walked away to another part of the ship. As soon as he was + beyond ear-shot, Staniford again spoke: “Dunham, this girl is plainly one + of those cases of supernatural innocence, on the part of herself and her + friends, which, as you suggested, wouldn't occur among any other people in + the world but ours.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a good fellow, Staniford!” cried Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I call myself simply a human being, with the elemental + instincts of a gentleman, as far as concerns this matter. The girl has + been placed in a position which could be made very painful to her. It + seems to me it's our part to prevent it from being so. I doubt if she + finds it at all anomalous, and if we choose she need never do so till + after we've parted with her. I fancy we can preserve her unconsciousness + intact.” + </p> + <p> + “Staniford, this is like you,” said his friend, with glistening eyes. “I + had some wild notion of the kind myself, but I'm so glad you spoke of it + first.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind,” responded Staniford. “We must make her feel that there + is nothing irregular or uncommon in her being here as she is. I don't know + how the matter's to be managed, exactly; it must be a negative benevolence + for the most part; but it can be done. The first thing is to cow that + nuisance yonder. Pumping the cabin-boy! The little sot! Look here, Dunham; + it's such a satisfaction to me to think of putting that fellow under foot + that I'll leave you all the credit of saving the young lady's feelings. I + should like to begin stamping on him at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you have made a beginning already. I confess I wish you hadn't + such heavy nails in your boots!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they'll do him good, confound him!” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “I should have liked it better if her name hadn't been Blood,” remarked + Dunham, presently. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter what a girl's surname is. Besides, Blood is very + frequent in some parts of the State.” + </p> + <p> + “She's very pretty, isn't she?” Dunham suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pretty enough, yes,” replied Staniford. “Nothing is so common as the + pretty girl of our nation. Her beauty is part of the general tiresomeness + of the whole situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think,” ventured his friend, further, “that she has rather a + lady-like air?” + </p> + <p> + “She wanted to know,” said Staniford, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + Dunham was silent a while before he asked, “What do you suppose her first + name is?” + </p> + <p> + “Jerusha, probably.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,—Lurella. You have no idea of the grotesqueness of these + people's minds. I used to see a great deal of their intimate life when I + went on my tramps, and chanced it among them, for bed and board, wherever + I happened to be. We cultivated Yankees and the raw material seem hardly + of the same race. Where the Puritanism has gone out of the people in + spots, there's the rankest growth of all sorts of crazy heresies, and the + old scriptural nomenclature has given place to something compounded of the + fancifulness of story-paper romance and the gibberish of spiritualism. + They make up their names, sometimes, and call a child by what sounds + pretty to them. I wonder how the captain picked up that scoundrel.” + </p> + <p> + The turn of Staniford's thought to Hicks was suggested by the appearance + of Captain Jenness, who now issued from the cabin gangway, and came toward + them with the shadow of unwonted trouble in his face. The captain, too, + was smoking. + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen,” he began, with the obvious indirectness of a man not + used to diplomacy, “how do you like your accommodations?” + </p> + <p> + Staniford silently acquiesced in Dunham's reply that they found them + excellent. “But you don't mean to say,” Dunham added, “that you're going + to give us beefsteak and all the vegetables of the season the whole way + over?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the captain; “we shall put you on sea-fare soon enough. But + you'll like it. You don't want the same things at sea that you do on + shore; your appetite chops round into a different quarter altogether, and + you want salt beef; but you'll get it good. Your room's pretty snug,” he + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's big enough,” said Staniford, to whom he had turned as perhaps + more in authority than Dunham. “While we're well we only sleep in it, and + if we're seasick it doesn't matter where we are.” + </p> + <p> + The captain knocked the ash from his cigar with the tip of his fat little + finger, and looked down. “I was in hopes I could have let you had a room + apiece, but I had another passenger jumped on me at the last minute. I + suppose you see what's the matter with Mr. Hicks?” He looked up from one + to another, and they replied with a glance of perfect intelligence. “I + don't generally talk my passengers over with one another, but I thought + I'd better speak to you about him. I found him yesterday evening at my + agents', with his father. He's just been on a spree, a regular two weeks' + tear, and the old gentleman didn't know what to do with him, on shore, any + longer. He thought he'd send him to sea a voyage, and see what would come + of it, and he plead hard with me to take him. I didn't want to take him, + but he worked away at me till I couldn't say no. I argued in my own mind + that he couldn't get anything to drink on my ship, and that he'd behave + himself well enough as long as he was sober.” The captain added ruefully, + “He looks worse this morning than he did last night. He looks bad. I told + the old gentleman that if he got into any trouble at Try-East, or any of + the ports where we touched, he shouldn't set foot on my ship again. But I + guess he'll keep pretty straight. He hasn't got any money, for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “He stops drinking for obvious reasons, if for no + others, like Artemus Ward's destitute inebriate. Did you think only of us + in deciding whether you should take him?” + </p> + <p> + The captain looked up quickly at the young men, as if touched in a sore + place. “Well, there again I didn't seem to get my bearings just right. I + suppose you mean the young lady?” Staniford motionlessly and silently + assented. “Well, she's more of a young lady than I thought she was, when + her grandfather first come down here and talked of sending her over with + me. He was always speaking about his little girl, you know, and I got the + idea that she was about thirteen, or eleven, may be. I thought the child + might be some bother on the voyage, but thinks I, I'm used to children, + and I guess I can manage. Bless your soul! when I first see her on the + wharf yesterday, it most knocked me down! I never believed she was half so + tall, nor half so good-looking.” Staniford smiled at this expression of + the captain's despair, but the captain did not smile. “Why, she was as + pretty as a bird. Well, there I was. It was no time then to back out. The + old man wouldn't understood. Besides, there was the young lady herself, + and she seemed so forlorn and helpless that I kind of pitied her. I + thought, What if it was one of my own girls? And I made up my mind that + she shouldn't know from anything I said or did that she wasn't just as + much at home and just as much in place on my ship as she would be in my + house. I suppose what made me feel easier about it, and took the queerness + off some, was my having my own girls along last voyage. To be sure, it + ain't quite the same thing,” said the captain, interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “Not quite,” assented Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “If there was two of them,” said the captain, “I don't suppose I should + feel so bad about it. But thinks I, A lady's a lady the world over, and a + gentleman's a gentleman.” The captain looked significantly at the young + men. “As for that other fellow,” added Captain Jenness, “if I can't take + care of him, I think I'd better stop going to sea altogether, and go into + the coasting trade.” + </p> + <p> + He resumed his cigar with defiance, and was about turning away when + Staniford spoke. “Captain Jenness, my friend and I had been talking this + little matter over just before you came up. Will you let me say that I'm + rather proud of having reasoned in much the same direction as yourself?” + </p> + <p> + This was spoken with that air which gave Staniford a peculiar distinction, + and made him the despair and adoration of his friend: it endowed the + subject with seriousness, and conveyed a sentiment of grave and noble + sincerity. The captain held out a hand to each of the young men, crossing + his wrists in what seemed a favorite fashion with him. “Good!” he cried, + heartily. “I <i>thought</i> I knew you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + Staniford and Dunham drew stools to the rail, and sat down with their + cigars after the captain left them. The second mate passed by, and cast a + friendly glance at them; he had whimsical brown eyes that twinkled under + his cap-peak, while a lurking smile played under his heavy mustache; but + he did not speak. Staniford said, there was a pleasant fellow, and he + should like to sketch him. He was only an amateur artist, and he had been + only an amateur in life otherwise, so far; but he did not pretend to have + been anything else. + </p> + <p> + “Then you're not sorry you came, Staniford?” asked Dunham, putting his + hand on his friend's knee. “He characteristically assumed the + responsibility, although the voyage by sailing-vessel rather than steamer + was their common whim, and it had been Staniford's preference that decided + them for Trieste rather than any nearer port. + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not sorry,—if you call it come, already. I think a bit of + Europe will be a very good thing for the present, or as long as I'm in + this irresolute mood. If I understand it, Europe is the place for American + irresolution. When I've made up my mind, I'll come home again. I still + think Colorado is the thing, though I haven't abandoned California + altogether; it's a question of cattle-range and sheep-ranch.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll decide against both,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “How would you like West Virginia? They cattle-range in West Virginia, + too. They may sheep-ranch, too, for all I know,—no, that's in Old + Virginia. The trouble is that the Virginias, otherwise irreproachable, are + not paying fields for such enterprises. They say that one is a sure thing + in California, and the other is a sure thing in Colorado. They give you + the figures.” Staniford lit another cigar. + </p> + <p> + “But why shouldn't you stay where you are, Staniford? You've money enough + left, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, money enough for one. But there's something ignoble in living on a + small stated income, unless you have some object in view besides living, + and I haven't, you know. It's a duty I owe to the general frame of things + to make more money.” + </p> + <p> + “If you turned your mind to any one thing, I'm sure you'd succeed where + you are,” Dunham urged. + </p> + <p> + “That's just the trouble,” retorted his friend. “I can't turn my mind to + any one thing,—I'm too universally gifted. I paint a little, I model + a little, I play a very little indeed; I can write a book notice. The + ladies praise my art, and the editors keep my literature a long time + before they print it. This doesn't seem the highest aim of being. I have + the noble earth-hunger; I must get upon the land. That's why I've got upon + the water.” Staniford laughed again, and pulled comfortably at his cigar. + “Now, you,” he added, after a pause, in which Dunham did not reply, “you + have not had losses; you still have everything comfortable about you. <i>Du + hast Alles was Menschen begehr</i>, even to the <i>schönsten Augen</i> of + the divine Miss Hibbard.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Staniford, that's it. I hate your going out there all alone. Now, if + you were taking some nice girl with you!” Dunham said, with a lover's fond + desire that his friend should be in love, too. + </p> + <p> + “To those wilds? To a redwood shanty in California, or a turf hovel in + Colorado? What nice girl would go? 'I will take some savage woman, she + shall rear my dusky race.'<span class="lftspc">”</span> + </p> + <p> + “I don't like to have you take any risks of degenerating,” began Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “With what you know to be my natural tendencies? Your prophetic eye + prefigures my pantaloons in the tops of my boots. Well, there is time yet + to turn back from the brutality of a patriarchal life. You must allow that + I've taken the longest way round in going West. In Italy there are many + chances; and besides, you know, I like to talk.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to be an old subject between them, and they discussed it + languidly, like some abstract topic rather than a reality. + </p> + <p> + “If you only had some tie to bind you to the East, I should feel pretty + safe about you,” said Dunham, presently. + </p> + <p> + “I have you,” answered his friend, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm nothing,” said Dunham, with sincerity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I may form some tie in Italy. Art may fall in love with me, there. + How would you like to have me settle in Florence, and set up a studio + instead of a ranch,—choose between sculpture and painting, instead + of cattle and sheep? After all, it does grind me to have lost that money! + If I had only been swindled out of it, I shouldn't have cared; but when + you go and make a bad thing of it yourself, with your eyes open, there's a + reluctance to place the responsibility where it belongs that doesn't occur + in the other case. Dunham, do you think it altogether ridiculous that I + should feel there was something sacred in the money? When I remember how + hard my poor old father worked to get it together, it seems wicked that I + should have stupidly wasted it on the venture I did. I want to get it + back; I want to make money. And so I'm going out to Italy with you, to + waste more. I don't respect myself as I should if I were on a Pullman + palace car, speeding westward. I'll own I like this better.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all right, Staniford,” said his friend. “The voyage will do you + good, and you'll have time to think everything over, and start fairer when + you get back.” + </p> + <p> + “That girl,” observed Staniford, with characteristic abruptness, “is a + type that is commoner than we imagine in New England. We fair people fancy + we are the only genuine Yankees. I guess that's a mistake. There must have + been a good many dark Puritans. In fact, we always think of Puritans as + dark, don't we?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe we do,” assented Dunham. “Perhaps on account of their black + clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Staniford. “At any rate, I'm so tired of the blonde type + in fiction that I rather like the other thing in life. Every novelist runs + a blonde heroine; I wonder why. This girl has the clear Southern pallor; + she's of the olive hue; and her eyes are black as sloes,—not that I + know what sloes are. Did she remind you of anything in particular?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; a little of Faed's Evangeline, as she sat in the door-way of the + warehouse yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. I wish the picture were more of a picture; but I don't know that + it matters. <i>She's</i> more of a picture.” + </p> + <p> + “<span class="lftspc">'</span>Pretty as a bird,' the captain said.” + </p> + <p> + “Bird isn't bad. But the bird is in her manner. There's something + tranquilly alert in her manner that's like a bird; like a bird that + lingers on its perch, looking at you over its shoulder, if you come up + behind. That trick of the heavily lifted, half lifted eyelids,—I + wonder if it's a trick. The long lashes can't be; she can't make them curl + up at the edges. Blood,—Lurella Blood. And she wants to know.” + Staniford's voice fell thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “She's more slender than Faed's Evangeline. Faed painted rather too fat a + sufferer on that tombstone. Lurella Blood has a very pretty figure. + Lurella. Why Lurella?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, Staniford!” cried Dunham. “It isn't fair to call the girl by + that jingle without some ground for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure her name's Lurella, for she wanted to know. Besides, there's as + much sense in it as there is in any name. It sounds very well. Lurella. It + is mere prejudice that condemns the novel collocation of syllables.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what she's thinking of now,—what's passing in her mind,” + mused Dunham aloud. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> want to know, too, do you?” mocked his friend. “I'll tell you + what: processions of young men so long that they are an hour getting by a + given point. That's what's passing in every girl's mind—when she's + thinking. It's perfectly right. Processsions of young girls are similarly + passing in our stately and spacious intellects. It's the chief business of + the youth of one sex to think of the youth of the other sex.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I know,” assented Dunham; “and I believe in it, too—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you do, you wicked wretch, you abandoned Lovelace, you bruiser + of ladies' hearts! You hope the procession is composed entirely of + yourself. What would the divine Hibbard say to your goings-on?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't, Staniford! It isn't fair,” pleaded Dunham, with the flattered + laugh which the best of men give when falsely attainted of gallantry. “I + was wondering whether she was feeling homesick, or strange, or—” + </p> + <p> + “I will go below and ask her,” said Staniford. “I know she will tell me + the exact truth. They always do. Or if you will take a guess of mine + instead of her word for it, I will hazard the surmise that she is not at + all homesick. What has a pretty young girl to regret in such a life as she + has left? It's the most arid and joyless existence under the sun. She has + never known anything like society. In the country with us, the social side + must always have been somewhat paralyzed, but there are monumental + evidences of pleasures in other days that are quite extinct now. You see + big dusty ball-rooms in the old taverns: ball-rooms that have had no + dancing in them for half a century, and where they give you a bed + sometimes. There used to be academies, too, in the hill towns, where they + furnished a rude but serviceable article of real learning, and where the + local octogenarian remembers seeing something famous in the way of + theatricals on examination-day; but neither his children nor his + grandchildren have seen the like. There's a decay of the religious + sentiment, and the church is no longer a social centre, with merry + meetings among the tombstones between the morning and the afternoon + service. Superficial humanitarianism of one kind or another has killed the + good old orthodoxy, as the railroads have killed the turnpikes and the + country taverns; and the common schools have killed the academies. Why, I + don't suppose this girl ever saw anything livelier than a township cattle + show, or a Sunday-school picnic, in her life. They don't pay visits in the + country except at rare intervals, and their evening parties, when they + have any, are something to strike you dead with pity. They used to clear + away the corn-husks and pumpkins on the barn floor, and dance by the light + of tin lanterns. At least, that's the traditional thing. The actual thing + is sitting around four sides of the room, giggling, whispering, looking at + photograph albums, and coaxing somebody to play on the piano. The banquet + is passed in the form of apples and water. I have assisted at <i>some</i> + rural festivals where the apples were omitted. Upon the whole, I wonder + our country people don't all go mad. They do go mad, a great many of them, + and manage to get a little glimpse of society in the insane asylums.” + Staniford ended his tirade with a laugh, in which he vented his humorous + sense and his fundamental pity of the conditions he had caricatured. + </p> + <p> + “But how,” demanded Dunham, breaking rebelliously from the silence in + which he had listened, “do you account for her good manner?” + </p> + <p> + “She probably was born with a genius for it. Some people are born with a + genius for one thing, and some with a genius for another. I, for example, + am an artistic genius, forced to be an amateur by the delusive possession + of early wealth, and now burning with a creative instinct in the direction + of the sheep or cattle business; you have the gift of universal optimism; + Lurella Blood has the genius of good society. Give that girl a winter + among nice people in Boston, and you would never know that she was not + born on Beacon Hill.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I doubt that,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “You doubt it? Pessimist!” + </p> + <p> + “But you implied just now that she had no sensibility,” pursued Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “So I did!” cried Staniford, cheerfully. “Social genius and sensibility + are two very different things; the cynic might contend they were + incompatible, but I won't insist so far. I dare say she may regret the + natal spot; most of us have a dumb, brutish attachment to the <i>cari + luoghi</i>; but if she knows anything, she hates its surroundings, and + must be glad to get out into the world. I should like mightily to know how + the world strikes her, as far as she's gone. But I doubt if she's one to + betray her own counsel in any way. She looks deep, Lurella does.” + Staniford laughed again at the pain which his insistence upon the name + brought into Dunham's face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + After dinner, nature avenged herself in the young men for their vigils of + the night before, when they had stayed up so late, parting with friends, + that they had found themselves early risers without having been abed. They + both slept so long that Dunham, leaving Staniford to a still unfinished + nap, came on deck between five and six o'clock. + </p> + <p> + Lydia was there, wrapped against the freshening breeze in a red knit + shawl, and seated on a stool in the waist of the ship, in the Evangeline + attitude, and with the wistful, Evangeline look in her face, as she gazed + out over the far-weltering sea-line, from which all trace of the shore had + vanished. She seemed to the young man very interesting, and he approached + her with that kindness for all other women in his heart which the lover + feels in absence from his beloved, and with a formless sense that some + retribution was due her from him for the roughness with which Staniford + had surmised her natural history. Women had always been dear and sacred to + him; he liked, beyond most young men, to be with them; he was forever + calling upon them, getting introduced to them, waiting upon them, + inventing little services for them, corresponding with them, and wearing + himself out in their interest. It is said that women do not value men of + this sort so much as men of some other sorts. It was long, at any rate, + before Dunham—whom people always called Charley Dunham—found + the woman who thought him more lovely than every other woman pronounced + him; and naturally Miss Hibbard was the most exacting of her sex. She + required all those offices which Dunham delighted to render, and many + besides: being an invalid, she needed devotion. She had refused Dunham + before going out to Europe with her mother, and she had written to take + him back after she got there. He was now on his way to join her in + Dresden, where he hoped that he might marry her, and be perfectly + sacrificed to her ailments. She only lacked poverty in order to be + thoroughly displeasing to most men; but Dunham had no misgiving save in + regard to her money; he wished she had no money. + </p> + <p> + “A good deal more motion, isn't there?” he said to Lydia, smiling sunnily + as he spoke, and holding his hat with one hand. “Do you find it + unpleasant?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, “not at all. I like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there isn't enough swell to make it uncomfortable, yet,” asserted + Dunham, looking about to see if there were not something he could do for + her. “And you may turn out a good sailor. Were you ever at sea before?” + </p> + <p> + “No; this is the first time I was ever on a ship.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible!” cried Dunham; he was now fairly at sea for the first + time himself, though by virtue of his European associations he seemed to + have made many voyages. It appeared to him that if there was nothing else + he could do for Lydia, it was his duty to talk to her. He found another + stool, and drew it up within easier conversational distance. “Then you've + never been out of sight of land before?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “That's very curious—I beg your pardon; I mean you must find it a + great novelty.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's very strange,” said the girl, seriously. “It looks like the + Flood. It seems as if all the rest of the world was drowned.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham glanced round the vast horizon. “It <i>is</i> like the Flood. And + it has that quality, which I've often noticed in sublime things, of + seeming to be for this occasion only.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you know? It seems as if it must be like a fine sunset, and + would pass in a few minutes. Perhaps we feel that we can't endure + sublimity long, and want it to pass.” + </p> + <p> + “I could look at it forever,” replied Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Dunham turned to see if this were young-ladyish rapture, but perceived + that she was affecting nothing. He liked seriousness, for he was, with a + great deal of affectation for social purposes, a very sincere person. His + heart warmed more and more to the lonely girl; to be talking to her + seemed, after all, to be doing very little for her, and he longed to be of + service. “Have you explored our little wooden world, yet?” he asked, after + a pause. + </p> + <p> + Lydia paused too. “The ship?” she asked presently. “No; I've only been in + the cabin, and here; and this morning,” she added, conscientiously, + “Thomas showed me the cook's galley,—the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “You've seen more than I have,” said Dunham. “Wouldn't you like to go + forward, to the bow, and see how it looks there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank you,” answered Lydia, “I would.” + </p> + <p> + She tottered a little in gaining her feet, and the wind drifted her + slightness a step or two aside. “Won't you take my arm, perhaps?” + suggested Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Lydia, “I think I can get along.” But after a few paces, + a lurch of the ship flung her against Dunham's side; he caught her hand, + and passed it through his arm without protest from her. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it grand?” he asked triumphantly, as they stood at the prow, and + rose and sank with the vessel's careering plunges. It was no gale, but + only a fair wind; the water foamed along the ship's sides, and, as her + bows descended, shot forward in hissing jets of spray; away on every hand + flocked the white caps. “You had better keep my arm, here.” Lydia did so, + resting her disengaged hand on the bulwarks, as she bent over a little on + that side to watch the rush of the sea. “It really seems as if there were + more of a view here.” + </p> + <p> + “It does, somehow,” admitted Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Look back at the ship's sails,” said Dunham. The swell and press of the + white canvas seemed like the clouds of heaven swooping down upon them from + all the airy heights. The sweet wind beat in their faces, and they laughed + in sympathy, as they fronted it. “Perhaps the motion is a little too + strong for you here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all!” cried the girl. + </p> + <p> + He had done something for her by bringing her here, and he hoped to do + something more by taking her away. He was discomfited, for he was at a + loss what other attention to offer. Just at that moment a sound made + itself heard above the whistling of the cordage and the wash of the sea, + which caused Lydia to start and look round. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you think,” she asked, “that you heard hens?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said Dunham. “What could it have been? Let us investigate.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way back past the forecastle and the cook's galley, and there, + in dangerous proximity to the pots and frying pans, they found a coop with + some dozen querulous and meditative fowl in it. + </p> + <p> + “I heard them this morning,” said Lydia. “They seemed to wake me with + their crowing, and I thought—I was at home!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm very sorry,” said Dunham, sympathetically. He wished Staniford were + there to take shame to himself for denying sensibility to this girl. + </p> + <p> + The cook, smoking a pipe at the door of his galley, said, “Dey won't + trouble you much, miss. Dey don't gen'ly last us long, and I'll kill de + roosters first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, now!” protested Dunham. “I wouldn't say that!” The cook and + Lydia stared at him in equal surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” answered the cook, “I'll kill the hens first, den. It don't make + any difference to me which I kill. I dunno but de hens is tenderer.” He + smoked in a bland indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hold on!” exclaimed Dunham, in repetition of his helpless protest. + </p> + <p> + Lydia stooped down to make closer acquaintance with the devoted birds. + They huddled themselves away from her in one corner of their prison, and + talked together in low tones of grave mistrust. “Poor things!” she said. + As a country girl, used to the practical ends of poultry, she knew as well + as the cook that it was the fit and simple destiny of chickens to be + eaten, sooner or later; and it must have been less in commiseration of + their fate than in self-pity and regret for the scenes they recalled that + she sighed. The hens that burrowed yesterday under the lilacs in the + door-yard; the cock that her aunt so often drove, insulted and + exclamatory, at the head of his harem, out of forbidden garden bounds; the + social groups that scratched and descanted lazily about the wide, sunny + barn doors; the anxious companies seeking their favorite perches, with + alarming outcries, in the dusk of summer evenings; the sentinels answering + each other from farm to farm before winter dawns, when all the hills were + drowned in snow, were of kindred with these hapless prisoners. + </p> + <p> + Dunham was touched at Lydia's compassion. “Would you like—would you + like to feed them?” he asked by a happy inspiration. He turned to the + cook, with his gentle politeness: “There's no objection to our feeding + them, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Laws, no!” said the cook. “Fats 'em up.” He went inside, and reappeared + with a pan full of scraps of meat and crusts of bread. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say!” cried Dunham. “Haven't you got some grain, you know, of some + sort; some seeds, don't you know?” + </p> + <p> + “They will like this,” said Lydia, while the cook stared in perplexity. + She took the pan, and opening the little door of the coop flung the + provision inside. But the fowls were either too depressed in spirit to eat + anything, or they were not hungry; they remained in their corner, and + merely fell silent, as if a new suspicion had been roused in their unhappy + breasts. + </p> + <p> + “Dey'll come, to it,” observed the cook. + </p> + <p> + Dunham felt far from content, and regarded the poultry with silent + disappointment. “Are you fond of pets?” he asked, after a while. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I used to have pet chickens when I was a little thing.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to adopt one of these,” suggested Dunham. “That white one is a + pretty creature.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia. “He looks as if he were Leghorn. Leghorn breed,” she + added, in reply to Dunham's look of inquiry. “He's a beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me get him out for you a moment!” cried the young man, in his amiable + zeal. Before Lydia could protest, or the cook interfere, he had opened the + coop-door and plunged his arm into the tumult which his manoeuvre created + within. He secured the cockerel, and drawing it forth was about to offer + it to Lydia, when in its struggles to escape it drove one of its spurs + into his hand. Dunham suddenly released it; and then ensued a wild chase + for its recapture, up and down the ship, in which it had every advantage + of the young man. At last it sprang upon the rail; he put out his hand to + seize it, when it rose with a desperate screech, and flew far out over the + sea. They watched the suicide till it sank exhausted into a distant + white-cap. + </p> + <p> + “Dat's gone,” said the cook, philosophically. Dunham looked round. Half + the ship's company, alarmed by his steeple-chase over the deck, were + there, silently agrin. + </p> + <p> + Lydia did not laugh. When he asked, still with his habitual sweetness, but + entirely at random, “Shall we—ah—go below?” she did not answer + definitely, and did not go. At the same time she ceased to be so timidly + intangible and aloof in manner. She began to talk to Dunham, instead of + letting him talk to her; she asked him questions, and listened with + deference to what he said on such matters as the probable length of the + voyage and the sort of weather they were likely to have. She did not take + note of his keeping his handkerchief wound round his hand, nor of his + attempts to recur to the subject of his mortifying adventure. When they + were again quite alone, the cook's respect having been won back through + his ethnic susceptibility to silver, she remembered that she must go to + her room. + </p> + <p> + “In other words,” said Staniford, after Dunham had reported the whole case + to him, “she treated your hurt vanity as if you had been her pet + schoolboy. She lured you away from yourself, and got you to talking and + thinking of other things. Lurella is deep, I tell you. What consummate + tacticians the least of women are! It's a pity that they have to work so + often in such dull material as men; they ought always to have women to + operate on. The youngest of them has more wisdom in human nature than the + sages of our sex. I must say, Lurella is magnanimous, too. She might have + taken her revenge on you for pitying her yesterday when she sat in that + warehouse door on the wharf. It was rather fine in Lurella not to do it. + What did she say, Dunham? What did she talk about? Did she want to know?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” shouted Dunham. “She talked very well, like any young lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all young ladies talk well, of course. But what did this one say? + What did she do, except suffer a visible pang of homesickness at the sight + of unattainable poultry? Come, you have represented the interview with + Miss Blood as one of great brilliancy.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't,” said Dunham. “I have done nothing of the kind. Her talk was + like any pleasant talk; it was refined and simple, and—unobtrusive.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, it was in no way remarkable,” observed Staniford, with a laugh. + “I expected something better of Lurella; I expected something salient. + Well, never mind. She's behaved well by you, seeing what a goose you had + made of yourself. She behaved like a lady, and I've noticed that she eats + with her fork. It often happens in the country that you find the women + practicing some of the arts of civilization, while their men folk are + still sunk in barbaric uses. Lurella, I see, is a social creature; she was + born for society, as you were, and I suppose you will be thrown a good + deal together. We're all likely to be associated rather familiarly, under + the circumstances. But I wish you would note down in your mind some points + of her conversation. I'm really curious to know what a girl of her + traditions thinks about the world when she first sees it. Her mind must be + in most respects an unbroken wilderness. She's had schooling, of course, + and she knows her grammar and algebra; but she can't have had any + cultivation. If she were of an earlier generation, one would expect to + find something biblical in her; but you can't count upon a Puritanic + culture now among our country folks.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are so curious,” said Dunham, “why don't you study her mind, + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, that wouldn't do,” Staniford answered. “The light of your + innocence upon hers is invaluable. I can understand her better through + you. You must go on. I will undertake to make your peace with Miss + Hibbard.” + </p> + <p> + The young men talked as they walked the deck and smoked in the starlight. + They were wakeful after their long nap in the afternoon, and they walked + and talked late, with the silences that old friends can permit themselves. + Staniford recurred to his loss of money and his Western projects, which + took more definite form now that he had placed so much distance between + himself and their fulfillment. With half a year in Italy before him, he + decided upon a cattle-range in Colorado. Then, “I should like to know,” he + said, after one of the pauses, “how two young men of our form strike that + girl's fancy. I haven't any personal curiosity about her impressions, but + I should like to know, as an observer of the human race. If my conjectures + are right, she's never met people of our sort before.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of men has she been associated with?” asked Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm not quite prepared to say. I take it that it isn't exactly the + hobbledehoy sort. She has probably looked high,—as far up as the + clerk in the store. He has taken her to drive in a buggy Saturday + afternoons, when he put on his ready-made suit,—and looked very well + in it, too; and they've been at picnics together. Or may be, as she's in + the school-teaching line, she's taken some high-browed, hollow-cheeked + high-school principal for her ideal. Or it is possible that she has never + had attention from any one. That is apt to happen to self-respectful girls + in rural communities, and their beauty doesn't save them. Fellows, as they + call themselves, like girls that have what they call go, that make up to + them. Lurella doesn't seem of that kind; and I should not be surprised if + you were the first gentleman who had ever offered her his arm. I wonder + what she thought of you. She's acquainted by sight with the ordinary + summer boarder of North America; they penetrate everywhere, now; but I + doubt if she's talked with them much, if at all. She must be ignorant of + our world beyond anything we can imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you account for her being so well dressed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's instinct. You find it everywhere. In every little village + there is some girl who knows how to out-preen all the others. I wonder,” + added Staniford, in a more deeply musing tone, “if she kept from laughing + at you out of good feeling, or if she was merely overawed by your + splendor.” + </p> + <p> + “She didn't laugh,” Dunham answered, “because she saw that it would have + added to my annoyance. My splendor had nothing to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't underrate your splendor, my dear fellow!” cried Staniford, with + a caressing ridicule that he often used with Dunham. “Of course, <i>I</i> + know what a simple and humble fellow you are, but you've no idea how that + exterior of yours might impose upon the agricultural imagination; it has + its effect upon me, in my pastoral moods.” Dunham made a gesture of + protest, and Staniford went on: “Country people have queer ideas of us, + sometimes. Possibly Lurella was afraid of you. Think of that, Dunham,—having + a woman afraid of you, for once in your life! Well, hurry up your + acquaintance with her, Dunham, or I shall wear myself out in mere + speculative analysis. I haven't the <i>aplomb</i> for studying the + sensibilities of a young lady, and catching chickens for her, so as to + produce a novel play of emotions. I thought this voyage was going to be a + season of mental quiet, but having a young lady on board seems to forbid + that kind of repose. I shouldn't mind a half dozen, but <i>one</i> is + altogether too many. Poor little thing! I say, Dunham! There's something + rather pretty about having her with us, after all, isn't there? It gives a + certain distinction to our voyage. We shall not degenerate. We shall shave + every day, wind and weather permitting, and wear our best things.” They + talked of other matters, and again Staniford recurred to Lydia: “If she + has any regrets for her mountain home,—though I don't see why she + should have,—I hope they haven't kept her awake. My far-away cot on + the plains is not going to interfere with my slumbers.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford stepped to the ship's side, and flung the end of his cigarette + overboard; it struck, a red spark amidst the lurid phosphorescence of the + bubbles that swept backward from the vessel's prow. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + The weather held fine. The sun shone, and the friendly winds blew out of a + cloudless heaven; by night the moon ruled a firmament powdered with stars + of multitudinous splendor. The conditions inspired Dunham with a restless + fertility of invention in Lydia's behalf. He had heard of the game of + shuffle-board, that blind and dumb croquet, with which the jaded + passengers on the steamers appease their terrible leisure, and with the + help of the ship's carpenter he organized this pastime, and played it with + her hour after hour, while Staniford looked on and smoked in grave + observance, and Hicks lurked at a distance, till Dunham felt it on his + kind heart and tender conscience to invite him to a share in the + diversion. As his nerves recovered their tone, Hicks showed himself a man + of some qualities that Staniford would have liked in another man: he was + amiable, and he was droll, though apt to turn sulky if Staniford addressed + him, which did not often happen. He knew more than Dunham of + shuffle-board, as well as of tossing rings of rope over a peg set up a + certain space off in the deck,—a game which they eagerly took up in + the afternoon, after pushing about the flat wooden disks all the morning. + Most of the talk at the table was of the varying fortunes of the players; + and the yarn of the story-teller in the forecastle remained half-spun, + while the sailors off watch gathered to look on, and to bet upon Lydia's + skill. It puzzled Staniford to make out whether she felt any strangeness + in the situation, which she accepted with so much apparent serenity. + Sometimes, in his frequently recurring talks with Dunham, he questioned + whether their delicate precautions for saving her feelings were not + perhaps thrown away upon a young person who played shuffle-board and + ring-toss on the deck of the Aroostook with as much self-possession as she + would have played croquet on her native turf at South Bradfield. + </p> + <p> + “Their ideal of propriety up country is very different from ours,” he + said, beginning one of his long comments. “I don't say that it concerns + the conscience more than ours does; but they think evil of different + things. We're getting Europeanized,—I don't mean you, Dunham; in + spite of your endeavors you will always remain one of the most hopelessly + American of our species,—and we have our little borrowed anxieties + about the free association of young people. They have none whatever; + though they are apt to look suspiciously upon married people's friendships + with other people's wives and husbands. It's quite likely that Lurella, + with the traditions of her queer world, has not imagined anything + anomalous in her position. She may realize certain inconveniences. But she + must see great advantages in it. Poor girl! How she must be rioting on the + united devotion of cabin and forecastle, after the scanty gallantries of a + hill town peopled by elderly unmarried women! I'm glad of it, for her + sake. I wonder which she really prizes most: your ornate attentions, or + the uncouth homage of those sailors, who are always running to fetch her + rings and blocks when she makes a wild shot. I believe I don't care and + shouldn't disapprove of her preference, whichever it was.” Staniford + frowned before he added: “But I object to Hicks and his drolleries. It's + impossible for that little wretch to think reverently of a young girl; + it's shocking to see her treating him as if he were a gentleman.” Hicks's + behavior really gave no grounds for reproach; and it was only his moral + mechanism, as Staniford called the character he constructed for him, which + he could blame; nevertheless, the thought of him gave an oblique cast to + Staniford's reflections, which he cut short by saying, “This sort of + worship is every woman's due in girlhood; but I suppose a fortnight of it + will make her a pert and silly coquette. What does she say to your + literature, Dunham?” + </p> + <p> + Dunham had already begun to lend Lydia books,—his own and + Staniford's,—in which he read aloud to her, and chose passages for + her admiration; but he was obliged to report that she had rather a passive + taste in literature. She seemed to like what he said was good, but not to + like it very much, or to care greatly for reading; or else she had never + had the habit of talking books. He suggested this to Staniford, who at + once philosophized it. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I rather like that, you know. We all read in such a literary way, + now; we don't read simply for the joy or profit of it; we expect to talk + about it, and say how it is this and that; and I've no doubt that we're + sub-consciously harassed, all the time, with an automatic process of + criticism. Now Lurella, I fancy, reads with the sense of the days when + people read in private, and not in public, as we do. She believes that + your serious books are all true; and she knows that my novels are all lies—that's + what some excellent Christians would call the fiction even of George Eliot + or of Hawthorne; she would be ashamed to discuss the lives and loves of + heroes and heroines who never existed. I think that's first-rate. She must + wonder at your distempered interest in them. If one could get at it, I + suppose the fresh wholesomeness of Lurella's mind would be something + delicious,—a quality like spring water.” + </p> + <p> + He was one of those men who cannot rest in regard to people they meet till + they have made some effort to formulate them. He liked to ticket them off; + but when he could not classify them, he remained content with his mere + study of them. His habit was one that does not promote sympathy with one's + fellow creatures. He confessed even that it disposed him to wish for their + less acquaintance when once he had got them generalized; they became then + collected specimens. Yet, for the time being, his curiosity in them gave + him a specious air of sociability. He lamented the insincerity which this + involved, but he could not help it. The next novelty in character was as + irresistible as the last; he sat down before it till it yielded its + meaning, or suggested to him some analogy by which he could interpret it. + </p> + <p> + With this passion for the arrangement and distribution of his neighbors, + it was not long before he had placed most of the people on board in what + he called the psychology of the ship. He did not care that they should fit + exactly in their order. He rather preferred that they should have + idiosyncrasies which differentiated them from their species, and he + enjoyed Lydia's being a little indifferent about books for this and for + other reasons. “If she were literary, she would be like those vulgar + little persons of genius in the magazine stories. She would have read all + sorts of impossible things up in her village. She would have been + discovered by some aesthetic summer boarder, who had happened to identify + her with the gifted Daisy Dawn, and she would be going out on the + aesthetic's money for the further expansion of her spirit in Europe. + Somebody would be obliged to fall in love with her, and she would + sacrifice her career for a man who was her inferior, as we should be + subtly given to understand at the close. I think it's going to be as + distinguished by and by not to like books as it is not to write them. + Lurella is a prophetic soul; and if there's anything comforting about her, + it's her being so merely and stupidly pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “She is not merely and stupidly pretty!” retorted Dunham. “She never does + herself justice when you are by. She can talk very well, and on some + subjects she thinks strongly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm sorry for that!” said Staniford. “But call me some time when + she's doing herself justice.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean that she's like the women we know. She doesn't say witty + things, and she hasn't their responsive quickness; but her ideas are her + own, no matter how old they are; and what she says she seems to be saying + for the first time, and as if it had never been thought out before.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I have been contending for,” said Staniford; “that is what I + meant by spring water. It is that thrilling freshness which charms me in + Lurella.” He laughed. “Have you converted her to your spectacular faith, + yet?” Dunham blushed. “You have tried,” continued Staniford. “Tell me + about it!” + </p> + <p> + “I will not talk with you on such matters,” said Dunham, “till you know + how to treat serious things seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall know how when I realize that they are serious with you. Well, I + don't object to a woman's thinking strongly on religious subjects: it's + the only safe ground for her strong thinking, and even there she had + better feel strongly. Did you succeed in convincing her that Archbishop + Laud was a <i>saint incompris</i>, and the good King Charles a blessed + martyr.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham did not answer till he had choked down some natural resentment. He + had, several years earlier, forsaken the pale Unitarian worship of his + family, because, Staniford always said, he had such a feeling for color, + and had adopted an extreme tint of ritualism. It was rumored at one time, + before his engagement to Miss Hibbard, that he was going to unite with a + celibate brotherhood; he went regularly into retreat at certain seasons, + to the vast entertainment of his friend; and, within the bounds of good + taste, he was a zealous propagandist of his faith, of which he had the + practical virtues in high degree. “I hope,” he said presently, “that I + know how to respect convictions, even of those adhering to the Church in + Error.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed again. “I see you have not converted Lurella. Well, I + like that in her, too. I wish I could have the arguments, <i>pro</i> and + <i>con</i>. It would have been amusing. I suppose,” he pondered aloud, + “that she is a Calvinist of the deepest dye, and would regard me as a lost + spirit for being outside of her church. She would look down upon me from + one height, as I look down upon her from another. And really, as far as + personal satisfaction in superiority goes, she might have the advantage of + me. That's very curious, very interesting.” + </p> + <p> + As the first week wore away, the wonted incidents of a sea voyage lent + their variety to the life on board. One day the ship ran into a school of + whales, which remained heavily thumping and lolling about in her course, + and blowing jets of water into the air, like so many breaks in garden + hose, Staniford suggested. At another time some flying-fish came on board. + The sailors caught a dolphin, and they promised a shark, by and by. All + these things were turned to account for the young girl's amusement, as if + they had happened for her. The dolphin died that she might wonder and pity + his beautiful death; the cook fried her some of the flying-fish; some one + was on the lookout to detect even porpoises for her. A sail in the offing + won the discoverer envy when he pointed it out to her; a steamer, + celebrity. The captain ran a point out of his course to speak to a vessel, + that she might be able to tell what speaking a ship at sea was like. + </p> + <p> + At table the stores which the young men had laid in for private use became + common luxuries, and she fared sumptuously every day upon dainties which + she supposed were supplied by the ship,—delicate jellies and canned + meats and syruped fruits; and, if she wondered at anything, she must have + wondered at the scrupulous abstinence with which Captain Jenness, seconded + by Mr. Watterson, refused the luxuries which his bounty provided them, and + at the constancy with which Staniford declined some of these dishes, and + Hicks declined others. Shortly after the latter began more distinctly to + be tolerated, he appeared one day on deck with a steamer-chair in his + hand, and offered it to Lydia's use, where she sat on a stool by the + bulwark. After that, as she reclined in this chair, wrapped in her red + shawl, and provided with a book or some sort of becoming handiwork, she + was even more picturesquely than before the centre about which the ship's + pride and chivalrous sentiment revolved. They were Americans, and they + knew how to worship a woman. + </p> + <p> + Staniford did not seek occasions to please and amuse her, as the others + did. When they met, as they must, three times a day, at table, he took his + part in the talk, and now and then addressed her a perfunctory civility. + He imagined that she disliked him, and he interested himself in imagining + the ignorant grounds of her dislike. “A woman,” he said, “must always + dislike some one in company; it's usually another woman; as there's none + on board, I accept her enmity with meekness.” Dunham wished to persuade + him that he was mistaken. “Don't try to comfort me, Dunham,” he replied. + “I find a pleasure in being detested which is inconceivable to your + amiable bosom.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham turned to go below, from where they stood at the head of the cabin + stairs. Staniford looked round, and saw Lydia, whom they had kept from + coming up; she must have heard him. He took his cigar from his mouth, and + caught up a stool, which he placed near the ship's side, where Lydia + usually sat, and without waiting for her concurrence got a stool for + himself, and sat down with her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Miss Blood,” he said, “it's Saturday afternoon at last, and we're + at the end of our first week. Has it seemed very long to you?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia's color was bright with consciousness, but the glance she gave + Staniford showed him looking tranquilly and honestly at her. “Yes,” she + said, “it <i>has</i> seemed long.” + </p> + <p> + “That's merely the strangeness of everything. There's nothing like local + familiarity to make the time pass,—except monotony; and one gets + both at sea. Next week will go faster than this, and we shall all be at + Trieste before we know it. Of course we shall have a storm or two, and + that will retard us in fact as well as fancy. But you wouldn't feel that + you'd been at sea if you hadn't had a storm.” + </p> + <p> + He knew that his tone was patronizing, but he had theorized the girl so + much with a certain slight in his mind that he was not able at once to get + the tone which he usually took towards women. This might not, indeed, have + pleased some women any better than patronage: it mocked while it caressed + all their little pretenses and artificialities; he addressed them as if + they must be in the joke of themselves, and did not expect to be taken + seriously. At the same time he liked them greatly, and would not on any + account have had the silliest of them different from what she was. He did + not seek them as Dunham did; their society was not a matter of life or + death with him; but he had an elder-brotherly kindness for the whole sex. + </p> + <p> + Lydia waited awhile for him to say something more, but he added nothing, + and she observed, with a furtive look: “I presume you've seen some very + severe storms at sea.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Staniford answered, “I haven't. I've been over several times, but + I've never seen anything alarming. I've experienced the ordinary + seasickening tempestuousness.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you—have you ever been in Italy?” asked Lydia, after another + pause. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “twice; I'm very fond of Italy.” He spoke of it in a + familiar tone that might well have been discouraging to one of her total + unacquaintance with it. Presently he added of his own motion, looking at + her with his interest in her as a curious study, “You're going to Venice, + I think Mr. Dunham told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think it's rather a pity that you shouldn't arrive there + directly, without the interposition of Trieste.” He scanned her yet more + closely, but with a sort of absence in his look, as if he addressed some + ideal of her. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Lydia, apparently pushed to some self-assertion by this way + of being looked and talked at. + </p> + <p> + “It's the strangest place in the world,” said Staniford; and then he mused + again. “But I suppose—” He did not go on, and the word fell again to + Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to visit my aunt, who is staying there. She was where I live, + last summer, and she told us about it. But I couldn't seem to understand + it.” + </p> + <p> + “No one can understand it, without seeing it.” + </p> + <p> + “I've read some descriptions of it,” Lydia ventured. + </p> + <p> + “They're of no use,—the books.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Trieste a strange place, too?” + </p> + <p> + “It's strange, as a hundred other places are,—and it's picturesque; + but there's only one Venice.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid sometimes,” she faltered, as if his manner in regard to this + peculiar place had been hopelessly exclusive, “that it will be almost too + strange.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's another matter,” said Staniford. “I confess I should be rather + curious to know whether you liked Venice. I like it, but I can imagine + myself sympathizing with people who detested it,—if they said so. + Let me see what will give you some idea of it. Do you know Boston well?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I've only been there twice,” Lydia acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + “Then you've never seen the Back Bay by night, from the Long Bridge. Well, + let me see—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid,” interposed Lydia, “that I've not been about enough for you + to give me an idea from other places. We always go to Greenfield to do our + trading; and I've been to Keene and Springfield a good many times.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry to say I haven't,” said Staniford. “But I'll tell you: Venice + looks like an inundated town. If you could imagine those sunset clouds + yonder turned marble, you would have Venice as she is at sunset. You must + first think of the sea when you try to realize the place. If you don't + find the sea too strange, you won't find Venice so.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish it would ever seem half as home-like!” cried the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Then you find the ship—I'm glad you find the ship—home-like,” + said Staniford, tentatively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; everything is so convenient and pleasant. It seems sometimes as + if I had always lived here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's very nice,” assented Staniford, rather blankly. “Some people + feel a little queer at sea—in the beginning. And you haven't—at + all?” He could not help this leading question, yet he knew its meanness, + and felt remorse for it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>I</i> did, at first,” responded the girl, but went no farther; and + Staniford was glad of it. After all, why should he care to know what was + in her mind? + </p> + <p> + “Captain Jenness,” he merely said, “understands making people at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, indeed,” assented Lydia. “And Mr. Watterson is very agreeable, + and Mr. Mason. I didn't suppose sailors were so. What soft, mild voices + they have!” + </p> + <p> + “That's the speech of most of the Down East coast people.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it? I like it better than our voices. Our voices are so sharp and + high, at home.” + </p> + <p> + “It's hard to believe that,” said Staniford, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked at him. “Oh, I wasn't born in South Bradfield. I was ten + years old when I went there to live.” + </p> + <p> + “Where <i>were</i> you born, Miss Blood?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “In California. My father had gone out for his health, but he died there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Staniford. He had a book in his hand, and he began to scribble + a little sketch of Lydia's pose, on a fly-leaf. She looked round and saw + it. “You've detected me,” he said; “I haven't any right to keep your + likeness, now. I must make you a present of this work of art, Miss Blood.” + He finished the sketch with some ironical flourishes, and made as if to + tear out the leaf. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Lydia, simply, “you will spoil the book!” + </p> + <p> + “Then the book shall go with the picture, if you'll let it,” said + Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to give it to me?” she asked, with surprise. + </p> + <p> + “That was my munificent intention. I want to write your name in it. What's + the initial of your first name, Miss Blood?” + </p> + <p> + “L, thank you,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Staniford gave a start. “No!” he exclaimed. It seemed a fatality. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Lydia,” persisted the girl. “What letter should it begin + with?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—oh, I knew Lydia began with an L,” stammered Staniford, “but I—I—I + thought your first name was—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Lydia sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Lily,” he answered guiltily. + </p> + <p> + “Lily <i>Blood</i>!” cried the girl. “Lydia is bad enough; but <i>Lily</i> + Blood! They couldn't have been such fools!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon. Of course not. I don't know how I could have got the + idea. It was one of those impressions—hallucinations—” + Staniford found himself in an attitude of lying excuse towards the simple + girl, over whom he had been lording it in satirical fancy ever since he + had seen her, and meekly anxious that she should not be vexed with him. He + began to laugh at his predicament, and she smiled at his mistake. “What is + the date?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The 15th,” she said; and he wrote under the sketch, <i>Lydia Blood. Ship + Aroostook, August</i> 15, 1874, and handed it to her, with a bow + surcharged with gravity. + </p> + <p> + She took it, and regarded the picture without comment. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Staniford, “I see that you know how bad my sketch is. You + sketch.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't know how to draw,” replied Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “You criticise.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “So glad,” said Staniford. He began to like this. A young man must find + pleasure in sitting alone near a pretty young girl, and talking with her + about herself and himself, no matter how plain and dull her speech is; and + Staniford, though he found Lydia as blankly unresponsive as might be to + the flattering irony of his habit, amused himself in realizing that here + suddenly he was almost upon the terms of window-seat flirtation with a + girl whom lately he had treated with perfect indifference, and just now + with fatherly patronage. The situation had something more even than the + usual window-seat advantages; it had qualities as of a common shipwreck, + of their being cast away on a desolate island together. He felt more than + ever that he must protect this helpless loveliness, since it had begun to + please his imagination. “You don't criticise,” he said. “Is that because + you are so amiable? I'm sure you could, if you would.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” returned Lydia; “I don't really know. But I've often wished I did + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you didn't teach drawing, in your school?” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know I had a school?” asked Lydia quickly. + </p> + <p> + He disliked to confess his authority, because he disliked the authority, + but he said, “Mr. Hicks told us.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hicks!” Lydia gave a little frown as of instinctive displeasure, + which gratified Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the cabin-boy told him. You see, we are dreadful gossips on the + Aroostook,—though there are so few ladies—” It had slipped + from him, but it seemed to have no personal slant for Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; I told Thomas,” she said. “No; it's only a country school. Once + I thought I should go down to the State Normal School, and study drawing + there; but I never did. Are you—are you a painter, Mr. Staniford?” + </p> + <p> + He could not recollect that she had pronounced his name before; he thought + it came very winningly from her lips. “No, I'm not a painter. I'm not + anything.” He hesitated; then he added recklessly, “I'm a farmer.” + </p> + <p> + “A farmer?” Lydia looked incredulous, but grave. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I'm a horny-handed son of the soil. I'm a cattle-farmer; I'm a + sheep-farmer; I don't know which. One day I'm the one, and the next day + I'm the other.” Lydia looked mystified, and Staniford continued: “I mean + that I have no profession, and that sometimes I think of going into + farming, out West.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “How should I like it? Give me an opinion, Miss Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” answered the girl. + </p> + <p> + “You would never have dreamt that I was a farmer, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I shouldn't,” said Lydia, honestly. “It's very hard work.” + </p> + <p> + “And I don't look fond of hard work?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say that.” + </p> + <p> + “And I've no right to press you for your meaning.” + </p> + <p> + “What I meant was—I mean—Perhaps if you had never tried it you + didn't know what very hard work it was. Some of the summer boarders used + to think our farmers had easy times.” + </p> + <p> + “I never was a summer boarder of that description. I know that farming is + hard work, and I'm going into it because I dislike it. What do you think + of that as a form of self-sacrifice?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why any one should sacrifice himself uselessly.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't? You have very little conception of martyrdom. Do you like + teaching school?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you teach, then?” Staniford had blundered. He knew why she taught, + and he felt instantly that he had hurt her pride, more sensitive than that + of a more sophisticated person, who would have had no scruple in saying + that she did it because she was poor. He tried to retrieve himself. “Of + course, I understand that school-teaching is useful self-sacrifice.” He + trembled lest she should invent some pretext for leaving him; he could not + afford to be left at a disadvantage. “But do you know, I would no more + have taken you for a teacher than you me for a farmer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + He could not tell whether she was appeased or not, and he rather feared + not. “You don't ask why. And I asked you why at once.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia laughed. “Well, why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's a secret. I'll tell you one of these days.” He had really no + reason; he said this to gain time. He was always honest in his talk with + men, but not always with women. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I look very young,” said Lydia. “I used to be afraid of the big + boys.” + </p> + <p> + “If the boys were big enough,” interposed Staniford, “they must have been + afraid of you.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia said, as if she had not understood, “I had hard work to get my + certificate. But I was older than I looked.” + </p> + <p> + “That is much better,” remarked Staniford, “than being younger than you + look. I am twenty-eight, and people take me for thirty-four. I'm a + prematurely middle-aged man. I wish you would tell me, Miss Blood, a + little about South Bradfield. I've been trying to make out whether I was + ever there. I tramped nearly everywhere when I was a student. What sort of + people are they there?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they are very nice people,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like them?” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought whether I did. They are nearly all old. Their children + have gone away; they don't seem to live; they are just staying. When I + first came there I was a little girl. One day I went into the grave-yard + and counted the stones; there were three times as many as there were + living persons in the village.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I know the kind of place,” said Staniford. “I suppose you're not + very homesick?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for the place,” answered Lydia, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” Staniford hastened to add, “you miss your own family circle.” + To this she made no reply. It is the habit of people bred like her to + remain silent for want of some sort of formulated comment upon remarks to + which they assent. + </p> + <p> + Staniford fell into a musing mood, which was without visible embarrassment + to the young girl, who must have been inured to much severer silences in + the society of South Bradfield. He remained staring at her throughout his + reverie, which in fact related to her. He was thinking what sort of an old + maid she would have become if she had remained in that village. He fancied + elements of hardness and sharpness in her which would have asserted + themselves as the joyless years went on, like the bony structure of her + face as the softness of youth left it. She was saved from that, whatever + was to be her destiny in Italy. From South Bradfield to Venice,—what + a prodigious transition! It seemed as if it must transfigure her. “Miss + Blood,” he exclaimed, “I wish I could be with you when you first see + Venice!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Even the interrogative comment, with the rising inflection, could not + chill his enthusiasm. “It is really the greatest sight in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia had apparently no comment to make on this fact. She waited + tranquilly a while before she said, “My father used to talk about Italy to + me when I was little. He wanted to go. My mother said afterwards—after + she had come home with me to South Bradfield—that she always + believed he would have lived if he had gone there. He had consumption.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Staniford softly. Then he added, with the tact of his sex, + “Miss Blood, you mustn't take cold, sitting here with me. This wind is + chilly. Shall I go below and get you some more wraps?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” said Lydia; “I believe I will go down, now.” + </p> + <p> + She went below to her room, and then came out into the cabin with some + sewing at which she sat and stitched by the lamp. The captain was writing + in his log-book; Dunham and Hicks were playing checkers together. + Staniford, from a corner of a locker, looked musingly upon this curious + family circle. It was not the first time that its occupations had struck + him oddly. Sometimes when they were all there together, Dunham read aloud. + Hicks knew tricks of legerdemain which he played cleverly. The captain + told some very good stories, and led off in the laugh. Lydia always sewed + and listened. She did not seem to find herself strangely placed, and her + presence characterized all that was said and done with a charming + innocence. As a bit of life, it was as pretty as it was quaint. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” Staniford said to Dunham, as they turned in, that night, “she + has domesticated us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Dunham with enthusiasm; “isn't she a nice girl?” + </p> + <p> + “She's intolerably passive. Or not passive, either. She says what she + thinks, but she doesn't seem to have thought of many things. Did she ever + tell you about her father?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “I mean about his dying of consumption?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she never spoke of him to me. Was he—” + </p> + <p> + “Um. It appears that we have been upon terms of confidence, then.” + Staniford paused, with one boot in his hand. “I should never have thought + it.” + </p> + <p> + “What was her father?” asked Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, I don't know. I didn't seem to get beyond elemental + statements of intimate fact with her. He died in California, where she was + born; and he always had a longing to go to Italy. That was rather pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very touching, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. We might fancy this about Lurella: that she has a sort of + piety in visiting the scenes that her father wished to visit, and that—Well, + anything is predicable of a girl who says so little and looks so much. + She's certainly very handsome; and I'm bound to say that her room could + not have been better than her company, so far.” + </p> + <h3> + X. + </h3> + <p> + The dress that Lydia habitually wore was one which her aunt Maria studied + from the costume of a summer boarder, who had spent a preceding summer at + the sea-shore, and who found her yachting-dress perfectly adapted to + tramping over the South Bradfield hills. Thus reverting to its original + use on shipboard, the costume looked far prettier on Lydia than it had on + the summer boarder from whose unconscious person it had been plagiarized. + It was of the darkest blue flannel, and was fitly set off with those + bright ribbons at the throat which women know how to dispose there + according to their complexions. One day the bow was scarlet, and another + crimson; Staniford did not know which was better, and disputed the point + in vain with Dunham. They all grew to have a taste in such matters. + Captain Jenness praised her dress outright, and said that he should tell + his girls about it. Lydia, who had always supposed it was a walking + costume, remained discreetly silent when the young men recognized its + nautical character. She enjoyed its success; she made some little changes + in the hat she wore with it, which met the approval of the cabin family; + and she tranquilly kept her black silk in reserve for Sunday. She came out + to breakfast in it, and it swept the narrow spaces, as she emerged from + her state-room, with so rich and deep a murmur that every one looked up. + She sustained their united glance with something tenderly deprecatory and + appealingly conscious in her manner, much as a very sensitive girl in some + new finery meets the eyes of her brothers when she does not know whether + to cry or laugh at what they will say. Thomas almost dropped a plate. + “Goodness!” he said, helplessly expressing the public sentiment in regard + to a garment of which he alone had been in the secret. No doubt it passed + his fondest dreams of its splendor; it fitted her as the sheath of the + flower fits the flower. + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness looked hard at her, but waited a decent season after + saying grace before offering his compliment, which he did in drawing the + carving-knife slowly across the steel. “Well, Miss Blood, that's right!” + Lydia blushed richly, and the young men made their obeisances across the + table. + </p> + <p> + The flushes and pallors chased each other over her face, and the sight of + her pleasure in being beautiful charmed Staniford. “If she were used to + worship she would have taken our adoration more arrogantly,” he said to + his friend when they went on deck after breakfast. “I can place her; but + one's circumstance doesn't always account for one in America, and I can't + make out yet whether she's ever been praised for being pretty. Some of our + hill-country people would have felt like hushing up her beauty, as almost + sinful, and some would have gone down before it like Greeks. I can't tell + whether she knows it all or not; but if you suppose her unconscious till + now, it's pathetic. And black silks must be too rare in her life not to be + celebrated by a high tumult of inner satisfaction. I'm glad we bowed down + to the new dress.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Dunham, with an uneasy absence; “but—Staniford, I + should like to propose to Captain Jenness our having service this morning. + It is the eleventh Sunday after—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes!” said Staniford. “It is Sunday, isn't it? I <i>thought</i> we + had breakfast rather later than usual. All over the Christian world, on + land and sea, there is this abstruse relation between a late breakfast and + religious observances.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham looked troubled. “I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Staniford, and + I hope you won't say anything—” + </p> + <p> + “To interfere with your proposition? My dear fellow, I am at least a + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said Dunham, gratefully. + </p> + <p> + Staniford even went himself to the captain with Dunham's wish; it is true + the latter assumed the more disagreeable part of proposing the matter to + Hicks, who gave a humorous assent, as one might to a joke of doubtful + feasibility. + </p> + <p> + Dunham gratified both his love for social management and his zeal for his + church in this organization of worship; and when all hands were called + aft, and stood round in decorous silence, he read the lesson for the day, + and conducted the service with a gravity astonishing to the sailors, who + had taken him for a mere dandy. Staniford bore his part in the responses + from the same prayer-book with Captain Jenness, who kept up a devout, + inarticulate under-growl, and came out strong on particular words when he + got his bearings through his spectacles. Hicks and the first officer + silently shared another prayer-book, and Lydia offered half hers to Mr. + Mason. + </p> + <p> + When the hymn was given out, she waited while an experimental search for + the tune took place among the rest. They were about to abandon the + attempt, when she lifted her voice and began to sing. She sang as she did + in the meeting-house at South Bradfield, and her voice seemed to fill all + the hollow height and distance; it rang far off like a mermaid's singing, + on high like an angel's; it called with the same deep appeal to sense and + soul alike. The sailors stood rapt; Dunham kept up a show of singing for + the church's sake. The others made no pretense of looking at the words; + they looked at her, and she began to falter, hearing herself alone. Then + Staniford struck in again wildly, and the sea-voices lent their powerful + discord, while the girl's contralto thrilled through all. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Miss Blood,” said the captain, when the service had ended in that + subordination of the spiritual to the artistic interest which marks the + process and the close of so much public worship in our day, “you've given + us a surprise. I guess we shall keep you pretty busy with our calls for + music, after this.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a genius!” observed Staniford at his first opportunity with + Dunham. “I knew there must be something the matter. Of course she's going + out to school her voice; and she hasn't strained it in idle babble about + her own affairs! I must say that Lu—Miss Blood's power of holding + her tongue commands my homage. Was it her little <i>coup</i> to wait till + we got into that hopeless hobble before she struck in?” + </p> + <p> + “Coup? For shame, Staniford! Coup at such a time!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! I don't say so. But for the theatre one can't begin + practicing these effects too soon. Really, that voice puts a new + complexion on Miss Blood. I have a theory to reconstruct. I have been + philosophizing her as a simple country girl. I must begin on an operatic + novice. I liked the other better. It gave value to the black silk; as a + singer she'll wear silk as habitually as a cocoon. She will have to take + some stage name; translate Blood into Italian. We shall know her hereafter + as La Sanguinelli; and when she comes to Boston we shall make our modest + brags about going out to Europe with her. I don't know; I think I + preferred the idyllic flavor I was beginning to find in the presence of + the ordinary, futureless young girl, voyaging under the chaperonage of her + own innocence,—the Little Sister of the Whole Ship. But this + crepusculant prima donna—no, I don't like it. Though it explains + some things. These splendid creatures are never sent half equipped into + the world. I fancy that where there's an operatic voice, there's an + operatic soul to go with it. Well, La Sanguinelli will wear me out, yet! + Suggest some new topic, Dunham; talk of something else, for heaven's + sake!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose,” asked Dunham, “that she would like to help get up some + <i>musicales</i>, to pass away the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you call that talking of something else? What an insatiate + organizer you are! You organize shuffleboard; you organize public worship; + you want to organize musicales. She would have to do all your music for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I think she would like to go in for it,” said Dunham. “It must be a + pleasure to exercise such a gift as that, and now that it's come out in + the way it has, it would be rather awkward for us not to recognize it.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford refused point-blank to be a party to the new enterprise, and + left Dunham to his own devices at dinner, where he proposed the matter. + </p> + <p> + “If you had my Persis here, now,” observed Captain Jenness, “with her + parlor organ, you could get along.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Miss Jenness was here,” said Dunham, politely. “But we must try to + get on as it is. With Miss Blood's voice to start with, nothing ought to + discourage us.” Dunham had a thin and gentle pipe of his own, and a + fairish style in singing, but with his natural modesty he would not offer + himself as a performer except in default of all others. “Don't you sing, + Mr. Hicks?” + </p> + <p> + “Anything to oblige a friend,” returned Hicks. “But I don't sing—before + Miss Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Blood,” said Staniford, listening in ironic safety, “you overawe us + all. I never did sing, but I think I should want to make an effort if you + were not by.” + </p> + <p> + “But don't you—don't you play something, anything?” persisted + Dunham, in desperate appeal to Hicks. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes,” the latter admitted, “I play the flute a little.” + </p> + <p> + “Flutes on water!” said Staniford. Hicks looked at him in sulky dislike, + but as if resolved not to be put down by him. + </p> + <p> + “And have you got your flute with you?” demanded Dunham, joyously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have,” replied Hicks. + </p> + <p> + “Then we are all right. I think I can carry a part, and if you will play + to Miss Blood's singing—” + </p> + <p> + “Try it this evening, if you like,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ah—I don't know. Perhaps—we hadn't better begin this + evening.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed at Dunham's embarrassment. “You might have a sacred + concert, and Mr. Hicks could represent the shawms and cymbals with his + flute.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham looked sorry for Staniford's saying this. Captain Jenness stared at + him, as if his taking the names of these scriptural instruments in vain + were a kind of blasphemy, and Lydia seemed puzzled and a little troubled. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think of its being Sunday,” said Hicks, with what Staniford felt + to be a cunning assumption of manly frankness, “or any more Sunday than + usual; seems as if we had had a month of Sundays already since we sailed. + I'm not much on religion myself, but I shouldn't like to interfere with + other people's principles.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford was vexed with himself for his scornful pleasantry, and vexed + with the others for taking it so seriously and heavily, and putting him so + unnecessarily in the wrong. He was angry with Dunham, and he said to + Hicks, “Very just sentiments.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you like them,” replied Hicks, with sullen apprehension of the + offensive tone. + </p> + <p> + Staniford turned to Lydia. “I suppose that in South Bradfield your Sabbath + is over at sundown on Sunday evening.” + </p> + <p> + “That used to be the custom,” answered the girl. “I've heard my + grandfather tell of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” interposed Captain Jenness. “They used to keep Saturday night + down our way, too. I can remember when I was a boy. It came pretty hard to + begin so soon, but it seemed to kind of break it, after all, having a + night in.” + </p> + <p> + The captain did not know what Staniford began to laugh at. “Our Puritan + ancestors knew just how much human nature could stand, after all. We did + not have an uninterrupted Sabbath till the Sabbath had become much milder. + Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + The captain had probably no very clear notion of what this meant, but + simply felt it to be a critical edge of some sort. “I don't know as you + can have too much religion,” he remarked. “I've seen some pretty rough + customers in the church, but I always thought, What would they be out of + it!” + </p> + <p> + “Very true!” said Staniford, smiling. He wanted to laugh again, but he + liked the captain too well to do that; and then he began to rage in his + heart at the general stupidity which had placed him in the attitude of + mocking at religion, a thing he would have loathed to do. It seemed to him + that Dunham was answerable for his false position. “But we shall not see + the right sort of Sabbath till Mr. Dunham gets his Catholic church fully + going,” he added. + </p> + <p> + They all started, and looked at Dunham as good Protestants must when some + one whom they would never have suspected of Catholicism turns out to be a + Catholic. Dunham cast a reproachful glance at his friend, but said simply, + “I am a Catholic,—that is true; but I do not admit the pretensions + of the Bishop of Rome.” + </p> + <p> + The rest of the company apparently could not follow him in making this + distinction; perhaps some of them did not quite know who the Bishop of + Rome was. Lydia continued to look at him in fascination; Hicks seemed + disposed to whistle, if such a thing were allowable; Mr. Watterson + devoutly waited for the captain. “Well,” observed the captain at last, + with the air of giving the devil his due, “I've seen some very good people + among the Catholics.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so, Captain Jenness,” said the first officer. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see,” said Lydia, without relaxing her gaze, “why, if you are a + Catholic, you read the service of a Protestant church.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a Protestant church,” answered Dunham, gently, “as I have tried + to explain to you.” + </p> + <p> + “The Episcopalian?” demanded Captain Jenness. + </p> + <p> + “The Episcopalian,” sweetly reiterated Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know what kind of a church it is, then,” said Captain + Jenness, triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “An Apostolic church.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness rubbed his nose, as if this were a new kind of church to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Founded by Saint Henry VIII. himself,” interjected Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “No, Staniford,” said Dunham, with a soft repressiveness. And now a + threatening light of zeal began to burn in his kindly eyes. These souls + had plainly been given into his hands for ecclesiastical enlightenment. + “If our friends will allow me, I will explain—” + </p> + <p> + Staniford's shaft had recoiled upon his own head. “O Lord!” he cried, + getting up from the table, “I can't stand <i>that</i>!” The others + regarded him, as he felt, even to that weasel of a Hicks, as a sheep of + uncommon blackness. He went on deck, and smoked a cigar without relief. He + still heard the girl's voice in singing; and he still felt in his nerves + the quality of latent passion in it which had thrilled him when she sang. + His thought ran formlessly upon her future, and upon what sort of being + was already fated to waken her to those possibilities of intense suffering + and joy which he imagined in her. A wound at his heart, received long + before, hurt vaguely; and he felt old. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + No one said anything more of the musicales, and the afternoon and evening + wore away without general talk. Each seemed willing to keep apart from the + rest. Dunham suffered Lydia to come on deck alone after tea, and Staniford + found her there, in her usual place, when he went up some time later. He + approached her at once, and said, smiling down into her face, to which the + moonlight gave a pale mystery, “Miss Blood, did you think I was very + wicked to-day at dinner?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked away, and waited a moment before she spoke. “I don't know,” + she said. Then, impulsively, “Did you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, honestly, I don't think I was,” answered Staniford. “But I seemed to + leave that impression on the company. I felt a little nasty, that was all; + and I tried to hurt Mr. Dunham's feelings. But I shall make it right with + him before I sleep; he knows that. He's used to having me repent at + leisure. Do you ever walk Sunday night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sometimes,” said Lydia interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad of that. Then I shall not offend against your scruples if I ask + you to join me in a little ramble, and you will refuse from purely + personal considerations. Will you walk with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Lydia rose. + </p> + <p> + “And will you take my arm?” asked Staniford, a little surprised at her + readiness. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand upon his arm, confidently enough, and they began to walk + up and down the stretch of open deck together. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Staniford, “did Mr. Dunham convince you all?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he talks beautifully about it,” replied Lydia, with quaint + stiffness. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you see what a very good fellow he is. I have a real affection + for Dunham.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he's good. At first it surprised me. I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” Staniford quickly interrupted, “why did it surprise you to find + Dunham good?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. You don't expect a person to be serious who is so—so—” + </p> + <p> + “Handsome?” + </p> + <p> + “No,—so—I don't know just how to say it: fashionable.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “Why, Miss Blood, you're fashionably dressed yourself, + not to go any farther, and you're serious.” + </p> + <p> + “It's different with a man,” the girl explained. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, how about me?” asked Staniford. “Am I too well dressed to be + expected to be serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dunham always seems in earnest,” Lydia answered, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “And you think one can't be in earnest without being serious?” Lydia + suffered one of those silences to ensue in which Staniford had already + found himself helpless. He knew that he should be forced to break it: and + he said, with a little spiteful mocking, “I suppose the young men of South + Bradfield are both serious and earnest.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “The young men of South Bradfield.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you that there were none. They all go away.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, the young men of Springfield, of Keene, of Greenfield.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell. I am not acquainted there.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford had begun to have a disagreeable suspicion that her ready + consent to walk up and down with a young man in the moonlight might have + come from a habit of the kind. But it appeared that her fearlessness was + like that of wild birds in those desert islands where man has never come. + The discovery gave him pleasure out of proportion to its importance, and + he paced back and forth in a silence that no longer chafed. Lydia walked + very well, and kept his step with rhythmic unison, as if they were walking + to music together. “That's the time in her pulses,” he thought, and then + he said, “Then you don't have a great deal of social excitement, I + suppose,—dancing, and that kind of thing? Though perhaps you don't + approve of dancing?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I like it. Sometimes the summer boarders get up little dances at + the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the summer boarders!” Staniford had overlooked them. “The young men + get them up, and invite the ladies?” he pursued. + </p> + <p> + “There are no young men, generally, among the summer boarders. The ladies + dance together. Most of the gentlemen are old, or else invalids.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “At the Mill Village, where I've taught two winters, they have dances + sometimes,—the mill hands do.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you go?” + </p> + <p> + “No. They are nearly all French Canadians and Irish people.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you like dancing because there are no gentlemen to dance with?” + </p> + <p> + “There are gentlemen at the picnics.” + </p> + <p> + “The picnics?” + </p> + <p> + “The teachers' picnics. They have them every summer, in a grove by the + pond.” + </p> + <p> + There was, then, a high-browed, dyspeptic high-school principal, and the + desert-island theory was probably all wrong. It vexed Staniford, when he + had so nearly got the compass of her social life, to find this unexplored + corner in it. + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you are leaving very agreeable friends among the teachers?” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them are pleasant. But I don't know them very well. I've only + been to one of the picnics.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford drew a long, silent breath. After all, he knew everything. He + mechanically dropped a little the arm on which her hand rested, that it + might slip farther within. Her timid remoteness had its charm, and he fell + to thinking, with amusement, how she who was so subordinate to him was, in + the dimly known sphere in which he had been groping to find her, probably + a person of authority and consequence. It satisfied a certain domineering + quality in him to have reduced her to this humble attitude, while it + increased the protecting tenderness he was beginning to have for her. His + mind went off further upon this matter of one's different attitudes toward + different persons; he thought of men, and women too, before whom he should + instantly feel like a boy, if he could be confronted with them, even in + his present lordliness of mood. In a fashion of his when he convicted + himself of anything, he laughed aloud. Lydia shrank a little from him, in + question. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I was laughing at something I + happened to think of. Do you ever find yourself struggling very hard to be + what you think people think you are?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” replied Lydia. “But I thought no one else did.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody does the thing that we think no one else does,” said Staniford, + sententiously. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether I quite like it,” said Lydia. “It seems like + hypocrisy. It used to worry me. Sometimes I wondered if I had any real + self. I seemed to be just what people made me, and a different person to + each.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to hear it, Miss Blood. We are companions in hypocrisy. As we + are such nonentities we shall not affect each other at all.” Lydia + laughed. “Don't you think so? What are you laughing at? I told you what I + was laughing at!” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “You wished to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you ought to tell me what I wish to know.” + </p> + <p> + “It's nothing,” said Lydia. “I thought you were mistaken in what you + said.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Then you believe that there's enough of you to affect me?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “The other way, then?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm delighted!” exclaimed Staniford. “I hope I don't exert an + uncomfortable influence. I should be very unhappy to think so.” Lydia + stooped side-wise, away from him, to get a fresh hold of her skirt, which + she was carrying in her right hand, and she hung a little more heavily + upon his arm. “I hope I make you think better of yourself,—very + self-satisfied, very conceited even.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “You pique my curiosity beyond endurance. Tell me how I make you feel.” + </p> + <p> + She looked quickly round at him, as if to see whether he was in earnest. + “Why, it's nothing,” she said. “You made me feel as if you were laughing + at everybody.” + </p> + <p> + It flatters a man to be accused of sarcasm by the other sex, and Staniford + was not superior to the soft pleasure of the reproach. “Do you think I + make other people feel so, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dunham said—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Mr. Dunham has been talking me over with you, has he? What did he + tell you of me? There is nobody like a true friend for dealing an + underhand blow at one's reputation. Wait till you hear my account of + Dunham! What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said that was only your way of laughing at yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “The traitor! What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that I said anything.” + </p> + <p> + “You were reserving your opinion for my own hearing?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you tell me what you thought? It might be of great use to me. + I'm in earnest, now; I'm serious. Will you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, some time,” said Lydia, who was both amused and mystified at this + persistence. + </p> + <p> + “When? To-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's too soon. When I get to Venice!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That's a subterfuge. You know we shall part in Trieste.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” said Lydia, “you were coming to Venice, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, but I shouldn't be able to see you there.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Why, because—” He was near telling the young girl who hung + upon his arm, and walked up and down with him in the moonlight, that in + the wicked Old World towards which they were sailing young people could + not meet save in the sight and hearing of their elders, and that a + confidential analysis of character would be impossible between them there. + The wonder of her being where she was, as she was, returned upon him with + a freshness that it had been losing in the custom of the week past. + “Because you will be so much taken up with your friends,” he said, lamely. + He added quickly, “There's one thing I should like to know, Miss Blood: + did you hear what Mr. Dunham and I were saying, last night, when we stood + in the gangway and kept you from coming up?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia waited a moment. Then she said, “Yes. I couldn't help hearing it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. I don't care for your hearing what I said. But—I + hope it wasn't true?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't understand what you meant by it,” she answered, evasively, but + rather faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Staniford. “I didn't mean anything. It was merely the + guilty consciousness of a generally disagreeable person.” They walked up + and down many turns without saying anything. She could not have made any + direct protest, and it pleased him that she could not frame any + flourishing generalities. “Yes,” Staniford resumed, “I will try to see you + as I pass through Venice. And I will come to hear you sing when you come + out at Milan.” + </p> + <p> + “Come out? At Milan?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes! You are going to study at the conservatory in Milan?” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know that?” demanded Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “From hearing you to-day. May I tell you how much I liked your singing?” + </p> + <p> + “My aunt thought I ought to cultivate my voice. But I would never go upon + the stage. I would rather sing in a church. I should like that better than + teaching.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you're quite right,” said Staniford, gravely. “It's certainly + much better to sing in a church than to sing in a theatre. Though I + believe the theatre pays best.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't care for that. All I should want would be to make a living.” + </p> + <p> + The reference to her poverty touched him. It was a confidence, coming from + one so reticent, that was of value. He waited a moment and said, “It's + surprising how well we keep our footing here, isn't it? There's hardly any + swell, but the ship pitches. I think we walk better together than alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Lydia, “I think we do.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't let me tire you. I'm indefatigable.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not tired. I like it,—walking.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you walk much at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much. It's a pretty good walk to the school-house.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Then you like walking at sea better than you do on shore?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't the custom, much. If there were any one else, I should have + liked it there. But it's rather dull, going by yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand how that is,” said Staniford, dropping his teasing + tone. “It's stupid. And I suppose it's pretty lonesome at South Bradfield + every way.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,—winters,” admitted Lydia. “In the summer you see people, at + any rate, but in winter there are days and days when hardly any one + passes. The snow is banked up everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + He felt her give an involuntary shiver; and he began to talk to her about + the climate to which she was going. It was all stranger to her than he + could have realized, and less intelligible. She remembered California very + dimly, and she had no experience by which she could compare and adjust his + facts. He made her walk up and down more and more swiftly, as he lost + himself in the comfort of his own talking and of her listening, and he + failed to note the little falterings with which she expressed her + weariness. + </p> + <p> + All at once he halted, and said, “Why, you're out of breath! I beg your + pardon. You should have stopped me. Let us sit down.” He wished to walk + across the deck to where the seats were, but she just perceptibly + withstood his motion, and he forbore. + </p> + <p> + “I think I won't sit down,” she said. “I will go down-stairs.” She began + withdrawing her hand from his arm. He put his right hand upon hers, and + when it came out of his arm it remained in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you won't walk with me again,” said Staniford. “I've tired you + shamefully.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all!” + </p> + <p> + “And you will?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. You're very amiable.” He still held her hand. He pressed it. The + pressure was not returned, but her hand seemed to quiver and throb in his + like a bird held there. For the time neither of them spoke, and it seemed + a long time. Staniford found himself carrying her hand towards his lips; + and she was helplessly, trustingly, letting him. + </p> + <p> + He dropped her hand, and said, abruptly, “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” she answered, and ceased from his side like a ghost. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + Staniford sat in the moonlight, and tried to think what the steps were + that had brought him to this point; but there were no steps of which he + was sensible. He remembered thinking the night before that the conditions + were those of flirtation; to-night this had not occurred to him. The talk + had been of the dullest commonplaces; yet he had pressed her hand and kept + it in his, and had been about to kiss it. He bitterly considered the + disparity between his present attitude and the stand he had taken when he + declared to Dunham that it rested with them to guard her peculiar + isolation from anything that she could remember with pain or humiliation + when she grew wiser in the world. He recalled his rage with Hicks, and the + insulting condemnation of his bearing towards him ever since; and could + Hicks have done worse? He had done better: he had kept away from her; he + had let her alone. + </p> + <p> + That night Staniford slept badly, and woke with a restless longing to see + the girl, and to read in her face whatever her thought of him had been. + But Lydia did not come out to breakfast. Thomas reported that she had a + headache, and that he had already carried her the tea and toast she + wanted. “Well, it seems kind of lonesome without her,” said the captain. + “It don't seem as if we could get along.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed desolate to Staniford, who let the talk flag and fail round him + without an effort to rescue it. All the morning he lurked about, keeping + out of Dunham's way, and fighting hard through a dozen pages of a book, to + which he struggled to nail his wandering mind. A headache was a little + matter, but it might be even less than a headache. He belated himself + purposely at dinner, and entered the cabin just as Lydia issued from her + stateroom door. + </p> + <p> + She was pale and looked heavy-eyed. As she lifted her glance to him, she + blushed; and he felt the answering red stain his face. When she sat down, + the captain patted her on the shoulder with his burly right hand, and said + he could not navigate the ship if she got sick. He pressed her to eat of + this and that; and when she would not, he said, well, there was no use + trying to force an appetite, and that she would be better all the sooner + for dieting. Hicks went to his state-room, and came out with a box of + guava jelly, from his private stores, and won a triumph enviable in all + eyes when Lydia consented to like it with the chicken. Dunham plundered + his own and Staniford's common stock of dainties for her dessert; the + first officer agreed and applauded right and left; Staniford alone sat + taciturn and inoperative, watching her face furtively. Once her eyes + wandered to the side of the table where he and Dunham sat; then she + colored and dropped her glance. + </p> + <p> + He took his book again after dinner, and with his finger between the + leaves, at the last-read, unintelligible page, he went out to the bow, and + crouched down there to renew the conflict of the morning. It was not long + before Dunham followed. He stooped over to lay a hand on either of + Staniford's shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you avoid me, old man?” he demanded, looking into Staniford's + face with his frank, kind eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And I avoid you?” asked Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I feel rather shabby, I suppose. I knew I felt shabby, but I + didn't know I was avoiding you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no matter. If you feel shabby, it's all right; but I hate to have + you feel shabby.” He got his left hand down into Staniford's right, and a + tacit reconciliation was transacted between them. Dunham looked about for + a seat, and found a stool, which he planted in front of Staniford. “Wasn't + it pleasant to have our little lady back at table, again?” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't help thinking how droll it was that a person whom we all + considered a sort of incumbrance and superfluity at first should really + turn out an object of prime importance to us all. Isn't it amusing?” + </p> + <p> + “Very droll.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we were quite lost without her, at breakfast. I couldn't have + imagined her taking such a hold upon us all, in so short a time. But she's + a pretty creature, and as good as she's pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember agreeing with you on those points before.” Staniford feigned + to suppress fatigue. + </p> + <p> + Dunham observed him. “I know you don't take so much interest in her as—as + the rest of us do, and I wish you did. You don't know what a lovely nature + she is.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “No; and I'm sure you'd like her.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it important that I should like her? Don't let your enthusiasm for the + sex carry you beyond bounds, Dunham.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Not important, but very pleasant. And I think acquaintance with + such a girl would give you some new ideas of women.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my old ones are good enough. Look here, Dunham,” said Staniford, + sharply, “what are you after?” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think I'm after anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you're not a humbug, and because I am. My depraved spirit + instantly recognized the dawning duplicity of yours. But you'd better be + honest. You can't make the other thing work. What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want your advice. I want your help, Staniford.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so! Coming and forgiving me in that—apostolic manner.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” + </p> + <p> + “Well. What do you want my help for? What have you been doing?” Staniford + paused, and suddenly added: “Have you been making love to Lurella?” He + said this in his ironical manner, but his smile was rather ghastly. + </p> + <p> + “For shame, Staniford!” cried Dunham. But he reddened violently. + </p> + <p> + “Then it isn't with Miss Hibbard that you want my help. I'm glad of that. + It would have been awkward. I'm a little afraid of Miss Hibbard. It isn't + every one has your courage, my dear fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been making love to her,” said Dunham, “but—I—” + </p> + <p> + “But you what?” demanded Staniford sharply again. There had been less + tension of voice in his joking about Miss Hibbard. + </p> + <p> + “Staniford,” said his friend, “I don't know whether you noticed her, at + dinner, when she looked across to our own side?” + </p> + <p> + “What did she do?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you notice that she—well, that she blushed a little?” + </p> + <p> + Staniford waited a while before he answered, after a gulp, “Yes, I noticed + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know how to put it exactly, but I'm afraid that I have + unwittingly wronged this young girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Wronged her? What the devil <i>do</i> you mean, Dunham?” cried Staniford, + with bitter impatience. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid—I'm afraid—Why, it's simply this: that in trying + to amuse her, and make the time pass agreeably, and relieve her mind, and + all that, don't you know, I've given her the impression that I'm—well—interested + in her, and that she may have allowed herself—insensibly, you know—to + look upon me in that light, and that she may have begun to think—that + she may have become—” + </p> + <p> + “Interested in you?” interrupted Staniford rudely. + </p> + <p> + “Well—ah—well, that is—ah—well—yes!” cried + Dunham, bracing himself to sustain a shout of ridicule. But Staniford did + not laugh, and Dunham had courage to go on. “Of course, it sounds rather + conceited to say so, but the circumstances are so peculiar that I think we + ought to recognize even any possibilities of that sort.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Staniford, gravely. “Most women, I believe, are so + innocent as to think a man in love when he behaves like a lover. And this + one,” he added ruefully, “seems more than commonly ignorant of our ways,—of + our infernal shilly-shallying, purposeless no-mindedness. She couldn't + imagine a man—a gentleman—devoting himself to her by the hour, + and trying by every art to show his interest and pleasure in her society, + without imagining that he wished her to like him,—love him; there's + no half-way about it. She couldn't suppose him the shallow, dawdling, + soulless, senseless ape he really was.” Staniford was quite in a heat by + this time, and Dunham listened in open astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “You are hard upon me,” he said. “Of course, I have been to blame; I know + that, I acknowledge it. But my motive, as you know well enough, was never + to amuse myself with her, but to contribute in any way I could to her + enjoyment and happiness. I—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i>!” cried Staniford. “What are you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “What are <i>you</i> talking about?” demanded Dunham, in his turn. + </p> + <p> + Staniford recollected himself. “I was speaking of abstract flirtation. I + was firing into the air.” + </p> + <p> + “In my case, I don't choose to call it flirtation,” returned Dunham. “My + purpose, I am bound to say, was thoroughly unselfish and kindly.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Staniford, with a bitter smile, “there can be no + unselfishness and no kindliness between us and young girls, unless we mean + business,—love-making. You may be sure that they feel it so, if they + don't understand it so.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't agree with you. I don't believe it. My own experience is that the + sweetest and most generous friendships may exist between us, without a + thought of anything else. And as to making love, I must beg you to + remember that my love has been made once for all. I never dreamt of + showing Miss Blood anything but polite attention.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what are you troubled about?” + </p> + <p> + “I am troubled—” Dunham stopped helplessly, and Staniford laughed in + a challenging, disagreeable way, so that the former perforce resumed: + </p> + <p> + “I'm troubled about—about her possible misinterpretation.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Then in this case of sweet and generous friendship the party of the + second part may have construed the sentiment quite differently! Well, what + do you want me to do? Do you want me to take the contract off your hands?” + </p> + <p> + “You put it grossly,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “And <i>you</i> put it offensively!” cried the other. “My regard for the + young lady is as reverent as yours. You have no right to miscolor my + words.” + </p> + <p> + “Staniford, you are too bad,” said Dunham, hurt even more than angered. + “If I've come to you in the wrong moment—if you are vexed at + anything, I'll go away, and beg your pardon for boring you.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford was touched; he looked cordially into his friend's face. “I <i>was</i> + vexed at something, but you never can come to me at the wrong moment, old + fellow. I beg <i>your</i> pardon. <i>I</i> see your difficulty plainly + enough, and I think you're quite right in proposing to hold up,—for + that's what you mean, I take it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Dunham, “it is. And I don't know how she will like it. She + will be puzzled and grieved by it. I hadn't thought seriously about the + matter till this morning, when she didn't come to breakfast. You know I've + been in the habit of asking her to walk with me every night after tea; but + Saturday evening you were with her, and last night I felt sore about the + affairs of the day, and rather dull, and I didn't ask her. I think she + noticed it. I think she was hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” said Staniford, peculiarly. + </p> + <p> + “I might not have thought so,” continued Dunham, “merely because she did + not come to breakfast; but her blushing when she looked across at dinner + really made me uneasy.” + </p> + <p> + “Very possibly you're right.” Staniford mused a while before he spoke + again. “Well, what do you wish me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I must hold up, as you say, and of course she will feel the difference. I + wish—I wish at least you wouldn't avoid her, Staniford. That's all. + Any little attention from you—I know it bores you—would not + only break the loneliness, but it would explain that—that my—attentions + didn't—ah—hadn't meant anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that it's common to offer them. And she's a girl of so much force of + character that when she sees the affair in its true light—I suppose + I'm to blame! Yes, I ought to have told her at the beginning that I was + engaged. But you can't force a fact of that sort upon a new acquaintance: + it looks silly.” Dunham hung his head in self-reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's all! No, it <i>isn't</i> all, either. There's something else + troubles me. Our poor little friend is a blackguard, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Hicks?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You have invited him to be the leader of your orchestra, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't, Staniford!” cried Dunham in his helplessness. “I should hate + to see her dependent in any degree upon that little cad for society.” Cad + was the last English word which Dunham had got himself used to. “That was + why I hoped that you wouldn't altogether neglect her. She's here, and + she's no choice but to remain. We can't leave her to herself without the + danger of leaving her to Hicks. You see?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Staniford gloomily, “I'm not sure that you couldn't leave her + to a worse cad than Hicks.” Dunham looked up in question. “To me, for + example.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hallo!” cried Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how I'm to be of any use,” continued the other. “I'm not a + squire of dames; I should merely make a mess of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're mistaken, Staniford,—I'm sure you are,—in supposing + that she dislikes you,” urged his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very likely.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that she's simply afraid of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't flatter, Dunham. Why should I care whether she fears me or affects + me? No, my dear fellow. This is irretrievably your own affair. I should be + glad to help you out if I knew how. But I don't. In the mean time your + duty is plain, whatever happens. You can't overdo the sweet and the + generous in this wicked world without paying the penalty.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford smiled at the distress in which Dunham went his way. He + understood very well that it was not vanity, but the liveliness of a + sensitive conscience, that had made Dunham search his conduct for the + offense against the young girl's peace of heart which he believed he had + committed, and it was the more amusing because he was so guiltless of + harm. Staniford knew who was to blame for the headache and the blush. He + knew that Dunham had never gone so far; that his chivalrous pleasure in + her society might continue for years free from flirtation. But in spite of + this conviction a little poignant doubt made itself felt, and suddenly + became his whole consciousness. “Confound him!” he mused. “I wonder if she + really could care anything for him!” He shut his book, and rose to his + feet with such a burning in his heart that he could not have believed + himself capable of the greater rage he felt at what he just then saw. It + was Lydia and Hicks seated together in the place where he had sat with + her. She leaned with one arm upon the rail, in an attitude that brought + all her slim young grace into evidence. She seemed on very good terms with + him, and he was talking and making her laugh as Staniford had never heard + her laugh before—so freely, so heartily. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + The atoms that had been tending in Staniford's being toward a certain form + suddenly arrested and shaped themselves anew at the vibration imparted by + this laughter. He no longer felt himself Hicks's possible inferior, but + vastly better in every way, and out of the turmoil of his feelings in + regard to Lydia was evolved the distinct sense of having been trifled + with. Somehow, an advantage had been taken of his sympathies and purposes, + and his forbearance had been treated with contempt. + </p> + <p> + The conviction was neither increased nor diminished by the events of the + evening, when Lydia brought out some music from her state-room, and Hicks + appeared, flute in hand, from his, and they began practicing one of the + pieces together. It was a pretty enough sight. Hicks had been gradually + growing a better-looking fellow; he had an undeniable picturesqueness, as + he bowed his head over the music towards hers; and she, as she held the + sheet with one hand for him to see, while she noiselessly accompanied + herself on the table with the fingers of the other, and tentatively sang + now this passage and now that, was divine. The picture seemed pleasing to + neither Staniford nor Dunham; they went on deck together, and sat down to + their cigarettes in their wonted place. They did not talk of Lydia, or of + any of the things that had formed the basis of their conversation + hitherto, but Staniford returned to his Colorado scheme, and explained at + length the nature of his purposes and expectations. He had discussed these + matters before, but he had never gone into them so fully, nor with such + cheerful earnestness. He said he should never marry,—he had made up + his mind to that; but he hoped to make money enough to take care of his + sister's boy Jim handsomely, as the little chap had been named for him. He + had been thinking the matter over, and he believed that he should get back + by rail and steamer as soon as he could after they reached Trieste. He was + not sorry he had come; but he could not afford to throw away too much time + on Italy, just then. + </p> + <p> + Dunham, on his part, talked a great deal of Miss Hibbard, and of some + curious psychological characteristics of her dyspepsia. He asked Staniford + whether he had ever shown him the photograph of Miss Hibbard taken by + Sarony when she was on to New York the last time: it was a three-quarters + view, and Dunham thought it the best she had had done. He spoke of her + generous qualities, and of the interest she had always had in the Diet + Kitchen, to which, as an invalid, her attention had been particularly + directed: and he said that in her last letter she had mentioned a project + for establishing diet kitchens in Europe, on the Boston plan. When their + talk grew more impersonal and took a wider range, they gathered suggestion + from the situation, and remarked upon the immense solitude of the sea. + They agreed that there was something weird in the long continuance of fine + weather, and that the moon had a strange look. They spoke of the + uncertainty of life. Dunham regretted, as he had often regretted before, + that his friend had no fixed religious belief; and Staniford gently + accepted his solicitude, and said that he had at least a conviction if not + a creed. He then begged Dunham's pardon in set terms for trying to wound + his feelings the day before; and in the silent hand-clasp that followed + they renewed all the cordiality of their friendship. From time to time, as + they talked, the music from below came up fitfully, and once they had to + pause as Lydia sang through the song that she and Hicks were practicing. + </p> + <p> + As the days passed their common interest in the art brought Hicks and the + young girl almost constantly together, and the sound of their concerting + often filled the ship. The musicales, less formal than Dunham had + intended, and perhaps for that reason a source of rapidly diminishing + interest with him, superseded both ring-toss and shuffle-board, and seemed + even more acceptable to the ship's company as an entertainment. One + evening, when the performers had been giving a piece of rather more than + usual excellence and difficulty, one of the sailors, deputed by his mates, + came aft, with many clumsy shows of deference, and asked them to give + Marching through Georgia. Hicks found this out of his repertory, but Lydia + sang it. Then the group at the forecastle shouted with one voice for + Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching, and so beguiled her through + the whole list of war-songs. She ended with one unknown to her listeners, + but better than all the rest in its pathetic words and music, and when she + had sung The Flag's come back to Tennessee, the spokesman of the sailors + came aft again, to thank her for his mates, and to say they would not + spoil that last song by asking for anything else. It was a charming little + triumph for her, as she sat surrounded by her usual court: the captain was + there to countenance the freedom the sailors had taken, and Dunham and + Staniford stood near, but Hicks, at her right hand, held the place of + honor. + </p> + <p> + The next night Staniford found her alone in the waist of the ship, and + drew up a stool beside the rail where she sat. + </p> + <p> + “We all enjoyed your singing so much, last night, Miss Blood. I think Mr. + Hicks plays charmingly, but I believe I prefer to hear your voice alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Lydia, looking down, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “It must be a great satisfaction to feel that you can give so much + pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she said, passing the palm of one hand over the back of + the other. + </p> + <p> + “When you are a <i>prima donna</i> you mustn't forget your old friends of + the Aroostook. We shall all take vast pride in you.” + </p> + <p> + It was not a question, and Lydia answered nothing. Staniford, who had + rather obliged himself to this advance, with some dim purpose of showing + that nothing had occurred to alienate them since the evening, of their + promenade, without having proved to himself that it was necessary to do + this, felt that he was growing angry. It irritated him to have her sit as + unmoved after his words as if he had not spoken. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Blood,” he said, “I envy you your gift of snubbing people.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked at him. “Snubbing people?” she echoed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; your power of remaining silent when you wish to put down some one + who has been wittingly or unwittingly impertinent.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean,” she said, in a sort of breathless way. + </p> + <p> + “And you didn't intend to mark your displeasure at my planning your + future?” + </p> + <p> + “No! We had talked of that. I—” + </p> + <p> + “And you were not vexed with me for anything? I have been afraid that I—that + you—” Staniford found that he was himself getting short of breath. + He had begun with the intention of mystifying her, but matters had + suddenly taken another course, and he was really anxious to know whether + any disagreeable associations with that night lingered in her mind. With + this longing came a natural inability to find the right word. “I was + afraid—” he repeated, and then he stopped again. Clearly, he could + not tell her that he was afraid he had gone too far; but this was what he + meant. “You don't walk with me, any more, Miss Blood,” he concluded, with + an air of burlesque reproach. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't asked me—since,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He felt a singular value and significance in this word, since. It showed + that her thoughts had been running parallel with his own; it permitted, if + it did not signify, that he should resume the mood of that time, where + their parting had interrupted it. He enjoyed the fact to the utmost, but + he was not sure that he wished to do what he was permitted. “Then I didn't + tire you?” he merely asked. He was not sure, now he came to think of it, + that he liked her willingness to recur to that time. He liked it, but not + quite in the way he would have liked to like it. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” he went on aimlessly, “that I thought I had rather abused + your kindness. Besides,” he added, veering off, “I was afraid I should be + an interruption to the musical exercises.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Lydia. “Mr. Dunham hasn't arranged anything yet.” Staniford + thought this uncandid. It was fighting shy of Hicks, who was the person in + his own mind; and it reawakened a suspicion which was lurking there. “Mr. + Dunham seems to have lost his interest.” + </p> + <p> + This struck Staniford as an expression of pique; it reawakened quite + another suspicion. It was evident that she was hurt at the cessation of + Dunham's attentions. He was greatly minded to say that Dunham was a fool, + but he ended by saying, with sarcasm, “I suppose he saw that he was + superseded.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hicks plays well,” said Lydia, judicially, “but he doesn't really + know so much of music as Mr. Dunham.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” responded Staniford, with irony. “I will tell Dunham. No doubt he's + been suffering the pangs of professional jealousy. That must be the reason + why he keeps away.” + </p> + <p> + “Keeps away?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Now</i> I've made an ass of myself!” thought Staniford. “You said that + he seemed to have lost his interest,” he answered her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Yes!” assented Lydia. And then she remained rather distraught, + pulling at the ruffling of her dress. + </p> + <p> + “Dunham is a very accomplished man,” said Staniford, finding the usual + satisfaction in pressing his breast against the thorn. “He's a great + favorite in society. He's up to no end of things.” Staniford uttered these + praises in a curiously bitter tone. “He's a capital talker. Don't you + think he talks well?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; I suppose I haven't seen enough people to be a good judge.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've seen enough people to know that he's very good looking?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say you don't think him good looking?” + </p> + <p> + “No,—oh, no, I mean—that is—I don't know anything about + his looks. But he resembles a lady who used to come from Boston, summers. + I thought he must be her brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then you think he looks effeminate!” cried Staniford, with inner joy. + “I assure you,” he added with solemnity, “Dunham is one of the manliest + fellows in the world!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Staniford rose. He was smiling gayly as he looked over the broad stretch + of empty deck, and down into Lydia's eyes. “Wouldn't you like to take a + turn, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said promptly, rising and arranging her wrap across her + shoulders, so as to leave her hands free. She laid one hand in his arm and + gathered her skirt with the other, and they swept round together for the + start and confronted Hicks. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Lydia, with what seemed dismay, “I promised Mr. Hicks to + practice a song with him.” She did not try to release her hand from + Staniford's arm, but was letting it linger there irresolutely. + </p> + <p> + Staniford dropped his arm, and let her hand fall. He bowed with icy + stiffness, and said, with a courtesy so fierce that Mr. Hicks, on whom he + glared as he spoke, quailed before it, “I yield to your prior engagement.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + It was nothing to Staniford that she should have promised Hicks to + practice a song with him, and no process of reasoning could have made it + otherwise. The imaginary opponent with whom he scornfully argued the + matter had not a word for himself. Neither could the young girl answer + anything to the cutting speeches which he mentally made her as he sat + alone chewing the end of his cigar; and he was not moved by the imploring + looks which his fancy painted in her face, when he made believe that she + had meekly returned to offer him some sort of reparation. Why should she + excuse herself? he asked. It was he who ought to excuse himself for having + been in the way. The dialogue went on at length, with every advantage to + the inventor. + </p> + <p> + He was finally aware of some one standing near and looking down at him. It + was the second mate, who supported himself in a conversational posture by + the hand which he stretched to the shrouds above their heads. “Are you a + good sailor, Mr. Staniford?” he inquired. He and Staniford were friends in + their way, and had talked together before this. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean seasickness? Why?” Staniford looked up at the mate's face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we're going to get it, I guess, before long. We shall soon be off + the Spanish coast. We've had a great run so far.” + </p> + <p> + “If it comes we must stand it. But I make it a rule never to be seasick + beforehand.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain't one to borrow trouble, either. It don't run in the family. + Most of us like to chance things, I chanced it for the whole war, and I + come out all right. Sometimes it don't work so well.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah?” said Staniford, who knew that this was a leading remark, but + forbore, as he knew Mason wished, to follow it up directly. + </p> + <p> + “One of us chanced it once too often, and of course it was a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “The risk?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the risk. My oldest sister tried tamin' a tiger. Ninety-nine times + out of a hundred, a tiger won't tame worth a cent. But her pet was such a + lamb most the while that she guessed she'd chance it. It didn't work. + She's at home with mother now,—three children, of course,—and + he's in hell, I s'pose. He was killed 'long-side o' me at Gettysburg. Ike + was a good fellow when he was sober. But my souls, the life he led that + poor girl! Yes, when a man's got that tiger in him, there ought to be some + quiet little war round for puttin' him out of his misery.” Staniford + listened silently, waiting for the mate to make the application of his + grim allegory. “I s'pose I'm prejudiced; but I do <i>hate</i> a drunkard; + and when I see one of 'em makin' up to a girl, I want to go to her, and + tell her she'd better take a real tiger out the show, at once.” + </p> + <p> + The idea which these words suggested sent a thrill to Staniford's heart, + but he continued silent, and the mate went on, with the queer smile, which + could be inferred rather than seen, working under his mustache and the + humorous twinkle of his eyes evanescently evident under his cap peak. + </p> + <p> + “I don't go round criticisn' my superior officers, and <i>I</i> don't say + anything about the responsibility the old man took. The old man's all + right, accordin' to his lights; he ain't had a tiger in the family. But if + that chap was to fall overboard,—well, I don't know <i>how</i> long + it would take to lower a boat, if I was to listen to my <i>conscience</i>. + There ain't really any help for him. He's begun too young ever to get over + it. He won't be ashore at Try-East an hour before he's drunk. If our men + had any spirits amongst 'em that could be begged, bought, or borrowed, + he'd be drunk now, right along. Well, I'm off watch,” said the mate, at + the tap of bells. “Guess we'll get our little gale pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” said Staniford, who remained pondering. He presently rose, + and walked up and down the deck. He could hear Lydia and Hicks trying that + song: now the voice, and now the flute; then both together; and presently + a burst of laughter. He began to be angry with her ignorance and + inexperience. It became intolerable to him that a woman should be going + about with no more knowledge of the world than a child, and entangling + herself in relations with all sorts of people. It was shocking to think of + that little sot, who had now made his infirmity known for all the ship's + company, admitted to association with her which looked to common eyes like + courtship. From the mate's insinuation that she ought to be warned, it was + evident that they thought her interested in Hicks; and the mate had come, + like Dunham, to leave the responsibility with Staniford. It only wanted + now that Captain Jenness should appear with his appeal, direct or + indirect. + </p> + <p> + While Staniford walked up and down, and scorned and raged at the idea that + he had anything to do with the matter, the singing and fluting came to a + pause in the cabin; and at the end of the next tune, which brought him to + the head of the gangway stairs, he met Lydia emerging. He stopped and + spoke to her, having instantly resolved, at sight of her, not to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Have you come up for breath, like a mermaid?” he asked. “Not that I'm + sure mermaids do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Lydia. “I think I dropped my handkerchief where we were + sitting.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford suspected, with a sudden return to a theory of her which he had + already entertained, that she had not done so. But she went lightly by + him, where he stood stolid, and picked it up; and now he suspected that + she had dropped it there on purpose. + </p> + <p> + “You have come back to walk with me?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said the girl indignantly. “I have not come back to walk with you!” + She waited a moment; then she burst out with, “How dare you say such a + thing to me? What right have you to speak to me so? What have I done to + make you think that I would come back to—” + </p> + <p> + The fierce vibration in her voice made him know that her eyes were burning + upon him and her lips trembling. He shrank before her passion as a man + must before the justly provoked wrath of a woman, or even of a small girl. + </p> + <p> + “I stated a hope, not a fact,” he said in meek uncandor. “Don't you think + you ought to have done so?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't—I don't understand you,” panted Lydia, confusedly arresting + her bolts in mid-course. + </p> + <p> + Staniford pursued his guilty advantage; it was his only chance. “I gave + way to Mr. Hicks when you had an engagement with me. I thought—you + would come back to keep your engagement.” He was still very meek. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” she said with self-reproach that would have melted the heart + of any one but a man who was in the wrong, and was trying to get out of it + at all hazards. “I didn't know what you meant—I—” + </p> + <p> + “If I had meant what you thought,” interrupted Staniford nobly, for he + could now afford to be generous, “I should have deserved much more than + you said. But I hope you won't punish my awkwardness by refusing to walk + with me.” + </p> + <p> + He knew that she regarded him earnestly before she said, “I must get my + shawl and hat.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go!” he entreated. + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't find them,” she answered, as she vanished past him. She + returned, and promptly laid her hand in his proffered arm; it was as if + she were eager to make him amends for her harshness. + </p> + <p> + Staniford took her hand out, and held it while he bowed low toward her. “I + declare myself satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” said Lydia, in alarm and mortification. + </p> + <p> + “When a subject has been personally aggrieved by his sovereign, his honor + is restored if they merely cross swords.” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed her delight in the extravagance. She must have been more + or less than woman not to have found his flattery delicious. “But we are + republicans!” she said in evasion. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, we are republicans. Well, then, Miss Blood, answer your free + and equal one thing: is it a case of conscience?” + </p> + <p> + “How?” she asked, and Staniford did not recoil at the rusticity. This how + for what, and the interrogative yes, still remained. Since their first + walk, she had not wanted to know, in however great surprise she found + herself. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to walk with me because you had promised?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course,” faltered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “That isn't enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Not enough?” + </p> + <p> + “Not enough. You must walk with me because you like to do so.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like to do so?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't answer you,” she said, releasing her hand from him. + </p> + <p> + “It was not fair to ask you. What I wish to do is to restore the original + status. You have kept your engagement to walk with me, and your conscience + is clear. Now, Miss Blood, may I have your company for a little stroll + over the deck of the Aroostook?” He made her another very low bow. + </p> + <p> + “What must I say?” asked Lydia, joyously. + </p> + <p> + “That depends upon whether you consent. If you consent, you must say, 'I + shall be very glad.'<span class="lftspc">”</span> + </p> + <p> + “And if I don't?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can't put any such decision into words.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia mused a moment. “I shall be very glad,” she said, and put her hand + again into the arm he offered. + </p> + <p> + As happens after such a passage they were at first silent, while they + walked up and down. + </p> + <p> + “If this fine weather holds,” said Staniford, “and you continue as + obliging as you are to-night, you can say, when people ask you how you + went to Europe, that you walked the greater part of the way. Shall you + continue so obliging? Will you walk with me every fine night?” pursued + Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I'd better say so?” she asked, with the joy still in her + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can't decide for you. I merely formulate your decisions after you + reach them,—if they're favorable.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what is this one?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it favorable?” + </p> + <p> + “You said you would formulate it.” She laughed again, and Staniford + started as one does when a nebulous association crystallizes into a + distinctly remembered fact. + </p> + <p> + “What a curious laugh you have!” he said. “It's like a nun's laugh. Once + in France I lodged near the garden of a convent where the nuns kept a + girls' school, and I used to hear them laugh. You never happened to be a + nun, Miss Blood?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed!” cried Lydia, as if scandalized. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I merely meant in some previous existence. Of course, I didn't + suppose there was a convent in South Bradfield.” He felt that the girl did + not quite like the little slight his irony cast upon South Bradfield, or + rather upon her for never having been anywhere else. He hastened to say, + “I'm sure that in the life before this you were of the South somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia, interested and pleased again as one must be in romantic + talk about one's self. “Why do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + He bent a little over toward her, so as to look into the face she + instinctively averted, while she could not help glancing at him from the + corner of her eye. “You have the color and the light of the South,” he + said. “When you get to Italy, you will live in a perpetual mystification. + You will go about in a dream of some self of yours that was native there + in other days. You will find yourself retrospectively related to the olive + faces and the dark eyes you meet; you will recognize sisters and cousins + in the patrician ladies when you see their portraits in the palaces where + you used to live in such state.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford spiced his flatteries with open burlesque; the girl entered into + his fantastic humor. “But if I was a nun?” she asked, gayly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I forgot. You were a nun. There was a nun in Venice once, about two + hundred years ago, when you lived there, and a young English lord who was + passing through the town was taken to the convent to hear her sing; for + she was not only of 'an admirable beauty,' as he says, but sang 'extremely + well.' She sang to him through the grating of the convent, and when she + stopped he said, 'Die whensoever you will, you need to change neither + voice nor face to be an angel!' Do you think—do you dimly recollect + anything that makes you think—it might—Consider carefully: the + singing extremely well, and—” He leant over again, and looked up + into her face, which again she could not wholly withdraw. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she said, still in his mood. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must allow it was a pretty speech.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Lydia, with sudden gravity, in which there seemed to + Staniford a tender insinuation of reproach, “he was laughing at her.” + </p> + <p> + “If he was, he was properly punished. He went on to Rome, and when he came + back to Venice the beautiful nun was dead. He thought that his words + 'seemed fatal.' Do you suppose it would kill you <i>now</i> to be jested + with?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think people like it generally.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Blood, you are intense!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean by that,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “You like to take things seriously. You can't bear to think that people + are not the least in earnest, even when they least seem so.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl, thoughtfully, “perhaps that's true. Should you like + to be made fun of, yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't mind it, I fancy, though it would depend a great deal upon + who made fun of me. I suppose that women always laugh at men,—at + their clumsiness, their want of tact, the fit of their clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I should not do that with any one I—” + </p> + <p> + “You liked? Oh, none of them do!” cried Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “I was not going to say that,” faltered the girl. + </p> + <p> + “What were you going to say?” + </p> + <p> + She waited a moment. “Yes, I was going to say that,” she assented with a + sigh of helpless veracity. “What makes you laugh?” she asked, in distress. + </p> + <p> + “Something I like. I'm different from you: I laugh at what I like; I like + your truthfulness,—it's charming.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know that truth need be charming.” + </p> + <p> + “It had better be, in women, if it's to keep even with the other thing.” + Lydia seemed shocked; she made a faint, involuntary motion to withdraw her + hand, but he closed his arm upon it. “Don't condemn me for thinking that + fibbing is charming. I shouldn't like it at all in you. Should you in me?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't in any one,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Then what is it you dislike in me?” he suddenly demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say that I disliked anything in you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have made fun of something in me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Then it wasn't the stirring of a guilty conscience when you asked me + whether I should like to be made fun of? I took it for granted you'd been + doing it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very suspicious.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and what else?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you like to know just what every one thinks and feels.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” cried Staniford. “Analyze me, formulate me!” + </p> + <p> + “That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “All I come to?” + </p> + <p> + “All I have to say.” + </p> + <p> + “That's very little. Now, I'll begin on you. You don't care what people + think or feel.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I do. I care too much.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you care what I think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I think you're too unsuspicious.” + </p> + <p> + “Ought I to suspect somebody?” she asked, lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's the way with all your sex. One asks you to be suspicious, and + you ask whom you shall suspect. You can do nothing in the abstract. I + should like to be suspicious for you. Will you let me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, if you like to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I shall be terribly vigilant,—a perfect dragon. And you + really invest me with authority?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That's charming.” Staniford drew a long breath. After a space of musing, + he said, “I thought I should be able to begin by attacking some one else, + but I must commence at home, and denounce myself as quite unworthy of + walking to and fro, and talking nonsense to you. You must beware of me, + Miss Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I am very narrow-minded and prejudiced, and I have violent antipathies. I + shouldn't be able to do justice to any one I disliked.” + </p> + <p> + “I think that's the trouble with all of us,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but only in degree. I should not allow, if I could help it, a man + whom I thought shabby, and coarse at heart, the privilege of speaking to + any one I valued,—to my sister, for instance. It would shock me to + find her have any taste in common with such a man, or amused by him. Don't + you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia. It seemed to him as if by some infinitely subtle and + unconscious affinition she relaxed toward him as they walked. This was + incomparably sweet and charming to Staniford,—too sweet as + recognition of his protecting friendship to be questioned as anything + else. He felt sure that she had taken his meaning, and he rested content + from further trouble in regard to what it would have been impossible to + express. Her tacit confidence touched a kindred spring in him, and he + began to talk to her of himself: not of his character or opinions,—they + had already gone over them,—but of his past life, and his future. + Their strangeness to her gave certain well-worn topics novelty, and the + familiar project of a pastoral career in the far West invested itself with + a color of romance which it had not worn before. She tried to remember, at + his urgence, something about her childhood in California; and she told him + a great deal more about South Bradfield. She described its characters and + customs, and, from no vantage-ground or stand-point but her native feeling + of their oddity, and what seemed her sympathy with him, made him see them + as one might whose life had not been passed among them. Then they began to + compare their own traits, and amused themselves to find how many they had + in common. Staniford related a singular experience of his on a former + voyage to Europe, when he dreamed of a collision, and woke to hear a great + trampling and uproar on deck, which afterwards turned out to have been + caused by their bare escape from running into an iceberg. She said that + she had had strange dreams, too, but mostly when she was a little girl; + once she had had a presentiment that troubled her, but it did not come + true. They both said they did not believe in such things, and agreed that + it was only people's love of mystery that kept them noticed. He permitted + himself to help her, with his disengaged hand, to draw her shawl closer + about the shoulder that was away from him. He gave the action a + philosophical and impersonal character by saying immediately afterwards: + “The sea is really the only mystery left us, and that will never be + explored. They circumnavigate the whole globe,—” here he put the + gathered shawl into the fingers which she stretched through his arm to + take it, and she said, “Oh, thank you!”—“but they don't describe the + sea. War and plague and famine submit to the ameliorations of science,”—the + closely drawn shawl pressed her against his shoulder; his mind wandered; + he hardly knew what he was saying,—“but the one utterly inexorable + calamity—the same now as when the first sail was spread—is a + shipwreck.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, with a deep inspiration. And now they walked back and + forth in silence broken only by a casual word or desultory phrase. Once + Staniford had thought the conditions of these promenades perilously + suggestive of love-making; another time he had blamed himself for not + thinking of this; now he neither thought nor blamed himself for not + thinking. The fact justified itself, as if it had been the one perfectly + right and wise thing in a world where all else might be questioned. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it pretty late?” she asked, at last. + </p> + <p> + “If you're tired, we'll sit down,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What time is it?” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Must I look?” he pleaded. They went to a lantern, and he took out his + watch and sprang the case open. “Look!” he said. “I sacrifice myself on + the altar of truth.” They bent their heads low together over the watch; it + was not easy to make out the time. “It's nine o'clock,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “It can't be; it was half past when I came up,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “One hand's at twelve and the other at nine,” he said, conclusively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then it's a quarter to twelve.” She caught away her hand from his + arm, and fled to the gangway. “I didn't dream it was so late.” + </p> + <p> + The pleasure which her confession brought to his face faded at sight of + Hicks, who was turning the last pages of a novel by the cabin lamp, as he + followed Lydia in. It was the book that Staniford had given her. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” said Hicks, with companionable ease, looking up at her. “Been + having quite a tramp.” + </p> + <p> + She did not seem troubled by the familiarity of an address that incensed + Staniford almost to the point of taking Hicks from his seat, and tossing + him to the other end of the cabin. “Oh, you've finished my book,” she + said. “You must tell me how you like it, to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it,” said Hicks. “I'm going to be seasick to-morrow. The + captain's been shaking his head over the barometer and powwowing with the + first officer. Something's up, and I guess it's a gale. Good-by; I shan't + see you again for a week or so.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded jocosely to Lydia, and dropped his eyes again to his book, + ignoring Staniford's presence. The latter stood a moment breathing quick; + then he controlled himself and went into his room. His coming roused + Dunham, who looked up from his pillow. “What time is it?” he asked, + stupidly. + </p> + <p> + “Twelve,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Had a pleasant walk?” + </p> + <p> + “If you still think,” said Staniford, savagely, “that she's painfully + interested in you, you can make your mind easy. She doesn't care for + either of us.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Either</i> of us?” echoed Dunham. He roused himself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go to sleep; <i>go</i> to sleep!” cried Staniford. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + The foreboded storm did not come so soon as had been feared, but the + beautiful weather which had lasted so long was lost in a thickened sky and + a sullen sea. The weather had changed with Staniford, too. The morning + after the events last celebrated, he did not respond to the glance which + Lydia gave him when they met, and he hardened his heart to her surprise, + and shunned being alone with her. He would not admit to himself any reason + for his attitude, and he could not have explained to her the mystery that + at first visibly grieved her, and then seemed merely to benumb her. But + the moment came when he ceased to take a certain cruel pleasure in it, and + he approached her one morning on deck, where she stood holding fast to the + railing where she usually sat, and said, as if there had been no interval + of estrangement between them, but still coldly, “We have had our last walk + for the present, Miss Blood. I hope you will grieve a little for my loss.” + </p> + <p> + She turned on him a look that cut him to the heart, with what he fancied + its reproach and its wonder. She did not reply at once, and then she did + not reply to his hinted question. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Staniford,” she began. It was the second time he had heard her + pronounce his name; he distinctly remembered the first. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I want to speak to you about lending that book to Mr. Hicks. I ought to + have asked you first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Staniford. “It was yours.” + </p> + <p> + “You gave it to me,” she returned. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, it was yours,—to keep, to lend, to throw away.” + </p> + <p> + “And you didn't mind my lending it to him?” she pursued. “I—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, and Staniford hesitated, too. Then he said, “I didn't dislike + your lending it; I disliked his having it. I will acknowledge that.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him as if she were going to speak, but checked herself, + and glanced away. The ship was plunging heavily, and the livid waves were + racing before the wind. The horizon was lit with a yellow brightness in + the quarter to which she turned, and a pallid gleam defined her profile. + Captain Jenness was walking fretfully to and fro; he glanced now at the + yellow glare, and now cast his eye aloft at the shortened sail. While + Staniford stood questioning whether she meant to say anything more, or + whether, having discharged her conscience of an imagined offense, she had + now reached one of her final, precipitous silences, Captain Jenness + suddenly approached them, and said to him, “I guess you'd better go below + with Miss Blood.” + </p> + <p> + The storm that followed had its hazards, but Staniford's consciousness was + confined to its discomforts. The day came, and then the dark came, and + both in due course went, and came again. Where he lay in his berth, and + whirled and swung, and rose and sank, as lonely as a planetary fragment + tossing in space, he heard the noises of the life without. Amidst the + straining of the ship, which was like the sharp sweep of a thunder-shower + on the deck overhead, there plunged at irregular intervals the wild + trample of heavily-booted feet, and now and then the voices of the crew + answering the shouted orders made themselves hollowly audible. In the + cabin there was talking, and sometimes even laughing. Sometimes he heard + the click of knives and forks, the sardonic rattle of crockery. After the + first insane feeling that somehow he must get ashore and escape from his + torment, he hardened himself to it through an immense contempt, equally + insane, for the stupidity of the sea, its insensate uproar, its blind and + ridiculous and cruel mischievousness. Except for this delirious scorn he + was a surface of perfect passivity. + </p> + <p> + Dunham, after a day of prostration, had risen, and had perhaps shortened + his anguish by his resolution. He had since taken up his quarters on a + locker in the cabin; he looked in now and then upon Staniford, with a cup + of tea, or a suggestion of something light to eat; once he even dared to + boast of the sublimity of the ocean. Staniford stared at him with eyes of + lack-lustre indifference, and waited for him to be gone. But he lingered + to say, “You would laugh to see what a sea-bird our lady is! She hasn't + been sick a minute. And Hicks, you'll be glad to know, is behaving himself + very well. Really, I don't think we've done the fellow justice. I think + you've overshadowed him, and that he's needed your absence to show himself + to advantage.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford disdained any comment on this except a fierce “Humph!” and + dismissed Dunham by turning his face to the wall. He refused to think of + what he had said. He lay still and suffered indefinitely, and no longer + waited for the end of the storm. There had been times when he thought with + acquiescence of going to the bottom, as a probable conclusion; now he did + not expect anything. At last, one night, he felt by inexpressibly minute + degrees something that seemed surcease of his misery. It might have been + the end of all things, for all he cared; but as the lull deepened, he + slept without knowing what it was, and when he woke in the morning he + found the Aroostook at anchor in smooth water. + </p> + <p> + She was lying in the roads at Gibraltar, and before her towered the + embattled rock. He crawled on deck after a while. The captain was going + ashore, and had asked such of his passengers as liked, to go with him and + see the place. When Staniford appeared, Dunham was loyally refusing to + leave his friend till he was fairly on foot. At sight of him they + suspended their question long enough to welcome him back to animation, + with the patronage with which well people hail a convalescent. Lydia + looked across the estrangement of the past days with a sort of inquiry, + and Hicks chose to come forward and accept a cold touch of the hand from + him. Staniford saw, with languid observance, that Lydia was very fresh and + bright; she was already equipped for the expedition, and could never have + had any doubt in her mind as to going. She had on a pretty walking dress + which he had not seen before, and a hat with the rim struck sharply upward + behind, and her masses of dense, dull black hair pulled up and fastened + somewhere on the top of her head. Her eyes shyly sparkled under the abrupt + descent of the hat-brim over her forehead. + </p> + <p> + His contemptuous rejection of the character of invalid prevailed with + Dunham; and Staniford walked to another part of the ship, to cut short the + talk about himself, and saw them row away. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've had a pretty tough time, they say,” said the second mate, + lounging near him. “I don't see any fun in seasickness <i>myself</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a ridiculous sort of misery,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “I hope we shan't have anything worse on board when that chap gets back. + The old man thinks he can keep an eye on him.” The mate was looking after + the boat. + </p> + <p> + “The captain says he hasn't any money,” Staniford remarked carelessly. The + mate went away without saying anything more, and Staniford returned to the + cabin, where he beheld without abhorrence the preparations for his + breakfast. But he had not a great appetite, in spite of his long fast. He + found himself rather light-headed, and came on deck again after a while, + and stretched himself in Hicks's steamer chair, where Lydia usually sat in + it. He fell into a dull, despairing reverie, in which he blamed himself + for not having been more explicit with her. He had merely expressed his + dislike of Hicks; but expressed without reasons it was a groundless + dislike, which she had evidently not understood, or had not cared to heed; + and since that night, now so far away, when he had spoken to her, he had + done everything he could to harden her against himself. He had treated her + with a stupid cruelty, which a girl like her would resent to the last; he + had forced her to take refuge in the politeness of a man from whom he was + trying to keep her. + </p> + <p> + His heart paused when he saw the boat returning in the afternoon without + Hicks. The others reported that they had separated before dinner, and that + they had not seen him since, though Captain Jenness had spent an hour + trying to look him up before starting back to the ship. The captain wore a + look of guilty responsibility, mingled with intense exasperation, the two + combining in as much haggardness as his cheerful visage could express. “If + he's here by six o'clock,” he said, grimly, “all well and good. If not, + the Aroostook sails, any way.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia crept timidly below. Staniford complexly raged to see that the + anxiety about Hicks had blighted the joy of the day for her. + </p> + <p> + “How the deuce could he get about without any money?” he demanded of + Dunham, as soon as they were alone. + </p> + <p> + Dunham vainly struggled to look him in the eye. “Staniford,” he faltered, + with much more culpability than some criminals would confess a murder, “I + lent him five dollars!” + </p> + <p> + “You lent him five dollars!” gasped Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Dunham, miserably; “he got me aside, and asked me for it. + What could I do? What would you have done yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Staniford made no answer. He walked some paces away, and then returned to + where Dunham stood helpless. “He's lying about there dead-drunk, + somewhere, I suppose. By Heaven, I could almost wish he was. He couldn't + come back, then, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + The time lagged along toward the moment appointed by the captain, and the + preparations for the ship's departure were well advanced, when a boat was + seen putting out from shore with two rowers, and rapidly approaching the + Aroostook. In the stern, as it drew nearer, the familiar figure of Hicks + discovered itself in the act of waving a handkerchief He scrambled up the + side of the ship in excellent spirits, and gave Dunham a detailed account + of his adventures since they had parted. As always happens with such + scapegraces, he seemed to have had a good time, however he had spoiled the + pleasure of the others. At tea, when Lydia had gone away, he clapped down + a sovereign near Dunham's plate. + </p> + <p> + “Your five dollars,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how—” Dunham began. + </p> + <p> + “How did I get on without it? My dear boy, I sold my watch! A ship's time + is worth no more than a setting hen's,—eh, captain?—and why + take note of it? Besides, I always like to pay my debts promptly: there's + nothing mean about me. I'm not going ashore again without my pocket-book, + I can tell you.” He winked shamelessly at Captain Jenness. “If you hadn't + been along, Dunham, I couldn't have made a raise, I suppose. <i>You</i> + wouldn't have lent me five dollars, Captain Jenness.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I wouldn't,” said the captain, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “And I believe you'd have sailed without me, if I hadn't got back on + time.” + </p> + <p> + “I would,” said the captain, as before. + </p> + <p> + Hicks threw back his head, and laughed. Probably no human being had ever + before made so free with Captain Jenness at his own table; but the captain + must have felt that this contumacy was part of the general risk which he + had taken in taking Hicks, and he contented himself with maintaining a + silence that would have appalled a less audacious spirit. Hicks's gayety, + however, was not to be quelled in that way. + </p> + <p> + “Gibraltar wouldn't be a bad place to put up at for a while,” he said. + “Lots of good fellows among the officers, they say, and fun going all the + while. First-class gunning in the Cork Woods at St. Roque. If it hadn't + been for the <i>res angusta domi</i>,—you know what I mean, captain,—I + should have let you get along with your old dug-out, as the gentleman in + the water said to Noah.” His hilarity had something alarmingly knowing in + it; there was a wildness in the pleasure with which he bearded the + captain, like that of a man in his first cups; yet he had not been + drinking. He played round the captain's knowledge of the sanative + destitution in which he was making the voyage with mocking recurrence; but + he took himself off to bed early, and the captain came through his trials + with unimpaired temper. Dunham disappeared not long afterwards; and + Staniford's vague hope that Lydia might be going on deck to watch the + lights of the town die out behind the ship as they sailed away was + disappointed. The second mate made a point of lounging near him where he + sat alone in their wonted place. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “he did come back sober.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Next to not comin' back at all,” the mate continued, “I suppose it was + the best thing he could do.” He lounged away. Neither his voice nor his + manner had that quality of disappointment which characterizes those who + have mistakenly prophesied evil. Staniford had a mind to call him back, + and ask him what he meant; but he refrained, and he went to bed at last + resolved to unburden himself of the whole Hicks business once for all. He + felt that he had had quite enough of it, both in the abstract and in its + relation to Lydia. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Hicks did not join the others at breakfast. They talked of what Lydia had + seen at Gibraltar, where Staniford had been on a former voyage. Dunham had + made it a matter of conscience to know all about it beforehand from his + guide-books, and had risen early that morning to correct his science by + his experience in a long entry in the diary which he was keeping for Miss + Hibbard. The captain had the true sea-farer's ignorance, and was amused at + the things reported by his passengers of a place where he had been ashore + so often; Hicks's absence doubtless relieved him, but he did not comment + on the cabin-boy's announcement that he was still asleep, except to order + him let alone. + </p> + <p> + They were seated at their one o'clock dinner before the recluse made any + sign. Then he gave note of his continued existence by bumping and thumping + sounds within his state-room, as if some one were dressing there in a + heavy sea. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hicks seems to be taking his rough weather retrospectively,” said + Staniford, with rather tremulous humor. + </p> + <p> + The door was flung open, and Hicks reeled out, staying himself by the + door-knob. Even before he appeared, a reek of strong waters had preceded + him. He must have been drinking all night. His face was flushed, and his + eyes were bloodshot. He had no collar on; but he wore a cravat and + otherwise he was accurately and even fastidiously dressed. He balanced + himself by the door-knob, and measured the distance he had to make before + reaching his place at the table, smiling, and waving a delicate + handkerchief, which he held in his hand: “Spilt c'logne, tryin' to scent + my hic—handkerchief. Makes deuced bad smell—too much c'logne; + smells—alcoholic. Thom's, bear a hand, 's good f'low. No? All right, + go on with your waitin'. B-ic—business b'fore pleasure, 's feller + says. Play it alone, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + The boy had shrunk back in dismay, and Hicks contrived to reach his place + by one of those precipitate dashes with which drunken men attain a point, + when the luck is with them. He looked smilingly round the circle of faces. + Staniford and the captain exchanged threatening looks of intelligence, + while Mr. Watterson and Dunham subordinately waited their motion. But the + advantage, as in such cases, was on the side of Hicks. He knew it, with a + drunkard's subtlety, and was at his ease. + </p> + <p> + “No app'tite, friends; but thought I'd come out, keep you from feeling + lonesome.” He laughed and hiccuped, and smiled upon them all. “Well, + cap'n,” he continued, “<span class="lftspc">'</span>covered from 'tigues + day, sterday? You look blooming's usual. Thom's, pass the—pass the—victuals + lively, my son, and fetch along coffee soon. Some the friends up late, and + want their coffee. Nothing like coffee, carry off'fee's.” He winked to the + men, all round; and then added, to Lydia: “Sorry see you in this state—I + mean, sorry see me—Can't make it that way either; up stump on both + routes. What I mean is, sorry hadn't coffee first. But <i>you're</i> all + right—all right! Like see anybody offer you disrespec', 'n I'm + around. Tha's all.” + </p> + <p> + Till he addressed her, Lydia had remained motionless, first with + bewilderment, and then with open abhorrence. She could hardly have seen in + South Bradfield a man who had been drinking. Even in haying, or other + sharpest stress of farmwork, our farmer and his men stay themselves with + nothing stronger than molasses-water, or, in extreme cases, cider with a + little corn soaked in it; and the Mill Village, where she had taught + school, was under the iron rule of a local vote for prohibition. She + stared in stupefaction at Hicks's heated, foolish face; she started at his + wild movements, and listened with dawning intelligence to his + hiccup-broken speech, with its thickened sibilants and its wandering + emphasis. When he turned to her, and accompanied his words with a + reassuring gesture, she recoiled, and as if breaking an ugly fascination + she gave a low, shuddering cry, and looked at Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas,” he said, “Miss Blood was going to take her dessert on deck + to-day. Dunham?” + </p> + <p> + Dunham sprang to his feet, and led her out of the cabin. + </p> + <p> + The movement met Hicks's approval. “Tha's right; 'sert on deck, 'joy + landscape and pudding together,—Rhine steamer style. All right. Be + up there m'self soon's I get my coffee.” He winked again with drunken + sharpness. “I know wha's what. Be up there m'self, 'n a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “If you offer to go up,” said Staniford, in a low voice, as soon as Lydia + was out of the way, “I'll knock you down!” + </p> + <p> + “Captain,” said Mr. Watterson, venturing, perhaps for the first time in + his whole maritime history, upon a suggestion to his superior officer, + “shall I clap him in irons?” + </p> + <p> + “Clap him in irons!” roared Captain Jenness. “Clap him in bed! Look here, + you!” He turned to Hicks, but the latter, who had been bristling at + Staniford's threat, now relaxed in a crowing laugh:— + </p> + <p> + “Tha's right, captain. Irons no go, 'cept in case mutiny; bed perfectly + legal 't all times. Bed is good. But trouble is t' enforce it.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's your bottle?” demanded the captain, rising from the seat in which + a paralysis of fury had kept him hitherto. “I want your bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bottle's all right! Bottle's under pillow. Empty,—empty's + Jonah's gourd; 'nother sea-faring party,—Jonah. S'cure the shadow + ere the substance fade. Drunk all the brandy, old boy. Bottle's a canteen; + 'vantage of military port to houseless stranger. Brought the brandy on + board under my coat; nobody noticed,—so glad get me back. Prodigal + son's return,—fatted calf under his coat.” + </p> + <p> + The reprobate ended his boastful confession with another burst of + hiccuping, and Staniford helplessly laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Do me proud,” said Hicks. “Proud, I 'sure you. Gentleman, every time, + Stanny. Know good thing when you see it—hear it, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Hicks,” said Staniford, choosing to make friends with the + mammon of unrighteousness, if any good end might be gained by it. “You + know you're drunk, and you're not fit to be about. Go back to bed, that's + a good fellow; and come out again, when you're all right. You don't want + to do anything you'll be sorry for.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! No, you don't, Stanny. Coffee'll make me all right. Coffee always + does. Coffee—Heaven's lash besh gift to man. 'Scovered + subse-subs'quently to grape. See? Comes after claret in course of nature. + Captain doesn't understand the 'lusion. All right, captain. Little + learning dangerous thing.” He turned sharply on Mr. Watterson, who had + remained inertly in his place. “Put me in irons, heh! <i>You</i> put me in + irons, you old Triton. Put <i>me</i> in irons, will you?” His amiable mood + was passing; before one could say so, it was past. He was meditating means + of active offense. He gathered up the carving-knife and fork, and held + them close under Mr. Watterson's nose. “Smell that!” he said, and frowned + as darkly as a man of so little eyebrow could. + </p> + <p> + At this senseless defiance Staniford, in spite of himself, broke into + another laugh, and even Captain Jenness grinned. Mr. Watterson sat with + his head drawn as far back as possible, and with his nose wrinkled at the + affront offered it. “Captain,” he screamed, appealing even in this + extremity to his superior, “shall I fetch him <i>one?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried Staniford, springing from his chair; “don't hit him! He + isn't responsible. Let's get him into his room.” + </p> + <p> + “Fetch me <i>one</i>, heh?” said Hicks, rising, with dignity, and + beginning to turn up his cuffs. “<i>One</i>! It'll take more than one, + fetch <i>me</i>. Stan' up, 'f you're man enough.” He was squaring at Mr. + Watterson, when he detected signs of strategic approach in Staniford and + Captain Jenness. He gave a wild laugh, and shrank into a corner. “No! No, + you don't, boys,” he said. + </p> + <p> + They continued their advance, one on either side, and reinforced by Mr. + Watterson hemmed him in. The drunken man has the advantage of his sober + brother in never seeming to be on the alert. Hicks apparently entered into + the humor of the affair. “Sur-hic-surrender!” he said, with a smile in his + heavy eyes. He darted under the extended arms of Captain Jenness, who was + leading the centre of the advance, and before either wing could touch him + he was up the gangway and on the deck. + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness indulged one of those expressions, very rare with him, + which are supposed to be forgiven to good men in moments of extreme + perplexity, and Mr. Watterson profited by the precedent to unburden his + heart in a paraphrase of the captain's language. Staniford's laugh had as + much cursing in it as their profanity. + </p> + <p> + He mechanically followed Hicks to the deck, prepared to renew the attempt + for his capture there. But Hicks had not stopped near Dunham and Lydia. He + had gone forward on the other side of the ship, and was leaning quietly on + the rail, and looking into the sea. Staniford paused irresolute for a + moment, and then sat down beside Lydia, and they all tried to feign that + nothing unpleasant had happened, or was still impending. But their talk + had the wandering inconclusiveness which was inevitable, and the eyes of + each from time to time furtively turned toward Hicks. + </p> + <p> + For half an hour he hardly changed his position. At the end of that time, + they found him looking intently at them; and presently he began to work + slowly back to the waist of the ship, but kept to his own side. He was met + on the way by the second mate, when nearly opposite where they sat. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you pretty comfortable where you are?” they heard the mate asking. + “Guess I wouldn't go aft any further just yet.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You're</i> all right, Mason,” Hicks answered. “Going below—down + cellar, 's feller says; go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's a pious idea,” said the mate. “You couldn't do better than + that. I'll lend you a hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't care 'f I do,” responded Hicks, taking the mate's proffered arm. + But he really seemed to need it very little; he walked perfectly well, and + he did not look across at the others again. + </p> + <p> + At the head of the gangway he encountered Captain Jenness and Mr. + Watterson, who had completed the perquisition they had remained to make in + his state-room. Mr. Watterson came up empty-handed; but the captain bore + the canteen in which the common enemy had been so artfully conveyed on + board. He walked, darkly scowling, to the rail, and flung the canteen into + the sea. Hicks, who had saluted his appearance with a glare as savage as + his own, yielded to his whimsical sense of the futility of this vengeance. + He gave his fleeting, drunken laugh: “Good old boy, Captain Jenness. Means + well—means well. But lacks—lacks—forecast. Pounds of + cure, but no prevention. Not much on bite, but death on bark. Heh?” He + waggled his hand offensively at the captain, and disappeared, loosely + floundering down the cabin stairs, holding hard by the hand-rail, and + fumbling round with his foot for the steps before he put it down. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as he's in his room, Mr. Watterson, you lock him in.” The captain + handed his officer a key, and walked away forward, with a hang-dog look on + his kindly face, which he kept averted from his passengers. + </p> + <p> + The sound of Hicks's descent had hardly ceased when clapping and knocking + noises were heard again, and the face of the troublesome little wretch + reappeared. He waved Mr. Watterson aside with his left hand, and in + default of specific orders the latter allowed him to mount to the deck + again. Hicks stayed himself a moment, and lurched to where Staniford and + Dunham sat with Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “What I wish say Miss Blood is,” he began,—“what I wish say is, + peculiar circumstances make no difference with man if man's gentleman. + What I say is, everybody 'spec's—What I say is, circumstances don't + alter cases; lady's a lady—What I want do is beg you fellows' pardon—beg + <i>her</i> pardon—if anything I said that firs' morning—” + </p> + <p> + “Go away!” cried Staniford, beginning to whiten round the nostrils. “Hold + your tongue!” + </p> + <p> + Hicks fell back a pace, and looked at him with the odd effect of now + seeing him for the first time. “What <i>you</i> want?” he asked. “What you + mean? Slingin' criticism ever since you came on this ship! What you mean + by it? Heh? What you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Staniford rose, and Lydia gave a start. He cast an angry look at her. “Do + you think I'd hurt him?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Hicks went on: “Sorry, very sorry, 'larm a lady,—specially lady we + all respec'. But this particular affair. Touch—touches my honor. You + said,” he continued, “<span class="lftspc">'</span>f I came on deck, you'd + knock me down. Why don't you do it? Wha's the matter with you? Sling + criticism ever since you been on ship, and 'fraid do it! 'Fraid, you hear? + 'F-ic—'fraid, I say.” Staniford slowly walked away forward, and + Hicks followed him, threatening him with word and gesture. Now and then + Staniford thrust him aside, and addressed him some expostulation, and + Hicks laughed and submitted. Then, after a silent excursion to the other + side of the ship, he would return and renew his one-sided quarrel. + Staniford seemed to forbid the interference of the crew, and alternately + soothed and baffled his tedious adversary, who could still be heard + accusing him of slinging criticism, and challenging him to combat. He + leaned with his back to the rail, and now looked quietly into Hicks's + crazy face, when the latter paused in front of him, and now looked down + with a worried, wearied air. At last he crossed to the other side, and + began to come aft again. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dunham!” cried Lydia, starting up. “I know what Mr. Staniford wants + to do. He wants to keep him away from me. Let me go down to the cabin. I + can't walk; <i>please</i> help me!” Her eyes were full of tears, and the + hand trembled that she laid on Dunham's arm, but she controlled her voice. + </p> + <p> + He softly repressed her, while he intently watched Staniford. “No, no!” + </p> + <p> + “But he can't bear it much longer,” she pleaded. “And if he should—” + </p> + <p> + “Staniford would never strike him,” said Dunham, calmly. “Don't be afraid. + Look! He's coming back with him; he's trying to get him below; they'll + shut him up there. That's the only chance. Sit down, please.” She dropped + into her seat, hid her eyes for an instant, and then fixed them again on + the two young men. + </p> + <p> + Hicks had got between Staniford and the rail. He seized him by the arm, + and, pulling him round, suddenly struck at him. It was too much for his + wavering balance: his feet shot from under him, and he went backwards in a + crooked whirl and tumble, over the vessel's side. + </p> + <p> + Staniford uttered a cry of disgust and rage. “Oh, you little brute!” he + shouted, and with what seemed a single gesture he flung off his coat and + the low shoes he wore, and leaped the railing after him. + </p> + <p> + The cry of “Man overboard!” rang round the ship, and Captain Jenness's + order, “Down with your helm! Lower a boat, Mr. Mason!” came, quick as it + was, after the second mate had prepared to let go; and he and two of the + men were in the boat, and she was sliding from her davits, while the + Aroostook was coming up to the light wind and losing headway. + </p> + <p> + When the boat touched the water, two heads had appeared above the surface + terribly far away. “Hold on, for God's sake! We'll be there in a second.” + </p> + <p> + “All right!” Staniford's voice called back. “Be quick.” The heads rose and + sank with the undulation of the water. The swift boat appeared to crawl. + </p> + <p> + By the time it reached the place where they had been seen, the heads + disappeared, and the men in the boat seemed to be rowing blindly about. + The mate stood upright. Suddenly he dropped and clutched at something over + the boat's side. The people on the ship could see three hands on her + gunwale; a figure was pulled up into the boat, and proved to be Hicks; + then Staniford, seizing the gunwale with both hands, swung himself in. + </p> + <p> + A shout went up from the ship, and Staniford waved his hand. Lydia waited + where she hung upon the rail, clutching it hard with her hands, till the + boat was along-side. Then from white she turned fire-red, and ran below + and locked herself in her room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + Dunham followed Staniford to their room, and helped him off with his wet + clothes. He tried to say something ideally fit in recognition of his + heroic act, and he articulated some bald commonplaces of praise, and shook + Staniford's clammy hand. “Yes,” said the latter, submitting; “but the + difficulty about a thing of this sort is that you don't know whether you + haven't been an ass. It has been pawed over so much by the romancers that + you don't feel like a hero in real life, but a hero of fiction. I've a + notion that Hicks and I looked rather ridiculous going over the ship's + side; I know we did, coming back. No man can reveal his greatness of soul + in wet clothes. Did Miss Blood laugh?” + </p> + <p> + “Staniford!” said Dunham, in an accent of reproach. “You do her great + injustice. She felt what you had done in the way you would wish,—if + you cared.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” asked Staniford, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. But—” + </p> + <p> + “That's an easy way of expressing one's admiration of heroic behavior. I + hope she'll stick to that line. I hope she won't feel it at all necessary + to say anything in recognition of my prowess; it would be extremely + embarrassing. I've got Hicks back again, but I couldn't stand any + gratitude for it. Not that I'm ashamed of the performance. Perhaps if it + had been anybody but Hicks, I should have waited for them to lower a boat. + But Hicks had peculiar claims. You couldn't let a man you disliked so much + welter round a great while. Where is the poor old fellow? Is he clothed + and in his right mind again?” + </p> + <p> + “He seemed to be sober enough,” said Dunham, “when he came on board; but I + don't think he's out yet.” + </p> + <p> + “We must let Thomas in to gather up this bathing-suit,” observed + Staniford. “What a Newportish flavor it gives the place!” He was excited, + and in great gayety of spirits. + </p> + <p> + He and Dunham went out into the cabin, where they found Captain Jenness + pacing to and fro. “Well, sir,” he said, taking Staniford's hand, and + crossing his right with his left, so as to include Dunham in his + congratulations, “you ought to have been a sailor!” Then he added, as if + the unqualified praise might seem fulsome, “But if you'd been a sailor, + you wouldn't have tried a thing like that. You'd have had more sense. The + chances were ten to one against you.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “Was it so bad as that? I shall begin to respect + myself.” + </p> + <p> + The captain did not answer, but his iron grip closed hard upon Staniford's + hand, and he frowned in keen inspection of Hicks, who at that moment came + out of his state-room, looking pale and quite sobered. Captain Jenness + surveyed him from head to foot, and then from foot to head, and pausing at + the level of his eyes he said, still holding Staniford by the hand: “The + trouble with a man aboard ship is that he can't turn a blackguard + out-of-doors just when he likes. The Aroostook puts in at Messina. You'll + be treated well till we get there, and then if I find you on my vessel + five minutes after she comes to anchor, I'll heave you overboard, and I'll + take care that nobody jumps after you. Do you hear? And you won't find me + doing any such fool kindness as I did when I took you on board, soon + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, Captain Jenness,” began Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “He's all right,” interrupted Hicks. “I'm a blackguard; I know it; and I + don't think I was worth fishing up. But you've done it, and I mustn't go + back on you, I suppose.” He lifted his poor, weak, bad little face, and + looked Staniford in the eyes with a pathos that belied the slang of his + speech. The latter released his hand from Captain Jenness and gave it to + Hicks, who wrung it, as he kept looking him in the eyes, while his lips + twitched pitifully, like a child's. The captain gave a quick snort either + of disgust or of sympathy, and turned abruptly about and bundled himself + up out of the cabin. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” exclaimed Staniford, “a cup of coffee wouldn't be bad, would it? + Let's have some coffee, Thomas, about as quick as the cook can make it,” + he added, as the boy came out from his stateroom with a lump of wet + clothes in his hands. “You wanted some coffee a little while ago,” he said + to Hicks, who hung his head at the joke. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of the day Staniford was the hero of the ship. The men looked + at him from a distance, and talked of him together. Mr. Watterson hung + about whenever Captain Jenness drew near him, as if in the hope of + overhearing some acceptable expression in which he could second his + superior officer. Failing this, and being driven to despair, “Find the + water pretty cold, sir?” he asked at last; and after that seemed to feel + that he had discharged his duty as well as might be under the + extraordinary circumstances. + </p> + <p> + The second mate, during the course of the afternoon, contrived to pass + near Staniford. “Why, there wa'n't no <i>need</i> of your doing it,” he + said, in a bated tone. “I could ha' had him out with the boat, <i>soon + enough</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford treasured up these meagre expressions of the general + approbation, and would not have had them different. From this time, within + the narrow bounds that brought them all necessarily together in some sort, + Hicks abolished himself as nearly as possible. He chose often to join the + second mate at meals, which Mr. Mason, in accordance with the discipline + of the ship, took apart both from the crew and his superior officers. + Mason treated the voluntary outcast with a sort of sarcastic compassion, + as a man whose fallen state was not without its points as a joke to the + indifferent observer, and yet might appeal to the pity of one who knew + such cases through the misery they inflicted. Staniford heard him telling + Hicks about his brother-in-law, and dwelling upon the peculiar relief + which the appearance of his name in the mortality list gave all concerned + in him. Hicks listened in apathetic patience and acquiescence; but + Staniford thought that he enjoyed, as much as he could enjoy anything, the + second officer's frankness. For his own part, he found that having made + bold to keep this man in the world he had assumed a curious responsibility + towards him. It became his business to show him that he was not shunned by + his fellow-creatures, to hearten and cheer him up. It was heavy work. + Hicks with his joke was sometimes odious company, but he was also + sometimes amusing; without it, he was of a terribly dull conversation. He + accepted Staniford's friendliness too meekly for good comradery; he let it + add, apparently, to his burden of gratitude, rather than lessen it. + Staniford smoked with him, and told him stories; he walked up and down + with him, and made a point of parading their good understanding, but his + spirits seemed to sink the lower. “Deuce take him!” mused his benefactor; + “he's in love with her!” But he now had the satisfaction, such as it was, + of seeing that if he was in love he was quite without hope. Lydia had + never relented in her abhorrence of Hicks since the day of his disgrace. + There seemed no scorn in her condemnation, but neither was there any + mercy. In her simple life she had kept unsophisticated the severe morality + of a child, and it was this that judged him, that found him unpardonable + and outlawed him. He had never ventured to speak to her since that day, + and Staniford never saw her look at him except when Hicks was not looking, + and then with a repulsion which was very curious. Staniford could have + pitied him, and might have interceded so far as to set him nearer right in + her eyes; but he felt that she avoided him, too; there were no more walks + on the deck, no more readings in the cabin; the checker-board, which + professed to be the History of England, In 2 Vols., remained a closed + book. The good companionship of a former time, in which they had so often + seemed like brothers and sister, was gone. “Hicks has smashed our Happy + Family,” Staniford said to Dunham, with little pleasure in his joke. “Upon + my word, I think I had better have left him in the water.” Lydia kept a + great deal in her own room; sometimes when Staniford came down into the + cabin he found her there, talking with Thomas of little things that amuse + children; sometimes when he went on deck in the evening she would be there + in her accustomed seat, and the second mate, with face and figure half + averted, and staying himself by one hand on the shrouds, would be telling + her something to which she listened with lifted chin and attentive eyes. + The mate would go away when Staniford appeared, but that did not help + matters, for then Lydia went too. At table she said very little; she had + the effect of placing herself more and more under the protection of the + captain. The golden age, when they had all laughed and jested so freely + and fearlessly together, under her pretty sovereignty, was past, and they + seemed far dispersed in a common exile. Staniford imagined she grew pale + and thin; he asked Dunham if he did not see it, but Dunham had not + observed. “I think matters have taken a very desirable shape, socially,” + he said. “Miss Blood will reach her friends as fancy-free as she left + home.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Staniford assented vaguely; “that's the great object.” + </p> + <p> + After a while Dunham asked, “She's never said anything to you about your + rescuing Hicks?” + </p> + <p> + “Rescuing? What rescuing? They'd have had him out in another minute, any + way,” said Staniford, fretfully. Then he brooded angrily upon the subject: + “But I can tell you what: considering all the circumstances, she might + very well have said something. It looks obtuse, or it looks hard. She must + have known that it all came about through my trying to keep him away from + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; she knew that,” said Dunham; “she spoke of it at the time. But I + thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she did! Then I think that it would be very little if she recognized + the mere fact that something had happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you said you hoped she wouldn't. You said it would be embarrassing. + You're hard to please, Staniford.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't choose to have her speak for <i>my</i> pleasure,” Staniford + returned. “But it argues a dullness and coldness in her—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe she's dull; I don't believe she's cold,” said Dunham, + warmly. + </p> + <p> + “What <i>do</i> you believe she is?” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw!” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + The eve of their arrival at Messina, he discharged one more duty by + telling Hicks that he had better come on to Trieste with them. “Captain + Jenness asked me to speak to you about it,” he said. “He feels a little + awkward, and thought I could open the matter better.” + </p> + <p> + “The captain's all right,” answered Hicks, with unruffled humility, “but + I'd rather stop at Messina. I'm going to get home as soon as I can,—strike + a bee-line.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” said Staniford, laying his hand on his shoulder. “How are you + going to manage for money?” + </p> + <p> + “Monte di Pietà,” replied Hicks. “I've been there before. Used to have + most of my things in the care of the state when I was studying medicine in + Paris. I've got a lot of rings and trinkets that'll carry me through, with + what's left of my watch.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Because you can draw on me, if you're going to be short.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Hicks. “There's something I should like to ask you,” he + added, after a moment. “I see as well as you do that Miss Blood isn't the + same as she was before. I want to know—I can't always be sure + afterwards—whether I did or said anything out of the way in her + presence.” + </p> + <p> + “You were drunk,” said Staniford, frankly, “but beyond that you were + irreproachable, as regarded Miss Blood. You were even exemplary.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Hicks, with a joyless laugh. “Sometimes it takes that + turn. I don't think I could stand it if I had shown her any disrespect. + She's a lady,—a perfect lady; she's the best girl I ever saw.” + </p> + <p> + “Hicks,” said Staniford, presently, “I haven't bored you in regard to that + little foible of yours. Aren't you going to try to do something about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going home to get them to shut me up somewhere,” answered Hicks. “But + I doubt if anything can be done. I've studied the thing; I am a doctor,—or + I would be if I were not a drunkard,—and I've diagnosed the case + pretty thoroughly. For three months or four months, now, I shall be all + right. After that I shall go to the bad for a few weeks; and I'll have to + scramble back the best way I can. Nobody can help me. That was the mistake + this last time. I shouldn't have wanted anything at Gibraltar if I could + have had my spree out at Boston. But I let them take me before it was + over, and ship me off. I thought I'd try it. Well, it was like a burning + fire every minute, all the way. I thought I should die. I tried to get + something from the sailors; I tried to steal Gabriel's cooking-wine. When + I got that brandy in Gibraltar I was wild. Talk about heroism! I tell you + it was superhuman, keeping that canteen corked till night! I was in hopes + I could get through it,—sleep it off,—and nobody be any the + wiser. But it wouldn't work. O Lord, Lord, Lord!” + </p> + <p> + Hicks was as common a soul as could well be. His conception of life was + vulgar, and his experience of it was probably vulgar. He had a good mind + enough, with abundance of that humorous brightness which may hereafter be + found the most national quality of the Americans; but his ideals were + pitiful, and the language of his heart was a drolling slang. Yet his doom + lifted him above his low conditions, and made him tragic; his despair gave + him the dignity of a mysterious expiation, and set him apart with all + those who suffer beyond human help. Without deceiving himself as to the + quality of the man, Staniford felt awed by the darkness of his fate. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you try somehow to stand up against it, and fight it off? You're so + young yet, it can't—” + </p> + <p> + The wretched creature burst into tears. “Oh, try,—try! You don't + know what you're talking about. Don't you suppose I've had reasons for + trying? If you could see how my mother looks when I come out of one of my + drunks,—and my father, poor old man! It's no use; I tell you it's no + use. I shall go just so long, and then I shall want it, and <i>will</i> + have it, unless they shut me up for life. My God, I wish I was dead! + Well!” He rose from the place where they had been sitting together, and + held out his hand to Staniford. “I'm going to be off in the morning before + you're out, and I'll say good-by now. I want you to keep this chair, and + give it to Miss Blood, for me, when you get to Trieste.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, Hicks,” said Staniford, gently. + </p> + <p> + “I want her to know that I was ashamed of myself. I think she'll like to + know it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will say anything to her that you wish,” replied Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing else. If ever you see a man with my complaint fall + overboard again, think twice before you jump after him.” + </p> + <p> + He wrung Staniford's hand, and went below, leaving him with a dull remorse + that he should ever have hated Hicks, and that he could not quite like him + even now. + </p> + <p> + But he did his duty by him to the last. He rose at dawn, and was on deck + when Hicks went over the side into the boat which was to row him to the + steamer for Naples, lying at anchor not far off. He presently returned, to + Staniford's surprise, and scrambled up to the deck of the Aroostook. “The + steamer sails to-night,” he said, “and perhaps I couldn't raise the money + by that time. I wish you'd lend me ten napoleons. I'll send 'em to you + from London. There's my father's address: I'm going to telegraph to him.” + He handed Staniford a card, and the latter went below for the coins. + “Thanks,” said Hicks, when he reappeared with them. “Send 'em to you + where?” + </p> + <p> + “Care Blumenthals', Venice. I'm going to be there some weeks.” + </p> + <p> + In the gray morning light the lurid color of tragedy had faded out of + Hicks. He was merely a baddish-looking young fellow whom Staniford had + lent ten napoleons that he might not see again. Staniford watched the + steamer uneasily, both from the Aroostook and from the shore, where he + strolled languidly about with Dunham part of the day. When she sailed in + the evening, he felt that Hicks's absence was worth twice the money. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + The young men did not come back to the ship at night, but went to a hotel, + for the greater convenience of seeing the city. They had talked of + offering to show Lydia about, but their talk had not ended in anything. + Vexed with himself to be vexed at such a thing, Staniford at the bottom of + his heart still had a soreness which the constant sight of her irritated. + It was in vain that he said there was no occasion, perhaps no opportunity, + for her to speak, yet he was hurt that she seemed to have seen nothing + uncommon in his risking his own life for that of a man like Hicks. He had + set the action low enough in his own speech; but he knew that it was not + ignoble, and it puzzled him that it should be so passed over. She had not + even said a word of congratulation upon his own escape. It might be that + she did not know how, or did not think it was her place to speak. She was + curiously estranged. He felt as if he had been away, and she had grown + from a young girl into womanhood during his absence. This fantastic + conceit was strongest when he met her with Captain Jenness one day. He had + found friends at the hotel, as one always does in Italy, if one's world is + at all wide,—some young ladies, and a lady, now married, with whom + he had once violently flirted. She was willing that he should envy her + husband; that amused him in his embittered mood; he let her drive him + about; and they met Lydia and the captain, walking together. Staniford + started up from his lounging ease, as if her limpid gaze had searched his + conscience, and bowed with an air which did not escape his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Who's that?” she asked, with the boldness which she made pass for + eccentricity. + </p> + <p> + “A lady of my acquaintance,” said Staniford, at his laziest again. + </p> + <p> + “A lady?” said the other, with an inflection that she saw hurt. “Why the + marine animal, then? She bowed very prettily; she blushed prettily, too.” + </p> + <p> + “She's a very pretty girl,” replied Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Charming! But why blush?” + </p> + <p> + “I've heard that there are ladies who blush for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she Italian?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—in voice.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, an American <i>prima donna</i>!” Staniford did not answer. “Who is + she? Where is she from?” + </p> + <p> + “South Bradfield, Mass.” Staniford's eyes twinkled at her pursuit, which + he did not trouble himself to turn aside, but baffled by mere + impenetrability. + </p> + <p> + The party at the hotel suggested that the young men should leave their + ship and go on with them to Naples; Dunham was tempted, for he could have + reached Dresden sooner by land; but Staniford overruled him, and at the + end of four days they went back to the Aroostook. They said it was like + getting home, but in fact they felt the change from the airy heights and + breadths of the hotel to the small cabin and the closets in which they + slept; it was not so great alleviation as Captain Jenness seemed to think + that one of them could now have Hicks's stateroom. But Dunham took + everything sweetly, as his habit was; and, after all, they were meeting + their hardships voluntarily. Some of the ladies came with them in the boat + which rowed them to the Aroostook; the name made them laugh; that lady who + wished Staniford to regret her waved him her hand kerchief as the boat + rowed away again. She had with difficulty been kept from coming on board + by the refusal of the others to come with her. She had contrived to + associate herself with him again in the minds of the others, and this, + perhaps, was all that she desired. But the sense of her frivolity—her + not so much vacant-mindedness as vacant-heartedness—was like a + stain, and he painted in Lydia's face when they first met the reproach + which was in his own breast. + </p> + <p> + Her greeting, however, was frank and cordial; it was a real welcome. + Staniford wondered if it were not more frank and cordial than he quite + liked, and whether she was merely relieved by Hicks's absence, or had + freed herself from that certain subjection in which she had hitherto been + to himself. + </p> + <p> + Yet it was charming to see her again as she had been in the happiest + moments of the past, and to feel that, Hicks being out of her world, her + trust of everybody in it was perfect once more. She treated that interval + of coldness and diffidence as all women know how to treat a thing which + they wish not to have been; and Staniford, a man on whom no pleasing art + of her sex was ever lost, admired and gratefully accepted the effect of + this. He fell luxuriously into the old habits again. They had still almost + the time of a steamer's voyage to Europe before them; it was as if they + were newly setting sail from America. The first night after they left + Messina Staniford found her in her place in the waist of the ship, and sat + down beside her there, and talked; the next night she did not come; the + third she came, and he asked her to walk with him. The elastic touch of + her hand on his arm, the rhythmic movement of her steps beside him, were + things that seemed always to have been. She told him of what she had seen + and done in Messina. This glimpse of Italy had vividly animated her; she + had apparently found a world within herself as well as without. + </p> + <p> + With a suddenly depressing sense of loss, Staniford had a prevision of + splendor in her, when she should have wholly blossomed out in that fervid + air of art and beauty; he would fain have kept her still a wilding rosebud + of the New England wayside. He hated the officers who should wonder at her + when she first came into the Square of St. Mark with her aunt and uncle. + </p> + <p> + Her talk about Messina went on; he was thinking of her, and not of her + talk; but he saw that she was not going to refer to their encounter. “You + make me jealous of the objects of interest in Messina,” he said. “You seem + to remember seeing everything but me, there.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly. “Yes,” she said, after a deep breath, “I saw you + there;” and she did not offer to go on again. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you going, that morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to the cathedral. Captain Jenness left me there, and I looked all + through it till he came back from the consulate.” + </p> + <p> + “Left you there alone!” cried Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I told him I should not feel lonely, and I should not stir out of it + till he came back. I took one of those little pine chairs and sat down, + when I got tired, and looked at the people coming to worship, and the + strangers with their guide-books.” + </p> + <p> + “Did any of them look at you?” + </p> + <p> + “They stared a good deal. It seems to be the custom in Europe; but I told + Captain Jenness I should probably have to go about by myself in Venice, as + my aunt's an invalid, and I had better get used to it.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, and seemed to be referring the point to Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—oh, yes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Jenness said it was their way, over here,” she resumed; “but he + guessed I had as much right in a church as anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “The captain's common sense is infallible,” answered Staniford. He was + ashamed to know that the beautiful young girl was as improperly alone in + church as she would have been in a café, and he began to hate the European + world for the fact. It seemed better to him that the Aroostook should put + about and sail back to Boston with her, as she was,—better that she + should be going to her aunt in South Bradfield than to her aunt in Venice. + “We shall soon be at our journey's end, now,” he said, after a while. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the captain thinks in about eight days, if we have good weather.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall you be sorry?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I like the sea very well.” + </p> + <p> + “But the new life you are coming to,—doesn't that alarm you + sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it does,” she admitted, with a kind of reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “So much that you would like to turn back from it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she answered quickly. Of course not, Staniford thought; nothing + could be worse than going back to South Bradfield. “I keep thinking about + it,” she added. “You say Venice is such a very strange place. Is it any + use my having seen Messina?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all Italian cities have something in common.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume,” she went on, “that after I get there everything will become + natural. But I don't like to look forward. It—scares me. I can't + form any idea of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be afraid,” said Staniford. “It's only more beautiful than + anything you can imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes; I know,” Lydia answered. + </p> + <p> + “And do you really dread getting there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I dread it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” returned Staniford lightly, “so do I; but it's for a different + reason, I'm afraid. I should like such a voyage as this to go on forever. + Now and then I think it will; it seems always to have gone on. Can you + remember when it began?” + </p> + <p> + “A great while ago,” she answered, humoring his fantasy, “but I can + remember.” She paused a long while. “I don't know,” she said at last, + “whether I can make you understand just how I feel. But it seems to me as + if I had died, and this long voyage was a kind of dream that I was going + to wake up from in another world. I often used to think, when I was a + little girl, that when I got to heaven it would be lonesome—I don't + know whether I can express it. You say that Italy—that Venice—is + so beautiful; but if I don't know any one there—” She stopped, as if + she had gone too far. + </p> + <p> + “But you do know somebody there,” said Staniford. “Your aunt—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl, and looked away. + </p> + <p> + “But the people in this long dream,—you're going to let some of them + appear to you there,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” she said, reflecting his lighter humor, “I shall want to see + them, or I shall not know I am the same person, and I must be sure of + myself, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “And you wouldn't like to go back to earth—to South Bradfield + again?” he asked presently. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered. “All that seems over forever. I couldn't go back there + and be what I was. I could have stayed there, but I couldn't go back.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “I see that it isn't the other world that's got hold of + you! It's <i>this</i> world! I don't believe you'll be unhappy in Italy. + But it's pleasant to think you've been so contented on the Aroostook that + you hate to leave it. I don't believe there's a man on the ship that + wouldn't feel personally flattered to know that you liked being here. Even + that poor fellow who parted from us at Messina was anxious that you should + think as kindly of him as you could. He knew that he had behaved in a way + to shock you, and he was very sorry. He left a message with me for you. He + thought you would like to know that he was ashamed of himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I pitied him,” said Lydia succinctly. It was the first time that she had + referred to Hicks, and Staniford found it in character for her to limit + herself to this sparse comment. Evidently, her compassion was a religious + duty. Staniford's generosity came easy to him. + </p> + <p> + “I feel bound to say that Hicks was not a bad fellow. I disliked him + immensely, and I ought to do him justice, now he's gone. He deserved all + your pity. He's a doomed man; his vice is irreparable; he can't resist + it.” Lydia did not say anything: women do not generalize in these matters; + perhaps they cannot pity the faults of those they do not love. Staniford + only forgave Hicks the more. “I can't say that up to the last moment I + thought him anything but a poor, common little creature; and yet I + certainly did feel a greater kindness for him after—what I—after + what had happened. He left something more than a message for you, Miss + Blood; he left his steamer chair yonder, for you.” + </p> + <p> + “For me?” demanded Lydia. Staniford felt her thrill and grow rigid upon + his arm, with refusal. “I will not have it. He had no right to do so. He—he—was + dreadful! I will give it to you!” she said, suddenly. “He ought to have + given it to you. You did everything for him; you saved his life.” + </p> + <p> + It was clear that she did not sentimentalize Hicks's case; and Staniford + had some doubt as to the value she set upon what he had done, even now she + had recognized it. + </p> + <p> + He said, “I think you overestimate my service to him, possibly. I dare say + the boat could have picked him up in good time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's what the captain and Mr. Watterson and Mr. Mason all said,” + assented Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Staniford was nettled. He would have preferred a devoted belief that but + for him Hicks must have perished. Besides, what she said still gave no + clew to her feeling in regard to himself. He was obliged to go on, but he + went on as indifferently as he could. “However, it was hardly a question + for me at the time whether he could have been got out without my help. If + I had thought about it at all—which I didn't—I suppose I + should have thought that it wouldn't do to take any chances.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Lydia, simply, “you couldn't have done anything less than + you did.” + </p> + <p> + In his heart Staniford had often thought that he could have done very much + less than jump overboard after Hicks, and could very properly have left + him to the ordinary life-saving apparatus of the ship. But if he had been + putting the matter to some lady in society who was aggressively praising + him for his action, he would have said just what Lydia had said for him,—that + he could not have done anything less. He might have said it, however, in + such a way that the lady would have pursued his retreat from her praises + with still fonder applause; whereas this girl seemed to think there was + nothing else to be said. He began to stand in awe of her heroic + simplicity. If she drew every-day breath in that lofty air, what could she + really think of him, who preferred on principle the atmosphere of the + valley? “Do you know, Miss Blood,” he said gravely, “that you pay me a + very high compliment?” + </p> + <p> + “How?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “You rate my maximum as my mean temperature.” He felt that she listened + inquiringly. “I don't think I'm habitually up to a thing of that kind,” he + explained. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” she assented, quietly; “but when he struck at you so, you had to + do everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have the pitiless Puritan conscience that takes the life out of + us all!” cried Staniford, with sudden bitterness. Lydia seemed startled, + shocked, and her hand trembled on his arm, as if she had a mind to take it + away. “I was a long time laboring up to that point. I suppose you are + always there!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” she said, turning her head round with the slow + motion of her beauty, and looking him full in the face. + </p> + <p> + “I can't explain now. I will, by and by,—when we get to Venice,” he + added, with quick lightness. + </p> + <p> + “You put off everything till we get to Venice,” she said, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon. It was you who did it the last time.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it?” She laughed. “So it was! I was thinking it was you.” + </p> + <p> + It consoled him a little that she should have confused them in her + thought, in this way. “What was it you were to tell me in Venice?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I can't think, now.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely something of yourself—or myself. A third person might + say our conversational range was limited.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it is very egotistical?” she asked, in the gay tone which + gave him relief from the sense of oppressive elevation of mind in her. + </p> + <p> + “It is in me,—not in you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't see the difference.” + </p> + <p> + “I will explain sometime.” + </p> + <p> + “When we get to Venice?” + </p> + <p> + They both laughed. It was very nonsensical; but nonsense is sometimes + enough. + </p> + <p> + When they were serious again, “Tell me,” he said, “what you thought of + that lady in Messina, the other day.” + </p> + <p> + She did not affect not to know whom he meant. She merely said, “I only saw + her a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “But you thought something. If we only see people a second we form some + opinion of them.” + </p> + <p> + “She is very fine-appearing,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Staniford smiled at the countrified phrase; he had observed that when she + spoke her mind she used an instinctive good language; when she would not + speak it, she fell into the phraseology of the people with whom she had + lived. “I see you don't wish to say, because you think she is a friend of + mine. But you can speak out freely. We were not friends; we were enemies, + if anything.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford's meaning was clear enough to himself; but Lydia paused, as if + in doubt whether he was jesting or not, before she asked, “Why were you + riding with her then?” + </p> + <p> + “I was driving with her,” he replied, “I suppose, because she asked me.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Asked</i> you!” cried the girl; and he perceived her moral recoil both + from himself and from a woman who could be so unseemly. That lady would + have found it delicious if she could have known that a girl placed like + Lydia was shocked at her behavior. But he was not amused. He was touched + by the simple self-respect that would not let her suffer from what was not + wrong in itself, but that made her shrink from a voluntary semblance of + unwomanliness. It endeared her not only to his pity, but to that sense + which in every man consecrates womanhood, and waits for some woman to be + better than all her sex. Again he felt the pang he had remotely known + before. What would she do with these ideals of hers in that depraved Old + World,—so long past trouble for its sins as to have got a sort of + sweetness and innocence in them,—where her facts would be utterly + irreconcilable with her ideals, and equally incomprehensible? + </p> + <p> + They walked up and down a few turns without speaking again of that lady. + He knew that she grew momently more constrained toward him; that the + pleasure of the time was spoiled for her; that she had lost her trust in + him, and this half amused, half afflicted him. It did not surprise him + when, at their third approach to the cabin gangway, she withdrew her hand + from his arm and said, stiffly, “I think I will go down.” But she did not + go at once. She lingered, and after a certain hesitation she said, without + looking at him, “I didn't express what I wanted to, about Mr. Hicks, and—what + you did. It is what I thought you would do.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Staniford, with sincere humility. He understood how she had + had this in her mind, and how she would not withhold justice from him + because he had fallen in her esteem; how rather she would be the more + resolute to do him justice for that reason. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + He could see that she avoided being alone with him the next day, but he + took it for a sign of relenting, perhaps helpless relenting, that she was + in her usual place on deck in the evening. He went to her, and, “I see + that you haven't forgiven me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Forgiven you?” she echoed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “for letting that lady ask me to drive with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I never said—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! But I knew it, all the same. It was not such a very wicked thing, + as those things go. But I liked your not liking it. Will you let me say + something to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, rather breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “You must think it's rather an odd thing to say, as I ask leave. It is; + and I hardly know how to say it. I want to tell you that I've made bold to + depend a great deal upon your good opinion for my peace of mind, of late, + and that I can't well do without it now.” + </p> + <p> + She stole the quickest of her bird-like glances at him, but did not speak; + and though she seemed, to his anxious fancy, poising for flight, she + remained, and merely looked away, like the bird that will not or cannot + fly. + </p> + <p> + “You don't resent my making you my outer conscience, do you, and my + knowing that you're not quite pleased with me?” + </p> + <p> + She looked down and away with one of those turns of the head, so precious + when one who beholds them is young, and caught at the fringe of her shawl. + “I have no right,” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I give you the right!” he cried, with passionate urgence. “You have + the right. Judge me!” She only looked more grave, and he hurried on. “It + was no great harm of her to ask me; that's common enough; but it was harm + of me to go if I didn't quite respect her,—if I thought her silly, + and was willing to be amused with her. One hasn't any right to do that. I + saw this when I saw you.” She still hung her head, and looked away. “I + want you to tell me something,” he pursued. “Do you remember once—the + second time we talked together—that you said Dunham was in earnest, + and you wouldn't answer when I asked you about myself? Do you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't care, then. I care very much now. You don't think me—you + think I can be in earnest when I will, don't you? And that I can regret—that + I really wish—” He took the hand that played with the shawl-fringe, + but she softly drew it away. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I see!” he said. “You can't believe in me. You don't believe that I + can be a good man—like Dunham!” + </p> + <p> + She answered in the same breathless murmur, “I think you are good.” Her + averted face drooped lower. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you all about it, some day!” he cried, with joyful vehemence. + “Will you let me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, with the swift expulsion of breath that sometimes + comes with tears. She rose quickly and turned away. He did not try to keep + her from leaving him. His heart beat tumultuously; his brain seemed in a + whirl. It all meant nothing, or it meant everything. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with Miss Blood?” asked Dunham, who joined him at this + moment. “I just spoke to her at the foot of the gangway stairs, and she + wouldn't answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know about Miss Blood—I don't know what's the matter,” + said Staniford. “Look here, Dunham; I want to talk with you—I want + to tell you something—I want you to advise me—I—There's + only one thing that can explain it, that can excuse it. There's only one + thing that can justify all that I've done and said, and that can not only + justify it, but can make it sacredly and eternally right,—right for + her and right for me. Yes, it's reason for all, and for a thousand times + more. It makes it fair for me to have let her see that I thought her + beautiful and charming, that I delighted to be with her, that I—Dunham,” + cried Staniford, “I'm in love!” + </p> + <p> + Dunham started at the burst in which these ravings ended. “Staniford,” he + faltered, with grave regret, “I <i>hope</i> not!” + </p> + <p> + “You hope not? You—you—What do you mean? How else can I free + myself from the self-reproach of having trifled with her, of—” + </p> + <p> + Dunham shook his head compassionately. “You can't do it that way. Your + only safety is to fight it to the death,—to run from it.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I don't <i>choose</i> to fight it?” shouted Staniford,—“if I + don't <i>choose</i> to run from it? If I—” + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven's sake, hush! The whole ship will hear you, and you oughtn't + to breathe it in the desert. I saw how it was going! I dreaded it; I knew + it; and I longed to speak. I'm to blame for not speaking!” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know what would have authorized you to speak?” demanded + Staniford, haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “Only my regard for you; only what urges me to speak now! You <i>must</i> + fight it, Staniford, whether you choose or not. Think of yourself,—think + of her! Think—you have always been my ideal of honor and truth and + loyalty—think of her husband—” + </p> + <p> + “Her husband!” gasped Staniford. “Whose husband? What the deuce—<i>who</i> + the deuce—are you talking about, Dunham?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Rivers.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Rivers? That flimsy, feather-headed, empty-hearted—eyes-maker! + That frivolous, ridiculous—Pah! And did you think that I was talking + of <i>her</i>? Did you think I was in love with <i>her</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” stammered Dunham, “I supposed—I thought—At Messina, you + know—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Staniford walked the deck's length away. “Well, Dunham,” he said, as + he came back, “you've spoilt a pretty scene with your rot about Mrs. + Rivers. I was going to be romantic! But perhaps I'd better say in ordinary + newspaper English that I've just found out that I'm in love with Miss + Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “With <i>her</i>!” cried Dunham, springing at his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come now! Don't <i>you</i> be romantic, after knocking <i>my</i> + chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, but Staniford!” said Dunham, wringing his hand with a lover's joy in + another's love and his relief that it was not Mrs. Rivers. “I never should + have dreamt of such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Staniford, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the way you talked at first, you know, and—” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose even people who get married have something to take back about + each other,” said Staniford, rather sheepishly. “However,” he added, with + an impulse of frankness, “I don't know that I should have dreamt of it + myself, and I don't blame you. But it's a fact, nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course. It's splendid! Certainly. It's magnificent!” There was + undoubtedly a qualification, a reservation, in Dunham's tone. He might + have thought it right to bring the inequalities of the affair to + Staniford's mind. With all his effusive kindliness of heart and manner, he + had a keen sense of social fitness, a nice feeling for convention. But a + man does not easily suggest to another that the girl with whom he has just + declared himself in love is his inferior. What Dunham finally did say was: + “It jumps with all your ideas—all your old talk about not caring to + marry a society girl—” + </p> + <p> + “Society might be very glad of such a girl!” said Staniford, stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, certainly; but I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know what you mean. It's all right,” said Staniford. “But it isn't + a question of marrying yet. I can't be sure she understood me,—I've + been so long understanding myself. And yet, she must, she must! She must + believe it by this time, or else that I'm the most infamous scoundrel + alive. When I think how I have sought her out, and followed her up, and + asked her judgment, and hung upon her words, I feel that I oughtn't to + lose a moment in being explicit. I don't care for myself; she can take me + or leave me, as she likes; but if she doesn't understand, she mustn't be + left in suspense as to my meaning.” He seemed to be speaking to Dunham, + but he was really thinking aloud, and Dunham waited for some sort of + question before he spoke. “But it's a great satisfaction to have had it + out with myself. I haven't got to pretend any more that I hang about her, + and look at her, and go mooning round after her, for this no-reason and + that; I've got the best reason in the world for playing the fool,—I'm + in love!” He drew a long, deep breath. “It simplifies matters immensely to + have reached the point of acknowledging that. Why, Dunham, those four days + at Messina almost killed me! They settled it. When that woman was in full + fascination it made me gasp. I choked for a breath of fresh air; for a + taste of spring-water; for—Lurella!” It was a long time since + Staniford had used this name, and the sound of it made him laugh. “It's + droll—but I always think of her as Lurella; I wish it <i>was</i> her + name! Why, it was like heaven to see her face when I got back to the ship. + After we met her that day at Messina, Mrs. Rivers tried her best to get + out of me who it was, and where I met her. But I flatter myself that I was + equal to <i>that</i> emergency.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham said nothing, at once. Then, “Staniford,” he faltered, “she got it + out of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell her who Lu—who Miss Blood was?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And how I happened to be acquainted with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And that we were going on to Trieste with her?” + </p> + <p> + “She had it out of me before I knew,” said Dunham. “I didn't realize what + she was after; and I didn't realize how peculiar the situation might seem—” + </p> + <p> + “I see nothing peculiar in the situation,” interrupted Staniford, + haughtily. Then he laughed consciously. “Or, yes, I do; of course I do! + You must know <i>her</i> to appreciate it, though.” He mused a while + before he added: “No wonder Mrs. Rivers was determined to come aboard! I + wish we had let her,—confound her! She'll think I was ashamed of it. + There's nothing to be ashamed of! By Heaven, I should like to hear any one—” + Staniford broke off, and laughed, and then bit his lip, smiling. Suddenly + he burst out again, frowning: “I won't view it in that light. I refuse to + consider it from that point of view. As far as I'm concerned, it's as + regular as anything else in life. It's the same to me as if she were in + her own house, and I had come there to tell her that she has my future in + her hand. She's such a lady by instinct that she's made it all a triumph, + and I thank God that I haven't done or said anything to mar it. Even that + beast of a Hicks didn't; it's no merit. I've made love to her,—I own + it; of course I have, because I was in love with her; and my fault has + been that I haven't made love to her openly, but have gone on fancying + that I was studying her character, or some rubbish of that sort. But the + fault is easily repaired.” He turned about, as if he were going to look + for Lydia at once, and ask her to be his wife. But he halted abruptly, and + sat down. “No; that won't do,” he said. “That won't do at all.” He + remained thinking, and Dunham, unwilling to interrupt his reverie, moved a + few paces off. “Dunham, don't go. I want your advice. Perhaps I don't see + it in the right light.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it you see it, my dear fellow?” asked Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether I've a right to be explicit with her, here. It seems + like taking an advantage. In a few days she will be with her friends—” + </p> + <p> + “You must wait,” said Dunham, decisively. “You can't speak to her before + she is in their care; it wouldn't be the thing. You're quite right about + that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it wouldn't be the thing,” groaned Staniford. “But how is it all to + go on till then?” he demanded desperately. + </p> + <p> + “Why, just as it has before,” answered Dunham, with easy confidence. + </p> + <p> + “But is that fair to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? You mean to say to her at the right time all that a man can. + Till that time comes I haven't the least doubt she understands you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” asked Staniford, simply. He had suddenly grown very + subject and meek to Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the other, with the superiority of a betrothed lover; “women + are very quick about those things.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you're right,” sighed Staniford, with nothing of his wonted + arrogant pretension in regard to women's moods and minds, “I suppose + you're right. And you would go on just as before?” + </p> + <p> + “I would, indeed. How could you change without making her unhappy—if + she's interested in you?” + </p> + <p> + “That's true. I could imagine worse things than going on just as before. I + suppose,” he added, “that something more explicit has its charms; but a + mutual understanding is very pleasant,—if it <i>is</i> a mutual + understanding.” He looked inquiringly at Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Why, as to that, of course I don't know. You ought to be the best judge + of that. But I don't believe your impressions would deceive you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yours did, once,” suggested Staniford, in suspense. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I was not in love with her,” explained Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Staniford, with a breath of relief. “And you think—Well, + I must wait!” he concluded, grimly. “But don't—don't mention this + matter, Dunham, unless I do. Don't keep an eye on me, old fellow. Or, yes, + you must! You can't help it. I want to tell you, Dunham, what makes me + think she may be a not wholly uninterested spectator of my—sentiments.” + He made full statement of words and looks and tones. Dunham listened with + the patience which one lover has with another. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. + </h2> + <p> + The few days that yet remained of their voyage were falling in the latter + half of September, and Staniford tried to make the young girl see the + surpassing loveliness of that season under Italian skies; the fierceness + of the summer is then past, and at night, when chiefly they inspected the + firmament, the heaven has begun to assume something of the intense blue it + wears in winter. She said yes, it was very beautiful, but she could not + see that the days were finer, or the skies bluer, than those of September + at home; and he laughed at her loyalty to the American weather. “Don't <i>you</i> + think so, too?” she asked, as if it pained her that he should like Italian + weather better. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,—yes,” he said. Then he turned the talk on her, as he did + whenever he could. “I like your meteorological patriotism. If I were a + woman, I should stand by America in everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you as a man?” she pursued, still anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly,” he answered. “But women owe our continent a double debt + of fidelity. It's the Paradise of women, it's their Promised Land, where + they've been led up out of the Egyptian bondage of Europe. It's the home + of their freedom. It is recognized in America that women have consciences + and souls.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked very grave. “Is it—is it so different with women in + Europe?” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Very,” he replied, and glanced at her half-laughingly, half-tenderly. + </p> + <p> + After a while, “I wish you would tell me,” she said, “just what you mean. + I wish you would tell me what is the difference.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's a long story. I will tell you—when we get to Venice.” The + well-worn jest served its purpose again; she laughed, and he continued: + “By the way, just when will that be? The captain says that if this wind + holds we shall be in Trieste by Friday afternoon. I suppose your friends + will meet you there on Saturday, and that you'll go back with them to + Venice at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I should come on Monday, would that be too soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she answered. He wondered if she had been vaguely hoping that he + might go directly on with her to Venice. They were together all day, now, + and the long talks went on from early morning, when they met before + breakfast on deck, until late at night, when they parted there, with + blushed and laughed good-nights. Sometimes the trust she put upon his + unspoken promises was terrible; it seemed to condemn his reticence as + fantastic and hazardous. With her, at least, it was clear that this love + was the first; her living and loving were one. He longed to testify the + devotion which he felt, to leave it unmistakable and safe past accident; + he thought of making his will, in which he should give her everything, and + declare her supremely dear; he could only rid himself of this by drawing + up the paper in writing, and then he easily tore it in pieces. + </p> + <p> + They drew nearer together, not only in their talk about each other, but in + what they said of different people in their relation to themselves. But + Staniford's pleasure in the metaphysics of reciprocal appreciation, his + wonder at the quickness with which she divined characters he painfully + analyzed, was not greater than his joy in the pretty hitch of the shoulder + with which she tucked her handkerchief into the back pocket of her sack, + or the picturesqueness with, which she sat facing him, and leant upon the + rail, with her elbow wrapped in her shawl, and the fringe gathered in the + hand which propped her cheek. He scribbled his sketch-book full of her + contours and poses, which sometimes he caught unawares, and which + sometimes she sat for him to draw. One day, as they sat occupied in this, + “I wonder,” he said, “if you have anything of my feeling, nowadays. It + seems to me as if the world had gone on a pleasure excursion, without + taking me along, and I was enjoying myself very much at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” she said, joyously; “do you have that feeling, too?” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what it is makes us feel so,” he ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she returned, “the long voyage.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall hate to have the world come back, I believe,” he said, reverting + to the original figure. “Shall you?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I don't know much about it,” she answered, in lithe evasion, for + which she more than atoned with a conscious look and one of her dark + blushes. Yet he chose, with a curious cruelty, to try how far she was his. + </p> + <p> + “How odd it would be,” he said, “if we never should have a chance to talk + up this voyage of ours when it is over!” + </p> + <p> + She started, in a way that made his heart smite him. “Why, you said you—” + And then she caught herself, and struggled pitifully for the + self-possession she had lost. She turned her head away; his pulse bounded. + </p> + <p> + “Did you think I wouldn't? I am living for that.” He took the hand that + lay in her lap; she seemed to try to free it, but she had not the strength + or will; she could only keep her face turned from him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. + </h2> + <p> + They arrived Friday afternoon in Trieste, and Captain Jenness telegraphed + his arrival to Lydia's uncle as he went up to the consulate with his + ship's papers. The next morning the young men sent their baggage to a + hotel, but they came back for a last dinner on the Aroostook. They all + pretended to be very gay, but everybody was perturbed and distraught. + Staniford and Dunham had paid their way handsomely with the sailors, and + they had returned with remembrances in florid scarfs and jewelry for + Thomas and the captain and the officers. Dunham had thought they ought to + get something to give Lydia as a souvenir of their voyage; it was part of + his devotion to young ladies to offer them little presents; but Staniford + overruled him, and said there should be nothing of the kind. They agreed + to be out of the way when her uncle came, and they said good-by after + dinner. She came on deck to watch them ashore. Staniford would be the last + to take leave. As he looked into her eyes, he saw brave trust of him, but + he thought a sort of troubled wonder, too, as if she could not understand + his reticence, and suffered from it. There was the same latent appeal and + reproach in the pose in which she watched their boat row away. She stood + with one hand resting on the rail, and her slim grace outlined against the + sky. He waved his hand; she answered with a little languid wave of hers; + then she turned away. He felt as if he had forsaken her. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon was very long. Toward night-fall he eluded Dunham, and + wandered back to the ship in the hope that she might still be there. But + she was gone. Already everything was changed. There was bustle and + discomfort; it seemed years since he had been there. Captain Jenness was + ashore somewhere; it was the second mate who told Staniford of her uncle's + coming. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of person was he?” he asked vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well! <i>Dum</i> an Englishman, any way,” said Mason, in a tone of + easy, sociable explanation. + </p> + <p> + The scruple to which Staniford had been holding himself for the past four + or five days seemed the most incredible of follies,—the most + fantastic, the most cruel. He hurried back to the hotel; when he found + Dunham coming out from the <i>table d'hôte</i> he was wild. + </p> + <p> + “I have been the greatest fool in the world, Dunham,” he said. “I have let + a quixotic quibble keep me from speaking when I ought to have spoken.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham looked at him in stupefaction. “Where have you been?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Down to the ship. I was in hopes that she might be still there. But she's + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “The Aroostook <i>gone</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Dunham,” cried Staniford, angrily, “this is the second time + you've done that! If you are merely thick-witted, much can be forgiven to + your infirmity; but if you've a mind to joke, let me tell you you choose + your time badly.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not joking. I don't know what you're talking about. I may be + thick-witted, as you say; or you may be scatter-witted,” said Dunham, + indignantly. “What are you after, any way?” + </p> + <p> + “What was my reason for not being explicit with her; for going away from + her without one honest, manly, downright word; for sneaking off without + telling her that she was more than life to me, and that if she cared for + me as I cared for her I would go on with her to Venice, and meet her + people with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't know,” replied Dunham, vaguely. “We agreed that there would + be a sort of—that she ought to be in their care before—” + </p> + <p> + “Then I can tell you,” interrupted Staniford, “that we agreed upon the + greatest piece of nonsense that ever was. A man can do no more than offer + himself, and if he does less, after he's tried everything to show that + he's in love with a woman, and to make her in love with him, he's a scamp + to refrain from a bad motive, and an ass to refrain from a good one. Why + in the name of Heaven <i>shouldn't</i> I have spoken, instead of leaving + her to eat her heart out in wonder at my delay, and to doubt and suspect + and dread—Oh!” he shouted, in supreme self-contempt. + </p> + <p> + Dunham had nothing to urge in reply. He had fallen in with what he thought + Staniford's own mind in regard to the course he ought to take; since he + had now changed his mind, there seemed never to have been any reason for + that course. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” he said, “it isn't too late yet to see her, I dare say. + Let us go and find what time the trains leave for Venice.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose I can offer myself in the <i>salle d'attente</i>?” sneered + Staniford. But he went with Dunham to the coffee-room, where they found + the Osservatore Triestino and the time-table of the railroad. The last + train left for Venice at ten, and it was now seven; the Austrian Lloyd + steamer for Venice sailed at nine. + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw!” said Staniford, and pushed the paper away. He sat brooding over + the matter before the table on which the journals were scattered, while + Dunham waited for him to speak. At last he said, “I can't stand it; I must + see her. I don't know whether I told her I should come on to-morrow night + or not. If she should be expecting me on Monday morning, and I should be + delayed—Dunham, will you drive round with me to the Austrian Lloyd's + wharf? They may be going by the boat, and if they are they'll have left + their hotel. We'll try the train later. I should like to find out if they + are on board. I don't know that I'll try to speak with them; very likely + not.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go, certainly,” answered Dunham, cordially. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have some dinner first,” said Staniford. “I'm hungry.” + </p> + <p> + It was quite dark when they drove on to the wharf at which the boat for + Venice lay. When they arrived, a plan had occurred to Staniford, through + the timidity which had already succeeded the boldness of his desperation. + “Dunham,” he said, “I want you to go on board, and see if she's there. I + don't think I could stand not finding her. Besides, if she's cheerful and + happy, perhaps I'd better not see her. You can come back and report. + Confound it, you know, I should be so conscious before that infernal uncle + of hers. You understand!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” returned Dunham, eager to serve Staniford in a case like this. + “I'll manage it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Staniford, beginning to doubt the wisdom of either going + aboard, “do it if you think best. I don't know—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know what?” asked Dunham, pausing in the door of the <i>fiacre</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing, nothing! I hope we're not making fools of ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “You're morbid, old fellow!” said Dunham, gayly. He disappeared in the + darkness, and Staniford waited, with set teeth, till he came back. He + seemed a long time gone. When he returned, he stood holding fast to the + open fiacre-door, without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” cried Staniford, with bitter impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Well what?” Dunham asked, in a stupid voice. + </p> + <p> + “Were they there?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I can't tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't tell, man? Did you go to see?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so. I'm not sure.” + </p> + <p> + A heavy sense of calamity descended upon Staniford's heart, but patience + came with it. “What's the matter, Dunham?” he asked, getting out + tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I think I've had a fall, somewhere. Help me in.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford got out and helped him gently to the seat, and then mounted + beside him, giving the order for their return. “Where is your hat?” he + asked, finding that Dunham was bareheaded. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. It doesn't matter. Am I bleeding?” + </p> + <p> + “It's so dark, I can't see.” + </p> + <p> + “Put your hand here.” He carried Staniford's hand to the back of his head. + </p> + <p> + “There's no blood; but you've had an ugly knock there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's it,” said Dunham. “I remember now; I slipped and struck my + head.” He lapsed away in a torpor; Staniford could learn nothing more from + him. + </p> + <p> + The hurt was not what Staniford in his first anxiety had feared, but the + doctor whom they called at the hotel was vague and guarded as to + everything but the time and care which must be given in any event. + Staniford despaired; but there was only one thing to do. He sat down + beside his friend to take care of him. + </p> + <p> + His mind was a turmoil of regrets, of anxieties, of apprehensions; but he + had a superficial calmness that enabled him to meet the emergencies of the + case. He wrote a letter to Lydia which he somehow knew to be rightly + worded, telling her of the accident. In terms which conveyed to her all + that he felt, he said that he should not see her at the time he had hoped, + but promised to come to Venice as soon as he could quit his friend. Then, + with a deep breath, he put that affair away for the time, and seemed to + turn a key upon it. + </p> + <p> + He called a waiter, and charged him to have his letter posted at once. The + man said he would give it to the <i>portier</i>, who was sending out some + other letters. He returned, ten minutes later, with a number of letters + which he said the portier had found for him at the post-office. Staniford + glanced at them. It was no time to read them then, and he put them into + the breast pocket of his coat. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. + </h2> + <p> + At the hotel in Trieste, to which Lydia went with her uncle before taking + the train for Venice, she found an elderly woman, who made her a courtesy, + and, saying something in Italian, startled her by kissing her hand. + </p> + <p> + “It's our Veronica,” her uncle explained; “she wants to know how she can + serve you.” He gave Veronica the wraps and parcels he had been carrying. + “Your aunt thought you might need a maid.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Lydia. “I always help myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I dare say,” returned her uncle. “You American ladies are so—up + to snuff, as you say. But your aunt thought we'd better have her with us, + in any case.” + </p> + <p> + “And she sent her all the way from Venice?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never did!” said Lydia, not lightly, but with something of + contemptuous severity. + </p> + <p> + Her uncle smiled, as if she had said something peculiarly acceptable to + him, and asked, hesitatingly, “When you say you never did, you know, what + is the full phrase?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked at him. “Oh! I suppose I meant I never heard of such a + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, thanks, thanks!” said her uncle. He was a tall, slender man of + fifty-five or sixty, with a straight gray mustache, and not at all the + typical Englishman, but much more English-looking than if he had been. His + bearing toward Lydia blended a fatherly kindness and a colonial British + gallantry, such as one sees in elderly Canadian gentlemen attentive to + quite young Canadian ladies at the provincial watering-places. He had an + air of adventure, and of uncommon pleasure and no small astonishment in + Lydia's beauty. They were already good friends; she was at her ease with + him; she treated him as if he were an old gentleman. At the station, where + Veronica got into the same carriage with them, Lydia found the whole train + very queer-looking, and he made her describe its difference from an + American train. He said, “Oh, yes—yes, engine,” when she mentioned + the locomotive, and he apparently prized beyond its worth the word + cow-catcher, a fixture which Lydia said was wanting to the European + locomotive, and left it very stubby. He asked her if she would allow him + to set it down; and he entered the word in his note-book, with several + other idioms she had used. He said that he amused himself in picking up + these things from his American friends. He wished to know what she called + this and that and the other thing, and was equally pleased whether her + nomenclature agreed or disagreed with his own. Where it differed, he + recorded the fact, with her leave, in his book. He plied her with a + thousand questions about America, with all parts of which he seemed to + think her familiar; and she explained with difficulty how very little of + it she had seen. He begged her not to let him bore her, and to excuse the + curiosity of a Britisher, “As I suppose you'd call me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Lydia lifted her long-lashed lids half-way, and answered, “No, I shouldn't + call you so.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes,” he returned, “the Americans always disown it. But I don't mind + it at all, you know. I like those native expressions.” Where they stopped + for refreshments he observed that one of the dishes, which was flavored to + the national taste, had a pretty tall smell, and seemed disappointed by + Lydia's unresponsive blankness at a word which a countryman of hers—from + Kentucky—had applied to the odor of the Venetian canals. He suffered + in like measure from a like effect in her when he lamented the + complications that had kept him the year before from going to America with + Mrs. Erwin, when she revisited her old stomping-ground. + </p> + <p> + As they rolled along, the warm night which had fallen after the beautiful + day breathed through the half-dropped window in a rich, soft air, as + strange almost as the flying landscape itself. Mr. Erwin began to drowse, + and at last he fell asleep; but Veronica kept her eyes vigilantly fixed + upon Lydia, always smiling when she caught her glance, and offering + service. At the stations, so orderly and yet so noisy, where the + passengers were held in the same meek subjection as at Trieste, people got + in and out of the carriage; and there were officers, at first in white + coats, and after they passed the Italian frontier in blue, who stared at + Lydia. One of the Italians, a handsome young hussar, spoke to her. She + could not know what he said; but when he crossed over to her side of the + carriage, she rose and took her place beside Veronica, where she remained + even after he left the carriage. She was sensible of growing drowsy. Then + she was aware of nothing till she woke up with her head on Veronica's + shoulder, against which she had fallen, and on which she had been + patiently supported for hours. “Ecco Venezia!” cried the old woman, + pointing to a swarm of lights that seemed to float upon an expanse of sea. + Lydia did not understand; she thought she was again on board the + Aroostook, and that the lights she saw were the lights of the shipping in + Boston harbor. The illusion passed, and left her heart sore. She issued + from the glare of the station upon the quay before it, bewildered by the + ghostly beauty of the scene, but shivering in the chill of the dawn, and + stunned by the clamor of the gondoliers. A tortuous course in the shadow + of lofty walls, more deeply darkened from time to time by the arch of a + bridge, and again suddenly pierced by the brilliance of a lamp that shot + its red across the gloom, or plunged it into the black water, brought them + to a palace gate at which they stopped, and where, after a dramatic + ceremony of sliding bolts and the reluctant yielding of broad doors on a + level with the water, she passed through a marble-paved court and up a + stately marble staircase to her uncle's apartment. “You're at home, now, + you know,” he said, in a kindly way, and took her hand, very cold and lax, + in his for welcome. She could not answer, but made haste to follow + Veronica to her room, whither the old woman led the way with a candle. It + was a gloomily spacious chamber, with sombre walls and a lofty ceiling + with a faded splendor of gilded paneling. Some tall, old-fashioned mirrors + and bureaus stood about, with rugs before them on the stone floor; in the + middle of the room was a bed curtained with mosquito-netting. Carved + chairs were pushed here and there against the wall. Lydia dropped into one + of these, too strange and heavy-hearted to go to bed in that vastness and + darkness, in which her candle seemed only to burn a small round hole. She + longed forlornly to be back again in her pretty state-room on the + Aroostook; vanishing glimpses and echoes of the faces and voices grown so + familiar in the past weeks haunted her; the helpless tears ran down her + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + There came a tap at her door, and her aunt's voice called, “Shall I come + in?” and before she could faintly consent, her aunt pushed in, and caught + her in her arms, and kissed her, and broke into a twitter of welcome and + compassion. “You poor child! Did you think I was going to let you go to + sleep without seeing you, after you'd come half round the world to see + me?” Her aunt was dark and slight like Lydia, but not so tall; she was + still a very pretty woman, and she was a very effective presence now in + the long white morning-gown of camel's hair, somewhat fantastically + embroidered in crimson silk, in which she drifted about before Lydia's + bewildered eyes. “Let me see how you look! Are you as handsome as ever?” + She held the candle she carried so as to throw its light full upon Lydia's + face. “Yes!” she sighed. “How pretty you are! And at your age you'll look + even better by daylight! I had begun to despair of you; I thought you + couldn't be all I remembered; but you are,—you're more! I wish I had + you in Rome, instead of Venice; there would be some use in it. There's a + great deal of society there,—<i>English</i> society; but never mind: + I'm going to take you to church with me to-morrow,—the English + service; there are lots of English in Venice now, on their way south for + the winter. I'm crazy to see what dresses you've brought; your aunt Maria + has told me how she fitted you out. I've got two letters from her since + you started, and they're all perfectly well, dear. Your black silk will do + nicely, with bright ribbons, especially; I hope you haven't got it spotted + or anything on the way over.” She did not allow Lydia to answer, nor seem + to expect it. “You've got your mother's eyes, Lydia, but your father had + those straight eyebrows: you're very much like him. Poor Henry! And now + I'm having you get something to eat. I'm not going to risk coffee on you, + for fear it will keep you awake; though you can drink it in this climate + with <i>comparative</i> impunity. Veronica is warming you a bowl of <i>bouillon</i>, + and that's all you're to have till breakfast!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, aunt Josephine,” said the girl, not knowing what bouillon was, and + abashed by the sound of it, “I'm not the least hungry. You oughtn't to + take the trouble—” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be hungry when you begin to eat. I'm so impatient to hear about + your voyage! I am going to introduce you to some very nice people, here,—English + people. There are no Americans living in Venice; and the Americans in + Europe are so queer! You've no idea how droll our customs seem here; and I + much prefer the English. Your poor uncle can never get me to ask + Americans. I tell him I'm American enough, and he'll have to get on + without others. Of course, he's perfectly delighted to get at you. You've + quite taken him by storm, Lydia; he's in raptures about your looks. It's + what I told him before you came; but I couldn't believe it till I took a + look at you. I couldn't have gone to sleep without it. Did Mr. Erwin talk + much with you?” + </p> + <p> + “He was very pleasant. He talked—as long as he was awake,” said + Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he was trying to pick up Americanisms from you; he's always + doing it. I keep him away from Americans as much as I can: but he will get + at them on the cars and at the hotels. He's always asking them such + ridiculous questions, and I know some of them just talk nonsense to him.” + </p> + <p> + Veronica came in with a tray, and a bowl of bouillon on it; and Mrs. Erwin + pulled up a light table, and slid about, serving her, in her cabalistic + dress, like an Oriental sorceress performing her incantations. She volubly + watched Lydia while she ate her supper, and at the end she kissed her + again. “Now you feel better,” she said. “I knew it would cheer you up more + than any one thing. There's nothing like something to eat when you're + homesick. I found that out when I was off at school.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia was hardly kissed so much at home during a year as she had been + since meeting Mrs. Erwin. Her aunt Maria sparely embraced her when she + went and came each week from the Mill Village; anything more than this + would have come of insincerity between them; but it had been agreed that + Mrs. Erwin's demonstrations of affection, of which she had been lavish + during her visit to South Bradfield, might not be so false. Lydia accepted + them submissively, and she said, when Veronica returned for the tray, “I + hate to give you so much trouble. And sending her all the way to Trieste + on my account,—I felt ashamed. There wasn' a thing for her to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course not!” exclaimed her aunt. “But what did you think I was + made of? Did you suppose I was going to have you come on a night-journey + alone with your uncle? It would have been all over Venice; it would have + been ridiculous. I sent Veronica along for a dragon.” + </p> + <p> + “A dragon? I don't understand,” faltered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you will,” said her aunt, putting the palms of her hands against + Lydia's, and so pressing forward to kiss her. “We shall have breakfast at + ten. Go to bed!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. + </h2> + <p> + When Lydia came to breakfast she found her uncle alone in the room, + reading Galignani's Messenger. He put down his paper, and came forward to + take her hand. “You are all right this morning, I see, Miss Lydia,” he + said. “You were quite up a stump, last night, as your countrymen say.” + </p> + <p> + At the same time hands were laid upon her shoulders from behind, and she + was pulled half round, and pushed back, and held at arm's-length. It was + Mrs. Erwin, who, entering after her, first scanned her face, and then, + with one devouring glance, seized every detail of her dress—the + black silk which had already made its effect—before she kissed her. + “You <i>are</i> lovely, my dear! I shall spoil you, I know; but you're + worth it! What lashes you have, child! And your aunt Maria made and fitted + that dress? She's a genius!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lydia,” said Mr. Erwin, as they sat down, “is of the fortunate age + when one rises young every morning.” He looked very fresh himself in his + clean-shaven chin, and his striking evidence of snowy wristbands and + shirt-bosom. “Later in life, you can't do that. She looks as blooming,” he + added, gallantly, “as a basket of chips,—as you say in America.” + </p> + <p> + “Smiling,” said Lydia, mechanically correcting him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! It is? Smiling,—yes; thanks. It's very good either way; very + characteristic. It would be curious to know the origin of a saying like + that. I imagine it goes back to the days of the first settlers. It + suggests a wood-chopping period. Is it—ah—in general use?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it isn't, Henshaw!” said his wife. + </p> + <p> + “You've been a great while out of the country, my dear,” suggested Mr. + Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “Not so long as not to know that your Americanisms are enough to make one + wish we had held our tongues ever since we were discovered, or had never + been discovered at all. I want to ask Lydia about her voyage. I haven't + heard a word yet. Did your aunt Maria come down to Boston with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, grandfather brought me.” + </p> + <p> + “And you had good weather coming over? Mr. Erwin told me you were not + seasick.” + </p> + <p> + “We had one bad storm, before we reached Gibraltar; but I wasn't seasick.” + </p> + <p> + “Were the other passengers?” + </p> + <p> + “One was.” Lydia reddened a little, and then turned somewhat paler than at + first. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Lydia?” her aunt subtly demanded. “Who was the one that was + sick?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a gentleman,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt looked at her keenly, and for whatever reason abruptly left the + subject. “Your silk,” she said, “will do very well for church, Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, now!” cried her husband, “you're not going to make her go to + church to-day!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am! There will be more people there to-day than any other time + this fall. She must go.” + </p> + <p> + “But she's tired to death,—quite tuckered, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm rested, now,” said Lydia. “I shouldn't like to miss going to + church.” + </p> + <p> + “Your silk,” continued her aunt, “will be quite the thing for church.” She + looked hard at the dress, as if it were not quite the thing for breakfast. + Mrs. Erwin herself wore a morning-dress of becoming delicacy, and an airy + French cap; she had a light fall of powder on her face. “What kind of + overthing have you got?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “There's a sack goes with this,” said the girl, suggestively. + </p> + <p> + “That's nice! What is your bonnet?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't any bonnet. But my best hat is nice. I could—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>No</i> one goes to church in a hat! You can't do it. It's simply + impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, my dear,” said her husband, “I saw some very pretty American girls + in hats at church, last Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and everybody <i>knew</i> they were Americans by their hats!” + retorted Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> knew they were Americans by their good looks,” said Mr. Erwin, + “and what you call their stylishness.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all well enough for you to talk. <i>You're</i> an Englishman, + and you could wear a hat, if you liked. It would be set down to character. + But in an American it would be set down to greenness. If you were an + American, you would have to wear a bonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad, then, I'm not an American,” said her husband; “I don't think I + should look well in a bonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stuff, Henshaw! You know what I mean. And I'm not going to have + English people thinking we're ignorant of the common decencies of life. + Lydia shall not go to church in a hat; she had better <i>never</i> go. I + will lend her one of my bonnets. Let me see, <i>which</i> one.” She gazed + at Lydia in critical abstraction. “I wear rather young bonnets,” she mused + aloud, “and we're both rather dark. The only difficulty is I'm so much + more delicate—” She brooded upon the question in a silence, from + which she burst exulting. “The very thing! I can fuss it up in no time. It + won't take two minutes to get it ready. And you'll look just killing in + it.” She turned grave again. “Henshaw,” she said, “I <i>wish</i> you would + go to church this morning!” + </p> + <p> + “I would do almost anything for you, Josephine; but really, you know, you + oughtn't to ask that. I was there last Sunday; I can't go every Sunday. + It's bad enough in England; a man ought to have some relief on the + Continent.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well. I suppose I oughtn't to ask you,” sighed his wife, + “especially as you're going with us to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go to-night, with pleasure,” said Mr. Erwin. He rose when his wife + and Lydia left the table, and opened the door for them with a certain + courtesy he had; it struck even Lydia's uneducated sense as something + peculiarly sweet and fine, and it did not overawe her own simplicity, but + seemed of kind with it. + </p> + <p> + The bonnet, when put to proof, did not turn out to be all that it was + vaunted. It looked a little odd, from the first; and Mrs. Erwin, when she + was herself dressed, ended by taking it off, and putting on Lydia the hat + previously condemned. “You're divine in that,” she said. “And after all, + you are a traveler, and I can say that some of your things were spoiled + coming over,—people always get things ruined in a sea voyage,—and + they'll think it was your bonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “I kept my things very nicely, aunt Josephine,” said Lydia + conscientiously. “I don't believe anything was hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, you can't tell till you've unpacked; and we're not responsible + for what people happen to think, you know. Wait!” her aunt suddenly cried. + She pulled open a drawer, and snatched two ribbons from it, which she + pinned to the sides of Lydia's hat, and tied in a bow under her chin; she + caught out a lace veil, and drew that over the front of the hat, and let + it hang in a loose knot behind. “Now,” she said, pushing her up to a + mirror, that she might see, “it's a bonnet; and I needn't say <i>any</i>thing!” + </p> + <p> + They went in Mrs. Erwin's gondola to the palace in which the English + service was held, and Lydia was silent, as she looked shyly, almost + fearfully, round on the visionary splendors of Venice. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin did not like to be still. “What are you thinking of, Lydia?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I suppose I was thinking that the leaves were beginning to turn in + the sugar orchard,” answered Lydia faithfully. “I was thinking how still + the sun would be in the pastures, there, this morning. I suppose the + stillness here put me in mind of it. One of these bells has the same tone + as our bell at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Erwin. “Everybody finds a familiar bell in Venice. There + are enough of them, goodness knows. I don't see why you call it still, + with all this clashing and banging. I suppose this seems very odd to you, + Lydia,” she continued, indicating the general Venetian effect. “It's an + old story to me, though. The great beauty of Venice is that you get more + for your money here than you can anywhere else in the world. There isn't + much society, however, and you mustn't expect to be very gay.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never been gay,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's no reason you shouldn't be,” returned her aunt. “If you were + in Florence, or Rome, or even Naples, you could have a good time. There! + I'm glad your uncle didn't hear me say that!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Good time; that's an Americanism.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He's perfectly delighted when he catches me in one. I try to break + myself of them, but I don't always know them myself. Sometimes I feel + almost like never talking at all. But you can't do that, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” assented Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “And you have to talk Americanisms if you're an American. You mustn't + think your uncle isn't obliging, Lydia. He is. I oughtn't to have asked + him to go to church,—it bores him so much. I used to feel terribly + about it once, when we were first married. But things have changed very + much of late years, especially with all this scientific talk. In England + it's quite different from what it used to be. Some of the best people in + society are skeptics now, and that makes it quite another thing.” Lydia + looked grave, but she said nothing, and her aunt added, “I wouldn't have + asked him, but I had a little headache, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Josephine,” said Lydia, “I'm afraid you're doing too much for me. + Why didn't you let me come alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Come alone? To church!” Mrs. Erwin addressed her in a sort of whispered + shriek. “It would have been perfectly scandalous.” + </p> + <p> + “To go to church alone?” demanded Lydia, astounded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. A young girl mustn't go <i>any</i>where alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll explain to you, sometime, Lydia; or rather, you'll learn for + yourself. In Italy it's very different from what it is in America.” Mrs. + Erwin suddenly started up and bowed with great impressiveness, as a + gondola swept towards them. The gondoliers wore shirts of blue silk, and + long crimson sashes. On the cushions of the boat, beside a hideous little + man who was sucking the top of an ivory-handled stick, reclined a + beautiful woman, pale, with purplish rings round the large black eyes with + which, faintly smiling, she acknowledged Mrs. Erwin's salutation, and then + stared at Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you may look, and you may look, and you may look!” cried Mrs. Erwin, + under her breath. “You've met more than your match at last! The Countess + Tatocka,” she explained to Lydia. “That was her palace we passed just now,—the + one with the iron balconies. Did you notice the gentleman with her? She + always takes to those monsters. He's a Neapolitan painter, and ever so + talented,—clever, that is. He's dead in love with her, they say.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they engaged?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Engaged!” exclaimed Mrs. Erwin, with her shriek in dumb show. “Why, + child, she's married!” + </p> + <p> + “To <i>him</i>?” demanded the girl, with a recoil. + </p> + <p> + “No! To her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “To her husband?” gasped Lydia. “And she—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, she isn't quite well seen, even in Venice,” Mrs. Erwin explained. + “But she's rich, and her <i>conversazioni</i> are perfectly brilliant. + She's very artistic, and she writes poetry,—Polish poetry. I <i>wish</i> + she could hear you sing, Lydia! I know she'll be frantic to see you again. + But I don't see how it's to be managed; her house isn't one you can take a + young girl to. And <i>I</i> can't ask her: your uncle detests her.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you go to her house?” Lydia inquired stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, as a foreigner, <i>I</i> can go. Of course, Lydia, you can't be as + particular about everything on the Continent as you are at home.” + </p> + <p> + The former oratory of the Palazzo Grinzelli, which served as the English + chapel, was filled with travelers of both the English-speaking + nationalities, as distinguishable by their dress as by their faces. + Lydia's aunt affected the English style, but some instinctive elegance + betrayed her, and every Englishwoman there knew and hated her for an + American, though she was a precisian in her liturgy, instant in all the + responses and genuflexions. She found opportunity in the course of the + lesson to make Lydia notice every one, and she gave a telegrammic + biography of each person she knew, with a criticism of the costume of all + the strangers, managing so skillfully that by the time the sermon began + she was able to yield the text a statuesquely close attention, and might + have been carved in marble where she sat as a realistic conception of + Worship. + </p> + <p> + The sermon came to an end; the ritual proceeded; the hymn, with the + hemming and hawing of respectable inability, began, and Lydia lifted her + voice with the rest. Few of the people were in their own church; some + turned and stared at her; the bonnets and the back hair of those who did + not look were intent upon her; the long red neck of one elderly + Englishman, restrained by decorum from turning his head toward her, + perspired with curiosity. Mrs. Erwin fidgeted, and dropped her eyes from + the glances which fell to her for explanation of Lydia, and hurried away + with her as soon as the services ended. In the hall on the water-floor of + the palace, where they were kept waiting for their gondola a while, she + seemed to shrink even from the small, surly greetings with which people + whose thoughts are on higher things permit themselves to recognize + fellow-beings of their acquaintance in coming out of church. But an old + lady, who supported herself with a cane, pushed through the crowd to where + they stood aloof, and, without speaking to Mrs. Erwin, put out her hand to + Lydia; she had a strong, undaunted, plain face, in which was expressed the + habit of doing what she liked. “My dear,” she said, “how wonderfully you + sing! Where did you get that heavenly voice? You are an American; I see + that by your beauty. You are Mrs. Erwin's niece, I suppose, whom she + expected. Will you come and sing to me? You must bring her, Mrs. Erwin.” + </p> + <p> + She hobbled away without waiting for an answer, and Lydia and her aunt got + into their gondola. “<i>Oh</i>! How glad I am!” cried Mrs. Erwin, in a + joyful flutter. “She's the very tip-top of the English here; she has a + whole palace, and you meet the very best people at her house. I was afraid + when you were singing, Lydia, that they would think your voice was too + good to be good form,—that's an expression you must get; it means + everything,—it sounded almost professional. I wanted to nudge you to + sing a little lower, or different, or something; but I couldn't, everybody + was looking so. No matter. It's all right now. If <i>she</i> liked it, + nobody else will dare to breathe. You can see that she has taken a fancy + to you; she'll make a great pet of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” asked Lydia, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Fenleigh. Such a character,—so eccentric! But really, I + suppose, very hard to live with. It must have been quite a release for + poor Sir Fenleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “She didn't seem in mourning,” said Lydia. “Has he been dead long?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he isn't dead at all! He is what you call a grass-widower. The best + soul in the world, everybody says, and very, very fond of her; but she + couldn't stand it; he was <i>too</i> good, don't you understand? They've + lived apart a great many years. She's lived a great deal in Asia Minor,—somewhere. + She likes Venice; but of course there's no telling how long she may stay. + She has another house in Florence, all ready to go and be lived in at a + day's notice. I wish I had presented you! It did go through my head; but + it didn't seem as if I <i>could</i> get the Blood out. It <i>is</i> a + fearful name, Lydia; I always felt it so when I was a girl, and I was <i>so</i> + glad to marry out of it; and it sounds so terribly American. I think you + must take your mother's name, my dear. Latham is rather flattish, but it's + worlds better than Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not ashamed of my father's name,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “But you'll have to change it some day, at any rate,—when you get + married.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia turned away. “I will be called Blood till then. If Lady Fenleigh—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear,” promptly interrupted her aunt, “I know that sort of + independence. I used to have whole Declarations of it. But you'll get over + that, in Europe. There was a time—just after the war—when the + English quite liked our sticking up for ourselves; but that's past now. + They like us to be outlandish, but they don't like us to be independent. + How did you like the sermon? Didn't you think we had a nicely-dressed + congregation?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought the sermon was very short,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's the English way, and I like it. If you get in all the + service, you <i>must</i> make the sermon short.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia did not say anything for a little while. Then she asked, “Is the + service the same at the evening meeting?” + </p> + <p> + “Evening meeting?” repeated Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—the church to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, child, there isn't any church to-night! What <i>are</i> you talking + about?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't uncle—didn't Mr. Erwin say he would go with us to-night?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin seemed about to laugh, and then she looked embarrassed. “Why, + Lydia,” she cried at last, “he didn't mean church; he meant—opera!” + </p> + <p> + “Opera! Sunday night! Aunt Josephine, do you go to the theatre on Sabbath + evening?” + </p> + <p> + There was something appalling in the girl's stern voice. Mrs. Erwin + gathered herself tremulously together for defense. “Why, of course, Lydia, + I don't approve of it, though I never <i>was</i> Orthodox. Your uncle + likes to go; and if everybody's there that you want to see, and they will + give the best operas Sunday night, what are you to do?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia said nothing, but a hard look came into her face, and she shut her + lips tight. + </p> + <p> + “Now you see, Lydia,” resumed her aunt, with an air of deductive reasoning + from the premises, “the advantage of having a bonnet on, even if it's only + a make-believe. I don't believe a soul knew it. All those Americans had + hats. You were the only American girl there with a bonnet. I'm sure that + it had more than half to do with Lady Fenleigh's speaking to you. It + showed that you had been well brought up.” + </p> + <p> + “But I never wore a bonnet to church at home,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “That has nothing to do with it, if they thought you did. And Lydia,” she + continued, “I was thinking while you were singing there that I wouldn't + say anything at once about your coming over to cultivate your voice. + That's got to be such an American thing, now. I'll let it out little by + little,—and after Lady Fenleigh's quite taken you under her wing. + Perhaps we may go to Milan with you, or to Naples,—there's a + conservatory there, too; and we can pull up stakes as easily as not. + Well!” said Mrs. Erwin, interrupting herself, “I'm glad Henshaw wasn't by + to hear <i>that</i> speech. He'd have had it down among his Americanisms + instantly. I don't know whether it <i>is</i> an Americanism; but he puts + down all the outlandish sayings he gets hold of to Americans; he has no + end of English slang in his book. Everything has opened <i>beautifully</i>, + Lydia, and I intend you shall have the <i>best</i> time!” She looked + fondly at her brother's child. “You've no idea how much you remind me of + your poor father. You have his looks exactly. I always thought he would + come out to Europe before he died. We used to be so proud of his looks at + home! I can remember that, though I was the youngest, and he was ten years + older than I. But I always did worship beauty. A perfect Greek, Mr. + Rose-Black calls me: you'll see him; he's an English painter staying here; + he comes a <i>great</i> deal.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Erwin, Mrs. Erwin!” called a lady's voice from a gondola behind + them. The accent was perfectly English, but the voice entirely Italian. + “Where are you running to?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Landini!” retorted Mrs. Erwin, looking back over her shoulder. + “Is that you? Where in the world are <i>you</i> going?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've been to pay a visit to my old English teacher. He's awfully ill + with rheumatism; but awfully! He can't turn in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, poor man! This is my niece whom I told you I was expecting! Arrived + last night! We've been to church!” Mrs. Erwin exclaimed each of the facts. + </p> + <p> + The Italian girl stretched her hand across the gunwales of the boats, + which their respective gondoliers had brought skillfully side by side, and + took Lydia's hand. “I'm glad to see you, my dear. But my God, how + beautiful you Americans are! But you don't look American, you know; you + look Spanish! I shall come a great deal to see you, and practice my + English.” + </p> + <p> + “Come home with, us now, Miss Landini, and have lunch,” said Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear, I can't. My aunt will be raising the devil if I'm not there + to drink coffee with her; and I've been a great while away now. Till + tomorrow!” Miss Landini's gondolier pushed his boat away, and rowed it up + a narrow canal on the right. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” Mrs. Erwin explained, “that she's really her mother,—everybody + says so; but she always calls her aunt. Dear knows who her father was. But + she's a very bright girl, Lydia, and you'll like her. Don't you think she + speaks English wonderfully for a person who's never been out of Venice?” + </p> + <p> + “Why does she swear?” asked Lydia, stonily. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Swear</i>? Oh, I know what you mean. That's the funniest thing about + Miss Landini. Your uncle says it's a shame to correct her; but I do, + whenever I think of it. Why, you know, such words as God and devil don't + sound at all wicked in Italian, and ladies use them quite commonly. She + understands that it isn't good form to do so in English, but when she gets + excited she forgets. Well, you can't say but what <i>she</i> was + impressed, Lydia!” + </p> + <p> + After lunch, various people came to call upon Mrs. Erwin. Several of them + were Italians who were learning English, and they seemed to think it + inoffensive to say that they were glad of the opportunity to practice the + language with Lydia. They talked local gossip with her aunt, and they + spoke of an approaching visit to Venice from the king; it seemed to Lydia + that the king's character was not good. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rose-Black, the English artist, came. He gave himself the effect of + being in Mrs. Erwin's confidence, apparently without her authority, and he + bestowed a share of this intimacy upon Lydia. He had the manner of a man + who had been taken up by people above him, and the impudence of a talent + which had not justified the expectations formed of it. He softly + reproached Mrs. Erwin for running away after service before he could speak + to her, and told her how much everybody had been enchanted by her niece's + singing. “At least, they said it was your niece.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Mr. Rose-Black, let me introduce you to Miss—” Lydia + looked hard, even to threatening, at her aunt, and Mrs. Erwin added, + “Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Rose-Black, with his picked-up politeness, + “I didn't get the name.” + </p> + <p> + “Blood,” said Mrs. Erwin, more distinctly. + </p> + <p> + “Aöh!” said Mr. Rose-Black, in a cast-off accent of jaded indifferentism, + just touched with displeasure. “Yes,” he added, dreamily, to Lydia, “it + was divine, you know. You might say it needed training; but it had the <i>naïve</i> + sweetness we associate with your countrywomen. They're greatly admired in + England now, you know, for their beauty. Oh, I assure you, it's quite the + thing to admire American ladies. I want to arrange a little lunch at my + studio for Mrs. Erwin and yourself; and I want you to abet me in it, Miss + Blood.” Lydia stared at him, but he was not troubled. “I'm going to ask to + sketch you. Really, you know, there's a poise—something bird-like—a + sort of repose in movement—” He sat in a corner of the sofa, with + his head fallen back, and abandoned to an absent enjoyment of Lydia's + pictorial capabilities. He was very red; his full beard, which started as + straw color, changed to red when it got a little way from his face. He + wore a suit of rough blue, the coat buttoned tightly about him, and he + pulled a glove through his hand as he talked. He was scarcely roused from + his reverie by the entrance of an Italian officer, with his hussar jacket + hanging upon one shoulder, and his sword caught up in his left hand. He + ran swiftly to Mrs. Erwin, and took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my compliments! I come practice my English with you a little. Is it + well said, a little, or do you say a small?” + </p> + <p> + “A little, cavaliere,” answered Mrs. Erwin, amiably. “But you must say a + good deal, in this case.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,—good deal. For what?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me introduce you to my niece. Colonel Pazzelli,” said Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Too much honor, too much honor!” murmured the cavaliere. He brought + his heels together with a click, and drooped towards Lydia till his head + was on a level with his hips. Recovering himself, he caught up his + eye-glasses, and bent them on Lydia. “Very please, very honored, much—” + He stopped, and looked confused, and Lydia turned pale and red. + </p> + <p> + “Now, won't you play that pretty <i>barcarole</i> you played the other + night at Lady Fenleigh's?” entreated Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pazzelli wrenched himself from the fascination of Lydia's + presence, and lavished upon Mrs. Erwin the hoarded English of a week. + “Yes, yes; very nice, very good. With much pleasure. I thank you. Yes, I + play.” He was one of those natives who in all the great Italian cities + haunt English-speaking societies; they try to drink tea without grimacing, + and sing for the ladies of our race, who innocently pet them, finding them + so very like other women in their lady-like sweetness and softness; it is + said they boast among their own countrymen of their triumphs. The + cavaliere unbuckled his sword, and laying it across a chair sat down at + the piano. He played not one but many barcaroles, and seemed loath to + leave the instrument. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Lydia,” said Mrs. Erwin, fondly, “won't you sing us something?” + </p> + <p> + “Do!” called Mr. Rose-Black from the sofa, with the intonation of a + spoiled first-cousin, or half-brother. + </p> + <p> + “I don't feel like singing to-day,” answered Lydia, immovably. Mrs. Erwin + was about to urge her further, but other people came in,—some Jewish + ladies, and then a Russian, whom Lydia took at first for an American. They + all came and went, but Mr. Rose-Black remained in his corner of the sofa, + and never took his eyes from Lydia's face. At last he went, and then Mr. + Erwin looked in. + </p> + <p> + “Is that beast gone?” he asked. “I shall be obliged to show him the door, + yet, Josephine. You ought to snub him. He's worse than his pictures. Well, + you've had a whole raft of folks today,—as your countrymen say.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank Heaven,” cried Mrs. Erwin, “and they're all gone. I don't want + Lydia to think that I let everybody come to see me on Sunday. Thursday is + my day, Lydia, but a few privileged friends understand that they can drop + in Sunday afternoon.” She gave Lydia a sketch of the life and character of + each of these friends. “And now I must tell you that your manner is very + good, Lydia. That reserved way of yours is quite the thing for a young + girl in Europe: I suppose it's a gift; I never could get it, even when I + <i>was</i> a girl. But you mustn't show any <i>hauteur</i>, even when you + dislike people, and you refused to sing with <i>rather</i> too much <i>aplomb</i>. + I don't suppose it was noticed though,—those ladies coming in at the + same time. Really, I thought Mr. Rose-Black and Colonel Pazzelli were + trying to outstare each other! It was certainly amusing. I never saw such + an evident case, Lydia! The poor cavaliere looked as if he had seen you + somewhere before in a dream, and was struggling to make it all out.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia remained impassive. Presently she said she would go to her room, and + write home before dinner. When she went out Mrs. Erwin fetched a deep + sigh, and threw herself upon her husband's sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “She's terribly unresponsive,” she began. “I supposed she'd be in raptures + with the place, at least, but you wouldn't know there was anything at all + remarkable in Venice from anything she's said. We have met ever so many + interesting people to-day,—the Countess Tatocka, and Lady Fenleigh, + and Miss Landini, and everybody, but I don't really think she's said a + word about a soul. She's too queer for anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say she hasn't the experience to be astonished from,” suggested + Mr. Erwin easily. “She's here as if she'd been dropped down from her + village.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's true,” considered his wife. “But it's hard, with Lydia's air + and style and self-possession, to realize that she <i>is</i> merely a + village girl.” + </p> + <p> + “She may be much more impressed than she chooses to show,” Mr. Erwin + continued. “I remember a very curious essay by a French writer about your + countrymen: he contended that they were characterized by a savage stoicism + through their contact with the Indians.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Henshaw! There hasn't been an Indian <i>near</i> South + Bradfield for two hundred years. And besides that, am <i>I</i> stoical?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm bound to say,” replied her husband, “that so far as you go, you're a + complete refutation of the theory.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate to see a young girl so close,” fretted Mrs. Erwin. “But perhaps,” + she added, more cheerfully, “she'll be the easier managed, being so + passive. She doesn't seem at all willful,—that's one comfort.” + </p> + <p> + She went to Lydia's room just before dinner, and found the girl with her + head fallen on her arms upon the table, where she had been writing. She + looked up, and faced her aunt with swollen eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, poor thing!” cried Mrs. Erwin. “What is it, dear? What is it, + Lydia?” she asked, tenderly, and she pulled Lydia's face down upon her + neck. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing,” said Lydia. “I suppose I was a little homesick; writing + home made me.” + </p> + <p> + She somewhat coldly suffered Mrs. Erwin to kiss her and smooth her hair, + while she began to talk with her of her grandfather and her aunt at home. + “But this is going to be home to you now,” said Mrs. Erwin, “and I'm not + going to let you be sick for any other. I want you to treat me just like a + mother, or an older sister. Perhaps I shan't be the wisest mother to you + in the world, but I mean to be one of the best. Come, now, bathe your + eyes, my dear, and let's go to dinner. I don't like to keep your uncle + waiting.” She did not go at once, but showed Lydia the appointments of the + room, and lightly indicated what she had caused to be done, and what she + had done with her own hands, to make the place pretty for her. “And now + shall I take your letter, and have your uncle post it this evening?” She + picked up the letter from the table. “Hadn't you any wax to seal it? You + know they don't generally mucilage their envelopes in Europe.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia blushed. “I left it open for you to read. I thought you ought to + know what I wrote.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin dropped her hands in front of her, with the open letter + stretched between them, and looked at her niece in rapture. “Lydia,” she + cried, “one would suppose you had lived all your days in Europe! Showing + me your letter, this way,—why, it's quite like a Continental girl.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was no more than right you should see what I was writing + home,” said Lydia, unresponsively. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no matter, even if it <i>was</i> right,” replied Mrs. Erwin. “It + comes to the same thing. And now, as you've been quite a European + daughter, I'm going to be a real American mother.” She took up the wax, + and sealed Lydia's letter without looking into it. “There!” she said, + triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + She was very good to Lydia all through dinner, and made her talk of the + simple life at home, and the village characters whom she remembered from + her last summer's visit. That amused Mr. Erwin, who several times, when, + his wife was turning the talk upon Lydia's voyage over, intervened with + some new question about the life of the queer little Yankee hill-town. He + said she must tell Lady Fenleigh about it,—she was fond of picking + up those curios; it would make any one's social fortune who could explain + such a place intelligibly in London; when they got to having typical + villages of the different civilizations at the international expositions,—as + no doubt they would,—somebody must really send South Bradfield over. + He pleased himself vastly with this fancy, till Mrs. Erwin, who had been + eying Lydia critically from time to time, as if making note of her + features and complexion, said she had a white cloak, and that in Venice, + where one need not dress a great deal for the opera, Lydia could wear it + that night. + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked up in astonishment, but she sat passive during her aunt's + discussion of her plans. When they rose from table, she said, at her + stiffest and coldest, “Aunt Josephine, I want you to excuse me from going + with you to-night. I don't feel like going.” + </p> + <p> + “Not feel like going!” exclaimed her aunt in dismay. “Why, your uncle has + taken a box!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia opposed nothing to this argument. She only said, “I would rather not + go.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you <i>will</i>, dear,” coaxed her aunt. “You would enjoy it so + much.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you understood from what I said to-day,” replied Lydia, “that I + could not go.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, I didn't! I knew you objected; but if I thought it was proper + for you to go—” + </p> + <p> + “I should not go at home,” said Lydia, in the same immovable fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. Every place has its customs, and in Venice it has <i>always</i> + been the custom to go to the opera on Sunday night.” This fact had no + visible weight with Lydia, and after a pause her aunt added, “Didn't Paul + himself say to do in Rome as the Romans do?” + </p> + <p> + “No, aunt Josephine,” cried Lydia, indignantly, “he did <i>not</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin turned to her husband with a face of appeal, and he answered, + “Really, my dear, I think you're mistaken. I always had the impression + that the saying was—an Americanism of some sort.” + </p> + <p> + “But it doesn't matter,” interposed Lydia decisively. “I couldn't go, if I + didn't think it was right, whoever said it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” began Mrs. Erwin, “if you wouldn't mind what <i>Paul</i> said—” + She suddenly checked herself, and after a little silence she resumed, + kindly, “I won't try to force you, Lydia. I didn't realize what a very + short time it is since you left home, and how you still have all those + ideas. I wouldn't distress you about them for the world, my dear. I want + you to feel at home with me, and I'll make it as like home for you as I + can in everything. Henshaw, I think you must go alone, this evening. I + will stay with Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no! I couldn't let you; I can't let you! I shall not know what to + do if I keep you at home. Oh, don't leave it that way, please! I shall + feel so badly about it—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we can both stay,” suggested Mr. Erwin, kindly. + </p> + <p> + Lydia's lips trembled and her eyes glistened, and Mrs. Erwin said, “I'll + go with you, Henshaw. I'll be ready in half an hour. I won't dress <i>much</i>.” + She added this as if not to dress a great deal at the opera Sunday night + might somehow be accepted as an observance of the Sabbath. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. + </h2> + <p> + The next morning Veronica brought Lydia a little scrawl from her aunt, + bidding the girl come and breakfast with her in her room at nine. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” her aunt called to her from her pillow, when she + appeared, “you find me flat enough, this morning. If there was anything + wrong about going to the opera last night, I was properly punished for it. + Such wretched stuff as <i>I</i> never heard! And instead of the new ballet + that they promised, they gave an old thing that I had seen till I was sick + of it. You didn't miss much, I can tell you. How fresh and bright you <i>do</i> + look, Lydia!” she sighed. “Did you sleep well? Were you lonesome while we + were gone? Veronica says you were reading the whole evening. Are you fond + of reading?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I am, very,” said Lydia. “It was a book that I began on the + ship. It's a novel.” She hesitated. “I wasn't reading it; I was just + looking at it.” + </p> + <p> + “What a queer child you are! I suppose you were dying to read it, and + wouldn't because it was Sunday. Well!” Mrs. Erwin put her hand under her + pillow, and pulled out a gossamer handkerchief, with which she delicately + touched her complexion here and there, and repaired with an instinctive + rearrangement of powder the envious ravages of a slight rash about her + nose. “I respect your high principles beyond anything, Lydia, and if they + can only be turned in the right direction they will never be any + disadvantage to you.” Veronica came in with the breakfast on a tray, and + Mrs. Erwin added, “Now, pull up that little table, and bring your chair, + my dear, and let us take it easy. I like to talk while I'm breakfasting. + Will you pour out my chocolate? That's it, in the ugly little pot with the + wooden handle; the copper one's for you, with coffee in it. I never could + get that repose which seems to come perfectly natural to you. I was always + inclined to be a little rowdy, my dear, and I've had to fight hard against + it, without any help from <i>either</i> of my husbands; men like it; they + think it's funny. When I was first married, I was very young, and so was + he; it was a real love match; and my husband was very well off, and when I + began to be delicate, nothing would do but he must come to Europe with me. + How little I ever expected to outlive him!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't look very sick now,” began Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Ill,” said her aunt. “You must say ill. Sick is an Americanism.” + </p> + <p> + “It's in the Bible,” said Lydia, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there are a great many words in the <i>Bible</i> you can't use,” + returned her aunt. “No, I don't look ill now, and I'm worlds better. But I + couldn't live a year in any other climate, I suppose. You seem to take + after your mother's side. Well, as I was saying, the European ways didn't + come natural to me, at all. I used to have a great deal of gayety when I + was a girl, and I liked beaux and attentions; and I had very free ways. I + couldn't get their stiffness here for years and years, and all through my + widowhood it was one wretched failure with me. Do what I would, I was + always violating the most essential rules, and the worst of it was that it + only seemed to make me the more popular. I do believe it was nothing but + my rowdiness that attracted Mr. Erwin; but I determined when I had got an + Englishman I would make one bold strike for the proprieties, and have + them, or die in the attempt. I determined that no Englishwoman I ever saw + should outdo me in strict conformity to all the usages of European + society. So I cut myself off from all the Americans, and went with nobody + but the English.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you like them better?” asked Lydia, with the blunt, child-like + directness that had already more than once startled her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Like</i> them! I detest them! If Mr. Erwin were a real Englishman, I + think I should go crazy; but he's been so little in his own country—all + his life in India, nearly, and the rest on the Continent,—that he's + quite human; and no American husband was ever more patient and indulgent; + and <i>that</i>'s saying a good deal. He would be glad to have nothing but + Americans around; he has an enthusiasm for them,—or for what he + supposes they are. Like the English! You ought to have heard them during + our war; it would have made your blood boil! And then how they came + crawling round after it was all over, and trying to pet us up! Ugh!” + </p> + <p> + “If you feel so about them,” said Lydia, as before, “why do you want to go + with them so much?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” cried her aunt, “<i>to beat them with their own weapons on + their own ground</i>,—to show them that an American can be more + European than any of them, if she chooses! And now you've come here with + looks and temperament and everything just to my hand. You're more + beautiful than any English girl ever dreamt of being; you're very + distinguished-looking; your voice is perfectly divine; and you're colder + than an iceberg. <i>Oh</i>, if I only had one winter with you in Rome, I + think I should die in peace!” Mrs. Erwin paused, and drank her chocolate, + which she had been letting cool in the eagerness of her discourse. “But, + never mind,” she continued, “we will do the best we can here. I've seen + English girls going out two or three together, without protection, in Rome + and Florence; but I mean that you shall be quite Italian in that respect. + The Italians never go out without a chaperone of some sort, and you must + never be seen without me, or your uncle, or Veronica. Now I'll tell you + how you must do at parties, and so on. You must be very retiring; you're + that, any way; but you must always keep close to me. It doesn't do for + young people to talk much together in society; it makes scandal about a + girl. If you dance, you must always hurry back to me. Dear me!” exclaimed + Mrs. Erwin, “I remember how, when I was a girl, I used to hang on to the + young men's arms, and promenade with them after a dance, and go out to + supper with them, and flirt on the stairs,—<i>such</i> times! But + that wouldn't do here, Lydia. It would ruin a girl's reputation; she could + hardly walk arm in arm with a young man if she was engaged to him.” Lydia + blushed darkly red, and then turned paler than usual, while her aunt went + on. “You might do it, perhaps, and have it set down to American + eccentricity or under-breeding, but I'm not going to have that. I intend + you to be just as dull and diffident in society as if you were an Italian, + and <i>more</i> than if you were English. Your voice, of course, is a + difficulty. If you sing, that will make you conspicuous, in spite of + everything. But I don't see why that can't be turned to advantage; it's no + worse than your beauty. Yes, if you're so splendid-looking and so gifted, + and at the same time as stupid as the rest, it's so much clear gain. It + will come easy for you to be shy with men, for I suppose you've hardly + ever talked with any, living up there in that out-of-the-way village; and + your manner is very good. It's reserved, and yet it isn't green. The way,” + continued Mrs. Erwin, “to treat men in Europe is to behave as if they were + guilty till they prove themselves innocent. All you have to do is to + reverse all your American ideas. But here I am, lecturing you as if you + had been just such a girl as I was, with half a dozen love affairs on her + hands at once, and no end of gentlemen friends. Europe won't be hard for + you, my dear, for you haven't got anything to unlearn. But <i>some</i> + girls that come over!—it's perfectly ridiculous, the trouble they + get into, and the time they have getting things straight. They take it for + granted that men in good society are gentlemen,—what we mean by + gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia had been letting her coffee stand, and had scarcely tasted the + delicious French bread and the sweet Lombard butter of which her aunt ate + so heartily. “Why, child,” said Mrs. Erwin, at last, “where is your + appetite? One would think you were the elderly invalid who had been up + late. Did you find it too exciting to sit at home <i>looking</i> at a + novel? What was it? If it's a new story I should like to see it. But you + didn't bring a novel from South Bradfield with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia, with a husky reluctance. “One of the—passengers + gave it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Had you many passengers? But of course not. That was what made it so + delightful when I came over that way. I was newly married then, and with + spirits—oh dear me!—for anything. It was one adventure, the + whole way; and we got so well acquainted, it was like one family. I + suppose your grandfather put you in charge of some family. I know artists + sometimes come out that way, and people for their health.” + </p> + <p> + “There was no family on our ship,” said Lydia. “My state-room had been + fixed up for the captain's wife—” + </p> + <p> + “Our captain's wife was along, too,” interposed Mrs. Erwin. “She was such + a joke with us. She had been out to Venice on a voyage before, and used to + be always talking about the Du-<i>cal</i> Palace. And did they really turn + out of their state-room for you?” + </p> + <p> + “She was not along,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Not along?” repeated Mrs. Erwin, feebly. “Who—who were the other + passengers?” + </p> + <p> + “There were three gentlemen,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Three gentlemen? Three men? Three—And you—and—” Mrs. + Erwin fell back upon her pillow, and remained gazing at Lydia, with a sort + of remote bewildered pity, as at perdition, not indeed beyond compassion, + but far beyond help. Lydia's color had been coming and going, but now it + settled to a clear white. Mrs. Erwin commanded herself sufficiently to + resume: “And there were—there were—no other ladies?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “And you were—” + </p> + <p> + “I was the only woman on board,” replied Lydia. She rose abruptly, + striking the edge of the table in her movement, and setting its china and + silver jarring. “Oh, I know what you mean, aunt Josephine, but two days + ago I couldn't have dreamt it! From the time the ship sailed till I + reached this wicked place, there wasn't a word said nor a look looked to + make me think I wasn't just as right and safe there as if I had been in my + own room at home. They were never anything but kind and good to me. They + never let me think that they could be my enemies, or that I must suspect + them and be on the watch against them. They were Americans! I had to wait + for one of your Europeans to teach me that,—for that officer who was + here yesterday—” + </p> + <p> + “The cavaliere? Why, where—” + </p> + <p> + “He spoke to me in the cars, when Mr. Erwin was asleep! Had he any right + to do so?” + </p> + <p> + “He would think he had, if he thought you were alone,” said Mrs. Erwin, + plaintively. “I don't see how we could resent it. It was simply a mistake + on his part. And now you see, Lydia—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see how my coming the way I have will seem to all these people!” + cried Lydia, with passionate despair. “I know how it will seem to that + married woman who lets a man be in love with her, and that old woman who + can't live with her husband because he's too good and kind, and that girl + who swears and doesn't know who her father is, and that impudent painter, + and that officer who thinks he has the right to insult women if he finds + them alone! I wonder the sea doesn't swallow up a place where even + Americans go to the theatre on the Sabbath!” + </p> + <p> + “Lydia, Lydia! It isn't so bad as it seems to you,” pleaded her aunt, + thrown upon the defensive by the girl's outburst. “There are ever so many + good and nice people in Venice, and I know them, too,—Italians as + well as foreigners. And even amongst those you saw, Miss Landini is one of + the kindest girls in the world, and she had just been to see her old + teacher when we met her,—she half takes care of him; and Lady + Fenleigh's a perfect mother to the poor; and I never was at the Countess + Tatocka's except in the most distant way, at a ball where everybody went; + and is it better to let your uncle go to the opera alone, or to go with + him? You told me to go with him yourself; and they consider Sunday over, + on the Continent, after morning service, any way!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it makes no difference!” retorted Lydia, wildly. “I am going away. I + am going home. I have money enough to get to Trieste, and the ship is + there, and Captain Jenness will take me back with him. Oh!” she moaned. “<i>He</i> + has been in Europe, too, and I suppose he's like the rest of you; and he + thought because I was alone and helpless he had the right to—Oh, I + see it, I see now that he never meant anything, and—Oh, oh, oh!” She + fell on her knees beside the bed, as if crushed to them by the cruel doubt + that suddenly overwhelmed her, and flung out her arms on Mrs. Erwin's + coverlet—it was of Venetian lace sewed upon silk, a choice bit from + the palace of one of the ducal families—and buried her face in it. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt rose from her pillow, and looked in wonder and trouble at the + beautiful fallen head, and the fair young figure shaken with sobs. “He—who—what + are you talking about, Lydia? Whom do you mean? Did Captain Jenness—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” wailed the girl, “the one that gave me the book.” + </p> + <p> + “The one that gave you the book? The book you were looking at last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” sobbed Lydia, with her voice muffled in the coverlet. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin lay down again with significant deliberation. Her face was + still full of trouble, but of bewilderment no longer. In moments of great + distress the female mind is apt to lay hold of some minor anxiety for its + distraction, and to find a certain relief in it. “Lydia,” said her aunt in + a broken voice, “I wish you wouldn't cry in the coverlet: it doesn't hurt + the lace, but it stains the silk.” Lydia swept her handkerchief under her + face but did not lift it. Her aunt accepted the compromise. “How came he + to give you the book?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. I can't tell. I thought it was because—because—It + was almost at the very beginning. And after that he walked up and down + with me every night, nearly; and he tried to be with me all he could; and + he was always saying things to make me think—Oh dear, oh <i>dear</i>, + oh dear! And he <i>tried</i> to make me care for him! Oh, it was cruel, + cruel!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that he made love to you?” asked her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—no—I don't know. He tried to make me care for him, and to + make me think he cared for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he say he cared for you? Did he—” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin mused a while before she said, “Yes, it was cruel indeed, poor + child, and it was cowardly, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Cowardly?” Lydia lifted her face, and flashed a glance of tearful fire at + her aunt. “He is the bravest man in the world! And the most generous and + high-minded! He jumped into the sea after that wicked Mr. Hicks, and saved + his life, when he disliked him worse than anything!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Who</i> was Mr. Hicks?” + </p> + <p> + “He was the one that stopped at Messina. He was the one that got some + brandy at Gibraltar, and behaved so dreadfully, and wanted to fight him.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom?” + </p> + <p> + “This one. The one who gave me the book. And don't you see that his being + so good makes it all the worse? Yes; and he pretended to be glad when I + told him I thought he was good,—he got me to say it!” She had her + face down again in her handkerchief. “And I suppose <i>you</i> think it + was horrible, too, for me to take his arm, and talk and walk with him + whenever he asked me!” + </p> + <p> + “No, not for you, Lydia,” said her aunt, gently. “And don't you think + now,” she asked after a pause, “that he cared for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I <i>did</i> think so,—I <i>did</i> believe it; but now, <i>now</i>—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, what?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, I'm afraid that may be he was only playing with me, and putting me + off; and pretending that he had something to tell me when he got to + Venice, and he never meant anything by anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he coming to—” her aunt began, but Lydia broke vehemently out + again. + </p> + <p> + “If he had cared for me, why couldn't he have told me so at once, and not + had me wait till he got to Venice? He <i>knew</i> I—” + </p> + <p> + “There are two ways of explaining it,” said Mrs. Erwin. “He <i>may</i> + have been in earnest, Lydia, and felt that he had no right to be more + explicit till you were in the care of your friends. That would be the + European way which you consider so bad,” said Mrs. Erwin. “Under the + circumstances, it was impossible for him to keep any distance, and all he + could do was to postpone his declaration till there could be something + like good form about it. Yes, it might have been that.” She was silent, + but the troubled look did not leave her face. “I am sorry for you, Lydia,” + she resumed, “but I don't know that I wish he was in earnest.” Lydia + looked up at her in dismay. “It might be far less embarrassing the other + way, however painful. He may not be at all a suitable person.” The tears + stood in Lydia's eyes, and all her face expressed a puzzled suspense. + “Where was he from?” asked Mrs. Erwin, finally; till then she had been + more interested in the lover than the man. + </p> + <p> + “Boston,” mechanically answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “What was his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Staniford,” owned Lydia, with a blush. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt seemed dispirited at the sound. “Yes, I know who they are,” she + sighed. + </p> + <p> + “And aren't they nice? Isn't he—suitable?” asked Lydia, tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, poor child! He's only <i>too</i> suitable. I can't explain to you, + Lydia; but at home he wouldn't have looked at a girl like you. What sort + of looking person is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He's rather—red; and he has—light hair.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be the family I'm thinking of,” said Mrs. Erwin. She had lived + nearly twenty years in Europe, and had seldom revisited her native city; + but at the sound of a Boston name she was all Bostonian again. She rapidly + sketched the history of the family to which she imagined Staniford to + belong. “I remember his sister; I used to see her at school. She must have + been five or six years younger than I; and this boy—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he's twenty-eight years old!” interrupted Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “How came he to tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. He said that he looked thirty-four.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; <i>she</i> was always a forward thing too,—with her freckles,” + said Mrs. Erwin, musingly, as if lost in reminiscences, not wholly + pleasing, of Miss Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i> has freckles,” admitted Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's the one,” said Mrs. Erwin. “He couldn't have known what your + family was from anything you said?” + </p> + <p> + “We never talked about our families.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I dare say! You talked about yourselves?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “All the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty nearly.” + </p> + <p> + “And he didn't try to find out who or what you were?” + </p> + <p> + “He asked a great deal about South Bradfield.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, that was where he thought you had always belonged.” Mrs. Erwin + lay quiescent for a while, in apparent uncertainty as to how she should + next attack the subject. “How did you first meet?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia began with the scene on Lucas Wharf, and little by little told the + whole story up to the moment of their parting at Trieste. There were + lapses and pauses in the story, which her aunt was never at a loss to fill + aright. At the end she said, “If it were not for his promising to come + here and see you, I should say Mr. Staniford had been flirting, and as it + is he may not regard it as anything more than flirtation. Of course, there + was his being jealous of Mr. Dunham and Mr. Hicks, as he certainly was; + and his wanting to explain about that lady at Messina—yes, that + looked peculiar; but he may not have meant anything by it. His parting so + at Trieste with you, that might be either because he was embarrassed at + its having got to be such a serious thing, or because he really felt + badly. Lydia,” she asked at last, “what made <i>you</i> think he cared for + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said the girl; her voice had sunk to a husky whisper. “I + didn't believe it till he said he wanted me to be his—conscience, + and tried to make me say he was good, and—” + </p> + <p> + “That's a certain kind of man's way of flirting. It may mean nothing at + all. I could tell in an instant, if I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “He said he would be here this afternoon,” murmured Lydia, tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “This afternoon!” cried Mrs. Erwin. “I must get up!” + </p> + <p> + At her toilette she had the exaltation and fury of a champion arming for + battle. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Erwin entered about the completion of her preparations, and without + turning round from her glass she said, “I want you to think of the worst + thing you can, Henshaw. I don't see how I'm ever to lift up my head + again.” As if this word had reminded her of her head, she turned it from + side to side, and got the effect in the glass, first of one ear-ring, and + then of the other. Her husband patiently waited, and she now confronted + him. “You may as well know first as last, Henshaw, and I want you to + prepare yourself for it. Nothing can be done, and you will just have to + live through it. Lydia—has come over—on that ship—alone,—with + three young men,—and not the shadow—not the ghost—of + another woman—on board!” Mrs. Erwin gesticulated with her hand-glass + in delivering the words, in a manner at once intensely vivid and intensely + solemn, yet somehow falling short of the due tragic effect. Her husband + stood pulling his mustache straight down, while his wife turned again to + the mirror, and put the final touches to her personal appearance with + hands which she had the effect of having desperately washed of all + responsibility. He stood so long in this meditative mood that she was + obliged to be peremptory with his image in the glass. “Well?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Why, my dear,” said Mr. Erwin, at last, “they were all Americans + together, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “And what difference does that make?” demanded Mrs. Erwin, whirling from + his image to the man again. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, you know, it isn't as if they were—English.” Mrs. + Erwin flung down three hair-pins upon her dressing-case, and visibly + despaired. “Of course you don't expect your countrymen—” His wife's + appearance was here so terrible that he desisted, and resumed by saying, + “Don't be vexed, my dear. I—I rather like it, you know. It strikes + me as a genuine bit of American civilization.” + </p> + <p> + “American civilization! Oh, Henshaw!” wailed Mrs. Erwin, “is it possible + that after all I've said, and done, and lived, you still think that any + one but a girl from the greenest little country place could do such a + thing as that? Well, it is no use trying to enlighten English people. You + like it, do you? Well, I'm not sure that the Englishman who misunderstands + American things and likes them isn't a little worse than the Englishman + who misunderstands them and dislikes them. You <i>all</i> misunderstand + them. And would you like it, if one of the young men had been making love + to Lydia?” + </p> + <p> + The amateur of our civilization hesitated and was serious, but he said at + last, “Why, you know, I'm not surprised. She's so uncommonly pretty. I—I + suppose they're engaged?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + His wife held her peace for scorn. Then she said, “The gentleman is of a + very good Boston family, and would no more think of engaging himself to a + young girl without the knowledge of her friends than you would. Besides, + he's been in Europe a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could meet some Americans who hadn't been in Europe,” said Mr. + Erwin. “I should like to see what you call the simon-pure American. As for + the young man's not engaging himself, it seems to me that he didn't avail + himself of his national privileges. I should certainly have done it in his + place, if I'd been an American.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you'd been an American, you wouldn't,” answered his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because an American would have had too much delicacy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand that.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you don't, Henshaw. And there's where you show yourself an + Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” said her husband, “you're beginning to crow, my dear. Come, I + like that a great deal better than your cringing to the effete despotisms + of the Old World, as your Fourth of July orators have it. It's almost + impossible to get a bit of good honest bounce out of an American, + nowadays,—to get him to spread himself, as you say.” + </p> + <p> + “All that is neither here nor there, Henshaw,” said his wife. “The + question is how to receive Mr. Staniford—that's his name—when + he comes. How are we to regard him? He's coming here to see Lydia, and she + thinks he's coming to propose.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, but how does she regard him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there's no question about that, poor child. She's <i>dead</i> in love + with him, and can't understand why he didn't propose on shipboard.” + </p> + <p> + “And she isn't an Englishman, either!” exulted Mr. Erwin. “It appears that + there are Americans and Americans, and that the men of your nation have + more delicacy than the women like.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly,” said his wife. “Of course, women always think what they + would do in such cases, if they were men; but if men did what women think + they would do if they were men, the women would be disgusted.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Her feeling in the matter is no guide.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know his family?” asked Mr. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “I think I do. Yes, I'm sure I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they nice people?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I told you they were a good Boston family?” + </p> + <p> + “Then upon my word, I don't see that we've to take any attitude at all. I + don't see that we've to regard him in one way or the other. It quite + remains for him to make the first move.” + </p> + <p> + As if they had been talking of nothing but dress before, Mrs. Erwin asked: + “Do you think I look better in this black mexicaine, or would you wear + your écru?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you look very well in this. But why—He isn't going to + propose to you, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “I must have on something decent to receive him in. What time does the + train from Trieste get in?” + </p> + <p> + “At three o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “It's one, now. There's plenty of time, but there isn't any too much. I'll + go and get Lydia ready. Or perhaps you'll tap on her door, Henshaw, and + send her here. Of course, this is the end of her voice,—if it is the + end.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the end of having an extraordinarily pretty girl in the house. I + don't at all like it, you know,—having her whisked away in this + manner.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin refused to let her mind wander from the main point. “He'll be + round as soon as he can, after he arrives. I shall expect him by four, at + the latest.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy he'll stop for his dinner before he comes,” said Mr. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” retorted his wife, haughtily. And with his going out of the + room, she set her face in a resolute cheerfulness, for the task of + heartening Lydia when she should appear; but it only expressed misgiving + when the girl came in with her yachting-dress on. “Why, Lydia, shall you + wear that?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia swept her dress with a downward glance. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I would wear it. I thought he—I should seem—more + natural in it. I wore it all the time on the ship, except Sundays. He said—he + liked it the best.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin shook her head. “It wouldn't do. Everything must be on a new + basis now. He might like it; but it would be too romantic, wouldn't it, + don't you think?” She shook her head still, but less decisively. “Better + wear your silk. Don't you think you'd better wear your silk? This is very + pretty, and the dark blue does become you, awfully. Still, I don't know—<i>I</i> + don't know, either! A great many English wear those careless things in the + house. Well, <i>wear</i> it, Lydia! You <i>do</i> look perfectly killing + in it. I'll tell you: your uncle was going to ask you to go out in his + boat; he's got one he rows himself, and this is a boating costume; and you + know you could time yourselves so as to get back just right, and you could + come in with this on—” + </p> + <p> + Lydia turned pale. “Oughtn't I—oughtn't I—to be here?” she + faltered. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt laughed gayly. “Why, he'll ask for <i>me</i>, Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “For you?” asked Lydia, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And I can easily keep him till you get back. If you're here by four—” + </p> + <p> + “The train,” said Lydia, “arrives at three.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know?” asked her aunt, keenly. + </p> + <p> + Lydia's eyelids fell even lower than their wont. + </p> + <p> + “I looked it out in that railroad guide in the parlor.” + </p> + <p> + Her aunt kissed her. “And you've thought the whole thing out, dear, + haven't you? I'm glad to see you so happy about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl, with a fluttering breath, “I have thought it out, + and <i>I believe him</i>. I—” She tried to say something more, but + could not. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin rang the bell, and sent for her husband. “He knows about it, + Lydia,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “He's just as much interested as we are, dear, but you needn't be worried. + He's a perfect post for not showing a thing if you don't want him to. He's + really quite superhuman, in that,—equal to a woman. You can talk + Americanisms with him. If we sat here staring at each other till four + o'clock,—he <i>must</i> go to his hotel before he comes here; and I + say four at the earliest; and it's much more likely to be five or six, or + perhaps evening,—I should die!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Erwin's rowing was the wonder of all Venice. There was every reason + why he should fall overboard at each stroke, as he stood to propel the + boat in the gondolier fashion, except that he never yet had done so. It + was sometimes his fortune to be caught on the shallows by the falling + tide; but on that day he safely explored the lagoons, and returned + promptly at four o'clock to the palace. + </p> + <p> + His wife was standing on the balcony, looking out for them, and she smiled + radiantly down into Lydia's anxiously lifted face. But when she met the + girl at the head of the staircase in the great hall, she embraced her, and + said, with the same gay smile, “He hasn't come yet, dear, and of course he + won't come till after dinner. If I hadn't been as silly as you are, Lydia, + I never should have let you expect him sooner. He'll want to go to his + hotel: and no matter how impatient he is, he'll want to dress, and be a + little ceremonious about his call. You know we're strangers to him, + whatever <i>you</i> are.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia, mechanically. She was going to sit down, as she was; of + her own motion she would not have stirred from the place till he came, or + it was certain he would not come; but her aunt would not permit the + despair into which she saw her sinking. + </p> + <p> + She laughed resolutely, and said, “I think we must give up the little + sentimentality of meeting him in that dress, now. Go and change it, Lydia. + Put on your silk,—or wait: let me go with you. I want to try some + little effects with your complexion. We've experimented with the simple + and familiar, and now we'll see what can be done in the way of the + magnificent and unexpected. I'm going to astonish the young man with a + Venetian beauty; you know you look Italian, Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he said so,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Did he? That shows he has an eye, and he'll appreciate what we are going + to do.” + </p> + <p> + She took Lydia to her own room, for the greater convenience of her + experiments, and from that moment she did not allow her to be alone; she + scarcely allowed her to be silent; she made her talk, she kept her in + movement. At dinner she permitted no lapse. “Henshaw,” she said, “Lydia + has been telling me about a storm they had just before they reached + Gibraltar. I wish you would tell her of the typhoon you were in when you + first went out to India.” Her husband obeyed; and then recurring to the + days of his civil employment in India, he told stories of tiger-hunts, and + of the Sepoy mutiny. Mrs. Erwin would not let them sit very long at table. + After dinner she asked Lydia to sing, and she suffered her to sing all the + American songs her uncle asked for. At eight o'clock she said with a + knowing little look at Lydia, which included a sub-wink for her husband, + “You may go to your café alone, this evening, Henshaw. Lydia and I are + going to stay at home and talk South Bradfield gossip. I've hardly had a + moment with her yet.” But when he was gone, she took Lydia to her own room + again, and showed her all her jewelry, and passed the time in making + changes in the girl's toilette. + </p> + <p> + It was like the heroic endeavor of the arctic voyager who feels the deadly + chill in his own veins, and keeps himself alive by rousing his comrade + from the torpor stealing over him. They saw in each other's eyes that if + they yielded a moment to the doubt in their hearts they were lost. + </p> + <p> + At ten o'clock Mrs. Erwin said abruptly, “Go to bed, Lydia!” Then the girl + broke down, and abandoned herself in a storm of tears. “Don't cry, dear, + don't cry,” pleaded her aunt. “He will be here in the morning, I know he + will. He has been delayed.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he's not coming,” said Lydia, through her sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened,” urged Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia, as before. Her tears ceased as suddenly as they had + come. She lifted her head, and drying her eyes looked into her aunt's + face. “Are you ashamed of me?” she asked hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “Ashamed of you? Oh, poor child—” + </p> + <p> + “I can't pretend anything. If I had never told you about it at all, I + could have kept it back till I died. But now—But you will never hear + me speak of it again. It's over.” She took up her candle, and stiffly + suffering the compassionate embrace with which her aunt clung to her, she + walked across the great hall in the vain splendor in which she had been + adorned, and shut the door behind her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI. + </h2> + <p> + Dunham lay in a stupor for twenty-four hours, and after that he was + delirious, with dim intervals of reason in which they kept him from + talking, till one morning he woke and looked up at Staniford with a + perfectly clear eye, and said, as if resuming the conservation, “I struck + my head on a pile of chains.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Staniford, with a wan smile, “and you've been out of it + pretty near ever since. You mustn't talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm all right,” said Dunham. “I know about my being hurt. I shall be + cautious. Have you written to Miss Hibbard? I hope you haven't!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have,” replied Staniford. “But I haven't sent the letter,” he + added, in answer to Dunham's look of distress. “I thought you were going + to pull through, in spite of the doctor,—he's wanted to bleed you, + and I could hardly keep his lancet out of you,—and so I wrote, + mentioning the accident and announcing your complete restoration. The + letter merely needs dating and sealing. I'll look it up and have it + posted.” He began a search in the pockets of his coat, and then went to + his portfolio. + </p> + <p> + “What day is this?” asked Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Friday,” said Staniford, rummaging his portfolio. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been in Venice?” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Dunham! If you begin in that way, I can't talk to you. It + shows that you're still out of your head. How could I have been in + Venice?” + </p> + <p> + “But Miss Blood; the Aroostook—” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Blood went to Venice with her uncle last Saturday. The Aroostook is + here in Trieste. The captain has just gone away. He's stood watch and + watch with me, while you were off on business.” + </p> + <p> + “But didn't you go to Venice on Monday?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hardly,” answered Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “No, you stayed with me,—I see,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I wrote to her at once,” said Staniford, huskily, “and + explained the matter as well as I could without making an ado about it. + But now you stop, Dunham. If you excite yourself, there'll be the deuce to + pay again.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not excited,” said Dunham, “but I can't help thinking how + disappointed—But of course you've heard from her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's hardly time, yet,” said Staniford, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, there is. Perhaps your letter miscarried.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” cried Staniford, in a hollow under-voice, which he broke through + to add, “Go to sleep, now, Dunham, or keep quiet, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham was silent for a while, and Staniford continued his search, which + he ended by taking the portfolio by one corner, and shaking its contents + out on the table. “I don't seem to find it; but I've put it away + somewhere. I'll get it.” He went to another coat, that hung on the back of + a chair, and fumbled in its pockets. “Hello! Here are those letters they + brought me from the post-office Saturday night,—Murray's, and + Stanton's, and that bore Farrington's. I forgot all about them.” He ran + the unopened letters over in his hand. “Ah, here's my familiar scrawl—” + He stopped suddenly, and walked away to the window, where he stood with + his back to Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Staniford! What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's—it's my letter to <i>her</i>” said Staniford, without looking + round. + </p> + <p> + “Your letter to Miss Blood—not gone?” Staniford, with his face still + from him, silently nodded. “Oh!” moaned Dunham, in self-forgetful + compassion. “How could it have happened?” + </p> + <p> + “I see perfectly well,” said the other, quietly, but he looked round at + Dunham with a face that was haggard. “I sent it out to be posted by the <i>portier</i>, + and he got it mixed up with these letters for me, and brought it back.” + </p> + <p> + The young men were both silent, but the tears stood in Dunham's eyes. “If + it hadn't been for me, it wouldn't have happened,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” gently retorted Staniford, “if it hadn't been for <i>me</i>, it + wouldn't have happened. I made you come from Messina with me, when you + wanted to go on to Naples with those people; if I'd had any sense, I + should have spoken fully to her before we parted; and it was I who sent + you to see if she were on the steamer, when you fell and hurt yourself. I + know who's to blame, Dunham. What day did I tell you this was?” + </p> + <p> + “Friday.” + </p> + <p> + “A week! And I told her to expect me Monday afternoon. A week without a + word or a sign of any kind! Well, I might as well take passage in the + Aroostook, and go back to Boston again.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no!” cried Dunham, “you must take the first train to Venice. Don't + lose an instant. You can explain everything as soon as you see her.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford shook his head. “If all her life had been different, if she were + a woman of the world, it would be different; she would know how to account + for some little misgivings on my part; but as it is she wouldn't know how + to account for even the appearance of them. What she must have suffered + all this week—I can't think of it!” He sat down and turned his face + away. Presently he sprang up again. “But I'm going, Dunham. I guess you + won't die now; but you may die if you like. I would go over your dead + body!” + </p> + <p> + “Now you are talking sense,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + Staniford did not listen; he had got out his railroad guide and was + studying it. “No; there are only those two trains a day. The seven o'clock + has gone; and the next starts at ten to-night. Great heavens! I could walk + it sooner! Dunham,” he asked, “do you think I'd better telegraph?” + </p> + <p> + “What would you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Say that there's been a mistake; that a letter miscarried; that I'll be + there in the morning; that—” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't that be taking her anxiety a little too much for granted?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's true. Well, you've got your wits about you now, Dunham,” + cried Staniford, with illogical bitterness. “Very probably,” he added, + gloomily, “she doesn't care anything for me, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a good frame of mind to go in,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Why is it?” demanded Staniford. “Did I ever presume upon any supposed + interest in her?” + </p> + <p> + “You did at first,” replied Dunham. + </p> + <p> + Staniford flushed angrily. But you cannot quarrel with a man lying + helpless on his back; besides, what Dunham said was true. + </p> + <p> + The arrangements for Staniford's journey were quickly made,—so + quickly that when he had seen the doctor, and had been down to the + Aroostook and engaged Captain Jenness to come and take his place with + Dunham for the next two nights, he had twelve hours on his hands before + the train for Venice would leave, and he started at last with but one + clear perception,—that at the soonest it must be twelve hours more + before he could see her. + </p> + <p> + He had seemed intolerably slow in arriving on the train, but once arrived + in Venice he wished that he had come by the steamboat, which would not be + in for three hours yet. In despair he went to bed, considering that after + he had tossed there till he could endure it no longer, he would still have + the resource of getting up, which he would not have unless he went to bed. + When he lay down, he found himself drowsy; and while he wondered at this, + he fell asleep, and dreamed a strange dream, so terrible that he woke + himself by groaning in spirit, a thing which, as he reflected, he had + never done before. The sun was piercing the crevice between his shutters, + and a glance at his watch showed him that it was eleven o'clock. + </p> + <p> + The shadow of his dream projected itself into his waking mood, and steeped + it in a gloom which he could not escape. He rose and dressed, and meagrely + breakfasted. Without knowing how he came there, he stood announced in Mrs. + Erwin's parlor, and waited for her to receive him. + </p> + <p> + His card was brought in to her where she lay in bed. After supporting + Lydia through the first sharp shock of disappointment, she had yielded to + the prolonged strain, and the girl was now taking care of her. She gave a + hysterical laugh as she read the name on the card Veronica brought, and + crushing it in her hand, “He's come!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “I will not see him!” said Lydia instantly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” assented her aunt. “It wouldn't be at all the thing. Besides, he's + asked for me. Your uncle might see him, but he's out of the way; of course + he <i>would</i> be out of the way. Now, let me see!” The excitement + inspired her; she rose in bed, and called for the pretty sack in which she + ordinarily breakfasted, and took a look at herself in a hand-glass that + lay on the bed. Lydia did not move; she scarcely seemed to breathe; but a + swift pulse in her neck beat visibly. “If it would be decent to keep him + waiting so long, I could dress, and see him myself. I'm <i>well</i> + enough.” Mrs. Erwin again reflected. “Well,” she said at last, “you must + see him, Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “I—” began the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you. Some one must. It will be all right. On second thought, I + believe I should send you, even if I were quite ready to go myself. This + affair has been carried on so far on the American plan, and I think I + shall let you finish it without my interference. Yes, as your uncle said + when I told him, you're all Americans together; and you <i>are</i>. Mr. + Staniford has come to see you, though he asks for me. That's perfectly + proper; but I can't see him, and I want you to excuse me to him.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you—what must I—” Lydia began again. + </p> + <p> + “No, Lydia,” interrupted her aunt. “I won't tell you a thing. I might have + advised you when you first came; but now, I—Well, I think I've lived + too long in Europe to be of use in such a case, and I won't have anything + to do with it. I won't tell you how to meet him, or what to say; but oh, + child,”—here the woman's love of loving triumphed in her breast,—“I + wish I was in your place! Go!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia slowly rose, breathless. + </p> + <p> + “Lydia!” cried her aunt. “Look at me!” Lydia turned her head. “Are you + going to be hard with him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what he's coming for,” said Lydia dishonestly. + </p> + <p> + “But if he's coming for what you hope?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't hope for anything.” + </p> + <p> + “But you did. Don't be severe. You're terrible when you're severe.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be just.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you mustn't, my dear. It won't do at all to be <i>just</i> with + men, poor fellows. Kiss me, Lydia!” She pulled her down, and kissed her. + When the girl had got as far as the door, “Lydia, Lydia!” she called after + her. Lydia turned. “Do you realize what dress you've got on?” Lydia looked + down at her robe; it was the blue flannel yachting-suit of the Aroostook, + which she had put on for convenience in taking care of her aunt. “Isn't it + too ridiculous?” Mrs. Erwin meant to praise the coincidence, not to blame + the dress. Lydia smiled faintly for answer, and the next moment she stood + at the parlor door. + </p> + <p> + Staniford, at her entrance, turned from looking out of the window and saw + her as in his dream, with her hand behind her, pushing the door to; but + the face with which she looked at him was not like the dead, sad face of + his dream. It was thrillingly alive, and all passions were blent in it,—love, + doubt, reproach, indignation; the tears stood in her eyes, but a fire + burnt through the tears. With his first headlong impulse to console, + explain, deplore, came a thought that struck him silent at sight of her. + He remembered, as he had not till then remembered, in all his wild longing + and fearing, that there had not yet been anything explicit between them; + that there was no engagement; and that he had upon the face of things, at + least, no right to offer her more than some formal expression of regret + for not having been able to keep his promise to come sooner. While this + stupefying thought gradually filled his whole sense to the exclusion of + all else, he stood looking at her with a dumb and helpless appeal, utterly + stunned and wretched. He felt the life die out of his face and leave it + blank, and when at last she spoke, he knew that it was in pity of him, or + contempt of him. “Mrs. Erwin is not well,” she said, “and she wished me—” + </p> + <p> + But he broke in upon her: “Oh, don't talk to me of Mrs. Erwin! It was you + I wanted to see. Are <i>you</i> well? Are you alive? Do you—” He + stopped as precipitately as he began; and after another hopeless pause, he + went on piteously: “I don't know where to begin. I ought to have been here + five days ago. I don't know what you think of me, or whether you have + thought of me at all; and before I can ask I must tell you why I wanted to + come then, and why I come now, and why I think I must have come back from + the dead to see you. You are all the world to me, and have been ever since + I saw you. It seems a ridiculously unnecessary thing to say, I have been + looking and acting and living it so long; but I say it, because I choose + to have you know it, whether you ever cared for me or not. I thought I was + coming here to explain why I had not come sooner, but I needn't do that + unless—unless—” He looked at her where she still stood aloof, + and he added: “Oh, answer me something, for pity's sake! Don't send me + away without a word. There have been times when you wouldn't have done + that!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I <i>did</i> care for you!” she broke out. “You know I did—” + </p> + <p> + He was instantly across the room, beside her. “Yes, yes, I know it!” But + she shrank away. + </p> + <p> + “You tried to make me believe you cared for me, by everything you could + do. And I did believe you then; and yes, I believed you afterwards, when I + didn't know what to believe. You were the one true thing in the world to + me. But it seems that you didn't believe it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “That I didn't believe it myself? That I—I don't know what you + mean.” + </p> + <p> + “You took a week to think it over! I have had a week, too, and I have + thought it over, too. You have come too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Too late? You don't, you can't, mean—Listen to me, Lydia; I want to + tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “No, there is nothing you can tell me that would change me. I know it, I + understand it all.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't understand what kept me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't wish to know what made you break your word. I don't care to know. + I couldn't go back and feel as I did to you. Oh, that's gone! It isn't + that you did not come—that you made me wait and suffer; but you knew + how it would be with me after I got here, and all the things I should find + out, and how I should feel! And you stayed away! I don't know whether I + can forgive you, even; oh, I'm afraid I don't; but I can never care for + you again. Nothing but a case of life and death—” + </p> + <p> + “It was a case of life and death!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia stopped in her reproaches, and looked at him with wistful doubt, + changing to a tender fear. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you been hurt? Have you been sick?” she pleaded, in a breaking + voice, and made some unconscious movement toward him. He put out his hand, + and would have caught one of hers, but she clasped them in each other. + </p> + <p> + “No, not I,—Dunham—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Lydia, as if this were not at all enough. + </p> + <p> + “He fell and struck his head, the night you left. I thought he would die.” + Staniford reported his own diagnosis, not the doctor's; but he was perhaps + in the right to do this. “I had made him go down to the wharf with me; I + wanted to see you again, before you started, and I thought we might find + you on the boat.” He could see her face relenting; her hands released each + other. “He was delirious till yesterday. I couldn't leave him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why didn't you write to me?” She ignored Dunham as completely as if + he had never lived. “You knew that I—” Her voice died away, and her + breast rose. + </p> + <p> + “I did write—” + </p> + <p> + “But how,—I never got it.” + </p> + <p> + “No,—it was not posted, through a cruel blunder. And then I thought—I + got to thinking that you didn't care—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the girl. “Could you doubt me?” + </p> + <p> + “You doubted me,” said Staniford, seizing his advantage. “I brought the + letter with me to prove <i>my</i> truth.” She did not look at him, but she + took the letter, and ran it greedily into her pocket. “It's well I did so, + since you don't believe my word.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,—yes, I know it,” she said; “I never doubted it!” Staniford + stood bemazed, though he knew enough to take the hands she yielded him; + but she suddenly caught them away again, and set them against his breast. + “I was very wrong to suspect you ever; I'm sorry I did; but there's + something else. I don't know how to say what I want to say. But it must be + said.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it something disagreeable?” asked Staniford, lightly. + </p> + <p> + “It's right,” answered Lydia, unsmilingly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, don't say it!” he pleaded; “or don't say it now,—not till + you've forgiven me for the anxiety I've caused you; not till you've + praised me for trying to do what I thought the right thing. You can't + imagine how hard it was for one who hasn't the habit!” + </p> + <p> + “I do praise you for it. There's nothing to forgive <i>you</i>; but I + can't let you care for me unless I know—unless”—She stopped, + and then, “Mr. Staniford,” she began firmly, “since I came here, I've been + learning things that I didn't know before. They have changed the whole + world to me, and it can never be the same again.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry for that; but if they haven't changed you, the world may go.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not if we're to live in it,” answered the girl, with the soberer + wisdom women keep at such times. “It will have to be known how we met. + What will people say? They will laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think they will in my presence,” said Staniford, with swelling + nostrils. “They may use their pleasure elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “And I shouldn't care for their laughing, either,” said Lydia. “But oh, + why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Why did I come?” + </p> + <p> + “Was it because you felt bound by anything that's happened, and you + wouldn't let me bear the laugh alone? I'm not afraid for myself. I shall + never blame you. You can go perfectly free.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want to go free!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked at him with piercing earnestness. “Do you think I'm proud?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think you are,” said Staniford, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't for myself that I should be proud with other people. But I would + rather die than bring ridicule upon one I—upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “I can believe that,” said Staniford, devoutly, and patiently reverencing + the delay of her scruples. + </p> + <p> + “And if—and—” Her lips trembled, but she steadied her + trembling voice. “If they laughed at you, and thought of me in a slighting + way because—” Staniford gave a sort of roar of grief and pain to + know how her heart must have been wrung before she could come to this. + “You were all so good that you didn't let me think there was anything + strange about it—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good heavens! We only did what it was our precious and sacred + privilege to do! We were all of one mind about it from the first. But + don't torture yourself about it, my darling. It's over now; it's past—no, + it's present, and it will always be, forever, the dearest and best thing + in life Lydia, do you believe that I love you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I must!” + </p> + <p> + “And don't you believe that I'm telling you the truth when I say that I + wouldn't, for all the world can give or take, change anything that's + been?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do believe you. Oh, I haven't said at all what I wanted to say! + There was a great deal that I ought to say. I can't seem to recollect it.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled to see her grieving at this recreance of her memory to her + conscience. “Well, you shall have a whole lifetime to recall it in.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I must try to speak now. And you must tell me the truth now,—no + matter what it costs either of us.” She laid her hands upon his extended + arms, and grasped them intensely. “There's something else. I want to ask + you what <i>you</i> thought when you found me alone on that ship with all + of you.” If she had stopped at this point, Staniford's cause might have + been lost, but she went on: “I want to know whether you were ever ashamed + of me, or despised me for it; whether you ever felt that because I was + helpless and friendless there, you had the right to think less of me than + if you had first met me here in this house.” + </p> + <p> + It was still a terrible question, but it offered a loop-hole of escape, + which Staniford was swift to seize. Let those who will justify the answer + with which he smiled into her solemn eyes: “I will leave you to say.” A + generous uncandor like this goes as far with a magnanimous and + serious-hearted woman as perhaps anything else. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knew it, I knew it!” cried Lydia. And then, as he caught her to him + at last, “Oh—oh—are you <i>sure</i> it's right?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt of it,” answered Staniford. Nor had he any question of + the strategy through which he had triumphed in this crucial test. He may + have thought that there were always explanations that had to be made + afterwards, or he may have believed that he had expiated in what he had + done and suffered for her any slight which he had felt; possibly, he + considered that she had asked more than she had a right to do. It is + certain that he said with every appearance of sincerity, “It began the + moment I saw you on the wharf, there, and when I came to know my mind I + kept it from you only till I could tell you here. But now I wish I hadn't! + Life is too short for such a week as this.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia, “you acted for the best, and you are—good.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll keep that praise till I've earned it,” answered Staniford. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII. + </h2> + <p> + In the Campo Santi Apostoli at Venice there stands, a little apart from + the church of that name, a chapel which has been for many years the place + of worship for the Lutheran congregation. It was in this church that + Staniford and Lydia were married six weeks later, before the altar under + Titian's beautiful picture of Christ breaking bread. + </p> + <p> + The wedding was private, but it was not quite a family affair. Miss + Hibbard had come down with her mother from Dresden, to complete Dunham's + cure, and she was there with him perfectly recovered; he was not quite + content, of course, that the marriage should not take place in the English + chapel, but he was largely consoled by the candles burning on the altar. + The Aroostook had been delayed by repairs which were found necessary at + Trieste, and Captain Jenness was able to come over and represent the ship + at the wedding ceremony, and at the lunch which followed. He reserved till + the moment of parting a supreme expression of good-will. When he had got a + hand of Lydia's and one of Staniford's in each of his, with his wrists + crossed, he said, “Now, I ain't one to tack round, and stand off and on a + great deal, but what I want to say is just this: the Aroostook sails next + week, and if you two are a mind to go back in her, the ship's yours, as I + said to Miss Blood, here,—I mean Mis' Staniford; well, I <i>hain't</i> + had much time to get used to it!—when she first come aboard there at + Boston. I don't mean any pay; I want you to go back as my guests. You can + use the cabin for your parlor; and I promise you I won't take any other + passengers <i>this</i> time. I declare,” said Captain Jenness, lowering + his voice, and now referring to Hicks for the first time since the day of + his escapade, “I did feel dreadful about that fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind,” replied Staniford. “If it hadn't been for Hicks perhaps + I mightn't have been here.” He exchanged glances with his wife, that + showed they had talked all that matter over. + </p> + <p> + The captain grew confidential. “Mr. Mason told me he saw you lending that + chap money. I hope he didn't give you the slip?” + </p> + <p> + “No; it came to me here at Blumenthals' the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's right! It all worked together for good, as you say. Now you + come!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, my dear?” asked Staniford, on whom the poetic fitness of + the captain's proposal had wrought. + </p> + <p> + Women are never blinded by romance, however much they like it in the + abstract. “It's coming winter. Do you think you wouldn't be seasick?” + returned the bride of an hour, with the practical wisdom of a matron. + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “She's right, captain. I'm no sailor. I'll get home by + the all-rail route as far as I can.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness threw back his head, and laughed too. “Good! That's about + it.” And he released their hands, so as to place one hairy paw on a + shoulder of each. “You'll get along together, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “But we're just as much obliged to you as if we went, Captain Jenness. And + tell all the crew that I'm homesick for the Aroostook, and thank all for + being so kind to me; and I thank <i>you</i>, Captain Jenness!” Lydia + looked at her husband, and then startled the captain with a kiss. + </p> + <p> + He blushed all over, but carried it off as boldly as he could. “Well, + well,” he said, “that's right! If you change your minds before the + Aroostook sails, you let me know.” + </p> + <p> + This affair made a great deal of talk in Venice, where the common stock of + leisure is so great that each person may without self-reproach devote a + much larger share of attention to the interests of the others than could + be given elsewhere. The decorous fictions in which Mrs. Erwin draped the + singular facts of the acquaintance and courtship of Lydia and Staniford + were what unfailingly astonished and amused him, and he abetted them + without scruple. He found her worldliness as innocent as the unworldliness + of Lydia, and he gave Mrs. Erwin his hearty sympathy when she ingenuously + owned that the effort to throw dust in the eyes of her European + acquaintance was simply killing her. He found endless refreshment in the + contemplation of her attitude towards her burdensome little world, and in + her reasons for enslaving herself to it. He was very good friends with + both of the Erwins. When he could spare the time from Lydia, he went about + with her uncle in his boat, and respected his skill in rowing it without + falling overboard. He could not see why any one should be so much + interested in the American character and dialect as Mr. Erwin was; but he + did not object, and he reflected that after all they were not what their + admirer supposed them. + </p> + <p> + The Erwins came with the Stanifords as far as Paris on their way home, and + afterwards joined them in California, where Staniford bought a ranch, and + found occupation if not profit in its management. Once cut loose from her + European ties, Mrs. Erwin experienced an incomparable repose and comfort + in the life of San Francisco; it was, she declared, the life for which she + had really been adapted, after all; and in the climate of Santa Barbara + she found all that she had left in Italy. In that land of strange and + surprising forms of every sort, her husband has been very happy in the + realization of an America surpassing even his wildest dreams, and he has + richly stored his note-book with philological curiosities. He hears around + him the vigorous and imaginative locutions of the Pike language, in which, + like the late Canon Kingsley, he finds a Scandinavian hugeness; and + pending the publication of his Hand-Book of Americanisms, he is in + confident search of the miner who uses his pronouns cockney-wise. Like + other English observers, friendly and unfriendly, he does not permit the + facts to interfere with his preconceptions. + </p> + <p> + Staniford's choice long remained a mystery to his acquaintances, and was + but partially explained by Mrs. Dunham, when she came home. “Why, I + suppose he fell in love with her,” she said. “Of course, thrown together + that way, as they were, for six weeks, it might have happened to anybody; + but James Staniford was always the most consummate flirt that breathed; + and he never could see a woman, without coming up, in that metaphysical + way of his, and trying to interest her in him. He was always laughing at + women, but there never was a man who cared more for them. From all that I + could learn from Charles, he began by making fun of her, and all at once + he became perfectly infatuated with her. I don't see why. I never could + get Charles to tell me anything remarkable that she said or did. She was + simply a country girl, with country ideas, and no sort of cultivation. + Why, there was <i>nothing</i> to her. He's done the wisest thing he could + by taking her out to California. She never would have gone down, here. I + suppose James Staniford knew that as well as any of us; and if he finds it + worth while to bury himself with her there, we've no reason to complain. + She did <i>sing</i>, wonderfully; that is, her voice was perfectly divine. + But of course that's all over, now. She didn't seem to care much for it; + and she really knew so little of life that I don't believe she could form + the idea of an artistic career, or feel that it was any sacrifice to give + it up. James Staniford was not worth any such sacrifice; but she couldn't + know that either. She was good, I suppose. She was very stiff, and she + hadn't a word to say for herself. I think she was cold. To be sure, she + was a beauty; I really never saw anything like it,—that pale + complexion some brunettes have, with her hair growing low, and such eyes + and lashes!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the beauty had something to do with his falling in love with + her,” suggested a listener. The ladies present tried to look as if this + ought not to be sufficient. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very likely,” said Mrs. Dunham. She added, with an air of being the + wreck of her former self, “But we all know what becomes of <i>beauty</i> + after marriage.” + </p> + <p> + The mind of Lydia's friends had been expressed in regard to her marriage, + when the Stanifords, upon their arrival home from Europe, paid a visit to + South Bradfield. It was in the depths of the winter following their union, + and the hill country, stern and wild even in midsummer, wore an aspect of + savage desolation. It was sheeted in heavy snow, through which here and + there in the pastures, a craggy bowlder lifted its face and frowned, and + along the woods the stunted pines and hemlocks blackened against a + background of leafless oaks and birches. A northwest wind cut shrill + across the white wastes, and from the crests of the billowed drifts drove + a scud of stinging particles in their faces, while the sun, as high as + that of Italy, coldly blazed from a cloudless blue sky. Ezra Perkins, + perched on the seat before them, stiff and silent as if he were frozen + there, drove them from Bradfield Junction to South Bradfield in the long + wagon-body set on bob-sleds, with which he replaced his Concord coach in + winter. At the station he had sparingly greeted Lydia, as if she were just + back from Greenfield, and in the interest of personal independence had + ignored a faint motion of hers to shake hands; at her grandfather's gate, + he set his passengers down without a word, and drove away, leaving + Staniford to get in his trunk as he might. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I declare,” said Miss Maria, who had taken one end of the trunk in + spite of him, and was leading the way up through the path cleanly blocked + out of the snow, “that Ezra Perkins is enough to make you wish he'd <i>stayed</i> + in Dakoty!” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed, as he had laughed at everything on the way from the + station, and had probably thus wounded Ezra Perkins's susceptibilities. + The village houses, separated so widely by the one long street, each with + its path neatly tunneled from the roadway to the gate; the meeting-house, + so much vaster than the present needs of worship, and looking blue-cold + with its never-renewed single coat of white paint; the graveyard set in + the midst of the village, and showing, after Ezra Perkins's disappearance, + as many signs of life as any other locality, realized in the most + satisfactory degree his theories of what winter must be in such a place as + South Bradfield. The burning smell of the sheet-iron stove in the parlor, + with its battlemented top of filigree iron work; the grimness of the + horsehair-covered best furniture; the care with which the old-fashioned + fire-places had been walled up, and all accessible character of the period + to which the house belonged had been effaced, gave him an equal pleasure. + He went about with his arm round Lydia's waist, examining these things, + and yielding to the joy they caused him, when they were alone. “Oh, my + darling,” he said, in one of these accesses of delight, “when I think that + it's my privilege to take you away from all this, I begin to feel not so + very unworthy, after all.” + </p> + <p> + But he was very polite, as Miss Maria owned, when Mr. and Mrs. Goodlow + came in during the evening, with two or three unmarried ladies of the + village, and he kept them from falling into the frozen silence which + habitually expresses social enjoyment in South Bradfield when strangers + are present. He talked about the prospects of Italian advancement to an + equal state of intellectual and moral perfection with rural New England, + while Mr. Goodlow listened, rocking himself back and forth in the + hair-cloth arm-chair. Deacon Latham, passing his hand continually along + the stove battlements, now and then let his fingers rest on the sheet-iron + till he burnt them, and then jerked them suddenly away, to put them, back + the next moment, in his absorbing interest. Miss Maria, amidst a murmur of + admiration from the ladies, passed sponge-cake and coffee: she confessed + afterwards that the evening had been so brilliant to her as to seem almost + wicked; and the other ladies, who owned to having lain awake all night on + her coffee, said that if they <i>had</i> enjoyed themselves they were + properly punished for it. + </p> + <p> + When they were gone, and Lydia and Staniford had said good-night, and Miss + Maria, coming in from the kitchen with a hand-lamp for her father, + approached the marble-topped centre-table to blow out the large lamp of + pea-green glass with red woollen wick, which had shed the full radiance of + a sun-burner upon the festival, she faltered at a manifest unreadiness in + the old man to go to bed, though the fire was low, and they had both + resumed the drooping carriage of people in going about cold houses. He + looked excited, and, so far as his unpracticed visage could intimate the + emotion, joyous. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there, Maria!” he said. “You can't say but what he's a master-hand + to converse, any way. I'd know as I ever see Mr. Goodlow more struck up + with any one. He looked as if every word done him good; I presume it put + him in mind of meetin's with brother ministers: I don't suppose but what + he misses it some, here. You can't say but what he's a fine appearin' + young man. I d'know as I see anything wrong in his kind of dressin' up to + the nines, as you may say. As long's he's got the money, I don't see what + harm it is. It's all worked for good, Lyddy's going out that way; though + it did seem a mysterious providence at the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” began Miss Maria. She paused, as if she had been hurried too far + by her feelings, and ought to give them a check before proceeding. “Well, + I don't presume you'd notice it, but she's got a spot on her silk, so't a + whole breadth's got to come out, and be let in again bottom side up. I + guess there's a pair of 'em, for carelessness.” She waited a moment before + continuing: “I d'know as I like to see a husband puttin' his arm round his + wife, even when he don't suppose any one's lookin'; but I d'know but what + it's natural, too. But it's one comfort to see't she ain't the least mite + silly about <i>him</i>. He's dreadful freckled.” Miss Maria again paused + thoughtfully, while her father burnt his fingers on the stove for the last + time, and took them definitively away. “I don't say but what he talked + well enough, as far forth as talkin' <i>goes</i>; Mr. Goodlow said at the + door't he didn't know's he ever passed <i>many</i> such evenin's since + he'd been in South Bradfield, and I d'know as <i>I</i> have. I presume he + has his faults; we ain't any of us perfect; but he <i>does</i> seem + terribly wrapped up in Lyddy. I don't say but what he'll make her a good + husband, if she must <i>have</i> one. I don't suppose but what people + might think, as you may say, 't she'd made out pretty well; and if Lyddy's + suited, I d'know as anybody else has got any call to be over particular.” + </p> + <h3> + THE END. + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Lady of the Aroostook, by William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 7797-h.htm or 7797-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/7/9/7797/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, Earle Beach, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Lady of the Aroostook + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: March, 2005 [EBook #7797] +This file was first posted on May 17, 2003 +Last Updated: February 25, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, Earle Beach, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK + </h1> + <h3> + <b> By William Dean Howells </b> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXVII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK + </h1> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + In the best room of a farm-house on the skirts of a village in the hills + of Northern Massachusetts, there sat one morning in August three people + who were not strangers to the house, but who had apparently assembled in + the parlor as the place most in accord with an unaccustomed finery in + their dress. One was an elderly woman with a plain, honest face, as kindly + in expression as she could be perfectly sure she felt, and no more; she + rocked herself softly in the haircloth arm-chair, and addressed as father + the old man who sat at one end of the table between the windows, and + drubbed noiselessly upon it with his stubbed fingers, while his lips, + puckered to a whistle, emitted no sound. His face had that distinctly + fresh-shaven effect which once a week is the advantage of shaving no + oftener: here and there, in the deeper wrinkles, a frosty stubble had + escaped the razor. He wore an old-fashioned, low black satin stock, over + the top of which the linen of his unstarched collar contrived with + difficulty to make itself seen; his high-crowned, lead-colored straw hat + lay on the table before him. At the other end of the table sat a young + girl, who leaned upon it with one arm, propping her averted face on her + hand. The window was open beside her, and she was staring out upon the + door-yard, where the hens were burrowing for coolness in the soft earth + under the lilac bushes; from time to time she put her handkerchief to her + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like this part of it, father,” said the elderly woman,—“Lyddy's + seeming to feel about it the way she does right at the last moment, as you + may say.” The old man made a noise in his throat as if he might speak; but + he only unpuckered his mouth, and stayed his fingers, while the other + continued: “I don't want her to go now, no more than ever I did. I ain't + one to think that eatin' up everything on your plate keeps it from + wastin', and I never was; and I say that even if you couldn't get the + money back, it would cost no more to have her stay than to have her go.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose,” said the old man, in a high, husky treble, “but what I + could get some of it back from the captain; may be all. He didn't seem any + ways graspin'. I don't want Lyddy should feel, any more than you do, + Maria, that we're glad to have her go. But what I look at is this: as long + as she has this idea—Well, it's like this—I d'know as I can + express it, either.” He relapsed into the comfort people find in giving up + a difficult thing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know!” returned the woman. “I understand it's an opportunity; you + might call it a leadin', almost, that it would be flyin' in the face of + Providence to refuse. I presume her gifts were given her for improvement, + and it would be the same as buryin' them in the ground for her to stay up + here. But I do say that I want Lyddy should feel just <i>so</i> about + goin', or not go at all. It ain't like goin' among strangers, though, if + it <i>is</i> in a strange land. They're her father's own kin, and if + they're any ways like him they're warm-<i>hearted</i> enough, if that's + all you want. I guess they'll do what's right by Lyddy when she gets + there. And I try to look at it this way: that long before that maple by + the gate is red she'll be with her father's own sister; and I for one + don't mean to let it worry me.” She made search for her handkerchief, and + wiped away the tears that fell down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” returned the old man; “and before the leaves are on the ground we + shall more'n have got our first letter from her. I declare for't,” he + added, after a tremulous pause, “I was goin' to say how Lyddy would enjoy + readin' it to us! I don't seem to get it rightly into my head that she's + goin' away.” + </p> + <p> + “It ain't as if Lyddy was leavin' any life behind her that's over and + above pleasant,” resumed the woman. “She's a good girl, and I never want + to see a more uncomplainin'; but I know it's duller and duller here all + the while for her, with us two old folks, and no young company; and I + d'know as it's been any better the two winters she's taught in the Mill + Village. That's what reconciles me, on Lyddy's account, as much as + anything. I ain't one to set much store on worldly ambition, and I never + was; and I d'know as I care for Lyddy's advancement, as you may call it. I + believe that as far forth as true happiness goes she'd be as well off here + as there. But I don't say but what she would be more satisfied in the end, + and as long as you can't have happiness, in this world, I say you'd better + have satisfaction. Is that Josiah Whitman's hearse goin' past?” she asked, + rising from her chair, and craning forward to bring her eyes on a level + with the window, while she suspended the agitation of the palm-leaf fan + which she had not ceased to ply during her talk; she remained a moment + with the quiescent fan pressed against her bosom, and then she stepped out + of the door, and down the walk to the gate. “Josiah!” she called, while + the old man looked and listened at the window. “Who you be'n buryin'?” + </p> + <p> + The man halted his hearse, and answered briefly, “Mirandy Holcomb.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I thought the funeral wa'n't to be till tomorrow! Well, I declare,” + said the woman, as she reëntered the room and sat down again in her + rocking-chair, “I didn't ask him whether it was Mr. Goodlow or Mr. Baldwin + preached the sermon. I was so put out hearin' it was Mirandy, you might + say I forgot to ask him anything. Mirandy was always a well woman till + they moved down to the Mill Village and began takin' the hands to board,—so + many of 'em. When I think of Lyddy's teachin' there another winter,—well, + I could almost rejoice that she was goin' away. She ain't a mite too + strong as it is.” + </p> + <p> + Here the woman paused, and the old man struck in with his quaint treble + while she fanned herself in silence: “I do suppose the voyage is goin' to + be everything for her health. She'll be from a month to six weeks gettin' + to Try-East, and that'll be a complete change of air, Mr. Goodlow says. + And she won't have a care on her mind the whole way out. It'll be a season + of rest and quiet. I did wish, just for the joke of the thing, as you may + say, that the ship had be'n goin' straight to Venus, and Lyddy could 'a' + walked right in on 'em at breakfast, some morning. I should liked it to + be'n a surprise. But there wa'n't any ship at Boston loadin' for Venus, + and they didn't much believe I'd find one at New York. So I just took up + with the captain of the Aroostook's offer. He says she can telegraph to + her folks at Venus as soon as she gets to Try-East, and she's welcome to + stay on the ship till they come for her. I didn't think of their havin' + our mod'n improvements out there; but he says they have telegraphs and + railroads everywheres, the same as we do; and they're <i>real</i> kind and + polite when you get used to 'em. The captain, he's as nice a man as I ever + see. His wife's be'n two or three voyages with him in the Aroostook, and + he'll know just how to have Lyddy's comfort looked after. He showed me the + state-room she's goin' to have. Well, it ain't over and above large, but + it's pretty as a pink: all clean white paint, with a solid mahogany edge + to the berth, and a mahogany-framed lookin'-glass on one side, and little + winders at the top, and white lace curtains to the bed. He says he had it + fixed up for his wife, and he lets Lyddy have it all for her own. She can + set there and do her mendin' when she don't feel like comin' into the + cabin. The cabin—well, I wish you could see that cabin, Maria! The + first mate is a fine-appearing man, too. Some of the sailors looked pretty + rough; but I guess it was as much their clothes as anything; and I d'know + as Lyddy'd <i>have</i> a great deal to do with them, any way.” The old + man's treble ceased, and at the same moment the shrilling of a locust in + one of the door-yard maples died away; both voices, arid, nasal, and high, + lapsed as one into a common silence. + </p> + <p> + The woman stirred impatiently in her chair, as if both voices had been + repeating something heard many times before. They seemed to renew her + discontent. “Yes, I know; I know all that, father. But it ain't the + mahogany I think of. It's the child's gettin' there safe and well.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the old man, “I asked the captain about the seasickness, and + he says she ain't nigh so likely to be sick as she would on the steamer; + the motion's more regular, and she won't have the smell of the machinery. + That's what he said. And he said the seasickness would do her good, any + way. I'm sure I don't want her to be sick any more than you do, Maria.” He + added this like one who has been unjustly put upon his defense. + </p> + <p> + They now both remained silent, the woman rocking herself and fanning, and + the old man holding his fingers suspended from their drubbing upon the + table, and looking miserably from the woman in the rocking-chair to the + girl at the window, as if a strict inquiry into the present situation + might convict him of it in spite of his innocence. The girl still sat with + her face turned from them, and still from time to time she put her + handkerchief to her eyes and wiped away the tears. The locust in the maple + began again, and shrilled inexorably. Suddenly the girl leaped to her + feet. + </p> + <p> + “There's the stage!” she cried, with a tumult in her voice and manner, and + a kind of choking sob. She showed, now that she stood upright, the slim + and elegant shape which is the divine right of American girlhood, clothed + with the stylishness that instinctive taste may evoke, even in a hill + town, from study of paper patterns, Harper's Bazar, and the costume of + summer boarders. Her dress was carried with spirit and effect. + </p> + <p> + “Lydia Blood!” cried the other woman, springing responsively to her feet, + also, and starting toward the girl, “don't you go a step without you feel + just like it! Take off your things this minute and stay, if you wouldn't + jus' as lives go. It's hard enough to <i>have</i> you go, child, without + seemin' to force you!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, aunt Maria,” answered the girl, piteously, “it almost kills me to go; + but <i>I'm</i> doing it, not you. I know how you'd like to have me stay. + But don't say it again, or I couldn't bear up; and I'm going now, if I + have to be carried.” + </p> + <p> + The old man had risen with the others; he was shorter than either, and as + he looked at them he seemed half awed, half bewildered, by so much drama. + Yet it was comparatively very little. The girl did not offer to cast + herself upon her aunt's neck, and her aunt did not offer her an embrace, + it was only their hearts that clung together as they simply shook hands + and kissed each other. Lydia whirled away for her last look at herself in + the glass over the table, and her aunt tremulously began to put to rights + some slight disorder in the girl's hat. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” she said sharply, “are Lyddy's things all ready there by the + door, so's not to keep Ezra Perkins waitin'? You know he always grumbles + so. And then he <i>gets</i> you to the cars so't you have to wait half an + hour before they start.” She continued to pin and pull at details of + Lydia's dress, to which she descended from her hat. “It sets real nice on + you, Lyddy. I guess you'll think of the time we had gettin' it made up, + when you wear it out there.” Miss Maria Latham laughed nervously. + </p> + <p> + With a harsh banging and rattling, a yellow Concord coach drew up at the + gate where Miss Maria had stopped the hearse. The driver got down, and + without a word put Lydia's boxes and bags into the boot, and left two or + three light parcels for her to take into the coach with her. + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria went down to the gate with her father and niece. “Take the back + seat, father!” she said, as the old man offered to take the middle place. + “Let them that come later have what's left. You'll be home to-night, + father; I'll set up for you. Good-by again, Lyddy.” She did not kiss the + girl again, or touch her hand. Their decent and sparing adieux had been + made in the house. As Miss Maria returned to the door, the hens, cowering + conscience-stricken under the lilacs, sprang up at sight of her with a + screech of guilty alarm, and flew out over the fence. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I vow,” soliloquized Miss Maria, “from where she set Lyddy must + have seen them pests under the lilacs the whole time, and never said a + word.” She pushed the loosened soil into place with the side of her ample + slipper, and then went into the house, where she kindled a fire in the + kitchen stove, and made herself a cup of Japan tea: a variety of the herb + which our country people prefer, apparently because it affords the same + stimulus with none of the pleasure given by the Chinese leaf. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + Lydia and her grandfather reached Boston at four o'clock, and the old man + made a bargain, as he fancied, with an expressman to carry her baggage + across the city to the wharf at which the Aroostook lay. The expressman + civilly offered to take their small parcels without charge, and deliver + them with the trunk and large bag; but as he could not check them all her + grandfather judged it safest not to part with them, and he and Lydia + crowded into the horse-car with their arms and hands full. The conductor + obliged him to give up the largest of these burdens, and hung the + old-fashioned oil-cloth sack on the handle of the brake behind, where Mr. + Latham with keen anxiety, and Lydia with shame, watched it as it swayed + back and forth with the motion of the car and threatened to break loose + from its hand-straps and dash its bloated bulk to the ground. The old man + called out to the conductor to be sure and stop in Scollay's Square, and + the people, who had already stared uncomfortably at Lydia's bundles, all + smiled. Her grandfather was going to repeat his direction as the conductor + made no sign of having heard it, when his neighbor said kindly, “The car + always stops in Scollay's Square.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why couldn't he say so?” retorted the old man, in his high nasal + key; and now the people laughed outright. He had the nervous restlessness + of age when out of its wonted place: he could not remain quiet in the car, + for counting and securing his parcels; when they reached Scollay's Square, + and were to change cars, he ran to the car they were to take, though there + was abundant time, and sat down breathless from his effort. He was eager + then that they should not be carried too far, and was constantly turning + to look out of the window to ascertain their whereabouts. His vigilance + ended in their getting aboard the East Boston ferry-boat in the car, and + hardly getting ashore before the boat started. They now gathered up their + burdens once more, and walked toward the wharf they were seeking, past + those squalid streets which open upon the docks. At the corners they + entangled themselves in knots of truck-teams and hucksters' wagons and + horse-cars; once they brought the traffic of the neighborhood to a + stand-still by the thoroughness of their inability and confusion. They + wandered down the wrong wharf amidst the slime cast up by the fishing + craft moored in the dock below, and made their way over heaps of chains + and cordage, and through the hand-carts pushed hither and thither with + their loads of fish, and so struggled back to the avenue which ran along + the top of all the wharves. The water of the docks was of a livid + turbidity, which teemed with the gelatinous globes of the sun-fish; and + people were rowing about there in pleasure-boats, and sailors on floats + were painting the hulls of the black ships. The faces of the men they met + were red and sunburned mostly,—not with the sunburn of the fields, + but of the sea; these men lurched in their gait with an uncouth heaviness, + yet gave them way kindly enough; but certain dull-eyed, frowzy-headed + women seemed to push purposely against her grandfather, and one of them + swore at Lydia for taking up all the sidewalk with her bundles. There were + such dull eyes and slattern heads at the open windows of the shabby + houses; and there were gaunt, bold-faced young girls who strolled up and + down the pavements, bonnetless and hatless, and chatted into the windows, + and joked with other such girls whom they met. Suddenly a wild outcry rose + from the swarming children up one of the intersecting streets, where a + woman was beating a small boy over the head with a heavy stick: the boy + fell howling and writhing to the ground, and the cruel blows still rained + upon him, till another woman darted from an open door and caught the child + up with one hand, and with the other wrenched the stick away and flung it + into the street. No words passed, and there was nothing to show whose + child the victim was; the first woman walked off, and while the boy rubbed + his head and arms, and screamed with the pain, the other children, whose + sports had been scarcely interrupted, were shouting and laughing all about + him again. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” said Lydia faintly, “let us go down here, and rest a moment + in the shade. I'm almost worn out.” She pointed to the open and quiet + space at the side of the lofty granite warehouse which they had reached. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess I'll set down a minute, too,” said her grandfather. + “Lyddy,” he added, as they released their aching arms from their bags and + bundles, and sank upon the broad threshold of a door which seemed to have + been shut ever since the decay of the India trade, “I don't believe but + what it would have be'n about as cheap in the end to come down in a hack. + But I acted for what I thought was the best. I supposed we'd be'n there + before now, and the idea of givin' a dollar for ridin' about ten minutes + did seem sinful. I ain't noways afraid the ship will sail without you. + Don't you fret any. I don't seem to know rightly just where I am, but + after we've rested a spell I'll leave you here, and inquire round. It's a + real quiet place, and I guess your things will be safe.” + </p> + <p> + He took off his straw hat and fanned his face with it, while Lydia leaned + her head against the door frame and closed her eyes. Presently she heard + the trampling of feet going by, but she did not open her eyes till the + feet paused in a hesitating way, and a voice asked her grandfather, in the + firm, neat tone which she had heard summer boarders from Boston use, “Is + the young lady ill?” She now looked up, and blushed like fire to see two + handsome young men regarding her with frank compassion. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said her grandfather; “a little beat out, that's all. We've been + trying to find Lucas Wharf, and we don't seem somehow just to hit on it.” + </p> + <p> + “This is Lucas Wharf,” said the young man. He made an instinctive gesture + of salutation toward his hat, with the hand in which he held a cigar; he + put the cigar into his mouth as he turned from them, and the smoke drifted + fragrantly back to Lydia as he tramped steadily and strongly on down the + wharf, shoulder to shoulder with his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I declare for't, so it is,” said her grandfather, getting stiffly + to his feet and retiring a few paces to gain a view of the building at the + base of which they had been sitting. “Why, I might known it by this + buildin'! But where's the Aroostook, if this is Lucas Wharf?” He looked + wistfully in the direction the young men had taken, but they were already + too far to call after. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” said the girl, “do I look pale?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you don't now,” answered the old man, simply. “You've got a good + color now.” + </p> + <p> + “What right had he,” she demanded, “to speak to you about me?” + </p> + <p> + “I d'know but what you did look rather pale, as you set there with your + head leaned back. I d'know as I noticed much.” + </p> + <p> + “He took us for two beggars,—two tramps!” she exclaimed, “sitting + here with our bundles scattered round us!” + </p> + <p> + The old man did not respond to this conjecture; it probably involved + matters beyond his emotional reach, though he might have understood them + when he was younger. He stood a moment with his mouth puckered to a + whistle, but made no sound, and retired a step or two farther from the + building and looked up at it again. Then he went toward the dock and + looked down into its turbid waters, and returned again with a face of + hopeless perplexity. “This is Lucas Wharf, and no mistake,” he said. “I + know the place first-rate, now. But what I can't make out is, What's got + the Aroostook?” + </p> + <p> + A man turned the corner of the warehouse from the street above, and came + briskly down towards them, with his hat off, and rubbing his head and face + with a circular application of a red silk handkerchief. He was dressed in + a suit of blue flannel, very neat and shapely, and across his ample + waistcoat stretched a gold watch chain; in his left hand he carried a + white Panama hat. He was short and stout; his round florid face was full + of a sort of prompt kindness; his small blue eyes twinkled under shaggy + brows whose sandy color had not yet taken the grizzled tone of his + close-clipped hair and beard. From his clean wristbands his hands came + out, plump and large; stiff, wiry hairs stood up on their backs, and under + these various designs in tattooing showed their purple. + </p> + <p> + Lydia's grandfather stepped out to meet and halt this stranger, as he drew + near, glancing quickly from the girl to the old man, and then at their + bundles. “Can you tell me where a ship named the Aroostook is, that was + layin' at this wharf—Lucas Wharf—a fortnight ago, and better?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess I can, Mr. Latham,” answered the stranger, with a quizzical + smile, offering one of his stout hands to Lydia's grandfather. “You don't + seem to remember your friends very well, do you?” + </p> + <p> + The old man gave a kind of crow expressive of an otherwise unutterable + relief and comfort. “Well, if it ain't Captain Jenness! I be'n so turned + about, I declare for't, I don't believe I'd ever known you if you hadn't + spoke up. Lyddy,” he cried with a child-like joy, “this is Captain + Jenness!” + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness having put on his hat changed Mr. Latham's hand into his + left, while he stretched his great right hand across it and took Lydia's + long, slim fingers in its grasp, and looked keenly into her face. “Glad to + see you, glad to see you, Miss Blood. (You see I've got your name down on + my papers.) Hope you're well. Ever been a sea-voyage before? Little + homesick, eh?” he asked, as she put her handkerchief to her eyes. He kept + pressing Lydia's hand in the friendliest way. “Well, that's natural. And + you're excited; that's natural, too. But we're not going to have any + homesickness on the Aroostook, because we're going to make her home to + you.” At this speech all the girl's gathering forlornness broke in a sob. + “That's right!” said Captain Jenness. “Bless you, I've got a girl just + about your age up at Deer Isle, myself!” He dropped her hand, and put his + arm across her shoulders. “Good land, I know what girls are, I hope! These + your things?” He caught up the greater part of them into his capacious + hands, and started off down the wharf, talking back at Lydia and her + grandfather, as they followed him with the light parcels he had left them. + “I hauled away from the wharf as soon as I'd stowed my cargo, and I'm at + anchor out there in the stream now, waiting till I can finish up a few + matters of business with the agents and get my passengers on board. When + you get used to the strangeness,” he said to Lydia, “you won't be a bit + lonesome. Bless your heart! My wife's been with me many a voyage, and the + last time I was out to Messina I had both my daughters.” + </p> + <p> + At the end of the wharf, Captain Jenness stopped, and suddenly calling + out, “Here!” began, as she thought, to hurl Lydia's things into the water. + But when she reached the same point, she found they had all been caught, + and deposited in a neat pile in a boat which lay below, where two sailors + stood waiting the captain's further orders. He keenly measured the + distance to the boat with his eye, and then he bade the men work round + outside a schooner which lay near; and jumping on board this vessel, he + helped Lydia and her grandfather down, and easily transferred them to the + small boat. The men bent to their oars, and pulled swiftly out toward a + ship that lay at anchor a little way off. A light breeze crept along the + water, which was here blue and clear, and the grateful coolness and + pleasant motion brought light into the girl's cheeks and eyes. Without + knowing it she smiled. “That's right!” cried Captain Jenness, who had + applauded her sob in the same terms. “<i>You'll</i> like it, first-rate. + Look at that ship! <i>That's</i> the Aroostook. <i>Is</i> she a beauty, or + ain't she?” + </p> + <p> + The stately vessel stood high from the water, for Captain Jenness's cargo + was light, and he was going out chiefly for a return freight. Sharp jibs + and staysails cut their white outlines keenly against the afternoon blue + of the summer heaven; the topsails and courses dripped, half-furled, from + the yards stretching across the yellow masts that sprang so far aloft; the + hull glistened black with new paint. When Lydia mounted to the deck she + found it as clean scrubbed as her aunt's kitchen floor. Her glance of + admiration was not lost upon Captain Jenness. “Yes, Miss Blood,” said he, + “one difference between an American ship and any other sort is dirt. I + wish I could take you aboard an English vessel, so you could appreciate + the Aroostook. But I guess you don't need it,” he added, with a proud + satisfaction in his laugh. “The Aroostook ain't in order yet; wait till + we've been a few days at sea.” The captain swept the deck with a loving + eye. It was spacious and handsome, with a stretch of some forty or fifty + feet between the house at the stern and the forecastle, which rose + considerably higher; a low bulwark was surmounted by a heavy rail + supported upon turned posts painted white. Everything, in spite of the + captain's boastful detraction, was in perfect trim, at least to landfolk's + eyes. “Now come into the cabin,” said the captain. He gave Lydia's traps, + as he called them, in charge of a boy, while he led the way below, by a + narrow stairway, warning Lydia and her grandfather to look out for their + heads as they followed. “There!” he said, when they had safely arrived, + inviting their inspection of the place with a general glance of his own. + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you, Lyddy?” asked her grandfather, with simple joy in + the splendors about them. “Solid mahogany trimmin's everywhere.” There was + also a great deal of milk-white paint, with some modest touches of gilding + here and there. The cabin was pleasantly lit by the long low windows which + its roof rose just high enough to lift above the deck, and the fresh air + entered with the slanting sun. Made fast to the floor was a heavy table, + over which hung from the ceiling a swinging shelf. Around the little + saloon ran lockers cushioned with red plush. At either end were four or + five narrow doors, which gave into as many tiny state-rooms. The boy came + with Lydia's things, and set them inside one of these doors; and when he + came out again the captain pushed it open, and called them in. “Here!” + said he. “Here's where my girls made themselves at home the last voyage, + and I expect you'll find it pretty comfortable. They say you don't feel + the motion so much,—<i>I</i> don't know anything about the motion,—and + in smooth weather you can have that window open sometimes, and change the + air. It's light and it's large. Well, I had it fitted up for my wife; but + she's got kind of on now, you know, and she don't feel much like going any + more; and so I always give it to my nicest passenger.” This was an + unmistakable compliment, and Lydia blushed to the captain's entire + content. “That's a rug she hooked,” he continued, touching with his toe + the carpet, rich in its artless domestic dyes as some Persian fabric, that + lay before the berth. “These gimcracks belong to my girls; they left 'em.” + He pointed to various slight structures of card-board worked with crewel, + which were tacked to the walls. “Pretty snug, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia, “it's nicer than I thought it could be, even after what + grandfather said.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's right!” exclaimed the captain. “I like your way of speaking + up. I wish you could know my girls. How old are you now?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm nineteen,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you're just between my girls!” cried the captain. “Sally is + twenty-one, and Persis is eighteen. Well, now, Miss Blood,” he said, as + they returned to the cabin, “you can't begin to make yourself at home too + soon for me. I used to sail to Cadiz and Malaga a good deal; and when I + went to see any of them Spaniards he'd say, 'This house is yours.' Well, + that's what I say: This ship is yours as long as you stay in her. And I <i>mean</i> + it, and that's more than <i>they</i> did!” Captain Jenness laughed + mightily, took some of Lydia's fingers in his left hand and squeezed them, + and clapped her grandfather on the shoulder with his right. Then he + slipped his hand down the old man's bony arm to the elbow, and held it, + while he dropped his head towards Lydia, and said, “We shall be glad to + have him stay to supper, and as much longer as he likes, heh?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Lydia; “grandfather must go back on the six o'clock train. + My aunt expects him.” Her voice fell, and her face suddenly clouded. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” cried the captain. Then he pulled out his watch, and held it as + far away as the chain would stretch, frowning at it with his head aslant. + “Well!” he burst out. “He hasn't got any too much time on his hands.” The + old man gave a nervous start, and the girl trembled. “Hold on! Yes; + there's time. It's only fifteen minutes after five.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but we were more than half an hour getting down here,” said Lydia, + anxiously. “And grandfather doesn't know the way back. He'll be sure to + get lost. I <i>wish</i> we'd come in a carriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't 'a' kept the carriage waitin' on expense, Lyddy,” retorted her + grandfather, “But I tell you,” he added, with something like resolution, + “if I could find a carriage anywheres near that wharf, I'd take it, just + as <i>sure</i>! I wouldn't miss that train for more'n half a dollar. It + would cost more than that at a hotel to-night, let alone how your aunt + Maria'd feel.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, look here!” said Captain Jenness, naturally appealing to the girl. + “Let <i>me</i> get your grandfather back. I've got to go up town again, + any way, for some last things, with an express wagon, and we can ride + right to the depot in that. Which depot is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Fitchburg,” said the old man eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “That's right!” commented the captain. “Get you there in plenty of time, + if we don't lose any now. And I'll tell you what, my little girl,” he + added, turning to Lydia: “if it'll be a comfort to you to ride up with us, + and see your grandfather off, why come along! <i>My</i> girls went with me + the last time on an express wagon.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Lydia. “I want to. But it wouldn't be any comfort. I + thought that out before I left home, and I'm going to say good-by to + grandfather here.” + </p> + <p> + “First-rate!” said Captain Jenness, bustling towards the gangway so as to + leave them alone. A sharp cry from the old man arrested him. + </p> + <p> + “Lyddy! Where's your trunks?” + </p> + <p> + “Why!” said the girl, catching her breath in dismay, “where <i>can</i> + they be? I forgot all about them.” + </p> + <p> + “I got the checks fast enough,” said the old man, “and I shan't give 'em + up without I get the trunks. They'd ought to had 'em down here long ago; + and now if I've got to pester round after 'em I'm sure to miss the train.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall we do?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Let's see your checks,” said the captain, with an evident ease of mind + that reassured her. When her grandfather had brought them with difficulty + from the pocket visited last in the order of his search, and laid them in + the captain's waiting palm, the latter endeavored to get them in focus. + “What does it say on 'em?” he asked, handing them to Lydia. “My eyes never + <i>did</i> amount to anything on shore.” She read aloud the name of the + express stamped on them. The captain gathered them back into his hand, and + slipped them into his pocket, with a nod and wink full of comfort. “I'll + see to it,” he said. “At any rate, this ship ain't a-going to sail without + them, if she waits a week. Now, then, Mr. Latham!” + </p> + <p> + The old man, who waited, when not directly addressed or concerned, in a + sort of blank patience, suddenly started out of his daze, and following + the captain too alertly up the gangway stairs drove his hat against the + hatch—with a force that sent him back into Lydia's arms. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, grandfather, are you hurt?” she piteously asked, trying to pull up + the hat that was jammed down over his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit! But I guess my hat's about done for,—without I can get + it pressed over; and I d'know as this kind of straw <i>doos</i> press.” + </p> + <p> + “First-rate!” called the captain from above. “Never mind the hat.” But the + girl continued fondly trying to reshape it, while the old man fidgeted + anxiously, and protested that he would be sure to be left. It was like a + half-shut accordion when she took it from his head; when she put it back + it was like an accordion pulled out. + </p> + <p> + “All ready!” shouted Captain Jenness from the gap in the bulwark, where he + stood waiting to descend into the small boat. The old man ran towards him + in his senile haste, and stooped to get over the side into the boat below. + </p> + <p> + “Why, grandfather!” cried the girl in a breaking voice, full of keen, yet + tender reproach. + </p> + <p> + “I declare for't,” he said, scrambling back to the deck. “I 'most forgot. + I be'n so put about.” He took Lydia's hand loosely into his own, and bent + forward to kiss her. She threw her arms round him, and while he remained + looking over her shoulder, with a face of grotesque perplexity, and + saying, “Don't cry, Lyddy, don't cry!” she pressed her face tighter into + his withered neck, and tried to muffle her homesick sobs. The sympathies + as well as the sensibilities often seem dulled by age. They have both + perhaps been wrought upon too much in the course of the years, and can no + longer respond to the appeal or distress which they can only dimly + realize; even the heart grows old. “Don't you, don't you, Lyddy!” repeated + the old man. “You mustn't. The captain's waitin'; and the cars—well, + every minute I lose makes it riskier and riskier; and your aunt Maria, + she's always so uneasy, you know!” + </p> + <p> + The girl was not hurt by his anxiety about himself; she was more anxious + about him than about anything else. She quickly lifted her head, and + drying her eyes, kissed him, forcing her lips into the smile that is more + heart-breaking to see than weeping. She looked over the side, as her + grandfather was handed carefully down to a seat by the two sailors in the + boat, and the captain noted her resolute counterfeit of cheerfulness. + “That's right!” he shouted up to her. “Just like my girls when their + mother left 'em. But bless you, they soon got over it, and so'll you. Give + way, men,” he said, in a lower voice, and the boat shot from the ship's + side toward the wharf. He turned and waved his handkerchief to Lydia, and, + stimulated apparently by this, her grandfather felt in his pockets for his + handkerchief; he ended after a vain search by taking off his hat and + waving that. + </p> + <p> + When he put it on again, it relapsed into that likeness of a half-shut + accordion from which Lydia had rescued it; but she only saw the face under + it. + </p> + <p> + As the boat reached the wharf an express wagon drove down, and Lydia saw + the sarcastic parley which she could not hear between the captain and the + driver about the belated baggage which the latter put off. Then she saw + the captain help her grandfather to the seat between himself and the + driver, and the wagon rattled swiftly out of sight. One of the sailors + lifted Lydia's baggage over the side of the wharf to the other in the + boat, and they pulled off to the ship with it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + Lydia went back to the cabin, and presently the boy who had taken charge + of her lighter luggage came dragging her trunk and bag down the gangway + stairs. Neither was very large, and even a boy of fourteen who was small + for his age might easily manage them. + </p> + <p> + “You can stow away what's in 'em in the drawers,” said the boy. “I suppose + you didn't notice the drawers,” he added, at her look of inquiry. He went + into her room, and pushing aside the valance of the lower berth showed + four deep drawers below the bed; the charming snugness of the arrangement + brought a light of housewifely joy to the girl's face. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's as good as a bureau. They will hold everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” exulted the boy; “they're for two persons' things. The captain's + daughters, they both had this room. Pretty good sized too; a good deal the + captain's build. You won't find a better stateroom than this on a steamer. + I've been on 'em.” The boy climbed up on the edge of the upper drawer, and + pulled open the window at the top of the wall. “Give you a little air, I + guess. If you want I should, the captain said I was to bear a hand helping + you to stow away what was in your trunks.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia, quickly. “I'd just as soon do it alone.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said the boy. “If I was you, I'd do it now. I don't know just + when the captain means to sail; but after we get outside, it might be + rough, and it's better to have everything pretty snug by that time. I'll + haul away the trunks when you've got 'em empty. If I shouldn't happen to + be here, you can just call me at the top of the gangway, and I'll come. My + name's Thomas,” he said. He regarded Lydia inquiringly a moment before he + added: “If you'd just as lives, I rather you'd call me Thomas, and not <i>steward</i>. + They said you'd call me steward,” he explained, in a blushing, deprecating + confidence; “and as long as I've not got my growth, it kind of makes them + laugh, you know,—especially the second officer.” + </p> + <p> + “I will call you Thomas,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” The boy glanced up at the round clock screwed to the cabin + wall. “I guess you won't have to call me anything unless you hurry. I + shall be down here, laying the table for supper, before you're done. The + captain said I was to lay it for you and him, and if he didn't get back in + time you was to go to eating, any way. Guess you won't think Captain + Jenness is going to starve anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been many voyages with Captain Jenness before this?” asked + Lydia, as she set open her trunk, and began to lay her dresses out on the + locker. Homesickness, like all grief, attacks in paroxysms. One gust of + passionate regret had swept over the girl; before another came, she could + occupy herself almost cheerfully with the details of unpacking. + </p> + <p> + “Only one before,” said the boy. “The last one, when his daughters went + out. I guess it was their coaxing got mother to let me go. <i>My</i> + father was killed in the war.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he?” asked Lydia, sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I didn't know much about it at the time; so little. Both your + parents living?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia. “They're both dead. They died a long while ago. I've + always lived with my aunt and grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought there must be something the matter,—your coming with your + grandfather,” said the boy. “I don't see why you don't let me carry in + some of those dresses for you. I'm used to helping about.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you may,” answered Lydia, “if you want.” A native tranquil kindness + showed itself in her voice and manner, but something of the habitual + authority of a school-mistress mingled with it. “You must be careful not + to rumple them if I let you.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess not. I've got older sisters at home. They hated to have me leave. + But I looked at it this way: If I was ever going to sea—and I <i>was</i>—I + couldn't get such another captain as Captain Jenness, nor such another + crew; all the men from down our way; and I don't mind the second mate's + jokes much. He doesn't mean anything by them; likes to plague, that's all. + He's a first-rate sailor.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia was kneeling before one of the trunks, and the boy was stooping over + it, with a hand on either knee. She had drawn out her only black silk + dress, and was finding it rather crumpled. “I shouldn't have thought it + would have got so much jammed, coming fifty miles,” she soliloquized. “But + they seemed to take a pleasure in seeing how much they could bang the + trunks.” She rose to her feet and shook out the dress, and drew the skirt + several times over her left arm. + </p> + <p> + The boy's eyes glistened. “Goodness!” he said. “Just new, ain't it? Going + to wear it any on board?” + </p> + <p> + “Sundays, perhaps,” answered Lydia thoughtfully, still smoothing and + shaping the dress, which she regarded at arm's-length, from time to time, + with her head aslant. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it's the latest style?” pursued the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is,” said Lydia. “We sent to Boston for the pattern. I hate to + pack it into one of those drawers,” she mused. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't,” replied Thomas. “There's a whole row of hooks.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know!” cried Lydia. She followed Thomas into her state-room. + “Well, well! They do seem to have thought of everything!” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so,” exulted the boy. “Look here!” He showed her a little + niche near the head of the berth strongly framed with glass, in which a + lamp was made fast. “Light up, you know, when you want to read, or feel + kind of lonesome.” Lydia clasped her hands in pleasure and amaze. “Oh, I + tell you Captain Jenness meant to have things about right. The other + state-rooms don't begin to come up to this.” He dashed out in his zeal, + and opened their doors, that she might triumph in the superiority of her + accommodations without delay. These rooms were cramped together on one + side; Lydia's was in a comparatively ample corner by itself. + </p> + <p> + She went on unpacking her trunk, and the boy again took his place near + her, in the same attitude as before. “I tell you,” he said, “I shall like + to see you with that silk on. Have you got any other nice ones?” + </p> + <p> + “No; only this I'm wearing,” answered Lydia, half amused and half honest + in her sympathy with his ardor about her finery. “They said not to bring + many clothes; they would be cheaper over there.” She had now reached the + bottom of her trunk. She knew by the clock that her grandfather could + hardly have left the city on his journey home, but the interval of time + since she had parted with him seemed vast. It was as if she had started to + Boston in a former life; the history of the choosing and cutting and + making of these clothes was like a dream of preëxistence. She had never + had so many things new at once, and it had been a great outlay, but her + aunt Maria had made the money go as far as possible, and had spent it with + that native taste, that genius for dress, which sometimes strikes the + summer boarder in the sempstresses of the New England hills. Miss Latham's + gift was quaintly unrelated to herself. In dress, as in person and manner, + she was uncompromisingly plain and stiff. All the more lavishly, + therefore, had it been devoted to the grace and beauty of her sister's + child, who, ever since she came to find a home in her grandfather's house, + had been more stylishly dressed than any other girl in the village. The + summer boarders, whom the keen eye of Miss Latham studied with unerring + sense of the best new effects in costume, wondered at Lydia's elegance, as + she sat beside her aunt in the family pew, a triumph of that grim artist's + skill. Lydia knew that she was well dressed, but she knew that after all + she was only the expression of her aunt's inspirations. Her own gift was + of another sort. Her father was a music-teacher, whose failing health had + obliged him to give up his profession, and who had taken the traveling + agency of a parlor organ manufactory for the sake of the out-door life. + His business had brought him to South Bradfield, where he sold an organ to + Deacon Latham's church, and fell in love with his younger daughter. He + died a few years after his marriage, of an ancestral consumption, his sole + heritage from the good New England stock of which he came. His skill as a + pianist, which was considerable, had not descended to his daughter, but + her mother had bequeathed her a peculiarly rich and flexible voice, with a + joy in singing which was as yet a passion little affected by culture. It + was this voice which, when Lydia rose to join in the terrible hymning of + the congregation at South Bradfield, took the thoughts of people off her + style and beauty; and it was this which enchanted her father's sister + when, the summer before the date of which we write, that lady had come to + America on a brief visit, and heard Lydia sing at her parlor organ in the + old homestead. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin had lived many years abroad, chiefly in Italy, for the sake of + the climate. She was of delicate health, and constantly threatened by the + hereditary disease that had left her the last of her generation, and she + had the fastidiousness of an invalid. She was full of generous impulses + which she mistook for virtues; but the presence of some object at once + charming and worthy was necessary to rouse these impulses. She had been + prosperously married when very young, and as a pretty American widow she + had wedded in second marriage at Naples one of those Englishmen who have + money enough to live at ease in Latin countries; he was very fond of her, + and petted her. Having no children she might long before have thought + definitely of poor Henry's little girl, as she called Lydia, but she had + lived very comfortably indefinite in regard to her ever since the father's + death. Now and then she had sent the child a handsome present or a sum of + money. She had it on her conscience not to let her be wholly a burden to + her grandfather; but often her conscience drowsed. When she came to South + Bradfield, she won the hearts of the simple family, which had been rather + hardened against her, and she professed an enthusiasm for Lydia. She + called her pretty names in Italian, which she did not pronounce well; she + babbled a great deal about what ought to be done for her, and went away + without doing anything; so that when a letter finally came, directing + Lydia to be sent out to her in Venice, they were all surprised, in the + disappointment to which they had resigned themselves. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin wrote an epistolary style exasperatingly vacuous and diffuse, + and, like many women of that sort, she used pencil instead of ink, always + apologizing for it as due now to her weak eyes, and now to her weak wrist, + and again to her not being able to find the ink. Her hand was full of + foolish curves and dashes, and there were no spaces between the words at + times. Under these conditions it was no light labor to get at her meaning; + but the sum of her letter was that she wished Lydia to come out to her at + once, and she suggested that, as they could have few opportunities or none + to send her with people going to Europe, they had better let her come the + whole way by sea. Mrs. Erwin remembered—in the space of a page and a + half—that nothing had ever done <i>her</i> so much good as a long + sea voyage, and it would be excellent for Lydia, who, though she looked so + strong, probably needed all the bracing up she could get. She had made + inquiries,—or, what was the same thing, Mr. Erwin had, for her,—and + she found that vessels from American ports seldom came to Venice; but they + often came to Trieste, which was only a few hours away; and if Mr. Latham + would get Lydia a ship for Trieste at Boston, she could come very safely + and comfortably in a few weeks. She gave the name of a Boston house + engaged in the Mediterranean trade to which Mr. Latham could apply for + passage; if they were not sending any ship themselves, they could probably + recommend one to him. + </p> + <p> + This was what happened when Deacon Latham called at their office a few + days after Mrs. Erwin's letter came. They directed him to the firm + dispatching the Aroostook, and Captain Jenness was at their place when the + deacon appeared there. The captain took cordial possession of the old man + at once, and carried him down to the wharf to look at the ship and her + accommodations. The matter was quickly settled between them. At that time + Captain Jenness did not know but he might have other passengers out; at + any rate he would look after the little girl (as Deacon Latham always said + in speaking of Lydia) the same as if she were his own child. + </p> + <p> + Lydia knelt before her trunk, thinking of the remote events, the extinct + associations of a few minutes and hours and days ago; she held some cuffs + and collars in her hand, and something that her aunt Maria had said + recurred to her. She looked up into the intensely interested face of the + boy, and then laughed, bowing her forehead on the back of the hand that + held these bits of linen. + </p> + <p> + The boy blushed. “What are you laughing at?” he asked, half piteously, + half indignantly, like a boy used to being badgered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing,” said Lydia. “My aunt told me if any of these things should + happen to want doing up, I had better get the stewardess to help me.” She + looked at the boy in a dreadfully teasing way, softly biting her lip. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you're going to begin <i>that</i> way!” he cried in affliction. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not,” she answered, promptly. “I like boys. I've taught school two + winters, and I like boys first-rate.” + </p> + <p> + Thomas was impersonally interested again. “Time! <i>You</i> taught + school?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “You look pretty young for a school-teacher!” + </p> + <p> + “Now you're making fun of me,” said Lydia, astutely. + </p> + <p> + The boy thought he must have been, and was consoled. “Well, you began it,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “I oughtn't to have done so,” she replied with humility; “and I won't any + more. There!” she said, “I'm not going to open my bag now. You can take + away the trunk when you want, Thomas.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said the boy. The idea of a school-mistress was perhaps + beginning to awe him a little. “Put your bag in your state-room first.” He + did this, and when he came back from carrying away her trunk he began to + set the table. It was a pretty table, when set, and made the little cabin + much cosier. When the boy brought the dishes from the cook's galley, it + was a barbarously abundant table. There was cold boiled ham, ham and eggs, + fried fish, baked potatoes, buttered toast, tea, cake, pickles, and + watermelon; nothing was wanting. “I tell you,” said Thomas, noticing + Lydia's admiration, “the captain lives well lay-days.” + </p> + <p> + “Lay-days?” echoed Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “The days we're in port,” the boy explained. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should think as much!” She ate with the hunger that tranquillity + bestows upon youth after the swift succession of strange events, and the + conflict of many emotions. The captain had not returned in time, and she + ate alone. + </p> + <p> + After a while she ventured to the top of the gangway stairs, and stood + there, looking at the novel sights of the harbor, in the red sunset light, + which rose slowly from the hulls and lower spars of the shipping, and + kindled the tips of the high-shooting masts with a quickly fading + splendor. A delicate flush responded in the east, and rose to meet the + denser crimson of the west; a few clouds, incomparably light and + diaphanous, bathed themselves in the glow. It was a summer sunset, + portending for the land a morrow of great heat. But cool airs crept along + the water, and the ferry-boats, thrust shuttlewise back and forth between + either shore, made a refreshing sound as they crushed a broad course to + foam with their paddles. People were pulling about in small boats; from + some the gay cries and laughter of young girls struck sharply along the + tide. The noise of the quiescent city came off in a sort of dull moan. The + lamps began to twinkle in the windows and the streets on shore; the + lanterns of the ships at anchor in the stream showed redder and redder as + the twilight fell. The homesickness began to mount from Lydia's heart in a + choking lump to her throat; for one must be very happy to endure the + sights and sounds of the summer evening anywhere. She had to shield her + eyes from the brilliancy of the kerosene when she went below into the + cabin. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + Lydia did not know when the captain came on board. Once, talking in the + cabin made itself felt through her dreams, but the dense sleep of weary + youth closed over her again, and she did not fairly wake till morning. + Then she thought she heard the crowing of a cock and the cackle of hens, + and fancied herself in her room at home; the illusion passed with a pang. + The ship was moving, with a tug at her side, the violent respirations of + which were mingled with the sound of the swift rush of the vessels through + the water, the noise of feet on the deck, and of orders hoarsely shouted. + </p> + <p> + The girl came out into the cabin, where Thomas was already busy with the + breakfast table, and climbed to the deck. It was four o'clock of the + summer's morning; the sun had not yet reddened the east, but the stars + were extinct, or glimmered faint points immeasurably withdrawn in the vast + gray of the sky. At that hour there is a hovering dimness over all, but + the light on things near at hand is wonderfully keen and clear, and the + air has an intense yet delicate freshness that seems to breathe from the + remotest spaces of the universe,—a waft from distances beyond the + sun. On the land the leaves and grass are soaked with dew; the densely + interwoven songs of the birds are like a fabric that you might see and + touch. But here, save for the immediate noises on the ship, which had + already left her anchorage far behind, the shouting of the tug's + escape-pipes, and the huge, swirling gushes from her powerful wheel, a + sort of spectacular silence prevailed, and the sounds were like a part of + this silence. Here and there a small fishing schooner came lagging slowly + in, as if belated, with scarce wind enough to fill her sails; now and then + they met a steamboat, towering white and high, a many-latticed bulk, with + no one to be seen on board but the pilot at his wheel, and a few sleepy + passengers on the forward promenade. The city, so beautiful and stately + from the bay, was dropping, and sinking away behind. They passed green + islands, some of which were fortified: the black guns looked out over the + neatly shaven glacis; the sentinel paced the rampart. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” shouted Captain Jenness, catching sight of Lydia where she + lingered at the cabin door. “You are an early bird. Glad to see you up! + Hope you rested well! Saw your grandfather off all right, and kept him + from taking the wrong train with my own hand. He's terribly excitable. + Well, I suppose I shall be just so, at his age. Here!” The captain caught + up a stool and set it near the bulwark for her. “There! You make yourself + comfortable wherever you like. You're at home, you know.” He was off again + in a moment. Lydia cast her eye over at the tug. On the deck, near the + pilot-house, stood the young man who had stopped the afternoon before, + while she sat at the warehouse door, and asked her grandfather if she were + not ill. At his feet was a substantial valise, and over his arm hung a + shawl. He was smoking, and seated near him, on another valise, was his + companion of the day before, also smoking. In the instant that Lydia + caught sight of them, she perceived that they both recognized her and + exchanged, as it were, a start of surprise. But they remained as before, + except that he who was seated drew out a fresh cigarette, and without + looking up reached to the other for a light. They were both men of good + height, and they looked fresh and strong, with something very alert in + their slight movements,—sudden turns of the head and brisk nods, + which were not nervously quick. Lydia wondered at their presence there in + an ignorance which could not even conjecture. She knew too little to know + that they could not have any destination on the tug, and that they would + not be making a pleasure-excursion at that hour in the morning. Their + having their valises with them deepened the mystery, which was not solved + till the tug's engines fell silent, and at an unnoticed order a space in + the bulwark not far from Lydia was opened and steps were let down the side + of the ship. Then the young men, who had remained, to all appearance, + perfectly unconcerned, caught up their valises and climbed to the deck of + the Aroostook. They did not give her more than a glance out of the corners + of their eyes, but the surprise of their coming on board was so great a + shock that she did not observe that the tug, casting loose from the ship, + was describing a curt and foamy semicircle for her return to the city, and + that the Aroostook, with a cloud of snowy canvas filling overhead, was + moving over the level sea with the light ease of a bird that half swims, + half flies, along the water. A sudden dismay, which was somehow not fear + so much as an overpowering sense of isolation, fell upon the girl. She + caught at Thomas, going forward with some dishes in his hand, with a + pathetic appeal. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Thomas?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to the cook's galley to help dish up the breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the cook's galley?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know? The kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go with you. I should like to see the kitchen.” She trembled with + eagerness. Arrived at the door of the narrow passage that ran across the + deck aft of the forecastle, she looked in and saw, amid a haze of frying + and broiling, the short, stocky figure of a negro, bow-legged, and + unnaturally erect from the waist up. At sight of Lydia, he made a + respectful duck forward with his uncouth body. “Why, are you the cook?” + she almost screamed in response to this obeisance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss,” said the man, humbly, with a turn of the pleading black eyes + of the negro. + </p> + <p> + Lydia grew more peremptory: “Why—why—I thought the cook was a + woman!” + </p> + <p> + “Very sorry, miss,” began the negro, with a deprecatory smile, in a slow, + mild voice. + </p> + <p> + Thomas burst into a boy's yelling laugh: “Well, if that ain't the best + joke on Gabriel! He'll never hear the last of it when I tell it to the + second officer!” + </p> + <p> + “Thomas!” cried Lydia, terribly, “you shall <i>not</i>!” She stamped her + foot. “Do you hear me?” + </p> + <p> + The boy checked his laugh abruptly. “Yes, ma'am,” he said submissively. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then!” returned Lydia. She stalked proudly back to the cabin + gangway, and descending shut herself into her state-room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + A few hours later Deacon Latham came into the house with a milk-pan full + of pease. He set this down on one end of the kitchen table, with his straw + hat beside it, and then took a chair at the other end and fell into the + attitude of the day before, when he sat in the parlor with Lydia and Miss + Maria waiting for the stage; his mouth was puckered to a whistle, and his + fingers were held above the board in act to drub it. Miss Maria turned the + pease out on the table, and took the pan into her lap. She shelled at the + pease in silence, till the sound of their pelting, as they were dropped on + the tin, was lost in their multitude; then she said, with a sharp, + querulous, pathetic impatience, “Well, father, I suppose you're thinkin' + about Lyddy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Maria, I be,” returned her father, with uncommon plumpness, as if + here now were something he had made up his mind to stand to. “I been + thinkin' that Lyddy's a woman grown, as you may say.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” admitted Miss Maria, “she's a woman, as far forth as that goes. + What put it into your head?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I d'know as I know. But it's just like this: I got to thinkin' + whether she mightn't get to feelin' rather lonely on the voyage, without + any other woman to talk to.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said Miss Maria, tranquilly, “she's goin' to feel lonely enough + at times, any way, poor thing! But I told her if she wanted advice or help + about anything just to go to the stewardess. That Mrs. Bland that spent + the summer at the Parkers' last year was always tellin' how they went to + the stewardess for most everything, and she give her five dollars in gold + when they got into Boston. I shouldn't want Lyddy should give so much as + that, but I should want she should give something, as long's it's the + custom.” + </p> + <p> + “They don't have 'em on sailin' vessels, Captain Jenness said; they only + have 'em on steamers,” said Deacon Latham. + </p> + <p> + “Have what?” asked Miss Maria, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Stewardesses. They've got a cabin-boy.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria desisted a moment from her work; then she answered, with a + gruff shortness peculiar to her, “Well, then, she can go to the cook, I + suppose. It wouldn't matter which she went to, I presume.” + </p> + <p> + Deacon Latham looked up with the air of confessing to sin before the whole + congregation. “The cook's a man,—a black man,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria dropped a handful of pods into the pan, and sent a handful of + peas rattling across the table on to the floor. “Well, who in Time”—the + expression was strong, but she used it without hesitation, and was never + known to repent it “<i>will</i> she go to, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I declare for't,” said her father, “I don't know. I d'know as I ever + thought it out fairly before; but just now when I was pickin' the pease + for you, my mind got to dwellin' on Lyddy, and then it come to me all at + once: there she was, the only <i>one</i> among a whole shipful, and I—I + didn't know but what she might think it rather of a strange position for + her.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oh</i>!” exclaimed Miss Maria, petulantly. “I guess Lyddy'd know how + to conduct herself wherever she was; she's a born lady, if ever there was + one. But what I think is—” Miss Maria paused, and did not say what + she thought; but it was evidently not the social aspect of the matter + which was uppermost in her mind. In fact, she had never been at all afraid + of men, whom she regarded as a more inefficient and feebler-minded kind of + women. + </p> + <p> + “The only thing't makes me feel easier is what the captain said about the + young men,” said Deacon Latham. + </p> + <p> + “What young men?” asked Miss Maria. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I told you about 'em!” retorted the old man, with some exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “You told me about two young men that stopped on the wharf and pitied + Lyddy's worn-out looks.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you the rest? I declare for't, I don't believe I did; I + be'n so put about. Well, as we was drivin' up to the depot, we met the + same two young men, and the captain asked 'em, 'Are you goin' or not + a-goin'?'—just that way; and they said, 'We're goin'.' And he said, + 'When you comin' aboard?' and he told 'em he was goin' to haul out this + mornin' at three o'clock. And they asked what tug, and he told 'em, and + they fixed it up between 'em all then that they was to come aboard from + the tug, when she'd got the ship outside; and that's what I suppose they + did. The captain he said to me he hadn't mentioned it before, because he + wa'n't sure't they'd go till that minute. He give 'em a first-rate of a + character.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Maria said nothing for a long while. The subject seemed one with + which she did not feel herself able to grapple. She looked all about the + kitchen for inspiration, and even cast a searching glance into the + wood-shed. Suddenly she jumped from her chair, and ran to the open window: + “Mr. Goodlow! Mr. Goodlow! I wish you'd come in here a minute.” + </p> + <p> + She hurried to meet the minister at the front door, her father lagging + after her with the infantile walk of an old man. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Goodlow took off his straw hat as he mounted the stone step to the + threshold, and said good-morning; they did not shake hands. He wore a + black alpaca coat, and waistcoat of farmer's satin; his hat was dark + straw, like Deacon Latham's, but it was low-crowned, and a line of + ornamental openwork ran round it near the top. + </p> + <p> + “Come into the settin'-room,” said Miss Maria. “It's cooler, in there.” + She lost no time in laying the case before the minister. She ended by + saying, “Father, he don't feel just right about it, and I d'know as I'm + quite clear in my own mind.” + </p> + <p> + The minister considered a while in silence before he said, “I think + Lydia's influence upon those around her will be beneficial, whatever her + situation in life may be.” + </p> + <p> + “There, father!” cried Miss Maria, in reproachful relief. + </p> + <p> + “You're right, Maria, you're right!” assented the old man, and they both + waited for the minister to continue. + </p> + <p> + “I rejoiced with you,” he said, “when this opportunity for Lydia's + improvement offered, and I am not disposed to feel anxious as to the ways + and means. Lydia is no fool. I have observed in her a dignity, a sort of + authority, very remarkable in one of her years.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess the boys at the school down to the Mill Village found out she had + authority enough,” said Miss Maria, promptly materializing the idea. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Mr. Goodlow. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I told father, in the first place,” said Miss Maria. “I guess + Lyddy'd know how to conduct herself wherever she was,—just the words + I used.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't deny it, Maria, I don't deny it,” shrilly piped the old man. “I + ain't afraid of any harm comin' to Lyddy any more'n what you be. But what + I said was, Wouldn't she feel kind of strange, sort of lost, as you may + say, among so many, and she the only <i>one</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “She will know how to adapt herself to circumstances,” said Mr. Goodlow. + “I was conversing last summer with that Mrs. Bland who boarded at Mr. + Parker's, and she told me that girls in Europe are brought up with no + habits of self-reliance whatever, and that young ladies are never seen on + the streets alone in France and Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think,” asked Miss Maria, hesitating to accept this ridiculous + statement, “that Mrs. Bland exaggerated some?” + </p> + <p> + “She <i>talked</i> a great deal,” admitted Mr. Goodlow. “I should be sorry + if Lydia ever lost anything of that native confidence of hers in her own + judgment, and her ability to take care of herself under any circumstances, + and I do not think she will. She never seemed conceited to me, but she <i>was</i> + the most self-reliant girl I ever saw.” + </p> + <p> + “You've hit it there, Mr. Goodlow. Such a spirit as she always had!” + sighed Miss Maria. “It was just so from the first. It used to go to my + heart to see that little thing lookin' after herself, every way, and not + askin' anybody's help, but just as quiet and proud about it! She's her + mother, all over. And yest'day, when she set here waitin' for the stage, + and it did seem as if I should have to give up, hearin' her sob, sob, sob,—why, + Mr. Goodlow, she hadn't any more idea of backin' out than—than—” + Miss Maria relinquished the search for a comparison, and went into another + room for a handkerchief. “I don't believe she cared over and above about + goin', from the start,” said Miss Maria, returning, “but when once she'd + made up her mind to it, there she was. I d'know as she <i>took</i> much of + a fancy to her aunt, but you couldn't told from anything that Lyddy said. + Now, if I have anything on my mind, I have to blat it right out, as you + may say; I can't seem to bear it a minute; but Lyddy's different. Well,” + concluded Miss Maria, “I guess there ain't goin' to any harm come to her. + But it did give me a kind of start, first off, when father up and got to + feelin' sort of bad about it. I d'know as I should thought much about it, + if he hadn't seemed to. I d'know as I should ever thought about anything + except her not havin' any one to advise with about her clothes. It's the + only thing she ain't handy with: she won't know what to wear. I'm afraid + she'll spoil her silk. I d'know but what father's <i>been</i> hasty in not + lookin' into things carefuller first. He most always does repent + afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't repent beforehand!” retorted Deacon Latham. “And I tell you, + Maria, I never saw a much finer man than Captain Jenness; and the cabin's + everything I said it was, and more. Lyddy reg'larly went off over it; 'n' + I guess, as Mr. Goodlow says, she'll influence 'em for good. Don't you + fret about her clothes any. You fitted her out in apple-pie order, and + she'll soon be there. 'T ain't but a little ways to Try-East, any way, to + what it is some of them India voyages, Captain Jenness said. He had his + own daughters out the last voyage; 'n' I guess he can tell Lyddy when it's + weather to wear her silk. I d'know as I'd better said anything about what + I was thinkin'. I don't want to be noways rash, and yet I thought I + couldn't be too partic'lar.” + </p> + <p> + For a silent moment Miss Maria looked sourly uncertain as to the + usefulness of scruples that came so long after the fact. Then she said + abruptly to Mr. Goodlow, “Was it you or Mr. Baldwin, preached Mirandy + Holcomb's fune'l sermon?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + One of the advantages of the negative part assigned to women in life is + that they are seldom forced to commit themselves. They can, if they + choose, remain perfectly passive while a great many things take place in + regard to them; they need not account for what they do not do. From time + to time a man must show his hand, but save for one supreme exigency a + woman need never show hers. She moves in mystery as long as she likes; and + mere reticence in her, if she is young and fair, interprets itself as good + sense and good taste. + </p> + <p> + Lydia was, by convention as well as by instinct, mistress of the situation + when she came out to breakfast, and confronted the young men again with + collected nerves, and a reserve which was perhaps a little too proud. The + captain was there to introduce them, and presented first Mr. Dunham, the + gentleman who had spoken to her grandfather on the wharf, and then Mr. + Staniford, his friend and senior by some four or five years. They were + both of the fair New England complexion; but Dunham's eyes were blue, and + Staniford's dark gray. Their mustaches were blonde, but Dunham's curled + jauntily outward at the corners, and his light hair waved over either + temple from the parting in the middle. Staniford's mustache was cut short; + his hair was clipped tight to his shapely head, and not parted at all; he + had a slightly aquiline nose, with sensitive nostrils, showing the + cartilage; his face was darkly freckled. They were both handsome fellows, + and fittingly dressed in rough blue, which they wore like men with the + habit of good clothes; they made Lydia such bows as she had never seen + before. Then the Captain introduced Mr. Watterson, the first officer, to + all, and sat down, saying to Thomas, with a sort of guilty and embarrassed + growl, “Ain't he out yet? Well, we won't wait,” and with but little change + of tone asked a blessing; for Captain Jenness in his way was a religious + man. + </p> + <p> + There was a sixth plate laid, but the captain made no further mention of + the person who was not out yet till shortly after the coffee was poured, + when the absentee appeared, hastily closing his state-room door behind + him, and then waiting on foot, with a half-impudent, half-intimidated air, + while Captain Jenness, with a sort of elaborate repressiveness, presented + him as Mr. Hicks. He was a short and slight young man, with a small sandy + mustache curling tightly in over his lip, floating reddish-blue eyes, and + a deep dimple in his weak, slightly retreating chin. He had an air at once + amiable and baddish, with an expression, curiously blended, of monkey-like + humor and spaniel-like apprehensiveness. He did not look well, and till he + had swallowed two cups of coffee his hand shook. The captain watched him + furtively from under his bushy eyebrows, and was evidently troubled and + preoccupied, addressing a word now and then to Mr. Watterson, who, by + virtue of what was apparently the ship's discipline, spoke only when he + was spoken to, and then answered with prompt acquiescence. Dunham and + Staniford exchanged not so much a glance as a consciousness in regard to + him, which seemed to recognize and class him. They talked to each other, + and sometimes to the captain. Once they spoke to Lydia. Mr. Dunham, for + example, said, “Miss—ah—Blood, don't you think we are + uncommonly fortunate in having such lovely weather for a start-off?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dunham arrested himself in the use of his fork. “I beg your pardon?” + he smiled. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to be a question, and after a moment's doubt Lydia answered, “I + didn't know it was strange to have fine weather at the start.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I can assure you it is,” said Dunham, with a certain lady-like + sweetness of manner which he had. “According to precedent, we ought to be + all deathly seasick.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at <i>this</i> time of year,” said Captain Jenness. + </p> + <p> + “Not at this time of <i>year</i>,” repeated Mr. Watterson, as if the + remark were an order to the crew. + </p> + <p> + Dunham referred the matter with a look to his friend, who refused to take + part in it, and then he let it drop. But presently Staniford himself + attempted the civility of some conversation with Lydia. He asked her + gravely, and somewhat severely, if she had suffered much from the heat of + the day before. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia, “it was very hot.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm told it was the hottest day of the summer, so far,” continued + Staniford, with the same severity. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know!” cried Lydia. + </p> + <p> + The young man did not say anything more. + </p> + <p> + As Dunham lit his cigar at Staniford's on deck, the former said + significantly, “What a very American thing!” + </p> + <p> + “What a bore!” answered the other. + </p> + <p> + Dunham had never been abroad, as one might imagine from his calling + Lydia's presence a very American thing, but he had always consorted with + people who had lived in Europe; he read the Revue des Deux Mondes + habitually, and the London weekly newspapers, and this gave him the + foreign stand-point from which he was fond of viewing his native world. + “It's incredible,” he added. “Who in the world can she be?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>I</i> don't know,” returned Staniford, with a cold disgust. “I + should object to the society of such a young person for a month or six + weeks under the most favorable circumstances, and with frequent respites; + but to be imprisoned on the same ship with her, and to have her on one's + mind and in one's way the whole time, is more than I bargained for. + Captain Jenness should have told us; though I suppose he thought that if + <i>she</i> could stand it, <i>we</i> might. There's that point of view. + But it takes all ease and comfort out of the prospect. Here comes that + blackguard.” Staniford turned his back towards Mr. Hicks, who was + approaching, but Dunham could not quite do this, though he waited for the + other to speak first. + </p> + <p> + “Will you—would you oblige me with a light?” Mr. Hicks asked, taking + a cigar from his case. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Dunham, with the comradery of the smoker. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hicks seemed to gather courage from his cigar. “You didn't expect to + find a lady passenger on board, did you?” His poor disagreeable little + face was lit up with unpleasant enjoyment of the anomaly. Dunham hesitated + for an answer. + </p> + <p> + “One never can know what one's fellow passengers are going to be,” said + Staniford, turning about, and looking not at Mr. Hicks's face, but his + feet, with an effect of being, upon the whole, disappointed not to find + them cloven. He added, to put the man down rather than from an exact + belief in his own suggestion, “She's probably some relation of the + captain's.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that's the joke of it,” said Hicks, fluttered with his superior + knowledge. “I've been pumping the cabin-boy, and he says the captain never + saw her till yesterday. She's an up-country school-marm, and she came down + here with her grandfather yesterday. She's going out to meet friends of + hers in Venice.” The little man pulled at his cigar, and coughed and + chuckled, and waited confidently for the impression. + </p> + <p> + “Dunham,” said Staniford, “did I hand you that sketch-block of mine to put + in your bag, when we were packing last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've got it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad of that. Did you see Murray yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he was at Cambridge.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought he was to have met you at Parker's.” The conversation no longer + included Mr. Hicks or the subject he had introduced; after a moment's + hesitation, he walked away to another part of the ship. As soon as he was + beyond ear-shot, Staniford again spoke: “Dunham, this girl is plainly one + of those cases of supernatural innocence, on the part of herself and her + friends, which, as you suggested, wouldn't occur among any other people in + the world but ours.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a good fellow, Staniford!” cried Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I call myself simply a human being, with the elemental + instincts of a gentleman, as far as concerns this matter. The girl has + been placed in a position which could be made very painful to her. It + seems to me it's our part to prevent it from being so. I doubt if she + finds it at all anomalous, and if we choose she need never do so till + after we've parted with her. I fancy we can preserve her unconsciousness + intact.” + </p> + <p> + “Staniford, this is like you,” said his friend, with glistening eyes. “I + had some wild notion of the kind myself, but I'm so glad you spoke of it + first.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind,” responded Staniford. “We must make her feel that there + is nothing irregular or uncommon in her being here as she is. I don't know + how the matter's to be managed, exactly; it must be a negative benevolence + for the most part; but it can be done. The first thing is to cow that + nuisance yonder. Pumping the cabin-boy! The little sot! Look here, Dunham; + it's such a satisfaction to me to think of putting that fellow under foot + that I'll leave you all the credit of saving the young lady's feelings. I + should like to begin stamping on him at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you have made a beginning already. I confess I wish you hadn't + such heavy nails in your boots!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they'll do him good, confound him!” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “I should have liked it better if her name hadn't been Blood,” remarked + Dunham, presently. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't matter what a girl's surname is. Besides, Blood is very + frequent in some parts of the State.” + </p> + <p> + “She's very pretty, isn't she?” Dunham suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pretty enough, yes,” replied Staniford. “Nothing is so common as the + pretty girl of our nation. Her beauty is part of the general tiresomeness + of the whole situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think,” ventured his friend, further, “that she has rather a + lady-like air?” + </p> + <p> + “She wanted to know,” said Staniford, with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + Dunham was silent a while before he asked, “What do you suppose her first + name is?” + </p> + <p> + “Jerusha, probably.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,—Lurella. You have no idea of the grotesqueness of these + people's minds. I used to see a great deal of their intimate life when I + went on my tramps, and chanced it among them, for bed and board, wherever + I happened to be. We cultivated Yankees and the raw material seem hardly + of the same race. Where the Puritanism has gone out of the people in + spots, there's the rankest growth of all sorts of crazy heresies, and the + old scriptural nomenclature has given place to something compounded of the + fancifulness of story-paper romance and the gibberish of spiritualism. + They make up their names, sometimes, and call a child by what sounds + pretty to them. I wonder how the captain picked up that scoundrel.” + </p> + <p> + The turn of Staniford's thought to Hicks was suggested by the appearance + of Captain Jenness, who now issued from the cabin gangway, and came toward + them with the shadow of unwonted trouble in his face. The captain, too, + was smoking. + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen,” he began, with the obvious indirectness of a man not + used to diplomacy, “how do you like your accommodations?” + </p> + <p> + Staniford silently acquiesced in Dunham's reply that they found them + excellent. “But you don't mean to say,” Dunham added, “that you're going + to give us beefsteak and all the vegetables of the season the whole way + over?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the captain; “we shall put you on sea-fare soon enough. But + you'll like it. You don't want the same things at sea that you do on + shore; your appetite chops round into a different quarter altogether, and + you want salt beef; but you'll get it good. Your room's pretty snug,” he + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's big enough,” said Staniford, to whom he had turned as perhaps + more in authority than Dunham. “While we're well we only sleep in it, and + if we're seasick it doesn't matter where we are.” + </p> + <p> + The captain knocked the ash from his cigar with the tip of his fat little + finger, and looked down. “I was in hopes I could have let you had a room + apiece, but I had another passenger jumped on me at the last minute. I + suppose you see what's the matter with Mr. Hicks?” He looked up from one + to another, and they replied with a glance of perfect intelligence. “I + don't generally talk my passengers over with one another, but I thought + I'd better speak to you about him. I found him yesterday evening at my + agents', with his father. He's just been on a spree, a regular two weeks' + tear, and the old gentleman didn't know what to do with him, on shore, any + longer. He thought he'd send him to sea a voyage, and see what would come + of it, and he plead hard with me to take him. I didn't want to take him, + but he worked away at me till I couldn't say no. I argued in my own mind + that he couldn't get anything to drink on my ship, and that he'd behave + himself well enough as long as he was sober.” The captain added ruefully, + “He looks worse this morning than he did last night. He looks bad. I told + the old gentleman that if he got into any trouble at Try-East, or any of + the ports where we touched, he shouldn't set foot on my ship again. But I + guess he'll keep pretty straight. He hasn't got any money, for one thing.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “He stops drinking for obvious reasons, if for no + others, like Artemus Ward's destitute inebriate. Did you think only of us + in deciding whether you should take him?” + </p> + <p> + The captain looked up quickly at the young men, as if touched in a sore + place. “Well, there again I didn't seem to get my bearings just right. I + suppose you mean the young lady?” Staniford motionlessly and silently + assented. “Well, she's more of a young lady than I thought she was, when + her grandfather first come down here and talked of sending her over with + me. He was always speaking about his little girl, you know, and I got the + idea that she was about thirteen, or eleven, may be. I thought the child + might be some bother on the voyage, but thinks I, I'm used to children, + and I guess I can manage. Bless your soul! when I first see her on the + wharf yesterday, it most knocked me down! I never believed she was half so + tall, nor half so good-looking.” Staniford smiled at this expression of + the captain's despair, but the captain did not smile. “Why, she was as + pretty as a bird. Well, there I was. It was no time then to back out. The + old man wouldn't understood. Besides, there was the young lady herself, + and she seemed so forlorn and helpless that I kind of pitied her. I + thought, What if it was one of my own girls? And I made up my mind that + she shouldn't know from anything I said or did that she wasn't just as + much at home and just as much in place on my ship as she would be in my + house. I suppose what made me feel easier about it, and took the queerness + off some, was my having my own girls along last voyage. To be sure, it + ain't quite the same thing,” said the captain, interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “Not quite,” assented Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “If there was two of them,” said the captain, “I don't suppose I should + feel so bad about it. But thinks I, A lady's a lady the world over, and a + gentleman's a gentleman.” The captain looked significantly at the young + men. “As for that other fellow,” added Captain Jenness, “if I can't take + care of him, I think I'd better stop going to sea altogether, and go into + the coasting trade.” + </p> + <p> + He resumed his cigar with defiance, and was about turning away when + Staniford spoke. “Captain Jenness, my friend and I had been talking this + little matter over just before you came up. Will you let me say that I'm + rather proud of having reasoned in much the same direction as yourself?” + </p> + <p> + This was spoken with that air which gave Staniford a peculiar distinction, + and made him the despair and adoration of his friend: it endowed the + subject with seriousness, and conveyed a sentiment of grave and noble + sincerity. The captain held out a hand to each of the young men, crossing + his wrists in what seemed a favorite fashion with him. “Good!” he cried, + heartily. “I <i>thought</i> I knew you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + Staniford and Dunham drew stools to the rail, and sat down with their + cigars after the captain left them. The second mate passed by, and cast a + friendly glance at them; he had whimsical brown eyes that twinkled under + his cap-peak, while a lurking smile played under his heavy mustache; but + he did not speak. Staniford said, there was a pleasant fellow, and he + should like to sketch him. He was only an amateur artist, and he had been + only an amateur in life otherwise, so far; but he did not pretend to have + been anything else. + </p> + <p> + “Then you're not sorry you came, Staniford?” asked Dunham, putting his + hand on his friend's knee. “He characteristically assumed the + responsibility, although the voyage by sailing-vessel rather than steamer + was their common whim, and it had been Staniford's preference that decided + them for Trieste rather than any nearer port. + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not sorry,—if you call it come, already. I think a bit of + Europe will be a very good thing for the present, or as long as I'm in + this irresolute mood. If I understand it, Europe is the place for American + irresolution. When I've made up my mind, I'll come home again. I still + think Colorado is the thing, though I haven't abandoned California + altogether; it's a question of cattle-range and sheep-ranch.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll decide against both,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “How would you like West Virginia? They cattle-range in West Virginia, + too. They may sheep-ranch, too, for all I know,—no, that's in Old + Virginia. The trouble is that the Virginias, otherwise irreproachable, are + not paying fields for such enterprises. They say that one is a sure thing + in California, and the other is a sure thing in Colorado. They give you + the figures.” Staniford lit another cigar. + </p> + <p> + “But why shouldn't you stay where you are, Staniford? You've money enough + left, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, money enough for one. But there's something ignoble in living on a + small stated income, unless you have some object in view besides living, + and I haven't, you know. It's a duty I owe to the general frame of things + to make more money.” + </p> + <p> + “If you turned your mind to any one thing, I'm sure you'd succeed where + you are,” Dunham urged. + </p> + <p> + “That's just the trouble,” retorted his friend. “I can't turn my mind to + any one thing,—I'm too universally gifted. I paint a little, I model + a little, I play a very little indeed; I can write a book notice. The + ladies praise my art, and the editors keep my literature a long time + before they print it. This doesn't seem the highest aim of being. I have + the noble earth-hunger; I must get upon the land. That's why I've got upon + the water.” Staniford laughed again, and pulled comfortably at his cigar. + “Now, you,” he added, after a pause, in which Dunham did not reply, “you + have not had losses; you still have everything comfortable about you. <i>Du + hast Alles was Menschen begehr</i>, even to the <i>schönsten Augen</i> of + the divine Miss Hibbard.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Staniford, that's it. I hate your going out there all alone. Now, if + you were taking some nice girl with you!” Dunham said, with a lover's fond + desire that his friend should be in love, too. + </p> + <p> + “To those wilds? To a redwood shanty in California, or a turf hovel in + Colorado? What nice girl would go? 'I will take some savage woman, she + shall rear my dusky race.'<span class="lftspc">”</span> + </p> + <p> + “I don't like to have you take any risks of degenerating,” began Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “With what you know to be my natural tendencies? Your prophetic eye + prefigures my pantaloons in the tops of my boots. Well, there is time yet + to turn back from the brutality of a patriarchal life. You must allow that + I've taken the longest way round in going West. In Italy there are many + chances; and besides, you know, I like to talk.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to be an old subject between them, and they discussed it + languidly, like some abstract topic rather than a reality. + </p> + <p> + “If you only had some tie to bind you to the East, I should feel pretty + safe about you,” said Dunham, presently. + </p> + <p> + “I have you,” answered his friend, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm nothing,” said Dunham, with sincerity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I may form some tie in Italy. Art may fall in love with me, there. + How would you like to have me settle in Florence, and set up a studio + instead of a ranch,—choose between sculpture and painting, instead + of cattle and sheep? After all, it does grind me to have lost that money! + If I had only been swindled out of it, I shouldn't have cared; but when + you go and make a bad thing of it yourself, with your eyes open, there's a + reluctance to place the responsibility where it belongs that doesn't occur + in the other case. Dunham, do you think it altogether ridiculous that I + should feel there was something sacred in the money? When I remember how + hard my poor old father worked to get it together, it seems wicked that I + should have stupidly wasted it on the venture I did. I want to get it + back; I want to make money. And so I'm going out to Italy with you, to + waste more. I don't respect myself as I should if I were on a Pullman + palace car, speeding westward. I'll own I like this better.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all right, Staniford,” said his friend. “The voyage will do you + good, and you'll have time to think everything over, and start fairer when + you get back.” + </p> + <p> + “That girl,” observed Staniford, with characteristic abruptness, “is a + type that is commoner than we imagine in New England. We fair people fancy + we are the only genuine Yankees. I guess that's a mistake. There must have + been a good many dark Puritans. In fact, we always think of Puritans as + dark, don't we?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe we do,” assented Dunham. “Perhaps on account of their black + clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Staniford. “At any rate, I'm so tired of the blonde type + in fiction that I rather like the other thing in life. Every novelist runs + a blonde heroine; I wonder why. This girl has the clear Southern pallor; + she's of the olive hue; and her eyes are black as sloes,—not that I + know what sloes are. Did she remind you of anything in particular?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; a little of Faed's Evangeline, as she sat in the door-way of the + warehouse yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. I wish the picture were more of a picture; but I don't know that + it matters. <i>She's</i> more of a picture.” + </p> + <p> + “<span class="lftspc">'</span>Pretty as a bird,' the captain said.” + </p> + <p> + “Bird isn't bad. But the bird is in her manner. There's something + tranquilly alert in her manner that's like a bird; like a bird that + lingers on its perch, looking at you over its shoulder, if you come up + behind. That trick of the heavily lifted, half lifted eyelids,—I + wonder if it's a trick. The long lashes can't be; she can't make them curl + up at the edges. Blood,—Lurella Blood. And she wants to know.” + Staniford's voice fell thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “She's more slender than Faed's Evangeline. Faed painted rather too fat a + sufferer on that tombstone. Lurella Blood has a very pretty figure. + Lurella. Why Lurella?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, Staniford!” cried Dunham. “It isn't fair to call the girl by + that jingle without some ground for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure her name's Lurella, for she wanted to know. Besides, there's as + much sense in it as there is in any name. It sounds very well. Lurella. It + is mere prejudice that condemns the novel collocation of syllables.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what she's thinking of now,—what's passing in her mind,” + mused Dunham aloud. + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> want to know, too, do you?” mocked his friend. “I'll tell you + what: processions of young men so long that they are an hour getting by a + given point. That's what's passing in every girl's mind—when she's + thinking. It's perfectly right. Processsions of young girls are similarly + passing in our stately and spacious intellects. It's the chief business of + the youth of one sex to think of the youth of the other sex.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I know,” assented Dunham; “and I believe in it, too—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you do, you wicked wretch, you abandoned Lovelace, you bruiser + of ladies' hearts! You hope the procession is composed entirely of + yourself. What would the divine Hibbard say to your goings-on?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't, Staniford! It isn't fair,” pleaded Dunham, with the flattered + laugh which the best of men give when falsely attainted of gallantry. “I + was wondering whether she was feeling homesick, or strange, or—” + </p> + <p> + “I will go below and ask her,” said Staniford. “I know she will tell me + the exact truth. They always do. Or if you will take a guess of mine + instead of her word for it, I will hazard the surmise that she is not at + all homesick. What has a pretty young girl to regret in such a life as she + has left? It's the most arid and joyless existence under the sun. She has + never known anything like society. In the country with us, the social side + must always have been somewhat paralyzed, but there are monumental + evidences of pleasures in other days that are quite extinct now. You see + big dusty ball-rooms in the old taverns: ball-rooms that have had no + dancing in them for half a century, and where they give you a bed + sometimes. There used to be academies, too, in the hill towns, where they + furnished a rude but serviceable article of real learning, and where the + local octogenarian remembers seeing something famous in the way of + theatricals on examination-day; but neither his children nor his + grandchildren have seen the like. There's a decay of the religious + sentiment, and the church is no longer a social centre, with merry + meetings among the tombstones between the morning and the afternoon + service. Superficial humanitarianism of one kind or another has killed the + good old orthodoxy, as the railroads have killed the turnpikes and the + country taverns; and the common schools have killed the academies. Why, I + don't suppose this girl ever saw anything livelier than a township cattle + show, or a Sunday-school picnic, in her life. They don't pay visits in the + country except at rare intervals, and their evening parties, when they + have any, are something to strike you dead with pity. They used to clear + away the corn-husks and pumpkins on the barn floor, and dance by the light + of tin lanterns. At least, that's the traditional thing. The actual thing + is sitting around four sides of the room, giggling, whispering, looking at + photograph albums, and coaxing somebody to play on the piano. The banquet + is passed in the form of apples and water. I have assisted at <i>some</i> + rural festivals where the apples were omitted. Upon the whole, I wonder + our country people don't all go mad. They do go mad, a great many of them, + and manage to get a little glimpse of society in the insane asylums.” + Staniford ended his tirade with a laugh, in which he vented his humorous + sense and his fundamental pity of the conditions he had caricatured. + </p> + <p> + “But how,” demanded Dunham, breaking rebelliously from the silence in + which he had listened, “do you account for her good manner?” + </p> + <p> + “She probably was born with a genius for it. Some people are born with a + genius for one thing, and some with a genius for another. I, for example, + am an artistic genius, forced to be an amateur by the delusive possession + of early wealth, and now burning with a creative instinct in the direction + of the sheep or cattle business; you have the gift of universal optimism; + Lurella Blood has the genius of good society. Give that girl a winter + among nice people in Boston, and you would never know that she was not + born on Beacon Hill.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I doubt that,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “You doubt it? Pessimist!” + </p> + <p> + “But you implied just now that she had no sensibility,” pursued Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “So I did!” cried Staniford, cheerfully. “Social genius and sensibility + are two very different things; the cynic might contend they were + incompatible, but I won't insist so far. I dare say she may regret the + natal spot; most of us have a dumb, brutish attachment to the <i>cari + luoghi</i>; but if she knows anything, she hates its surroundings, and + must be glad to get out into the world. I should like mightily to know how + the world strikes her, as far as she's gone. But I doubt if she's one to + betray her own counsel in any way. She looks deep, Lurella does.” + Staniford laughed again at the pain which his insistence upon the name + brought into Dunham's face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + After dinner, nature avenged herself in the young men for their vigils of + the night before, when they had stayed up so late, parting with friends, + that they had found themselves early risers without having been abed. They + both slept so long that Dunham, leaving Staniford to a still unfinished + nap, came on deck between five and six o'clock. + </p> + <p> + Lydia was there, wrapped against the freshening breeze in a red knit + shawl, and seated on a stool in the waist of the ship, in the Evangeline + attitude, and with the wistful, Evangeline look in her face, as she gazed + out over the far-weltering sea-line, from which all trace of the shore had + vanished. She seemed to the young man very interesting, and he approached + her with that kindness for all other women in his heart which the lover + feels in absence from his beloved, and with a formless sense that some + retribution was due her from him for the roughness with which Staniford + had surmised her natural history. Women had always been dear and sacred to + him; he liked, beyond most young men, to be with them; he was forever + calling upon them, getting introduced to them, waiting upon them, + inventing little services for them, corresponding with them, and wearing + himself out in their interest. It is said that women do not value men of + this sort so much as men of some other sorts. It was long, at any rate, + before Dunham—whom people always called Charley Dunham—found + the woman who thought him more lovely than every other woman pronounced + him; and naturally Miss Hibbard was the most exacting of her sex. She + required all those offices which Dunham delighted to render, and many + besides: being an invalid, she needed devotion. She had refused Dunham + before going out to Europe with her mother, and she had written to take + him back after she got there. He was now on his way to join her in + Dresden, where he hoped that he might marry her, and be perfectly + sacrificed to her ailments. She only lacked poverty in order to be + thoroughly displeasing to most men; but Dunham had no misgiving save in + regard to her money; he wished she had no money. + </p> + <p> + “A good deal more motion, isn't there?” he said to Lydia, smiling sunnily + as he spoke, and holding his hat with one hand. “Do you find it + unpleasant?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, “not at all. I like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there isn't enough swell to make it uncomfortable, yet,” asserted + Dunham, looking about to see if there were not something he could do for + her. “And you may turn out a good sailor. Were you ever at sea before?” + </p> + <p> + “No; this is the first time I was ever on a ship.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible!” cried Dunham; he was now fairly at sea for the first + time himself, though by virtue of his European associations he seemed to + have made many voyages. It appeared to him that if there was nothing else + he could do for Lydia, it was his duty to talk to her. He found another + stool, and drew it up within easier conversational distance. “Then you've + never been out of sight of land before?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “That's very curious—I beg your pardon; I mean you must find it a + great novelty.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's very strange,” said the girl, seriously. “It looks like the + Flood. It seems as if all the rest of the world was drowned.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham glanced round the vast horizon. “It <i>is</i> like the Flood. And + it has that quality, which I've often noticed in sublime things, of + seeming to be for this occasion only.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Why, don't you know? It seems as if it must be like a fine sunset, and + would pass in a few minutes. Perhaps we feel that we can't endure + sublimity long, and want it to pass.” + </p> + <p> + “I could look at it forever,” replied Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Dunham turned to see if this were young-ladyish rapture, but perceived + that she was affecting nothing. He liked seriousness, for he was, with a + great deal of affectation for social purposes, a very sincere person. His + heart warmed more and more to the lonely girl; to be talking to her + seemed, after all, to be doing very little for her, and he longed to be of + service. “Have you explored our little wooden world, yet?” he asked, after + a pause. + </p> + <p> + Lydia paused too. “The ship?” she asked presently. “No; I've only been in + the cabin, and here; and this morning,” she added, conscientiously, + “Thomas showed me the cook's galley,—the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + “You've seen more than I have,” said Dunham. “Wouldn't you like to go + forward, to the bow, and see how it looks there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank you,” answered Lydia, “I would.” + </p> + <p> + She tottered a little in gaining her feet, and the wind drifted her + slightness a step or two aside. “Won't you take my arm, perhaps?” + suggested Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Lydia, “I think I can get along.” But after a few paces, + a lurch of the ship flung her against Dunham's side; he caught her hand, + and passed it through his arm without protest from her. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it grand?” he asked triumphantly, as they stood at the prow, and + rose and sank with the vessel's careering plunges. It was no gale, but + only a fair wind; the water foamed along the ship's sides, and, as her + bows descended, shot forward in hissing jets of spray; away on every hand + flocked the white caps. “You had better keep my arm, here.” Lydia did so, + resting her disengaged hand on the bulwarks, as she bent over a little on + that side to watch the rush of the sea. “It really seems as if there were + more of a view here.” + </p> + <p> + “It does, somehow,” admitted Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Look back at the ship's sails,” said Dunham. The swell and press of the + white canvas seemed like the clouds of heaven swooping down upon them from + all the airy heights. The sweet wind beat in their faces, and they laughed + in sympathy, as they fronted it. “Perhaps the motion is a little too + strong for you here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all!” cried the girl. + </p> + <p> + He had done something for her by bringing her here, and he hoped to do + something more by taking her away. He was discomfited, for he was at a + loss what other attention to offer. Just at that moment a sound made + itself heard above the whistling of the cordage and the wash of the sea, + which caused Lydia to start and look round. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you think,” she asked, “that you heard hens?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said Dunham. “What could it have been? Let us investigate.” + </p> + <p> + He led the way back past the forecastle and the cook's galley, and there, + in dangerous proximity to the pots and frying pans, they found a coop with + some dozen querulous and meditative fowl in it. + </p> + <p> + “I heard them this morning,” said Lydia. “They seemed to wake me with + their crowing, and I thought—I was at home!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm very sorry,” said Dunham, sympathetically. He wished Staniford were + there to take shame to himself for denying sensibility to this girl. + </p> + <p> + The cook, smoking a pipe at the door of his galley, said, “Dey won't + trouble you much, miss. Dey don't gen'ly last us long, and I'll kill de + roosters first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, now!” protested Dunham. “I wouldn't say that!” The cook and + Lydia stared at him in equal surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” answered the cook, “I'll kill the hens first, den. It don't make + any difference to me which I kill. I dunno but de hens is tenderer.” He + smoked in a bland indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hold on!” exclaimed Dunham, in repetition of his helpless protest. + </p> + <p> + Lydia stooped down to make closer acquaintance with the devoted birds. + They huddled themselves away from her in one corner of their prison, and + talked together in low tones of grave mistrust. “Poor things!” she said. + As a country girl, used to the practical ends of poultry, she knew as well + as the cook that it was the fit and simple destiny of chickens to be + eaten, sooner or later; and it must have been less in commiseration of + their fate than in self-pity and regret for the scenes they recalled that + she sighed. The hens that burrowed yesterday under the lilacs in the + door-yard; the cock that her aunt so often drove, insulted and + exclamatory, at the head of his harem, out of forbidden garden bounds; the + social groups that scratched and descanted lazily about the wide, sunny + barn doors; the anxious companies seeking their favorite perches, with + alarming outcries, in the dusk of summer evenings; the sentinels answering + each other from farm to farm before winter dawns, when all the hills were + drowned in snow, were of kindred with these hapless prisoners. + </p> + <p> + Dunham was touched at Lydia's compassion. “Would you like—would you + like to feed them?” he asked by a happy inspiration. He turned to the + cook, with his gentle politeness: “There's no objection to our feeding + them, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Laws, no!” said the cook. “Fats 'em up.” He went inside, and reappeared + with a pan full of scraps of meat and crusts of bread. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say!” cried Dunham. “Haven't you got some grain, you know, of some + sort; some seeds, don't you know?” + </p> + <p> + “They will like this,” said Lydia, while the cook stared in perplexity. + She took the pan, and opening the little door of the coop flung the + provision inside. But the fowls were either too depressed in spirit to eat + anything, or they were not hungry; they remained in their corner, and + merely fell silent, as if a new suspicion had been roused in their unhappy + breasts. + </p> + <p> + “Dey'll come, to it,” observed the cook. + </p> + <p> + Dunham felt far from content, and regarded the poultry with silent + disappointment. “Are you fond of pets?” he asked, after a while. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I used to have pet chickens when I was a little thing.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to adopt one of these,” suggested Dunham. “That white one is a + pretty creature.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia. “He looks as if he were Leghorn. Leghorn breed,” she + added, in reply to Dunham's look of inquiry. “He's a beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me get him out for you a moment!” cried the young man, in his amiable + zeal. Before Lydia could protest, or the cook interfere, he had opened the + coop-door and plunged his arm into the tumult which his manoeuvre created + within. He secured the cockerel, and drawing it forth was about to offer + it to Lydia, when in its struggles to escape it drove one of its spurs + into his hand. Dunham suddenly released it; and then ensued a wild chase + for its recapture, up and down the ship, in which it had every advantage + of the young man. At last it sprang upon the rail; he put out his hand to + seize it, when it rose with a desperate screech, and flew far out over the + sea. They watched the suicide till it sank exhausted into a distant + white-cap. + </p> + <p> + “Dat's gone,” said the cook, philosophically. Dunham looked round. Half + the ship's company, alarmed by his steeple-chase over the deck, were + there, silently agrin. + </p> + <p> + Lydia did not laugh. When he asked, still with his habitual sweetness, but + entirely at random, “Shall we—ah—go below?” she did not answer + definitely, and did not go. At the same time she ceased to be so timidly + intangible and aloof in manner. She began to talk to Dunham, instead of + letting him talk to her; she asked him questions, and listened with + deference to what he said on such matters as the probable length of the + voyage and the sort of weather they were likely to have. She did not take + note of his keeping his handkerchief wound round his hand, nor of his + attempts to recur to the subject of his mortifying adventure. When they + were again quite alone, the cook's respect having been won back through + his ethnic susceptibility to silver, she remembered that she must go to + her room. + </p> + <p> + “In other words,” said Staniford, after Dunham had reported the whole case + to him, “she treated your hurt vanity as if you had been her pet + schoolboy. She lured you away from yourself, and got you to talking and + thinking of other things. Lurella is deep, I tell you. What consummate + tacticians the least of women are! It's a pity that they have to work so + often in such dull material as men; they ought always to have women to + operate on. The youngest of them has more wisdom in human nature than the + sages of our sex. I must say, Lurella is magnanimous, too. She might have + taken her revenge on you for pitying her yesterday when she sat in that + warehouse door on the wharf. It was rather fine in Lurella not to do it. + What did she say, Dunham? What did she talk about? Did she want to know?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” shouted Dunham. “She talked very well, like any young lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all young ladies talk well, of course. But what did this one say? + What did she do, except suffer a visible pang of homesickness at the sight + of unattainable poultry? Come, you have represented the interview with + Miss Blood as one of great brilliancy.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't,” said Dunham. “I have done nothing of the kind. Her talk was + like any pleasant talk; it was refined and simple, and—unobtrusive.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, it was in no way remarkable,” observed Staniford, with a laugh. + “I expected something better of Lurella; I expected something salient. + Well, never mind. She's behaved well by you, seeing what a goose you had + made of yourself. She behaved like a lady, and I've noticed that she eats + with her fork. It often happens in the country that you find the women + practicing some of the arts of civilization, while their men folk are + still sunk in barbaric uses. Lurella, I see, is a social creature; she was + born for society, as you were, and I suppose you will be thrown a good + deal together. We're all likely to be associated rather familiarly, under + the circumstances. But I wish you would note down in your mind some points + of her conversation. I'm really curious to know what a girl of her + traditions thinks about the world when she first sees it. Her mind must be + in most respects an unbroken wilderness. She's had schooling, of course, + and she knows her grammar and algebra; but she can't have had any + cultivation. If she were of an earlier generation, one would expect to + find something biblical in her; but you can't count upon a Puritanic + culture now among our country folks.” + </p> + <p> + “If you are so curious,” said Dunham, “why don't you study her mind, + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, that wouldn't do,” Staniford answered. “The light of your + innocence upon hers is invaluable. I can understand her better through + you. You must go on. I will undertake to make your peace with Miss + Hibbard.” + </p> + <p> + The young men talked as they walked the deck and smoked in the starlight. + They were wakeful after their long nap in the afternoon, and they walked + and talked late, with the silences that old friends can permit themselves. + Staniford recurred to his loss of money and his Western projects, which + took more definite form now that he had placed so much distance between + himself and their fulfillment. With half a year in Italy before him, he + decided upon a cattle-range in Colorado. Then, “I should like to know,” he + said, after one of the pauses, “how two young men of our form strike that + girl's fancy. I haven't any personal curiosity about her impressions, but + I should like to know, as an observer of the human race. If my conjectures + are right, she's never met people of our sort before.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of men has she been associated with?” asked Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm not quite prepared to say. I take it that it isn't exactly the + hobbledehoy sort. She has probably looked high,—as far up as the + clerk in the store. He has taken her to drive in a buggy Saturday + afternoons, when he put on his ready-made suit,—and looked very well + in it, too; and they've been at picnics together. Or may be, as she's in + the school-teaching line, she's taken some high-browed, hollow-cheeked + high-school principal for her ideal. Or it is possible that she has never + had attention from any one. That is apt to happen to self-respectful girls + in rural communities, and their beauty doesn't save them. Fellows, as they + call themselves, like girls that have what they call go, that make up to + them. Lurella doesn't seem of that kind; and I should not be surprised if + you were the first gentleman who had ever offered her his arm. I wonder + what she thought of you. She's acquainted by sight with the ordinary + summer boarder of North America; they penetrate everywhere, now; but I + doubt if she's talked with them much, if at all. She must be ignorant of + our world beyond anything we can imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you account for her being so well dressed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's instinct. You find it everywhere. In every little village + there is some girl who knows how to out-preen all the others. I wonder,” + added Staniford, in a more deeply musing tone, “if she kept from laughing + at you out of good feeling, or if she was merely overawed by your + splendor.” + </p> + <p> + “She didn't laugh,” Dunham answered, “because she saw that it would have + added to my annoyance. My splendor had nothing to do with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't underrate your splendor, my dear fellow!” cried Staniford, with + a caressing ridicule that he often used with Dunham. “Of course, <i>I</i> + know what a simple and humble fellow you are, but you've no idea how that + exterior of yours might impose upon the agricultural imagination; it has + its effect upon me, in my pastoral moods.” Dunham made a gesture of + protest, and Staniford went on: “Country people have queer ideas of us, + sometimes. Possibly Lurella was afraid of you. Think of that, Dunham,—having + a woman afraid of you, for once in your life! Well, hurry up your + acquaintance with her, Dunham, or I shall wear myself out in mere + speculative analysis. I haven't the <i>aplomb</i> for studying the + sensibilities of a young lady, and catching chickens for her, so as to + produce a novel play of emotions. I thought this voyage was going to be a + season of mental quiet, but having a young lady on board seems to forbid + that kind of repose. I shouldn't mind a half dozen, but <i>one</i> is + altogether too many. Poor little thing! I say, Dunham! There's something + rather pretty about having her with us, after all, isn't there? It gives a + certain distinction to our voyage. We shall not degenerate. We shall shave + every day, wind and weather permitting, and wear our best things.” They + talked of other matters, and again Staniford recurred to Lydia: “If she + has any regrets for her mountain home,—though I don't see why she + should have,—I hope they haven't kept her awake. My far-away cot on + the plains is not going to interfere with my slumbers.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford stepped to the ship's side, and flung the end of his cigarette + overboard; it struck, a red spark amidst the lurid phosphorescence of the + bubbles that swept backward from the vessel's prow. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + The weather held fine. The sun shone, and the friendly winds blew out of a + cloudless heaven; by night the moon ruled a firmament powdered with stars + of multitudinous splendor. The conditions inspired Dunham with a restless + fertility of invention in Lydia's behalf. He had heard of the game of + shuffle-board, that blind and dumb croquet, with which the jaded + passengers on the steamers appease their terrible leisure, and with the + help of the ship's carpenter he organized this pastime, and played it with + her hour after hour, while Staniford looked on and smoked in grave + observance, and Hicks lurked at a distance, till Dunham felt it on his + kind heart and tender conscience to invite him to a share in the + diversion. As his nerves recovered their tone, Hicks showed himself a man + of some qualities that Staniford would have liked in another man: he was + amiable, and he was droll, though apt to turn sulky if Staniford addressed + him, which did not often happen. He knew more than Dunham of + shuffle-board, as well as of tossing rings of rope over a peg set up a + certain space off in the deck,—a game which they eagerly took up in + the afternoon, after pushing about the flat wooden disks all the morning. + Most of the talk at the table was of the varying fortunes of the players; + and the yarn of the story-teller in the forecastle remained half-spun, + while the sailors off watch gathered to look on, and to bet upon Lydia's + skill. It puzzled Staniford to make out whether she felt any strangeness + in the situation, which she accepted with so much apparent serenity. + Sometimes, in his frequently recurring talks with Dunham, he questioned + whether their delicate precautions for saving her feelings were not + perhaps thrown away upon a young person who played shuffle-board and + ring-toss on the deck of the Aroostook with as much self-possession as she + would have played croquet on her native turf at South Bradfield. + </p> + <p> + “Their ideal of propriety up country is very different from ours,” he + said, beginning one of his long comments. “I don't say that it concerns + the conscience more than ours does; but they think evil of different + things. We're getting Europeanized,—I don't mean you, Dunham; in + spite of your endeavors you will always remain one of the most hopelessly + American of our species,—and we have our little borrowed anxieties + about the free association of young people. They have none whatever; + though they are apt to look suspiciously upon married people's friendships + with other people's wives and husbands. It's quite likely that Lurella, + with the traditions of her queer world, has not imagined anything + anomalous in her position. She may realize certain inconveniences. But she + must see great advantages in it. Poor girl! How she must be rioting on the + united devotion of cabin and forecastle, after the scanty gallantries of a + hill town peopled by elderly unmarried women! I'm glad of it, for her + sake. I wonder which she really prizes most: your ornate attentions, or + the uncouth homage of those sailors, who are always running to fetch her + rings and blocks when she makes a wild shot. I believe I don't care and + shouldn't disapprove of her preference, whichever it was.” Staniford + frowned before he added: “But I object to Hicks and his drolleries. It's + impossible for that little wretch to think reverently of a young girl; + it's shocking to see her treating him as if he were a gentleman.” Hicks's + behavior really gave no grounds for reproach; and it was only his moral + mechanism, as Staniford called the character he constructed for him, which + he could blame; nevertheless, the thought of him gave an oblique cast to + Staniford's reflections, which he cut short by saying, “This sort of + worship is every woman's due in girlhood; but I suppose a fortnight of it + will make her a pert and silly coquette. What does she say to your + literature, Dunham?” + </p> + <p> + Dunham had already begun to lend Lydia books,—his own and + Staniford's,—in which he read aloud to her, and chose passages for + her admiration; but he was obliged to report that she had rather a passive + taste in literature. She seemed to like what he said was good, but not to + like it very much, or to care greatly for reading; or else she had never + had the habit of talking books. He suggested this to Staniford, who at + once philosophized it. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I rather like that, you know. We all read in such a literary way, + now; we don't read simply for the joy or profit of it; we expect to talk + about it, and say how it is this and that; and I've no doubt that we're + sub-consciously harassed, all the time, with an automatic process of + criticism. Now Lurella, I fancy, reads with the sense of the days when + people read in private, and not in public, as we do. She believes that + your serious books are all true; and she knows that my novels are all lies—that's + what some excellent Christians would call the fiction even of George Eliot + or of Hawthorne; she would be ashamed to discuss the lives and loves of + heroes and heroines who never existed. I think that's first-rate. She must + wonder at your distempered interest in them. If one could get at it, I + suppose the fresh wholesomeness of Lurella's mind would be something + delicious,—a quality like spring water.” + </p> + <p> + He was one of those men who cannot rest in regard to people they meet till + they have made some effort to formulate them. He liked to ticket them off; + but when he could not classify them, he remained content with his mere + study of them. His habit was one that does not promote sympathy with one's + fellow creatures. He confessed even that it disposed him to wish for their + less acquaintance when once he had got them generalized; they became then + collected specimens. Yet, for the time being, his curiosity in them gave + him a specious air of sociability. He lamented the insincerity which this + involved, but he could not help it. The next novelty in character was as + irresistible as the last; he sat down before it till it yielded its + meaning, or suggested to him some analogy by which he could interpret it. + </p> + <p> + With this passion for the arrangement and distribution of his neighbors, + it was not long before he had placed most of the people on board in what + he called the psychology of the ship. He did not care that they should fit + exactly in their order. He rather preferred that they should have + idiosyncrasies which differentiated them from their species, and he + enjoyed Lydia's being a little indifferent about books for this and for + other reasons. “If she were literary, she would be like those vulgar + little persons of genius in the magazine stories. She would have read all + sorts of impossible things up in her village. She would have been + discovered by some aesthetic summer boarder, who had happened to identify + her with the gifted Daisy Dawn, and she would be going out on the + aesthetic's money for the further expansion of her spirit in Europe. + Somebody would be obliged to fall in love with her, and she would + sacrifice her career for a man who was her inferior, as we should be + subtly given to understand at the close. I think it's going to be as + distinguished by and by not to like books as it is not to write them. + Lurella is a prophetic soul; and if there's anything comforting about her, + it's her being so merely and stupidly pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “She is not merely and stupidly pretty!” retorted Dunham. “She never does + herself justice when you are by. She can talk very well, and on some + subjects she thinks strongly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm sorry for that!” said Staniford. “But call me some time when + she's doing herself justice.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean that she's like the women we know. She doesn't say witty + things, and she hasn't their responsive quickness; but her ideas are her + own, no matter how old they are; and what she says she seems to be saying + for the first time, and as if it had never been thought out before.” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I have been contending for,” said Staniford; “that is what I + meant by spring water. It is that thrilling freshness which charms me in + Lurella.” He laughed. “Have you converted her to your spectacular faith, + yet?” Dunham blushed. “You have tried,” continued Staniford. “Tell me + about it!” + </p> + <p> + “I will not talk with you on such matters,” said Dunham, “till you know + how to treat serious things seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall know how when I realize that they are serious with you. Well, I + don't object to a woman's thinking strongly on religious subjects: it's + the only safe ground for her strong thinking, and even there she had + better feel strongly. Did you succeed in convincing her that Archbishop + Laud was a <i>saint incompris</i>, and the good King Charles a blessed + martyr.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham did not answer till he had choked down some natural resentment. He + had, several years earlier, forsaken the pale Unitarian worship of his + family, because, Staniford always said, he had such a feeling for color, + and had adopted an extreme tint of ritualism. It was rumored at one time, + before his engagement to Miss Hibbard, that he was going to unite with a + celibate brotherhood; he went regularly into retreat at certain seasons, + to the vast entertainment of his friend; and, within the bounds of good + taste, he was a zealous propagandist of his faith, of which he had the + practical virtues in high degree. “I hope,” he said presently, “that I + know how to respect convictions, even of those adhering to the Church in + Error.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed again. “I see you have not converted Lurella. Well, I + like that in her, too. I wish I could have the arguments, <i>pro</i> and + <i>con</i>. It would have been amusing. I suppose,” he pondered aloud, + “that she is a Calvinist of the deepest dye, and would regard me as a lost + spirit for being outside of her church. She would look down upon me from + one height, as I look down upon her from another. And really, as far as + personal satisfaction in superiority goes, she might have the advantage of + me. That's very curious, very interesting.” + </p> + <p> + As the first week wore away, the wonted incidents of a sea voyage lent + their variety to the life on board. One day the ship ran into a school of + whales, which remained heavily thumping and lolling about in her course, + and blowing jets of water into the air, like so many breaks in garden + hose, Staniford suggested. At another time some flying-fish came on board. + The sailors caught a dolphin, and they promised a shark, by and by. All + these things were turned to account for the young girl's amusement, as if + they had happened for her. The dolphin died that she might wonder and pity + his beautiful death; the cook fried her some of the flying-fish; some one + was on the lookout to detect even porpoises for her. A sail in the offing + won the discoverer envy when he pointed it out to her; a steamer, + celebrity. The captain ran a point out of his course to speak to a vessel, + that she might be able to tell what speaking a ship at sea was like. + </p> + <p> + At table the stores which the young men had laid in for private use became + common luxuries, and she fared sumptuously every day upon dainties which + she supposed were supplied by the ship,—delicate jellies and canned + meats and syruped fruits; and, if she wondered at anything, she must have + wondered at the scrupulous abstinence with which Captain Jenness, seconded + by Mr. Watterson, refused the luxuries which his bounty provided them, and + at the constancy with which Staniford declined some of these dishes, and + Hicks declined others. Shortly after the latter began more distinctly to + be tolerated, he appeared one day on deck with a steamer-chair in his + hand, and offered it to Lydia's use, where she sat on a stool by the + bulwark. After that, as she reclined in this chair, wrapped in her red + shawl, and provided with a book or some sort of becoming handiwork, she + was even more picturesquely than before the centre about which the ship's + pride and chivalrous sentiment revolved. They were Americans, and they + knew how to worship a woman. + </p> + <p> + Staniford did not seek occasions to please and amuse her, as the others + did. When they met, as they must, three times a day, at table, he took his + part in the talk, and now and then addressed her a perfunctory civility. + He imagined that she disliked him, and he interested himself in imagining + the ignorant grounds of her dislike. “A woman,” he said, “must always + dislike some one in company; it's usually another woman; as there's none + on board, I accept her enmity with meekness.” Dunham wished to persuade + him that he was mistaken. “Don't try to comfort me, Dunham,” he replied. + “I find a pleasure in being detested which is inconceivable to your + amiable bosom.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham turned to go below, from where they stood at the head of the cabin + stairs. Staniford looked round, and saw Lydia, whom they had kept from + coming up; she must have heard him. He took his cigar from his mouth, and + caught up a stool, which he placed near the ship's side, where Lydia + usually sat, and without waiting for her concurrence got a stool for + himself, and sat down with her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Miss Blood,” he said, “it's Saturday afternoon at last, and we're + at the end of our first week. Has it seemed very long to you?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia's color was bright with consciousness, but the glance she gave + Staniford showed him looking tranquilly and honestly at her. “Yes,” she + said, “it <i>has</i> seemed long.” + </p> + <p> + “That's merely the strangeness of everything. There's nothing like local + familiarity to make the time pass,—except monotony; and one gets + both at sea. Next week will go faster than this, and we shall all be at + Trieste before we know it. Of course we shall have a storm or two, and + that will retard us in fact as well as fancy. But you wouldn't feel that + you'd been at sea if you hadn't had a storm.” + </p> + <p> + He knew that his tone was patronizing, but he had theorized the girl so + much with a certain slight in his mind that he was not able at once to get + the tone which he usually took towards women. This might not, indeed, have + pleased some women any better than patronage: it mocked while it caressed + all their little pretenses and artificialities; he addressed them as if + they must be in the joke of themselves, and did not expect to be taken + seriously. At the same time he liked them greatly, and would not on any + account have had the silliest of them different from what she was. He did + not seek them as Dunham did; their society was not a matter of life or + death with him; but he had an elder-brotherly kindness for the whole sex. + </p> + <p> + Lydia waited awhile for him to say something more, but he added nothing, + and she observed, with a furtive look: “I presume you've seen some very + severe storms at sea.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Staniford answered, “I haven't. I've been over several times, but + I've never seen anything alarming. I've experienced the ordinary + seasickening tempestuousness.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you—have you ever been in Italy?” asked Lydia, after another + pause. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “twice; I'm very fond of Italy.” He spoke of it in a + familiar tone that might well have been discouraging to one of her total + unacquaintance with it. Presently he added of his own motion, looking at + her with his interest in her as a curious study, “You're going to Venice, + I think Mr. Dunham told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think it's rather a pity that you shouldn't arrive there + directly, without the interposition of Trieste.” He scanned her yet more + closely, but with a sort of absence in his look, as if he addressed some + ideal of her. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Lydia, apparently pushed to some self-assertion by this way + of being looked and talked at. + </p> + <p> + “It's the strangest place in the world,” said Staniford; and then he mused + again. “But I suppose—” He did not go on, and the word fell again to + Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to visit my aunt, who is staying there. She was where I live, + last summer, and she told us about it. But I couldn't seem to understand + it.” + </p> + <p> + “No one can understand it, without seeing it.” + </p> + <p> + “I've read some descriptions of it,” Lydia ventured. + </p> + <p> + “They're of no use,—the books.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Trieste a strange place, too?” + </p> + <p> + “It's strange, as a hundred other places are,—and it's picturesque; + but there's only one Venice.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid sometimes,” she faltered, as if his manner in regard to this + peculiar place had been hopelessly exclusive, “that it will be almost too + strange.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's another matter,” said Staniford. “I confess I should be rather + curious to know whether you liked Venice. I like it, but I can imagine + myself sympathizing with people who detested it,—if they said so. + Let me see what will give you some idea of it. Do you know Boston well?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I've only been there twice,” Lydia acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + “Then you've never seen the Back Bay by night, from the Long Bridge. Well, + let me see—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid,” interposed Lydia, “that I've not been about enough for you + to give me an idea from other places. We always go to Greenfield to do our + trading; and I've been to Keene and Springfield a good many times.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry to say I haven't,” said Staniford. “But I'll tell you: Venice + looks like an inundated town. If you could imagine those sunset clouds + yonder turned marble, you would have Venice as she is at sunset. You must + first think of the sea when you try to realize the place. If you don't + find the sea too strange, you won't find Venice so.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish it would ever seem half as home-like!” cried the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Then you find the ship—I'm glad you find the ship—home-like,” + said Staniford, tentatively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; everything is so convenient and pleasant. It seems sometimes as + if I had always lived here.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's very nice,” assented Staniford, rather blankly. “Some people + feel a little queer at sea—in the beginning. And you haven't—at + all?” He could not help this leading question, yet he knew its meanness, + and felt remorse for it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>I</i> did, at first,” responded the girl, but went no farther; and + Staniford was glad of it. After all, why should he care to know what was + in her mind? + </p> + <p> + “Captain Jenness,” he merely said, “understands making people at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, indeed,” assented Lydia. “And Mr. Watterson is very agreeable, + and Mr. Mason. I didn't suppose sailors were so. What soft, mild voices + they have!” + </p> + <p> + “That's the speech of most of the Down East coast people.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it? I like it better than our voices. Our voices are so sharp and + high, at home.” + </p> + <p> + “It's hard to believe that,” said Staniford, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked at him. “Oh, I wasn't born in South Bradfield. I was ten + years old when I went there to live.” + </p> + <p> + “Where <i>were</i> you born, Miss Blood?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “In California. My father had gone out for his health, but he died there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Staniford. He had a book in his hand, and he began to scribble + a little sketch of Lydia's pose, on a fly-leaf. She looked round and saw + it. “You've detected me,” he said; “I haven't any right to keep your + likeness, now. I must make you a present of this work of art, Miss Blood.” + He finished the sketch with some ironical flourishes, and made as if to + tear out the leaf. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Lydia, simply, “you will spoil the book!” + </p> + <p> + “Then the book shall go with the picture, if you'll let it,” said + Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to give it to me?” she asked, with surprise. + </p> + <p> + “That was my munificent intention. I want to write your name in it. What's + the initial of your first name, Miss Blood?” + </p> + <p> + “L, thank you,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Staniford gave a start. “No!” he exclaimed. It seemed a fatality. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Lydia,” persisted the girl. “What letter should it begin + with?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—oh, I knew Lydia began with an L,” stammered Staniford, “but I—I—I + thought your first name was—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Lydia sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Lily,” he answered guiltily. + </p> + <p> + “Lily <i>Blood</i>!” cried the girl. “Lydia is bad enough; but <i>Lily</i> + Blood! They couldn't have been such fools!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon. Of course not. I don't know how I could have got the + idea. It was one of those impressions—hallucinations—” + Staniford found himself in an attitude of lying excuse towards the simple + girl, over whom he had been lording it in satirical fancy ever since he + had seen her, and meekly anxious that she should not be vexed with him. He + began to laugh at his predicament, and she smiled at his mistake. “What is + the date?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The 15th,” she said; and he wrote under the sketch, <i>Lydia Blood. Ship + Aroostook, August</i> 15, 1874, and handed it to her, with a bow + surcharged with gravity. + </p> + <p> + She took it, and regarded the picture without comment. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Staniford, “I see that you know how bad my sketch is. You + sketch.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't know how to draw,” replied Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “You criticise.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “So glad,” said Staniford. He began to like this. A young man must find + pleasure in sitting alone near a pretty young girl, and talking with her + about herself and himself, no matter how plain and dull her speech is; and + Staniford, though he found Lydia as blankly unresponsive as might be to + the flattering irony of his habit, amused himself in realizing that here + suddenly he was almost upon the terms of window-seat flirtation with a + girl whom lately he had treated with perfect indifference, and just now + with fatherly patronage. The situation had something more even than the + usual window-seat advantages; it had qualities as of a common shipwreck, + of their being cast away on a desolate island together. He felt more than + ever that he must protect this helpless loveliness, since it had begun to + please his imagination. “You don't criticise,” he said. “Is that because + you are so amiable? I'm sure you could, if you would.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” returned Lydia; “I don't really know. But I've often wished I did + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you didn't teach drawing, in your school?” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know I had a school?” asked Lydia quickly. + </p> + <p> + He disliked to confess his authority, because he disliked the authority, + but he said, “Mr. Hicks told us.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hicks!” Lydia gave a little frown as of instinctive displeasure, + which gratified Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the cabin-boy told him. You see, we are dreadful gossips on the + Aroostook,—though there are so few ladies—” It had slipped + from him, but it seemed to have no personal slant for Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; I told Thomas,” she said. “No; it's only a country school. Once + I thought I should go down to the State Normal School, and study drawing + there; but I never did. Are you—are you a painter, Mr. Staniford?” + </p> + <p> + He could not recollect that she had pronounced his name before; he thought + it came very winningly from her lips. “No, I'm not a painter. I'm not + anything.” He hesitated; then he added recklessly, “I'm a farmer.” + </p> + <p> + “A farmer?” Lydia looked incredulous, but grave. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I'm a horny-handed son of the soil. I'm a cattle-farmer; I'm a + sheep-farmer; I don't know which. One day I'm the one, and the next day + I'm the other.” Lydia looked mystified, and Staniford continued: “I mean + that I have no profession, and that sometimes I think of going into + farming, out West.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “How should I like it? Give me an opinion, Miss Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” answered the girl. + </p> + <p> + “You would never have dreamt that I was a farmer, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I shouldn't,” said Lydia, honestly. “It's very hard work.” + </p> + <p> + “And I don't look fond of hard work?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say that.” + </p> + <p> + “And I've no right to press you for your meaning.” + </p> + <p> + “What I meant was—I mean—Perhaps if you had never tried it you + didn't know what very hard work it was. Some of the summer boarders used + to think our farmers had easy times.” + </p> + <p> + “I never was a summer boarder of that description. I know that farming is + hard work, and I'm going into it because I dislike it. What do you think + of that as a form of self-sacrifice?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why any one should sacrifice himself uselessly.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't? You have very little conception of martyrdom. Do you like + teaching school?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you teach, then?” Staniford had blundered. He knew why she taught, + and he felt instantly that he had hurt her pride, more sensitive than that + of a more sophisticated person, who would have had no scruple in saying + that she did it because she was poor. He tried to retrieve himself. “Of + course, I understand that school-teaching is useful self-sacrifice.” He + trembled lest she should invent some pretext for leaving him; he could not + afford to be left at a disadvantage. “But do you know, I would no more + have taken you for a teacher than you me for a farmer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + He could not tell whether she was appeased or not, and he rather feared + not. “You don't ask why. And I asked you why at once.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia laughed. “Well, why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's a secret. I'll tell you one of these days.” He had really no + reason; he said this to gain time. He was always honest in his talk with + men, but not always with women. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I look very young,” said Lydia. “I used to be afraid of the big + boys.” + </p> + <p> + “If the boys were big enough,” interposed Staniford, “they must have been + afraid of you.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia said, as if she had not understood, “I had hard work to get my + certificate. But I was older than I looked.” + </p> + <p> + “That is much better,” remarked Staniford, “than being younger than you + look. I am twenty-eight, and people take me for thirty-four. I'm a + prematurely middle-aged man. I wish you would tell me, Miss Blood, a + little about South Bradfield. I've been trying to make out whether I was + ever there. I tramped nearly everywhere when I was a student. What sort of + people are they there?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they are very nice people,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like them?” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought whether I did. They are nearly all old. Their children + have gone away; they don't seem to live; they are just staying. When I + first came there I was a little girl. One day I went into the grave-yard + and counted the stones; there were three times as many as there were + living persons in the village.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I know the kind of place,” said Staniford. “I suppose you're not + very homesick?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for the place,” answered Lydia, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” Staniford hastened to add, “you miss your own family circle.” + To this she made no reply. It is the habit of people bred like her to + remain silent for want of some sort of formulated comment upon remarks to + which they assent. + </p> + <p> + Staniford fell into a musing mood, which was without visible embarrassment + to the young girl, who must have been inured to much severer silences in + the society of South Bradfield. He remained staring at her throughout his + reverie, which in fact related to her. He was thinking what sort of an old + maid she would have become if she had remained in that village. He fancied + elements of hardness and sharpness in her which would have asserted + themselves as the joyless years went on, like the bony structure of her + face as the softness of youth left it. She was saved from that, whatever + was to be her destiny in Italy. From South Bradfield to Venice,—what + a prodigious transition! It seemed as if it must transfigure her. “Miss + Blood,” he exclaimed, “I wish I could be with you when you first see + Venice!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Even the interrogative comment, with the rising inflection, could not + chill his enthusiasm. “It is really the greatest sight in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia had apparently no comment to make on this fact. She waited + tranquilly a while before she said, “My father used to talk about Italy to + me when I was little. He wanted to go. My mother said afterwards—after + she had come home with me to South Bradfield—that she always + believed he would have lived if he had gone there. He had consumption.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Staniford softly. Then he added, with the tact of his sex, + “Miss Blood, you mustn't take cold, sitting here with me. This wind is + chilly. Shall I go below and get you some more wraps?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” said Lydia; “I believe I will go down, now.” + </p> + <p> + She went below to her room, and then came out into the cabin with some + sewing at which she sat and stitched by the lamp. The captain was writing + in his log-book; Dunham and Hicks were playing checkers together. + Staniford, from a corner of a locker, looked musingly upon this curious + family circle. It was not the first time that its occupations had struck + him oddly. Sometimes when they were all there together, Dunham read aloud. + Hicks knew tricks of legerdemain which he played cleverly. The captain + told some very good stories, and led off in the laugh. Lydia always sewed + and listened. She did not seem to find herself strangely placed, and her + presence characterized all that was said and done with a charming + innocence. As a bit of life, it was as pretty as it was quaint. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” Staniford said to Dunham, as they turned in, that night, “she + has domesticated us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Dunham with enthusiasm; “isn't she a nice girl?” + </p> + <p> + “She's intolerably passive. Or not passive, either. She says what she + thinks, but she doesn't seem to have thought of many things. Did she ever + tell you about her father?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “I mean about his dying of consumption?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she never spoke of him to me. Was he—” + </p> + <p> + “Um. It appears that we have been upon terms of confidence, then.” + Staniford paused, with one boot in his hand. “I should never have thought + it.” + </p> + <p> + “What was her father?” asked Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, I don't know. I didn't seem to get beyond elemental + statements of intimate fact with her. He died in California, where she was + born; and he always had a longing to go to Italy. That was rather pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very touching, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. We might fancy this about Lurella: that she has a sort of + piety in visiting the scenes that her father wished to visit, and that—Well, + anything is predicable of a girl who says so little and looks so much. + She's certainly very handsome; and I'm bound to say that her room could + not have been better than her company, so far.” + </p> + <h3> + X. + </h3> + <p> + The dress that Lydia habitually wore was one which her aunt Maria studied + from the costume of a summer boarder, who had spent a preceding summer at + the sea-shore, and who found her yachting-dress perfectly adapted to + tramping over the South Bradfield hills. Thus reverting to its original + use on shipboard, the costume looked far prettier on Lydia than it had on + the summer boarder from whose unconscious person it had been plagiarized. + It was of the darkest blue flannel, and was fitly set off with those + bright ribbons at the throat which women know how to dispose there + according to their complexions. One day the bow was scarlet, and another + crimson; Staniford did not know which was better, and disputed the point + in vain with Dunham. They all grew to have a taste in such matters. + Captain Jenness praised her dress outright, and said that he should tell + his girls about it. Lydia, who had always supposed it was a walking + costume, remained discreetly silent when the young men recognized its + nautical character. She enjoyed its success; she made some little changes + in the hat she wore with it, which met the approval of the cabin family; + and she tranquilly kept her black silk in reserve for Sunday. She came out + to breakfast in it, and it swept the narrow spaces, as she emerged from + her state-room, with so rich and deep a murmur that every one looked up. + She sustained their united glance with something tenderly deprecatory and + appealingly conscious in her manner, much as a very sensitive girl in some + new finery meets the eyes of her brothers when she does not know whether + to cry or laugh at what they will say. Thomas almost dropped a plate. + “Goodness!” he said, helplessly expressing the public sentiment in regard + to a garment of which he alone had been in the secret. No doubt it passed + his fondest dreams of its splendor; it fitted her as the sheath of the + flower fits the flower. + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness looked hard at her, but waited a decent season after + saying grace before offering his compliment, which he did in drawing the + carving-knife slowly across the steel. “Well, Miss Blood, that's right!” + Lydia blushed richly, and the young men made their obeisances across the + table. + </p> + <p> + The flushes and pallors chased each other over her face, and the sight of + her pleasure in being beautiful charmed Staniford. “If she were used to + worship she would have taken our adoration more arrogantly,” he said to + his friend when they went on deck after breakfast. “I can place her; but + one's circumstance doesn't always account for one in America, and I can't + make out yet whether she's ever been praised for being pretty. Some of our + hill-country people would have felt like hushing up her beauty, as almost + sinful, and some would have gone down before it like Greeks. I can't tell + whether she knows it all or not; but if you suppose her unconscious till + now, it's pathetic. And black silks must be too rare in her life not to be + celebrated by a high tumult of inner satisfaction. I'm glad we bowed down + to the new dress.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Dunham, with an uneasy absence; “but—Staniford, I + should like to propose to Captain Jenness our having service this morning. + It is the eleventh Sunday after—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes!” said Staniford. “It is Sunday, isn't it? I <i>thought</i> we + had breakfast rather later than usual. All over the Christian world, on + land and sea, there is this abstruse relation between a late breakfast and + religious observances.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham looked troubled. “I wish you wouldn't talk that way, Staniford, and + I hope you won't say anything—” + </p> + <p> + “To interfere with your proposition? My dear fellow, I am at least a + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said Dunham, gratefully. + </p> + <p> + Staniford even went himself to the captain with Dunham's wish; it is true + the latter assumed the more disagreeable part of proposing the matter to + Hicks, who gave a humorous assent, as one might to a joke of doubtful + feasibility. + </p> + <p> + Dunham gratified both his love for social management and his zeal for his + church in this organization of worship; and when all hands were called + aft, and stood round in decorous silence, he read the lesson for the day, + and conducted the service with a gravity astonishing to the sailors, who + had taken him for a mere dandy. Staniford bore his part in the responses + from the same prayer-book with Captain Jenness, who kept up a devout, + inarticulate under-growl, and came out strong on particular words when he + got his bearings through his spectacles. Hicks and the first officer + silently shared another prayer-book, and Lydia offered half hers to Mr. + Mason. + </p> + <p> + When the hymn was given out, she waited while an experimental search for + the tune took place among the rest. They were about to abandon the + attempt, when she lifted her voice and began to sing. She sang as she did + in the meeting-house at South Bradfield, and her voice seemed to fill all + the hollow height and distance; it rang far off like a mermaid's singing, + on high like an angel's; it called with the same deep appeal to sense and + soul alike. The sailors stood rapt; Dunham kept up a show of singing for + the church's sake. The others made no pretense of looking at the words; + they looked at her, and she began to falter, hearing herself alone. Then + Staniford struck in again wildly, and the sea-voices lent their powerful + discord, while the girl's contralto thrilled through all. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Miss Blood,” said the captain, when the service had ended in that + subordination of the spiritual to the artistic interest which marks the + process and the close of so much public worship in our day, “you've given + us a surprise. I guess we shall keep you pretty busy with our calls for + music, after this.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a genius!” observed Staniford at his first opportunity with + Dunham. “I knew there must be something the matter. Of course she's going + out to school her voice; and she hasn't strained it in idle babble about + her own affairs! I must say that Lu—Miss Blood's power of holding + her tongue commands my homage. Was it her little <i>coup</i> to wait till + we got into that hopeless hobble before she struck in?” + </p> + <p> + “Coup? For shame, Staniford! Coup at such a time!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! I don't say so. But for the theatre one can't begin + practicing these effects too soon. Really, that voice puts a new + complexion on Miss Blood. I have a theory to reconstruct. I have been + philosophizing her as a simple country girl. I must begin on an operatic + novice. I liked the other better. It gave value to the black silk; as a + singer she'll wear silk as habitually as a cocoon. She will have to take + some stage name; translate Blood into Italian. We shall know her hereafter + as La Sanguinelli; and when she comes to Boston we shall make our modest + brags about going out to Europe with her. I don't know; I think I + preferred the idyllic flavor I was beginning to find in the presence of + the ordinary, futureless young girl, voyaging under the chaperonage of her + own innocence,—the Little Sister of the Whole Ship. But this + crepusculant prima donna—no, I don't like it. Though it explains + some things. These splendid creatures are never sent half equipped into + the world. I fancy that where there's an operatic voice, there's an + operatic soul to go with it. Well, La Sanguinelli will wear me out, yet! + Suggest some new topic, Dunham; talk of something else, for heaven's + sake!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose,” asked Dunham, “that she would like to help get up some + <i>musicales</i>, to pass away the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you call that talking of something else? What an insatiate + organizer you are! You organize shuffleboard; you organize public worship; + you want to organize musicales. She would have to do all your music for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I think she would like to go in for it,” said Dunham. “It must be a + pleasure to exercise such a gift as that, and now that it's come out in + the way it has, it would be rather awkward for us not to recognize it.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford refused point-blank to be a party to the new enterprise, and + left Dunham to his own devices at dinner, where he proposed the matter. + </p> + <p> + “If you had my Persis here, now,” observed Captain Jenness, “with her + parlor organ, you could get along.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Miss Jenness was here,” said Dunham, politely. “But we must try to + get on as it is. With Miss Blood's voice to start with, nothing ought to + discourage us.” Dunham had a thin and gentle pipe of his own, and a + fairish style in singing, but with his natural modesty he would not offer + himself as a performer except in default of all others. “Don't you sing, + Mr. Hicks?” + </p> + <p> + “Anything to oblige a friend,” returned Hicks. “But I don't sing—before + Miss Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Blood,” said Staniford, listening in ironic safety, “you overawe us + all. I never did sing, but I think I should want to make an effort if you + were not by.” + </p> + <p> + “But don't you—don't you play something, anything?” persisted + Dunham, in desperate appeal to Hicks. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes,” the latter admitted, “I play the flute a little.” + </p> + <p> + “Flutes on water!” said Staniford. Hicks looked at him in sulky dislike, + but as if resolved not to be put down by him. + </p> + <p> + “And have you got your flute with you?” demanded Dunham, joyously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have,” replied Hicks. + </p> + <p> + “Then we are all right. I think I can carry a part, and if you will play + to Miss Blood's singing—” + </p> + <p> + “Try it this evening, if you like,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ah—I don't know. Perhaps—we hadn't better begin this + evening.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed at Dunham's embarrassment. “You might have a sacred + concert, and Mr. Hicks could represent the shawms and cymbals with his + flute.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham looked sorry for Staniford's saying this. Captain Jenness stared at + him, as if his taking the names of these scriptural instruments in vain + were a kind of blasphemy, and Lydia seemed puzzled and a little troubled. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think of its being Sunday,” said Hicks, with what Staniford felt + to be a cunning assumption of manly frankness, “or any more Sunday than + usual; seems as if we had had a month of Sundays already since we sailed. + I'm not much on religion myself, but I shouldn't like to interfere with + other people's principles.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford was vexed with himself for his scornful pleasantry, and vexed + with the others for taking it so seriously and heavily, and putting him so + unnecessarily in the wrong. He was angry with Dunham, and he said to + Hicks, “Very just sentiments.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you like them,” replied Hicks, with sullen apprehension of the + offensive tone. + </p> + <p> + Staniford turned to Lydia. “I suppose that in South Bradfield your Sabbath + is over at sundown on Sunday evening.” + </p> + <p> + “That used to be the custom,” answered the girl. “I've heard my + grandfather tell of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” interposed Captain Jenness. “They used to keep Saturday night + down our way, too. I can remember when I was a boy. It came pretty hard to + begin so soon, but it seemed to kind of break it, after all, having a + night in.” + </p> + <p> + The captain did not know what Staniford began to laugh at. “Our Puritan + ancestors knew just how much human nature could stand, after all. We did + not have an uninterrupted Sabbath till the Sabbath had become much milder. + Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + The captain had probably no very clear notion of what this meant, but + simply felt it to be a critical edge of some sort. “I don't know as you + can have too much religion,” he remarked. “I've seen some pretty rough + customers in the church, but I always thought, What would they be out of + it!” + </p> + <p> + “Very true!” said Staniford, smiling. He wanted to laugh again, but he + liked the captain too well to do that; and then he began to rage in his + heart at the general stupidity which had placed him in the attitude of + mocking at religion, a thing he would have loathed to do. It seemed to him + that Dunham was answerable for his false position. “But we shall not see + the right sort of Sabbath till Mr. Dunham gets his Catholic church fully + going,” he added. + </p> + <p> + They all started, and looked at Dunham as good Protestants must when some + one whom they would never have suspected of Catholicism turns out to be a + Catholic. Dunham cast a reproachful glance at his friend, but said simply, + “I am a Catholic,—that is true; but I do not admit the pretensions + of the Bishop of Rome.” + </p> + <p> + The rest of the company apparently could not follow him in making this + distinction; perhaps some of them did not quite know who the Bishop of + Rome was. Lydia continued to look at him in fascination; Hicks seemed + disposed to whistle, if such a thing were allowable; Mr. Watterson + devoutly waited for the captain. “Well,” observed the captain at last, + with the air of giving the devil his due, “I've seen some very good people + among the Catholics.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so, Captain Jenness,” said the first officer. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see,” said Lydia, without relaxing her gaze, “why, if you are a + Catholic, you read the service of a Protestant church.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a Protestant church,” answered Dunham, gently, “as I have tried + to explain to you.” + </p> + <p> + “The Episcopalian?” demanded Captain Jenness. + </p> + <p> + “The Episcopalian,” sweetly reiterated Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know what kind of a church it is, then,” said Captain + Jenness, triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “An Apostolic church.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness rubbed his nose, as if this were a new kind of church to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Founded by Saint Henry VIII. himself,” interjected Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “No, Staniford,” said Dunham, with a soft repressiveness. And now a + threatening light of zeal began to burn in his kindly eyes. These souls + had plainly been given into his hands for ecclesiastical enlightenment. + “If our friends will allow me, I will explain—” + </p> + <p> + Staniford's shaft had recoiled upon his own head. “O Lord!” he cried, + getting up from the table, “I can't stand <i>that</i>!” The others + regarded him, as he felt, even to that weasel of a Hicks, as a sheep of + uncommon blackness. He went on deck, and smoked a cigar without relief. He + still heard the girl's voice in singing; and he still felt in his nerves + the quality of latent passion in it which had thrilled him when she sang. + His thought ran formlessly upon her future, and upon what sort of being + was already fated to waken her to those possibilities of intense suffering + and joy which he imagined in her. A wound at his heart, received long + before, hurt vaguely; and he felt old. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + No one said anything more of the musicales, and the afternoon and evening + wore away without general talk. Each seemed willing to keep apart from the + rest. Dunham suffered Lydia to come on deck alone after tea, and Staniford + found her there, in her usual place, when he went up some time later. He + approached her at once, and said, smiling down into her face, to which the + moonlight gave a pale mystery, “Miss Blood, did you think I was very + wicked to-day at dinner?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked away, and waited a moment before she spoke. “I don't know,” + she said. Then, impulsively, “Did you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, honestly, I don't think I was,” answered Staniford. “But I seemed to + leave that impression on the company. I felt a little nasty, that was all; + and I tried to hurt Mr. Dunham's feelings. But I shall make it right with + him before I sleep; he knows that. He's used to having me repent at + leisure. Do you ever walk Sunday night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sometimes,” said Lydia interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad of that. Then I shall not offend against your scruples if I ask + you to join me in a little ramble, and you will refuse from purely + personal considerations. Will you walk with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Lydia rose. + </p> + <p> + “And will you take my arm?” asked Staniford, a little surprised at her + readiness. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand upon his arm, confidently enough, and they began to walk + up and down the stretch of open deck together. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Staniford, “did Mr. Dunham convince you all?” + </p> + <p> + “I think he talks beautifully about it,” replied Lydia, with quaint + stiffness. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you see what a very good fellow he is. I have a real affection + for Dunham.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he's good. At first it surprised me. I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” Staniford quickly interrupted, “why did it surprise you to find + Dunham good?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. You don't expect a person to be serious who is so—so—” + </p> + <p> + “Handsome?” + </p> + <p> + “No,—so—I don't know just how to say it: fashionable.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “Why, Miss Blood, you're fashionably dressed yourself, + not to go any farther, and you're serious.” + </p> + <p> + “It's different with a man,” the girl explained. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, how about me?” asked Staniford. “Am I too well dressed to be + expected to be serious?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dunham always seems in earnest,” Lydia answered, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “And you think one can't be in earnest without being serious?” Lydia + suffered one of those silences to ensue in which Staniford had already + found himself helpless. He knew that he should be forced to break it: and + he said, with a little spiteful mocking, “I suppose the young men of South + Bradfield are both serious and earnest.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “The young men of South Bradfield.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you that there were none. They all go away.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, the young men of Springfield, of Keene, of Greenfield.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell. I am not acquainted there.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford had begun to have a disagreeable suspicion that her ready + consent to walk up and down with a young man in the moonlight might have + come from a habit of the kind. But it appeared that her fearlessness was + like that of wild birds in those desert islands where man has never come. + The discovery gave him pleasure out of proportion to its importance, and + he paced back and forth in a silence that no longer chafed. Lydia walked + very well, and kept his step with rhythmic unison, as if they were walking + to music together. “That's the time in her pulses,” he thought, and then + he said, “Then you don't have a great deal of social excitement, I + suppose,—dancing, and that kind of thing? Though perhaps you don't + approve of dancing?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I like it. Sometimes the summer boarders get up little dances at + the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the summer boarders!” Staniford had overlooked them. “The young men + get them up, and invite the ladies?” he pursued. + </p> + <p> + “There are no young men, generally, among the summer boarders. The ladies + dance together. Most of the gentlemen are old, or else invalids.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “At the Mill Village, where I've taught two winters, they have dances + sometimes,—the mill hands do.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you go?” + </p> + <p> + “No. They are nearly all French Canadians and Irish people.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you like dancing because there are no gentlemen to dance with?” + </p> + <p> + “There are gentlemen at the picnics.” + </p> + <p> + “The picnics?” + </p> + <p> + “The teachers' picnics. They have them every summer, in a grove by the + pond.” + </p> + <p> + There was, then, a high-browed, dyspeptic high-school principal, and the + desert-island theory was probably all wrong. It vexed Staniford, when he + had so nearly got the compass of her social life, to find this unexplored + corner in it. + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you are leaving very agreeable friends among the teachers?” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them are pleasant. But I don't know them very well. I've only + been to one of the picnics.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford drew a long, silent breath. After all, he knew everything. He + mechanically dropped a little the arm on which her hand rested, that it + might slip farther within. Her timid remoteness had its charm, and he fell + to thinking, with amusement, how she who was so subordinate to him was, in + the dimly known sphere in which he had been groping to find her, probably + a person of authority and consequence. It satisfied a certain domineering + quality in him to have reduced her to this humble attitude, while it + increased the protecting tenderness he was beginning to have for her. His + mind went off further upon this matter of one's different attitudes toward + different persons; he thought of men, and women too, before whom he should + instantly feel like a boy, if he could be confronted with them, even in + his present lordliness of mood. In a fashion of his when he convicted + himself of anything, he laughed aloud. Lydia shrank a little from him, in + question. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I was laughing at something I + happened to think of. Do you ever find yourself struggling very hard to be + what you think people think you are?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” replied Lydia. “But I thought no one else did.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody does the thing that we think no one else does,” said Staniford, + sententiously. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether I quite like it,” said Lydia. “It seems like + hypocrisy. It used to worry me. Sometimes I wondered if I had any real + self. I seemed to be just what people made me, and a different person to + each.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to hear it, Miss Blood. We are companions in hypocrisy. As we + are such nonentities we shall not affect each other at all.” Lydia + laughed. “Don't you think so? What are you laughing at? I told you what I + was laughing at!” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “You wished to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you ought to tell me what I wish to know.” + </p> + <p> + “It's nothing,” said Lydia. “I thought you were mistaken in what you + said.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Then you believe that there's enough of you to affect me?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “The other way, then?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm delighted!” exclaimed Staniford. “I hope I don't exert an + uncomfortable influence. I should be very unhappy to think so.” Lydia + stooped side-wise, away from him, to get a fresh hold of her skirt, which + she was carrying in her right hand, and she hung a little more heavily + upon his arm. “I hope I make you think better of yourself,—very + self-satisfied, very conceited even.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “You pique my curiosity beyond endurance. Tell me how I make you feel.” + </p> + <p> + She looked quickly round at him, as if to see whether he was in earnest. + “Why, it's nothing,” she said. “You made me feel as if you were laughing + at everybody.” + </p> + <p> + It flatters a man to be accused of sarcasm by the other sex, and Staniford + was not superior to the soft pleasure of the reproach. “Do you think I + make other people feel so, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dunham said—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Mr. Dunham has been talking me over with you, has he? What did he + tell you of me? There is nobody like a true friend for dealing an + underhand blow at one's reputation. Wait till you hear my account of + Dunham! What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said that was only your way of laughing at yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “The traitor! What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that I said anything.” + </p> + <p> + “You were reserving your opinion for my own hearing?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you tell me what you thought? It might be of great use to me. + I'm in earnest, now; I'm serious. Will you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, some time,” said Lydia, who was both amused and mystified at this + persistence. + </p> + <p> + “When? To-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's too soon. When I get to Venice!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That's a subterfuge. You know we shall part in Trieste.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” said Lydia, “you were coming to Venice, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, but I shouldn't be able to see you there.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Why, because—” He was near telling the young girl who hung + upon his arm, and walked up and down with him in the moonlight, that in + the wicked Old World towards which they were sailing young people could + not meet save in the sight and hearing of their elders, and that a + confidential analysis of character would be impossible between them there. + The wonder of her being where she was, as she was, returned upon him with + a freshness that it had been losing in the custom of the week past. + “Because you will be so much taken up with your friends,” he said, lamely. + He added quickly, “There's one thing I should like to know, Miss Blood: + did you hear what Mr. Dunham and I were saying, last night, when we stood + in the gangway and kept you from coming up?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia waited a moment. Then she said, “Yes. I couldn't help hearing it.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. I don't care for your hearing what I said. But—I + hope it wasn't true?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't understand what you meant by it,” she answered, evasively, but + rather faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Staniford. “I didn't mean anything. It was merely the + guilty consciousness of a generally disagreeable person.” They walked up + and down many turns without saying anything. She could not have made any + direct protest, and it pleased him that she could not frame any + flourishing generalities. “Yes,” Staniford resumed, “I will try to see you + as I pass through Venice. And I will come to hear you sing when you come + out at Milan.” + </p> + <p> + “Come out? At Milan?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes! You are going to study at the conservatory in Milan?” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know that?” demanded Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “From hearing you to-day. May I tell you how much I liked your singing?” + </p> + <p> + “My aunt thought I ought to cultivate my voice. But I would never go upon + the stage. I would rather sing in a church. I should like that better than + teaching.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you're quite right,” said Staniford, gravely. “It's certainly + much better to sing in a church than to sing in a theatre. Though I + believe the theatre pays best.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't care for that. All I should want would be to make a living.” + </p> + <p> + The reference to her poverty touched him. It was a confidence, coming from + one so reticent, that was of value. He waited a moment and said, “It's + surprising how well we keep our footing here, isn't it? There's hardly any + swell, but the ship pitches. I think we walk better together than alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Lydia, “I think we do.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't let me tire you. I'm indefatigable.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not tired. I like it,—walking.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you walk much at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much. It's a pretty good walk to the school-house.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Then you like walking at sea better than you do on shore?” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't the custom, much. If there were any one else, I should have + liked it there. But it's rather dull, going by yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understand how that is,” said Staniford, dropping his teasing + tone. “It's stupid. And I suppose it's pretty lonesome at South Bradfield + every way.” + </p> + <p> + “It is,—winters,” admitted Lydia. “In the summer you see people, at + any rate, but in winter there are days and days when hardly any one + passes. The snow is banked up everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + He felt her give an involuntary shiver; and he began to talk to her about + the climate to which she was going. It was all stranger to her than he + could have realized, and less intelligible. She remembered California very + dimly, and she had no experience by which she could compare and adjust his + facts. He made her walk up and down more and more swiftly, as he lost + himself in the comfort of his own talking and of her listening, and he + failed to note the little falterings with which she expressed her + weariness. + </p> + <p> + All at once he halted, and said, “Why, you're out of breath! I beg your + pardon. You should have stopped me. Let us sit down.” He wished to walk + across the deck to where the seats were, but she just perceptibly + withstood his motion, and he forbore. + </p> + <p> + “I think I won't sit down,” she said. “I will go down-stairs.” She began + withdrawing her hand from his arm. He put his right hand upon hers, and + when it came out of his arm it remained in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you won't walk with me again,” said Staniford. “I've tired you + shamefully.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all!” + </p> + <p> + “And you will?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. You're very amiable.” He still held her hand. He pressed it. The + pressure was not returned, but her hand seemed to quiver and throb in his + like a bird held there. For the time neither of them spoke, and it seemed + a long time. Staniford found himself carrying her hand towards his lips; + and she was helplessly, trustingly, letting him. + </p> + <p> + He dropped her hand, and said, abruptly, “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” she answered, and ceased from his side like a ghost. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + Staniford sat in the moonlight, and tried to think what the steps were + that had brought him to this point; but there were no steps of which he + was sensible. He remembered thinking the night before that the conditions + were those of flirtation; to-night this had not occurred to him. The talk + had been of the dullest commonplaces; yet he had pressed her hand and kept + it in his, and had been about to kiss it. He bitterly considered the + disparity between his present attitude and the stand he had taken when he + declared to Dunham that it rested with them to guard her peculiar + isolation from anything that she could remember with pain or humiliation + when she grew wiser in the world. He recalled his rage with Hicks, and the + insulting condemnation of his bearing towards him ever since; and could + Hicks have done worse? He had done better: he had kept away from her; he + had let her alone. + </p> + <p> + That night Staniford slept badly, and woke with a restless longing to see + the girl, and to read in her face whatever her thought of him had been. + But Lydia did not come out to breakfast. Thomas reported that she had a + headache, and that he had already carried her the tea and toast she + wanted. “Well, it seems kind of lonesome without her,” said the captain. + “It don't seem as if we could get along.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed desolate to Staniford, who let the talk flag and fail round him + without an effort to rescue it. All the morning he lurked about, keeping + out of Dunham's way, and fighting hard through a dozen pages of a book, to + which he struggled to nail his wandering mind. A headache was a little + matter, but it might be even less than a headache. He belated himself + purposely at dinner, and entered the cabin just as Lydia issued from her + stateroom door. + </p> + <p> + She was pale and looked heavy-eyed. As she lifted her glance to him, she + blushed; and he felt the answering red stain his face. When she sat down, + the captain patted her on the shoulder with his burly right hand, and said + he could not navigate the ship if she got sick. He pressed her to eat of + this and that; and when she would not, he said, well, there was no use + trying to force an appetite, and that she would be better all the sooner + for dieting. Hicks went to his state-room, and came out with a box of + guava jelly, from his private stores, and won a triumph enviable in all + eyes when Lydia consented to like it with the chicken. Dunham plundered + his own and Staniford's common stock of dainties for her dessert; the + first officer agreed and applauded right and left; Staniford alone sat + taciturn and inoperative, watching her face furtively. Once her eyes + wandered to the side of the table where he and Dunham sat; then she + colored and dropped her glance. + </p> + <p> + He took his book again after dinner, and with his finger between the + leaves, at the last-read, unintelligible page, he went out to the bow, and + crouched down there to renew the conflict of the morning. It was not long + before Dunham followed. He stooped over to lay a hand on either of + Staniford's shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you avoid me, old man?” he demanded, looking into Staniford's + face with his frank, kind eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And I avoid you?” asked Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I feel rather shabby, I suppose. I knew I felt shabby, but I + didn't know I was avoiding you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no matter. If you feel shabby, it's all right; but I hate to have + you feel shabby.” He got his left hand down into Staniford's right, and a + tacit reconciliation was transacted between them. Dunham looked about for + a seat, and found a stool, which he planted in front of Staniford. “Wasn't + it pleasant to have our little lady back at table, again?” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't help thinking how droll it was that a person whom we all + considered a sort of incumbrance and superfluity at first should really + turn out an object of prime importance to us all. Isn't it amusing?” + </p> + <p> + “Very droll.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we were quite lost without her, at breakfast. I couldn't have + imagined her taking such a hold upon us all, in so short a time. But she's + a pretty creature, and as good as she's pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember agreeing with you on those points before.” Staniford feigned + to suppress fatigue. + </p> + <p> + Dunham observed him. “I know you don't take so much interest in her as—as + the rest of us do, and I wish you did. You don't know what a lovely nature + she is.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “No; and I'm sure you'd like her.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it important that I should like her? Don't let your enthusiasm for the + sex carry you beyond bounds, Dunham.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Not important, but very pleasant. And I think acquaintance with + such a girl would give you some new ideas of women.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my old ones are good enough. Look here, Dunham,” said Staniford, + sharply, “what are you after?” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think I'm after anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you're not a humbug, and because I am. My depraved spirit + instantly recognized the dawning duplicity of yours. But you'd better be + honest. You can't make the other thing work. What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want your advice. I want your help, Staniford.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so! Coming and forgiving me in that—apostolic manner.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” + </p> + <p> + “Well. What do you want my help for? What have you been doing?” Staniford + paused, and suddenly added: “Have you been making love to Lurella?” He + said this in his ironical manner, but his smile was rather ghastly. + </p> + <p> + “For shame, Staniford!” cried Dunham. But he reddened violently. + </p> + <p> + “Then it isn't with Miss Hibbard that you want my help. I'm glad of that. + It would have been awkward. I'm a little afraid of Miss Hibbard. It isn't + every one has your courage, my dear fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been making love to her,” said Dunham, “but—I—” + </p> + <p> + “But you what?” demanded Staniford sharply again. There had been less + tension of voice in his joking about Miss Hibbard. + </p> + <p> + “Staniford,” said his friend, “I don't know whether you noticed her, at + dinner, when she looked across to our own side?” + </p> + <p> + “What did she do?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you notice that she—well, that she blushed a little?” + </p> + <p> + Staniford waited a while before he answered, after a gulp, “Yes, I noticed + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know how to put it exactly, but I'm afraid that I have + unwittingly wronged this young girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Wronged her? What the devil <i>do</i> you mean, Dunham?” cried Staniford, + with bitter impatience. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid—I'm afraid—Why, it's simply this: that in trying + to amuse her, and make the time pass agreeably, and relieve her mind, and + all that, don't you know, I've given her the impression that I'm—well—interested + in her, and that she may have allowed herself—insensibly, you know—to + look upon me in that light, and that she may have begun to think—that + she may have become—” + </p> + <p> + “Interested in you?” interrupted Staniford rudely. + </p> + <p> + “Well—ah—well, that is—ah—well—yes!” cried + Dunham, bracing himself to sustain a shout of ridicule. But Staniford did + not laugh, and Dunham had courage to go on. “Of course, it sounds rather + conceited to say so, but the circumstances are so peculiar that I think we + ought to recognize even any possibilities of that sort.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Staniford, gravely. “Most women, I believe, are so + innocent as to think a man in love when he behaves like a lover. And this + one,” he added ruefully, “seems more than commonly ignorant of our ways,—of + our infernal shilly-shallying, purposeless no-mindedness. She couldn't + imagine a man—a gentleman—devoting himself to her by the hour, + and trying by every art to show his interest and pleasure in her society, + without imagining that he wished her to like him,—love him; there's + no half-way about it. She couldn't suppose him the shallow, dawdling, + soulless, senseless ape he really was.” Staniford was quite in a heat by + this time, and Dunham listened in open astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “You are hard upon me,” he said. “Of course, I have been to blame; I know + that, I acknowledge it. But my motive, as you know well enough, was never + to amuse myself with her, but to contribute in any way I could to her + enjoyment and happiness. I—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i>!” cried Staniford. “What are you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “What are <i>you</i> talking about?” demanded Dunham, in his turn. + </p> + <p> + Staniford recollected himself. “I was speaking of abstract flirtation. I + was firing into the air.” + </p> + <p> + “In my case, I don't choose to call it flirtation,” returned Dunham. “My + purpose, I am bound to say, was thoroughly unselfish and kindly.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Staniford, with a bitter smile, “there can be no + unselfishness and no kindliness between us and young girls, unless we mean + business,—love-making. You may be sure that they feel it so, if they + don't understand it so.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't agree with you. I don't believe it. My own experience is that the + sweetest and most generous friendships may exist between us, without a + thought of anything else. And as to making love, I must beg you to + remember that my love has been made once for all. I never dreamt of + showing Miss Blood anything but polite attention.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what are you troubled about?” + </p> + <p> + “I am troubled—” Dunham stopped helplessly, and Staniford laughed in + a challenging, disagreeable way, so that the former perforce resumed: + </p> + <p> + “I'm troubled about—about her possible misinterpretation.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Then in this case of sweet and generous friendship the party of the + second part may have construed the sentiment quite differently! Well, what + do you want me to do? Do you want me to take the contract off your hands?” + </p> + <p> + “You put it grossly,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “And <i>you</i> put it offensively!” cried the other. “My regard for the + young lady is as reverent as yours. You have no right to miscolor my + words.” + </p> + <p> + “Staniford, you are too bad,” said Dunham, hurt even more than angered. + “If I've come to you in the wrong moment—if you are vexed at + anything, I'll go away, and beg your pardon for boring you.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford was touched; he looked cordially into his friend's face. “I <i>was</i> + vexed at something, but you never can come to me at the wrong moment, old + fellow. I beg <i>your</i> pardon. <i>I</i> see your difficulty plainly + enough, and I think you're quite right in proposing to hold up,—for + that's what you mean, I take it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Dunham, “it is. And I don't know how she will like it. She + will be puzzled and grieved by it. I hadn't thought seriously about the + matter till this morning, when she didn't come to breakfast. You know I've + been in the habit of asking her to walk with me every night after tea; but + Saturday evening you were with her, and last night I felt sore about the + affairs of the day, and rather dull, and I didn't ask her. I think she + noticed it. I think she was hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “You think so?” said Staniford, peculiarly. + </p> + <p> + “I might not have thought so,” continued Dunham, “merely because she did + not come to breakfast; but her blushing when she looked across at dinner + really made me uneasy.” + </p> + <p> + “Very possibly you're right.” Staniford mused a while before he spoke + again. “Well, what do you wish me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I must hold up, as you say, and of course she will feel the difference. I + wish—I wish at least you wouldn't avoid her, Staniford. That's all. + Any little attention from you—I know it bores you—would not + only break the loneliness, but it would explain that—that my—attentions + didn't—ah—hadn't meant anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that it's common to offer them. And she's a girl of so much force of + character that when she sees the affair in its true light—I suppose + I'm to blame! Yes, I ought to have told her at the beginning that I was + engaged. But you can't force a fact of that sort upon a new acquaintance: + it looks silly.” Dunham hung his head in self-reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's all! No, it <i>isn't</i> all, either. There's something else + troubles me. Our poor little friend is a blackguard, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Hicks?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You have invited him to be the leader of your orchestra, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't, Staniford!” cried Dunham in his helplessness. “I should hate + to see her dependent in any degree upon that little cad for society.” Cad + was the last English word which Dunham had got himself used to. “That was + why I hoped that you wouldn't altogether neglect her. She's here, and + she's no choice but to remain. We can't leave her to herself without the + danger of leaving her to Hicks. You see?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Staniford gloomily, “I'm not sure that you couldn't leave her + to a worse cad than Hicks.” Dunham looked up in question. “To me, for + example.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hallo!” cried Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how I'm to be of any use,” continued the other. “I'm not a + squire of dames; I should merely make a mess of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're mistaken, Staniford,—I'm sure you are,—in supposing + that she dislikes you,” urged his friend. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very likely.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that she's simply afraid of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't flatter, Dunham. Why should I care whether she fears me or affects + me? No, my dear fellow. This is irretrievably your own affair. I should be + glad to help you out if I knew how. But I don't. In the mean time your + duty is plain, whatever happens. You can't overdo the sweet and the + generous in this wicked world without paying the penalty.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford smiled at the distress in which Dunham went his way. He + understood very well that it was not vanity, but the liveliness of a + sensitive conscience, that had made Dunham search his conduct for the + offense against the young girl's peace of heart which he believed he had + committed, and it was the more amusing because he was so guiltless of + harm. Staniford knew who was to blame for the headache and the blush. He + knew that Dunham had never gone so far; that his chivalrous pleasure in + her society might continue for years free from flirtation. But in spite of + this conviction a little poignant doubt made itself felt, and suddenly + became his whole consciousness. “Confound him!” he mused. “I wonder if she + really could care anything for him!” He shut his book, and rose to his + feet with such a burning in his heart that he could not have believed + himself capable of the greater rage he felt at what he just then saw. It + was Lydia and Hicks seated together in the place where he had sat with + her. She leaned with one arm upon the rail, in an attitude that brought + all her slim young grace into evidence. She seemed on very good terms with + him, and he was talking and making her laugh as Staniford had never heard + her laugh before—so freely, so heartily. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + The atoms that had been tending in Staniford's being toward a certain form + suddenly arrested and shaped themselves anew at the vibration imparted by + this laughter. He no longer felt himself Hicks's possible inferior, but + vastly better in every way, and out of the turmoil of his feelings in + regard to Lydia was evolved the distinct sense of having been trifled + with. Somehow, an advantage had been taken of his sympathies and purposes, + and his forbearance had been treated with contempt. + </p> + <p> + The conviction was neither increased nor diminished by the events of the + evening, when Lydia brought out some music from her state-room, and Hicks + appeared, flute in hand, from his, and they began practicing one of the + pieces together. It was a pretty enough sight. Hicks had been gradually + growing a better-looking fellow; he had an undeniable picturesqueness, as + he bowed his head over the music towards hers; and she, as she held the + sheet with one hand for him to see, while she noiselessly accompanied + herself on the table with the fingers of the other, and tentatively sang + now this passage and now that, was divine. The picture seemed pleasing to + neither Staniford nor Dunham; they went on deck together, and sat down to + their cigarettes in their wonted place. They did not talk of Lydia, or of + any of the things that had formed the basis of their conversation + hitherto, but Staniford returned to his Colorado scheme, and explained at + length the nature of his purposes and expectations. He had discussed these + matters before, but he had never gone into them so fully, nor with such + cheerful earnestness. He said he should never marry,—he had made up + his mind to that; but he hoped to make money enough to take care of his + sister's boy Jim handsomely, as the little chap had been named for him. He + had been thinking the matter over, and he believed that he should get back + by rail and steamer as soon as he could after they reached Trieste. He was + not sorry he had come; but he could not afford to throw away too much time + on Italy, just then. + </p> + <p> + Dunham, on his part, talked a great deal of Miss Hibbard, and of some + curious psychological characteristics of her dyspepsia. He asked Staniford + whether he had ever shown him the photograph of Miss Hibbard taken by + Sarony when she was on to New York the last time: it was a three-quarters + view, and Dunham thought it the best she had had done. He spoke of her + generous qualities, and of the interest she had always had in the Diet + Kitchen, to which, as an invalid, her attention had been particularly + directed: and he said that in her last letter she had mentioned a project + for establishing diet kitchens in Europe, on the Boston plan. When their + talk grew more impersonal and took a wider range, they gathered suggestion + from the situation, and remarked upon the immense solitude of the sea. + They agreed that there was something weird in the long continuance of fine + weather, and that the moon had a strange look. They spoke of the + uncertainty of life. Dunham regretted, as he had often regretted before, + that his friend had no fixed religious belief; and Staniford gently + accepted his solicitude, and said that he had at least a conviction if not + a creed. He then begged Dunham's pardon in set terms for trying to wound + his feelings the day before; and in the silent hand-clasp that followed + they renewed all the cordiality of their friendship. From time to time, as + they talked, the music from below came up fitfully, and once they had to + pause as Lydia sang through the song that she and Hicks were practicing. + </p> + <p> + As the days passed their common interest in the art brought Hicks and the + young girl almost constantly together, and the sound of their concerting + often filled the ship. The musicales, less formal than Dunham had + intended, and perhaps for that reason a source of rapidly diminishing + interest with him, superseded both ring-toss and shuffle-board, and seemed + even more acceptable to the ship's company as an entertainment. One + evening, when the performers had been giving a piece of rather more than + usual excellence and difficulty, one of the sailors, deputed by his mates, + came aft, with many clumsy shows of deference, and asked them to give + Marching through Georgia. Hicks found this out of his repertory, but Lydia + sang it. Then the group at the forecastle shouted with one voice for + Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys are Marching, and so beguiled her through + the whole list of war-songs. She ended with one unknown to her listeners, + but better than all the rest in its pathetic words and music, and when she + had sung The Flag's come back to Tennessee, the spokesman of the sailors + came aft again, to thank her for his mates, and to say they would not + spoil that last song by asking for anything else. It was a charming little + triumph for her, as she sat surrounded by her usual court: the captain was + there to countenance the freedom the sailors had taken, and Dunham and + Staniford stood near, but Hicks, at her right hand, held the place of + honor. + </p> + <p> + The next night Staniford found her alone in the waist of the ship, and + drew up a stool beside the rail where she sat. + </p> + <p> + “We all enjoyed your singing so much, last night, Miss Blood. I think Mr. + Hicks plays charmingly, but I believe I prefer to hear your voice alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Lydia, looking down, demurely. + </p> + <p> + “It must be a great satisfaction to feel that you can give so much + pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she said, passing the palm of one hand over the back of + the other. + </p> + <p> + “When you are a <i>prima donna</i> you mustn't forget your old friends of + the Aroostook. We shall all take vast pride in you.” + </p> + <p> + It was not a question, and Lydia answered nothing. Staniford, who had + rather obliged himself to this advance, with some dim purpose of showing + that nothing had occurred to alienate them since the evening, of their + promenade, without having proved to himself that it was necessary to do + this, felt that he was growing angry. It irritated him to have her sit as + unmoved after his words as if he had not spoken. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Blood,” he said, “I envy you your gift of snubbing people.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked at him. “Snubbing people?” she echoed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; your power of remaining silent when you wish to put down some one + who has been wittingly or unwittingly impertinent.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean,” she said, in a sort of breathless way. + </p> + <p> + “And you didn't intend to mark your displeasure at my planning your + future?” + </p> + <p> + “No! We had talked of that. I—” + </p> + <p> + “And you were not vexed with me for anything? I have been afraid that I—that + you—” Staniford found that he was himself getting short of breath. + He had begun with the intention of mystifying her, but matters had + suddenly taken another course, and he was really anxious to know whether + any disagreeable associations with that night lingered in her mind. With + this longing came a natural inability to find the right word. “I was + afraid—” he repeated, and then he stopped again. Clearly, he could + not tell her that he was afraid he had gone too far; but this was what he + meant. “You don't walk with me, any more, Miss Blood,” he concluded, with + an air of burlesque reproach. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't asked me—since,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He felt a singular value and significance in this word, since. It showed + that her thoughts had been running parallel with his own; it permitted, if + it did not signify, that he should resume the mood of that time, where + their parting had interrupted it. He enjoyed the fact to the utmost, but + he was not sure that he wished to do what he was permitted. “Then I didn't + tire you?” he merely asked. He was not sure, now he came to think of it, + that he liked her willingness to recur to that time. He liked it, but not + quite in the way he would have liked to like it. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” he went on aimlessly, “that I thought I had rather abused + your kindness. Besides,” he added, veering off, “I was afraid I should be + an interruption to the musical exercises.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Lydia. “Mr. Dunham hasn't arranged anything yet.” Staniford + thought this uncandid. It was fighting shy of Hicks, who was the person in + his own mind; and it reawakened a suspicion which was lurking there. “Mr. + Dunham seems to have lost his interest.” + </p> + <p> + This struck Staniford as an expression of pique; it reawakened quite + another suspicion. It was evident that she was hurt at the cessation of + Dunham's attentions. He was greatly minded to say that Dunham was a fool, + but he ended by saying, with sarcasm, “I suppose he saw that he was + superseded.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hicks plays well,” said Lydia, judicially, “but he doesn't really + know so much of music as Mr. Dunham.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” responded Staniford, with irony. “I will tell Dunham. No doubt he's + been suffering the pangs of professional jealousy. That must be the reason + why he keeps away.” + </p> + <p> + “Keeps away?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Now</i> I've made an ass of myself!” thought Staniford. “You said that + he seemed to have lost his interest,” he answered her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Yes!” assented Lydia. And then she remained rather distraught, + pulling at the ruffling of her dress. + </p> + <p> + “Dunham is a very accomplished man,” said Staniford, finding the usual + satisfaction in pressing his breast against the thorn. “He's a great + favorite in society. He's up to no end of things.” Staniford uttered these + praises in a curiously bitter tone. “He's a capital talker. Don't you + think he talks well?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; I suppose I haven't seen enough people to be a good judge.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've seen enough people to know that he's very good looking?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say you don't think him good looking?” + </p> + <p> + “No,—oh, no, I mean—that is—I don't know anything about + his looks. But he resembles a lady who used to come from Boston, summers. + I thought he must be her brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then you think he looks effeminate!” cried Staniford, with inner joy. + “I assure you,” he added with solemnity, “Dunham is one of the manliest + fellows in the world!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Staniford rose. He was smiling gayly as he looked over the broad stretch + of empty deck, and down into Lydia's eyes. “Wouldn't you like to take a + turn, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said promptly, rising and arranging her wrap across her + shoulders, so as to leave her hands free. She laid one hand in his arm and + gathered her skirt with the other, and they swept round together for the + start and confronted Hicks. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Lydia, with what seemed dismay, “I promised Mr. Hicks to + practice a song with him.” She did not try to release her hand from + Staniford's arm, but was letting it linger there irresolutely. + </p> + <p> + Staniford dropped his arm, and let her hand fall. He bowed with icy + stiffness, and said, with a courtesy so fierce that Mr. Hicks, on whom he + glared as he spoke, quailed before it, “I yield to your prior engagement.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + It was nothing to Staniford that she should have promised Hicks to + practice a song with him, and no process of reasoning could have made it + otherwise. The imaginary opponent with whom he scornfully argued the + matter had not a word for himself. Neither could the young girl answer + anything to the cutting speeches which he mentally made her as he sat + alone chewing the end of his cigar; and he was not moved by the imploring + looks which his fancy painted in her face, when he made believe that she + had meekly returned to offer him some sort of reparation. Why should she + excuse herself? he asked. It was he who ought to excuse himself for having + been in the way. The dialogue went on at length, with every advantage to + the inventor. + </p> + <p> + He was finally aware of some one standing near and looking down at him. It + was the second mate, who supported himself in a conversational posture by + the hand which he stretched to the shrouds above their heads. “Are you a + good sailor, Mr. Staniford?” he inquired. He and Staniford were friends in + their way, and had talked together before this. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean seasickness? Why?” Staniford looked up at the mate's face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we're going to get it, I guess, before long. We shall soon be off + the Spanish coast. We've had a great run so far.” + </p> + <p> + “If it comes we must stand it. But I make it a rule never to be seasick + beforehand.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain't one to borrow trouble, either. It don't run in the family. + Most of us like to chance things, I chanced it for the whole war, and I + come out all right. Sometimes it don't work so well.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah?” said Staniford, who knew that this was a leading remark, but + forbore, as he knew Mason wished, to follow it up directly. + </p> + <p> + “One of us chanced it once too often, and of course it was a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “The risk?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the risk. My oldest sister tried tamin' a tiger. Ninety-nine times + out of a hundred, a tiger won't tame worth a cent. But her pet was such a + lamb most the while that she guessed she'd chance it. It didn't work. + She's at home with mother now,—three children, of course,—and + he's in hell, I s'pose. He was killed 'long-side o' me at Gettysburg. Ike + was a good fellow when he was sober. But my souls, the life he led that + poor girl! Yes, when a man's got that tiger in him, there ought to be some + quiet little war round for puttin' him out of his misery.” Staniford + listened silently, waiting for the mate to make the application of his + grim allegory. “I s'pose I'm prejudiced; but I do <i>hate</i> a drunkard; + and when I see one of 'em makin' up to a girl, I want to go to her, and + tell her she'd better take a real tiger out the show, at once.” + </p> + <p> + The idea which these words suggested sent a thrill to Staniford's heart, + but he continued silent, and the mate went on, with the queer smile, which + could be inferred rather than seen, working under his mustache and the + humorous twinkle of his eyes evanescently evident under his cap peak. + </p> + <p> + “I don't go round criticisn' my superior officers, and <i>I</i> don't say + anything about the responsibility the old man took. The old man's all + right, accordin' to his lights; he ain't had a tiger in the family. But if + that chap was to fall overboard,—well, I don't know <i>how</i> long + it would take to lower a boat, if I was to listen to my <i>conscience</i>. + There ain't really any help for him. He's begun too young ever to get over + it. He won't be ashore at Try-East an hour before he's drunk. If our men + had any spirits amongst 'em that could be begged, bought, or borrowed, + he'd be drunk now, right along. Well, I'm off watch,” said the mate, at + the tap of bells. “Guess we'll get our little gale pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night,” said Staniford, who remained pondering. He presently rose, + and walked up and down the deck. He could hear Lydia and Hicks trying that + song: now the voice, and now the flute; then both together; and presently + a burst of laughter. He began to be angry with her ignorance and + inexperience. It became intolerable to him that a woman should be going + about with no more knowledge of the world than a child, and entangling + herself in relations with all sorts of people. It was shocking to think of + that little sot, who had now made his infirmity known for all the ship's + company, admitted to association with her which looked to common eyes like + courtship. From the mate's insinuation that she ought to be warned, it was + evident that they thought her interested in Hicks; and the mate had come, + like Dunham, to leave the responsibility with Staniford. It only wanted + now that Captain Jenness should appear with his appeal, direct or + indirect. + </p> + <p> + While Staniford walked up and down, and scorned and raged at the idea that + he had anything to do with the matter, the singing and fluting came to a + pause in the cabin; and at the end of the next tune, which brought him to + the head of the gangway stairs, he met Lydia emerging. He stopped and + spoke to her, having instantly resolved, at sight of her, not to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Have you come up for breath, like a mermaid?” he asked. “Not that I'm + sure mermaids do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Lydia. “I think I dropped my handkerchief where we were + sitting.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford suspected, with a sudden return to a theory of her which he had + already entertained, that she had not done so. But she went lightly by + him, where he stood stolid, and picked it up; and now he suspected that + she had dropped it there on purpose. + </p> + <p> + “You have come back to walk with me?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said the girl indignantly. “I have not come back to walk with you!” + She waited a moment; then she burst out with, “How dare you say such a + thing to me? What right have you to speak to me so? What have I done to + make you think that I would come back to—” + </p> + <p> + The fierce vibration in her voice made him know that her eyes were burning + upon him and her lips trembling. He shrank before her passion as a man + must before the justly provoked wrath of a woman, or even of a small girl. + </p> + <p> + “I stated a hope, not a fact,” he said in meek uncandor. “Don't you think + you ought to have done so?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't—I don't understand you,” panted Lydia, confusedly arresting + her bolts in mid-course. + </p> + <p> + Staniford pursued his guilty advantage; it was his only chance. “I gave + way to Mr. Hicks when you had an engagement with me. I thought—you + would come back to keep your engagement.” He was still very meek. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” she said with self-reproach that would have melted the heart + of any one but a man who was in the wrong, and was trying to get out of it + at all hazards. “I didn't know what you meant—I—” + </p> + <p> + “If I had meant what you thought,” interrupted Staniford nobly, for he + could now afford to be generous, “I should have deserved much more than + you said. But I hope you won't punish my awkwardness by refusing to walk + with me.” + </p> + <p> + He knew that she regarded him earnestly before she said, “I must get my + shawl and hat.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go!” he entreated. + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't find them,” she answered, as she vanished past him. She + returned, and promptly laid her hand in his proffered arm; it was as if + she were eager to make him amends for her harshness. + </p> + <p> + Staniford took her hand out, and held it while he bowed low toward her. “I + declare myself satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” said Lydia, in alarm and mortification. + </p> + <p> + “When a subject has been personally aggrieved by his sovereign, his honor + is restored if they merely cross swords.” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed her delight in the extravagance. She must have been more + or less than woman not to have found his flattery delicious. “But we are + republicans!” she said in evasion. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, we are republicans. Well, then, Miss Blood, answer your free + and equal one thing: is it a case of conscience?” + </p> + <p> + “How?” she asked, and Staniford did not recoil at the rusticity. This how + for what, and the interrogative yes, still remained. Since their first + walk, she had not wanted to know, in however great surprise she found + herself. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to walk with me because you had promised?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course,” faltered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “That isn't enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Not enough?” + </p> + <p> + “Not enough. You must walk with me because you like to do so.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like to do so?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't answer you,” she said, releasing her hand from him. + </p> + <p> + “It was not fair to ask you. What I wish to do is to restore the original + status. You have kept your engagement to walk with me, and your conscience + is clear. Now, Miss Blood, may I have your company for a little stroll + over the deck of the Aroostook?” He made her another very low bow. + </p> + <p> + “What must I say?” asked Lydia, joyously. + </p> + <p> + “That depends upon whether you consent. If you consent, you must say, 'I + shall be very glad.'<span class="lftspc">”</span> + </p> + <p> + “And if I don't?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can't put any such decision into words.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia mused a moment. “I shall be very glad,” she said, and put her hand + again into the arm he offered. + </p> + <p> + As happens after such a passage they were at first silent, while they + walked up and down. + </p> + <p> + “If this fine weather holds,” said Staniford, “and you continue as + obliging as you are to-night, you can say, when people ask you how you + went to Europe, that you walked the greater part of the way. Shall you + continue so obliging? Will you walk with me every fine night?” pursued + Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I'd better say so?” she asked, with the joy still in her + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can't decide for you. I merely formulate your decisions after you + reach them,—if they're favorable.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what is this one?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it favorable?” + </p> + <p> + “You said you would formulate it.” She laughed again, and Staniford + started as one does when a nebulous association crystallizes into a + distinctly remembered fact. + </p> + <p> + “What a curious laugh you have!” he said. “It's like a nun's laugh. Once + in France I lodged near the garden of a convent where the nuns kept a + girls' school, and I used to hear them laugh. You never happened to be a + nun, Miss Blood?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed!” cried Lydia, as if scandalized. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I merely meant in some previous existence. Of course, I didn't + suppose there was a convent in South Bradfield.” He felt that the girl did + not quite like the little slight his irony cast upon South Bradfield, or + rather upon her for never having been anywhere else. He hastened to say, + “I'm sure that in the life before this you were of the South somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Lydia, interested and pleased again as one must be in romantic + talk about one's self. “Why do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + He bent a little over toward her, so as to look into the face she + instinctively averted, while she could not help glancing at him from the + corner of her eye. “You have the color and the light of the South,” he + said. “When you get to Italy, you will live in a perpetual mystification. + You will go about in a dream of some self of yours that was native there + in other days. You will find yourself retrospectively related to the olive + faces and the dark eyes you meet; you will recognize sisters and cousins + in the patrician ladies when you see their portraits in the palaces where + you used to live in such state.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford spiced his flatteries with open burlesque; the girl entered into + his fantastic humor. “But if I was a nun?” she asked, gayly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I forgot. You were a nun. There was a nun in Venice once, about two + hundred years ago, when you lived there, and a young English lord who was + passing through the town was taken to the convent to hear her sing; for + she was not only of 'an admirable beauty,' as he says, but sang 'extremely + well.' She sang to him through the grating of the convent, and when she + stopped he said, 'Die whensoever you will, you need to change neither + voice nor face to be an angel!' Do you think—do you dimly recollect + anything that makes you think—it might—Consider carefully: the + singing extremely well, and—” He leant over again, and looked up + into her face, which again she could not wholly withdraw. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she said, still in his mood. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must allow it was a pretty speech.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Lydia, with sudden gravity, in which there seemed to + Staniford a tender insinuation of reproach, “he was laughing at her.” + </p> + <p> + “If he was, he was properly punished. He went on to Rome, and when he came + back to Venice the beautiful nun was dead. He thought that his words + 'seemed fatal.' Do you suppose it would kill you <i>now</i> to be jested + with?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think people like it generally.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Blood, you are intense!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you mean by that,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “You like to take things seriously. You can't bear to think that people + are not the least in earnest, even when they least seem so.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl, thoughtfully, “perhaps that's true. Should you like + to be made fun of, yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't mind it, I fancy, though it would depend a great deal upon + who made fun of me. I suppose that women always laugh at men,—at + their clumsiness, their want of tact, the fit of their clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I should not do that with any one I—” + </p> + <p> + “You liked? Oh, none of them do!” cried Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “I was not going to say that,” faltered the girl. + </p> + <p> + “What were you going to say?” + </p> + <p> + She waited a moment. “Yes, I was going to say that,” she assented with a + sigh of helpless veracity. “What makes you laugh?” she asked, in distress. + </p> + <p> + “Something I like. I'm different from you: I laugh at what I like; I like + your truthfulness,—it's charming.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know that truth need be charming.” + </p> + <p> + “It had better be, in women, if it's to keep even with the other thing.” + Lydia seemed shocked; she made a faint, involuntary motion to withdraw her + hand, but he closed his arm upon it. “Don't condemn me for thinking that + fibbing is charming. I shouldn't like it at all in you. Should you in me?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't in any one,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Then what is it you dislike in me?” he suddenly demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say that I disliked anything in you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have made fun of something in me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Then it wasn't the stirring of a guilty conscience when you asked me + whether I should like to be made fun of? I took it for granted you'd been + doing it.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very suspicious.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and what else?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you like to know just what every one thinks and feels.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” cried Staniford. “Analyze me, formulate me!” + </p> + <p> + “That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “All I come to?” + </p> + <p> + “All I have to say.” + </p> + <p> + “That's very little. Now, I'll begin on you. You don't care what people + think or feel.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I do. I care too much.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you care what I think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I think you're too unsuspicious.” + </p> + <p> + “Ought I to suspect somebody?” she asked, lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's the way with all your sex. One asks you to be suspicious, and + you ask whom you shall suspect. You can do nothing in the abstract. I + should like to be suspicious for you. Will you let me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, if you like to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I shall be terribly vigilant,—a perfect dragon. And you + really invest me with authority?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That's charming.” Staniford drew a long breath. After a space of musing, + he said, “I thought I should be able to begin by attacking some one else, + but I must commence at home, and denounce myself as quite unworthy of + walking to and fro, and talking nonsense to you. You must beware of me, + Miss Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I am very narrow-minded and prejudiced, and I have violent antipathies. I + shouldn't be able to do justice to any one I disliked.” + </p> + <p> + “I think that's the trouble with all of us,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but only in degree. I should not allow, if I could help it, a man + whom I thought shabby, and coarse at heart, the privilege of speaking to + any one I valued,—to my sister, for instance. It would shock me to + find her have any taste in common with such a man, or amused by him. Don't + you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia. It seemed to him as if by some infinitely subtle and + unconscious affinition she relaxed toward him as they walked. This was + incomparably sweet and charming to Staniford,—too sweet as + recognition of his protecting friendship to be questioned as anything + else. He felt sure that she had taken his meaning, and he rested content + from further trouble in regard to what it would have been impossible to + express. Her tacit confidence touched a kindred spring in him, and he + began to talk to her of himself: not of his character or opinions,—they + had already gone over them,—but of his past life, and his future. + Their strangeness to her gave certain well-worn topics novelty, and the + familiar project of a pastoral career in the far West invested itself with + a color of romance which it had not worn before. She tried to remember, at + his urgence, something about her childhood in California; and she told him + a great deal more about South Bradfield. She described its characters and + customs, and, from no vantage-ground or stand-point but her native feeling + of their oddity, and what seemed her sympathy with him, made him see them + as one might whose life had not been passed among them. Then they began to + compare their own traits, and amused themselves to find how many they had + in common. Staniford related a singular experience of his on a former + voyage to Europe, when he dreamed of a collision, and woke to hear a great + trampling and uproar on deck, which afterwards turned out to have been + caused by their bare escape from running into an iceberg. She said that + she had had strange dreams, too, but mostly when she was a little girl; + once she had had a presentiment that troubled her, but it did not come + true. They both said they did not believe in such things, and agreed that + it was only people's love of mystery that kept them noticed. He permitted + himself to help her, with his disengaged hand, to draw her shawl closer + about the shoulder that was away from him. He gave the action a + philosophical and impersonal character by saying immediately afterwards: + “The sea is really the only mystery left us, and that will never be + explored. They circumnavigate the whole globe,—” here he put the + gathered shawl into the fingers which she stretched through his arm to + take it, and she said, “Oh, thank you!”—“but they don't describe the + sea. War and plague and famine submit to the ameliorations of science,”—the + closely drawn shawl pressed her against his shoulder; his mind wandered; + he hardly knew what he was saying,—“but the one utterly inexorable + calamity—the same now as when the first sail was spread—is a + shipwreck.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, with a deep inspiration. And now they walked back and + forth in silence broken only by a casual word or desultory phrase. Once + Staniford had thought the conditions of these promenades perilously + suggestive of love-making; another time he had blamed himself for not + thinking of this; now he neither thought nor blamed himself for not + thinking. The fact justified itself, as if it had been the one perfectly + right and wise thing in a world where all else might be questioned. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it pretty late?” she asked, at last. + </p> + <p> + “If you're tired, we'll sit down,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What time is it?” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Must I look?” he pleaded. They went to a lantern, and he took out his + watch and sprang the case open. “Look!” he said. “I sacrifice myself on + the altar of truth.” They bent their heads low together over the watch; it + was not easy to make out the time. “It's nine o'clock,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “It can't be; it was half past when I came up,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “One hand's at twelve and the other at nine,” he said, conclusively. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then it's a quarter to twelve.” She caught away her hand from his + arm, and fled to the gangway. “I didn't dream it was so late.” + </p> + <p> + The pleasure which her confession brought to his face faded at sight of + Hicks, who was turning the last pages of a novel by the cabin lamp, as he + followed Lydia in. It was the book that Staniford had given her. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” said Hicks, with companionable ease, looking up at her. “Been + having quite a tramp.” + </p> + <p> + She did not seem troubled by the familiarity of an address that incensed + Staniford almost to the point of taking Hicks from his seat, and tossing + him to the other end of the cabin. “Oh, you've finished my book,” she + said. “You must tell me how you like it, to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it,” said Hicks. “I'm going to be seasick to-morrow. The + captain's been shaking his head over the barometer and powwowing with the + first officer. Something's up, and I guess it's a gale. Good-by; I shan't + see you again for a week or so.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded jocosely to Lydia, and dropped his eyes again to his book, + ignoring Staniford's presence. The latter stood a moment breathing quick; + then he controlled himself and went into his room. His coming roused + Dunham, who looked up from his pillow. “What time is it?” he asked, + stupidly. + </p> + <p> + “Twelve,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Had a pleasant walk?” + </p> + <p> + “If you still think,” said Staniford, savagely, “that she's painfully + interested in you, you can make your mind easy. She doesn't care for + either of us.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Either</i> of us?” echoed Dunham. He roused himself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go to sleep; <i>go</i> to sleep!” cried Staniford. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + The foreboded storm did not come so soon as had been feared, but the + beautiful weather which had lasted so long was lost in a thickened sky and + a sullen sea. The weather had changed with Staniford, too. The morning + after the events last celebrated, he did not respond to the glance which + Lydia gave him when they met, and he hardened his heart to her surprise, + and shunned being alone with her. He would not admit to himself any reason + for his attitude, and he could not have explained to her the mystery that + at first visibly grieved her, and then seemed merely to benumb her. But + the moment came when he ceased to take a certain cruel pleasure in it, and + he approached her one morning on deck, where she stood holding fast to the + railing where she usually sat, and said, as if there had been no interval + of estrangement between them, but still coldly, “We have had our last walk + for the present, Miss Blood. I hope you will grieve a little for my loss.” + </p> + <p> + She turned on him a look that cut him to the heart, with what he fancied + its reproach and its wonder. She did not reply at once, and then she did + not reply to his hinted question. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Staniford,” she began. It was the second time he had heard her + pronounce his name; he distinctly remembered the first. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I want to speak to you about lending that book to Mr. Hicks. I ought to + have asked you first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Staniford. “It was yours.” + </p> + <p> + “You gave it to me,” she returned. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, it was yours,—to keep, to lend, to throw away.” + </p> + <p> + “And you didn't mind my lending it to him?” she pursued. “I—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, and Staniford hesitated, too. Then he said, “I didn't dislike + your lending it; I disliked his having it. I will acknowledge that.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him as if she were going to speak, but checked herself, + and glanced away. The ship was plunging heavily, and the livid waves were + racing before the wind. The horizon was lit with a yellow brightness in + the quarter to which she turned, and a pallid gleam defined her profile. + Captain Jenness was walking fretfully to and fro; he glanced now at the + yellow glare, and now cast his eye aloft at the shortened sail. While + Staniford stood questioning whether she meant to say anything more, or + whether, having discharged her conscience of an imagined offense, she had + now reached one of her final, precipitous silences, Captain Jenness + suddenly approached them, and said to him, “I guess you'd better go below + with Miss Blood.” + </p> + <p> + The storm that followed had its hazards, but Staniford's consciousness was + confined to its discomforts. The day came, and then the dark came, and + both in due course went, and came again. Where he lay in his berth, and + whirled and swung, and rose and sank, as lonely as a planetary fragment + tossing in space, he heard the noises of the life without. Amidst the + straining of the ship, which was like the sharp sweep of a thunder-shower + on the deck overhead, there plunged at irregular intervals the wild + trample of heavily-booted feet, and now and then the voices of the crew + answering the shouted orders made themselves hollowly audible. In the + cabin there was talking, and sometimes even laughing. Sometimes he heard + the click of knives and forks, the sardonic rattle of crockery. After the + first insane feeling that somehow he must get ashore and escape from his + torment, he hardened himself to it through an immense contempt, equally + insane, for the stupidity of the sea, its insensate uproar, its blind and + ridiculous and cruel mischievousness. Except for this delirious scorn he + was a surface of perfect passivity. + </p> + <p> + Dunham, after a day of prostration, had risen, and had perhaps shortened + his anguish by his resolution. He had since taken up his quarters on a + locker in the cabin; he looked in now and then upon Staniford, with a cup + of tea, or a suggestion of something light to eat; once he even dared to + boast of the sublimity of the ocean. Staniford stared at him with eyes of + lack-lustre indifference, and waited for him to be gone. But he lingered + to say, “You would laugh to see what a sea-bird our lady is! She hasn't + been sick a minute. And Hicks, you'll be glad to know, is behaving himself + very well. Really, I don't think we've done the fellow justice. I think + you've overshadowed him, and that he's needed your absence to show himself + to advantage.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford disdained any comment on this except a fierce “Humph!” and + dismissed Dunham by turning his face to the wall. He refused to think of + what he had said. He lay still and suffered indefinitely, and no longer + waited for the end of the storm. There had been times when he thought with + acquiescence of going to the bottom, as a probable conclusion; now he did + not expect anything. At last, one night, he felt by inexpressibly minute + degrees something that seemed surcease of his misery. It might have been + the end of all things, for all he cared; but as the lull deepened, he + slept without knowing what it was, and when he woke in the morning he + found the Aroostook at anchor in smooth water. + </p> + <p> + She was lying in the roads at Gibraltar, and before her towered the + embattled rock. He crawled on deck after a while. The captain was going + ashore, and had asked such of his passengers as liked, to go with him and + see the place. When Staniford appeared, Dunham was loyally refusing to + leave his friend till he was fairly on foot. At sight of him they + suspended their question long enough to welcome him back to animation, + with the patronage with which well people hail a convalescent. Lydia + looked across the estrangement of the past days with a sort of inquiry, + and Hicks chose to come forward and accept a cold touch of the hand from + him. Staniford saw, with languid observance, that Lydia was very fresh and + bright; she was already equipped for the expedition, and could never have + had any doubt in her mind as to going. She had on a pretty walking dress + which he had not seen before, and a hat with the rim struck sharply upward + behind, and her masses of dense, dull black hair pulled up and fastened + somewhere on the top of her head. Her eyes shyly sparkled under the abrupt + descent of the hat-brim over her forehead. + </p> + <p> + His contemptuous rejection of the character of invalid prevailed with + Dunham; and Staniford walked to another part of the ship, to cut short the + talk about himself, and saw them row away. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you've had a pretty tough time, they say,” said the second mate, + lounging near him. “I don't see any fun in seasickness <i>myself</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a ridiculous sort of misery,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “I hope we shan't have anything worse on board when that chap gets back. + The old man thinks he can keep an eye on him.” The mate was looking after + the boat. + </p> + <p> + “The captain says he hasn't any money,” Staniford remarked carelessly. The + mate went away without saying anything more, and Staniford returned to the + cabin, where he beheld without abhorrence the preparations for his + breakfast. But he had not a great appetite, in spite of his long fast. He + found himself rather light-headed, and came on deck again after a while, + and stretched himself in Hicks's steamer chair, where Lydia usually sat in + it. He fell into a dull, despairing reverie, in which he blamed himself + for not having been more explicit with her. He had merely expressed his + dislike of Hicks; but expressed without reasons it was a groundless + dislike, which she had evidently not understood, or had not cared to heed; + and since that night, now so far away, when he had spoken to her, he had + done everything he could to harden her against himself. He had treated her + with a stupid cruelty, which a girl like her would resent to the last; he + had forced her to take refuge in the politeness of a man from whom he was + trying to keep her. + </p> + <p> + His heart paused when he saw the boat returning in the afternoon without + Hicks. The others reported that they had separated before dinner, and that + they had not seen him since, though Captain Jenness had spent an hour + trying to look him up before starting back to the ship. The captain wore a + look of guilty responsibility, mingled with intense exasperation, the two + combining in as much haggardness as his cheerful visage could express. “If + he's here by six o'clock,” he said, grimly, “all well and good. If not, + the Aroostook sails, any way.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia crept timidly below. Staniford complexly raged to see that the + anxiety about Hicks had blighted the joy of the day for her. + </p> + <p> + “How the deuce could he get about without any money?” he demanded of + Dunham, as soon as they were alone. + </p> + <p> + Dunham vainly struggled to look him in the eye. “Staniford,” he faltered, + with much more culpability than some criminals would confess a murder, “I + lent him five dollars!” + </p> + <p> + “You lent him five dollars!” gasped Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Dunham, miserably; “he got me aside, and asked me for it. + What could I do? What would you have done yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Staniford made no answer. He walked some paces away, and then returned to + where Dunham stood helpless. “He's lying about there dead-drunk, + somewhere, I suppose. By Heaven, I could almost wish he was. He couldn't + come back, then, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + The time lagged along toward the moment appointed by the captain, and the + preparations for the ship's departure were well advanced, when a boat was + seen putting out from shore with two rowers, and rapidly approaching the + Aroostook. In the stern, as it drew nearer, the familiar figure of Hicks + discovered itself in the act of waving a handkerchief He scrambled up the + side of the ship in excellent spirits, and gave Dunham a detailed account + of his adventures since they had parted. As always happens with such + scapegraces, he seemed to have had a good time, however he had spoiled the + pleasure of the others. At tea, when Lydia had gone away, he clapped down + a sovereign near Dunham's plate. + </p> + <p> + “Your five dollars,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how—” Dunham began. + </p> + <p> + “How did I get on without it? My dear boy, I sold my watch! A ship's time + is worth no more than a setting hen's,—eh, captain?—and why + take note of it? Besides, I always like to pay my debts promptly: there's + nothing mean about me. I'm not going ashore again without my pocket-book, + I can tell you.” He winked shamelessly at Captain Jenness. “If you hadn't + been along, Dunham, I couldn't have made a raise, I suppose. <i>You</i> + wouldn't have lent me five dollars, Captain Jenness.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I wouldn't,” said the captain, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “And I believe you'd have sailed without me, if I hadn't got back on + time.” + </p> + <p> + “I would,” said the captain, as before. + </p> + <p> + Hicks threw back his head, and laughed. Probably no human being had ever + before made so free with Captain Jenness at his own table; but the captain + must have felt that this contumacy was part of the general risk which he + had taken in taking Hicks, and he contented himself with maintaining a + silence that would have appalled a less audacious spirit. Hicks's gayety, + however, was not to be quelled in that way. + </p> + <p> + “Gibraltar wouldn't be a bad place to put up at for a while,” he said. + “Lots of good fellows among the officers, they say, and fun going all the + while. First-class gunning in the Cork Woods at St. Roque. If it hadn't + been for the <i>res angusta domi</i>,—you know what I mean, captain,—I + should have let you get along with your old dug-out, as the gentleman in + the water said to Noah.” His hilarity had something alarmingly knowing in + it; there was a wildness in the pleasure with which he bearded the + captain, like that of a man in his first cups; yet he had not been + drinking. He played round the captain's knowledge of the sanative + destitution in which he was making the voyage with mocking recurrence; but + he took himself off to bed early, and the captain came through his trials + with unimpaired temper. Dunham disappeared not long afterwards; and + Staniford's vague hope that Lydia might be going on deck to watch the + lights of the town die out behind the ship as they sailed away was + disappointed. The second mate made a point of lounging near him where he + sat alone in their wonted place. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “he did come back sober.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Next to not comin' back at all,” the mate continued, “I suppose it was + the best thing he could do.” He lounged away. Neither his voice nor his + manner had that quality of disappointment which characterizes those who + have mistakenly prophesied evil. Staniford had a mind to call him back, + and ask him what he meant; but he refrained, and he went to bed at last + resolved to unburden himself of the whole Hicks business once for all. He + felt that he had had quite enough of it, both in the abstract and in its + relation to Lydia. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Hicks did not join the others at breakfast. They talked of what Lydia had + seen at Gibraltar, where Staniford had been on a former voyage. Dunham had + made it a matter of conscience to know all about it beforehand from his + guide-books, and had risen early that morning to correct his science by + his experience in a long entry in the diary which he was keeping for Miss + Hibbard. The captain had the true sea-farer's ignorance, and was amused at + the things reported by his passengers of a place where he had been ashore + so often; Hicks's absence doubtless relieved him, but he did not comment + on the cabin-boy's announcement that he was still asleep, except to order + him let alone. + </p> + <p> + They were seated at their one o'clock dinner before the recluse made any + sign. Then he gave note of his continued existence by bumping and thumping + sounds within his state-room, as if some one were dressing there in a + heavy sea. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hicks seems to be taking his rough weather retrospectively,” said + Staniford, with rather tremulous humor. + </p> + <p> + The door was flung open, and Hicks reeled out, staying himself by the + door-knob. Even before he appeared, a reek of strong waters had preceded + him. He must have been drinking all night. His face was flushed, and his + eyes were bloodshot. He had no collar on; but he wore a cravat and + otherwise he was accurately and even fastidiously dressed. He balanced + himself by the door-knob, and measured the distance he had to make before + reaching his place at the table, smiling, and waving a delicate + handkerchief, which he held in his hand: “Spilt c'logne, tryin' to scent + my hic—handkerchief. Makes deuced bad smell—too much c'logne; + smells—alcoholic. Thom's, bear a hand, 's good f'low. No? All right, + go on with your waitin'. B-ic—business b'fore pleasure, 's feller + says. Play it alone, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + The boy had shrunk back in dismay, and Hicks contrived to reach his place + by one of those precipitate dashes with which drunken men attain a point, + when the luck is with them. He looked smilingly round the circle of faces. + Staniford and the captain exchanged threatening looks of intelligence, + while Mr. Watterson and Dunham subordinately waited their motion. But the + advantage, as in such cases, was on the side of Hicks. He knew it, with a + drunkard's subtlety, and was at his ease. + </p> + <p> + “No app'tite, friends; but thought I'd come out, keep you from feeling + lonesome.” He laughed and hiccuped, and smiled upon them all. “Well, + cap'n,” he continued, “<span class="lftspc">'</span>covered from 'tigues + day, sterday? You look blooming's usual. Thom's, pass the—pass the—victuals + lively, my son, and fetch along coffee soon. Some the friends up late, and + want their coffee. Nothing like coffee, carry off'fee's.” He winked to the + men, all round; and then added, to Lydia: “Sorry see you in this state—I + mean, sorry see me—Can't make it that way either; up stump on both + routes. What I mean is, sorry hadn't coffee first. But <i>you're</i> all + right—all right! Like see anybody offer you disrespec', 'n I'm + around. Tha's all.” + </p> + <p> + Till he addressed her, Lydia had remained motionless, first with + bewilderment, and then with open abhorrence. She could hardly have seen in + South Bradfield a man who had been drinking. Even in haying, or other + sharpest stress of farmwork, our farmer and his men stay themselves with + nothing stronger than molasses-water, or, in extreme cases, cider with a + little corn soaked in it; and the Mill Village, where she had taught + school, was under the iron rule of a local vote for prohibition. She + stared in stupefaction at Hicks's heated, foolish face; she started at his + wild movements, and listened with dawning intelligence to his + hiccup-broken speech, with its thickened sibilants and its wandering + emphasis. When he turned to her, and accompanied his words with a + reassuring gesture, she recoiled, and as if breaking an ugly fascination + she gave a low, shuddering cry, and looked at Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas,” he said, “Miss Blood was going to take her dessert on deck + to-day. Dunham?” + </p> + <p> + Dunham sprang to his feet, and led her out of the cabin. + </p> + <p> + The movement met Hicks's approval. “Tha's right; 'sert on deck, 'joy + landscape and pudding together,—Rhine steamer style. All right. Be + up there m'self soon's I get my coffee.” He winked again with drunken + sharpness. “I know wha's what. Be up there m'self, 'n a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “If you offer to go up,” said Staniford, in a low voice, as soon as Lydia + was out of the way, “I'll knock you down!” + </p> + <p> + “Captain,” said Mr. Watterson, venturing, perhaps for the first time in + his whole maritime history, upon a suggestion to his superior officer, + “shall I clap him in irons?” + </p> + <p> + “Clap him in irons!” roared Captain Jenness. “Clap him in bed! Look here, + you!” He turned to Hicks, but the latter, who had been bristling at + Staniford's threat, now relaxed in a crowing laugh:— + </p> + <p> + “Tha's right, captain. Irons no go, 'cept in case mutiny; bed perfectly + legal 't all times. Bed is good. But trouble is t' enforce it.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's your bottle?” demanded the captain, rising from the seat in which + a paralysis of fury had kept him hitherto. “I want your bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bottle's all right! Bottle's under pillow. Empty,—empty's + Jonah's gourd; 'nother sea-faring party,—Jonah. S'cure the shadow + ere the substance fade. Drunk all the brandy, old boy. Bottle's a canteen; + 'vantage of military port to houseless stranger. Brought the brandy on + board under my coat; nobody noticed,—so glad get me back. Prodigal + son's return,—fatted calf under his coat.” + </p> + <p> + The reprobate ended his boastful confession with another burst of + hiccuping, and Staniford helplessly laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Do me proud,” said Hicks. “Proud, I 'sure you. Gentleman, every time, + Stanny. Know good thing when you see it—hear it, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Hicks,” said Staniford, choosing to make friends with the + mammon of unrighteousness, if any good end might be gained by it. “You + know you're drunk, and you're not fit to be about. Go back to bed, that's + a good fellow; and come out again, when you're all right. You don't want + to do anything you'll be sorry for.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! No, you don't, Stanny. Coffee'll make me all right. Coffee always + does. Coffee—Heaven's lash besh gift to man. 'Scovered + subse-subs'quently to grape. See? Comes after claret in course of nature. + Captain doesn't understand the 'lusion. All right, captain. Little + learning dangerous thing.” He turned sharply on Mr. Watterson, who had + remained inertly in his place. “Put me in irons, heh! <i>You</i> put me in + irons, you old Triton. Put <i>me</i> in irons, will you?” His amiable mood + was passing; before one could say so, it was past. He was meditating means + of active offense. He gathered up the carving-knife and fork, and held + them close under Mr. Watterson's nose. “Smell that!” he said, and frowned + as darkly as a man of so little eyebrow could. + </p> + <p> + At this senseless defiance Staniford, in spite of himself, broke into + another laugh, and even Captain Jenness grinned. Mr. Watterson sat with + his head drawn as far back as possible, and with his nose wrinkled at the + affront offered it. “Captain,” he screamed, appealing even in this + extremity to his superior, “shall I fetch him <i>one?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried Staniford, springing from his chair; “don't hit him! He + isn't responsible. Let's get him into his room.” + </p> + <p> + “Fetch me <i>one</i>, heh?” said Hicks, rising, with dignity, and + beginning to turn up his cuffs. “<i>One</i>! It'll take more than one, + fetch <i>me</i>. Stan' up, 'f you're man enough.” He was squaring at Mr. + Watterson, when he detected signs of strategic approach in Staniford and + Captain Jenness. He gave a wild laugh, and shrank into a corner. “No! No, + you don't, boys,” he said. + </p> + <p> + They continued their advance, one on either side, and reinforced by Mr. + Watterson hemmed him in. The drunken man has the advantage of his sober + brother in never seeming to be on the alert. Hicks apparently entered into + the humor of the affair. “Sur-hic-surrender!” he said, with a smile in his + heavy eyes. He darted under the extended arms of Captain Jenness, who was + leading the centre of the advance, and before either wing could touch him + he was up the gangway and on the deck. + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness indulged one of those expressions, very rare with him, + which are supposed to be forgiven to good men in moments of extreme + perplexity, and Mr. Watterson profited by the precedent to unburden his + heart in a paraphrase of the captain's language. Staniford's laugh had as + much cursing in it as their profanity. + </p> + <p> + He mechanically followed Hicks to the deck, prepared to renew the attempt + for his capture there. But Hicks had not stopped near Dunham and Lydia. He + had gone forward on the other side of the ship, and was leaning quietly on + the rail, and looking into the sea. Staniford paused irresolute for a + moment, and then sat down beside Lydia, and they all tried to feign that + nothing unpleasant had happened, or was still impending. But their talk + had the wandering inconclusiveness which was inevitable, and the eyes of + each from time to time furtively turned toward Hicks. + </p> + <p> + For half an hour he hardly changed his position. At the end of that time, + they found him looking intently at them; and presently he began to work + slowly back to the waist of the ship, but kept to his own side. He was met + on the way by the second mate, when nearly opposite where they sat. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't you pretty comfortable where you are?” they heard the mate asking. + “Guess I wouldn't go aft any further just yet.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You're</i> all right, Mason,” Hicks answered. “Going below—down + cellar, 's feller says; go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's a pious idea,” said the mate. “You couldn't do better than + that. I'll lend you a hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't care 'f I do,” responded Hicks, taking the mate's proffered arm. + But he really seemed to need it very little; he walked perfectly well, and + he did not look across at the others again. + </p> + <p> + At the head of the gangway he encountered Captain Jenness and Mr. + Watterson, who had completed the perquisition they had remained to make in + his state-room. Mr. Watterson came up empty-handed; but the captain bore + the canteen in which the common enemy had been so artfully conveyed on + board. He walked, darkly scowling, to the rail, and flung the canteen into + the sea. Hicks, who had saluted his appearance with a glare as savage as + his own, yielded to his whimsical sense of the futility of this vengeance. + He gave his fleeting, drunken laugh: “Good old boy, Captain Jenness. Means + well—means well. But lacks—lacks—forecast. Pounds of + cure, but no prevention. Not much on bite, but death on bark. Heh?” He + waggled his hand offensively at the captain, and disappeared, loosely + floundering down the cabin stairs, holding hard by the hand-rail, and + fumbling round with his foot for the steps before he put it down. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as he's in his room, Mr. Watterson, you lock him in.” The captain + handed his officer a key, and walked away forward, with a hang-dog look on + his kindly face, which he kept averted from his passengers. + </p> + <p> + The sound of Hicks's descent had hardly ceased when clapping and knocking + noises were heard again, and the face of the troublesome little wretch + reappeared. He waved Mr. Watterson aside with his left hand, and in + default of specific orders the latter allowed him to mount to the deck + again. Hicks stayed himself a moment, and lurched to where Staniford and + Dunham sat with Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “What I wish say Miss Blood is,” he began,—“what I wish say is, + peculiar circumstances make no difference with man if man's gentleman. + What I say is, everybody 'spec's—What I say is, circumstances don't + alter cases; lady's a lady—What I want do is beg you fellows' pardon—beg + <i>her</i> pardon—if anything I said that firs' morning—” + </p> + <p> + “Go away!” cried Staniford, beginning to whiten round the nostrils. “Hold + your tongue!” + </p> + <p> + Hicks fell back a pace, and looked at him with the odd effect of now + seeing him for the first time. “What <i>you</i> want?” he asked. “What you + mean? Slingin' criticism ever since you came on this ship! What you mean + by it? Heh? What you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Staniford rose, and Lydia gave a start. He cast an angry look at her. “Do + you think I'd hurt him?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Hicks went on: “Sorry, very sorry, 'larm a lady,—specially lady we + all respec'. But this particular affair. Touch—touches my honor. You + said,” he continued, “<span class="lftspc">'</span>f I came on deck, you'd + knock me down. Why don't you do it? Wha's the matter with you? Sling + criticism ever since you been on ship, and 'fraid do it! 'Fraid, you hear? + 'F-ic—'fraid, I say.” Staniford slowly walked away forward, and + Hicks followed him, threatening him with word and gesture. Now and then + Staniford thrust him aside, and addressed him some expostulation, and + Hicks laughed and submitted. Then, after a silent excursion to the other + side of the ship, he would return and renew his one-sided quarrel. + Staniford seemed to forbid the interference of the crew, and alternately + soothed and baffled his tedious adversary, who could still be heard + accusing him of slinging criticism, and challenging him to combat. He + leaned with his back to the rail, and now looked quietly into Hicks's + crazy face, when the latter paused in front of him, and now looked down + with a worried, wearied air. At last he crossed to the other side, and + began to come aft again. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dunham!” cried Lydia, starting up. “I know what Mr. Staniford wants + to do. He wants to keep him away from me. Let me go down to the cabin. I + can't walk; <i>please</i> help me!” Her eyes were full of tears, and the + hand trembled that she laid on Dunham's arm, but she controlled her voice. + </p> + <p> + He softly repressed her, while he intently watched Staniford. “No, no!” + </p> + <p> + “But he can't bear it much longer,” she pleaded. “And if he should—” + </p> + <p> + “Staniford would never strike him,” said Dunham, calmly. “Don't be afraid. + Look! He's coming back with him; he's trying to get him below; they'll + shut him up there. That's the only chance. Sit down, please.” She dropped + into her seat, hid her eyes for an instant, and then fixed them again on + the two young men. + </p> + <p> + Hicks had got between Staniford and the rail. He seized him by the arm, + and, pulling him round, suddenly struck at him. It was too much for his + wavering balance: his feet shot from under him, and he went backwards in a + crooked whirl and tumble, over the vessel's side. + </p> + <p> + Staniford uttered a cry of disgust and rage. “Oh, you little brute!” he + shouted, and with what seemed a single gesture he flung off his coat and + the low shoes he wore, and leaped the railing after him. + </p> + <p> + The cry of “Man overboard!” rang round the ship, and Captain Jenness's + order, “Down with your helm! Lower a boat, Mr. Mason!” came, quick as it + was, after the second mate had prepared to let go; and he and two of the + men were in the boat, and she was sliding from her davits, while the + Aroostook was coming up to the light wind and losing headway. + </p> + <p> + When the boat touched the water, two heads had appeared above the surface + terribly far away. “Hold on, for God's sake! We'll be there in a second.” + </p> + <p> + “All right!” Staniford's voice called back. “Be quick.” The heads rose and + sank with the undulation of the water. The swift boat appeared to crawl. + </p> + <p> + By the time it reached the place where they had been seen, the heads + disappeared, and the men in the boat seemed to be rowing blindly about. + The mate stood upright. Suddenly he dropped and clutched at something over + the boat's side. The people on the ship could see three hands on her + gunwale; a figure was pulled up into the boat, and proved to be Hicks; + then Staniford, seizing the gunwale with both hands, swung himself in. + </p> + <p> + A shout went up from the ship, and Staniford waved his hand. Lydia waited + where she hung upon the rail, clutching it hard with her hands, till the + boat was along-side. Then from white she turned fire-red, and ran below + and locked herself in her room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + Dunham followed Staniford to their room, and helped him off with his wet + clothes. He tried to say something ideally fit in recognition of his + heroic act, and he articulated some bald commonplaces of praise, and shook + Staniford's clammy hand. “Yes,” said the latter, submitting; “but the + difficulty about a thing of this sort is that you don't know whether you + haven't been an ass. It has been pawed over so much by the romancers that + you don't feel like a hero in real life, but a hero of fiction. I've a + notion that Hicks and I looked rather ridiculous going over the ship's + side; I know we did, coming back. No man can reveal his greatness of soul + in wet clothes. Did Miss Blood laugh?” + </p> + <p> + “Staniford!” said Dunham, in an accent of reproach. “You do her great + injustice. She felt what you had done in the way you would wish,—if + you cared.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” asked Staniford, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. But—” + </p> + <p> + “That's an easy way of expressing one's admiration of heroic behavior. I + hope she'll stick to that line. I hope she won't feel it at all necessary + to say anything in recognition of my prowess; it would be extremely + embarrassing. I've got Hicks back again, but I couldn't stand any + gratitude for it. Not that I'm ashamed of the performance. Perhaps if it + had been anybody but Hicks, I should have waited for them to lower a boat. + But Hicks had peculiar claims. You couldn't let a man you disliked so much + welter round a great while. Where is the poor old fellow? Is he clothed + and in his right mind again?” + </p> + <p> + “He seemed to be sober enough,” said Dunham, “when he came on board; but I + don't think he's out yet.” + </p> + <p> + “We must let Thomas in to gather up this bathing-suit,” observed + Staniford. “What a Newportish flavor it gives the place!” He was excited, + and in great gayety of spirits. + </p> + <p> + He and Dunham went out into the cabin, where they found Captain Jenness + pacing to and fro. “Well, sir,” he said, taking Staniford's hand, and + crossing his right with his left, so as to include Dunham in his + congratulations, “you ought to have been a sailor!” Then he added, as if + the unqualified praise might seem fulsome, “But if you'd been a sailor, + you wouldn't have tried a thing like that. You'd have had more sense. The + chances were ten to one against you.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “Was it so bad as that? I shall begin to respect + myself.” + </p> + <p> + The captain did not answer, but his iron grip closed hard upon Staniford's + hand, and he frowned in keen inspection of Hicks, who at that moment came + out of his state-room, looking pale and quite sobered. Captain Jenness + surveyed him from head to foot, and then from foot to head, and pausing at + the level of his eyes he said, still holding Staniford by the hand: “The + trouble with a man aboard ship is that he can't turn a blackguard + out-of-doors just when he likes. The Aroostook puts in at Messina. You'll + be treated well till we get there, and then if I find you on my vessel + five minutes after she comes to anchor, I'll heave you overboard, and I'll + take care that nobody jumps after you. Do you hear? And you won't find me + doing any such fool kindness as I did when I took you on board, soon + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, Captain Jenness,” began Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “He's all right,” interrupted Hicks. “I'm a blackguard; I know it; and I + don't think I was worth fishing up. But you've done it, and I mustn't go + back on you, I suppose.” He lifted his poor, weak, bad little face, and + looked Staniford in the eyes with a pathos that belied the slang of his + speech. The latter released his hand from Captain Jenness and gave it to + Hicks, who wrung it, as he kept looking him in the eyes, while his lips + twitched pitifully, like a child's. The captain gave a quick snort either + of disgust or of sympathy, and turned abruptly about and bundled himself + up out of the cabin. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” exclaimed Staniford, “a cup of coffee wouldn't be bad, would it? + Let's have some coffee, Thomas, about as quick as the cook can make it,” + he added, as the boy came out from his stateroom with a lump of wet + clothes in his hands. “You wanted some coffee a little while ago,” he said + to Hicks, who hung his head at the joke. + </p> + <p> + For the rest of the day Staniford was the hero of the ship. The men looked + at him from a distance, and talked of him together. Mr. Watterson hung + about whenever Captain Jenness drew near him, as if in the hope of + overhearing some acceptable expression in which he could second his + superior officer. Failing this, and being driven to despair, “Find the + water pretty cold, sir?” he asked at last; and after that seemed to feel + that he had discharged his duty as well as might be under the + extraordinary circumstances. + </p> + <p> + The second mate, during the course of the afternoon, contrived to pass + near Staniford. “Why, there wa'n't no <i>need</i> of your doing it,” he + said, in a bated tone. “I could ha' had him out with the boat, <i>soon + enough</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford treasured up these meagre expressions of the general + approbation, and would not have had them different. From this time, within + the narrow bounds that brought them all necessarily together in some sort, + Hicks abolished himself as nearly as possible. He chose often to join the + second mate at meals, which Mr. Mason, in accordance with the discipline + of the ship, took apart both from the crew and his superior officers. + Mason treated the voluntary outcast with a sort of sarcastic compassion, + as a man whose fallen state was not without its points as a joke to the + indifferent observer, and yet might appeal to the pity of one who knew + such cases through the misery they inflicted. Staniford heard him telling + Hicks about his brother-in-law, and dwelling upon the peculiar relief + which the appearance of his name in the mortality list gave all concerned + in him. Hicks listened in apathetic patience and acquiescence; but + Staniford thought that he enjoyed, as much as he could enjoy anything, the + second officer's frankness. For his own part, he found that having made + bold to keep this man in the world he had assumed a curious responsibility + towards him. It became his business to show him that he was not shunned by + his fellow-creatures, to hearten and cheer him up. It was heavy work. + Hicks with his joke was sometimes odious company, but he was also + sometimes amusing; without it, he was of a terribly dull conversation. He + accepted Staniford's friendliness too meekly for good comradery; he let it + add, apparently, to his burden of gratitude, rather than lessen it. + Staniford smoked with him, and told him stories; he walked up and down + with him, and made a point of parading their good understanding, but his + spirits seemed to sink the lower. “Deuce take him!” mused his benefactor; + “he's in love with her!” But he now had the satisfaction, such as it was, + of seeing that if he was in love he was quite without hope. Lydia had + never relented in her abhorrence of Hicks since the day of his disgrace. + There seemed no scorn in her condemnation, but neither was there any + mercy. In her simple life she had kept unsophisticated the severe morality + of a child, and it was this that judged him, that found him unpardonable + and outlawed him. He had never ventured to speak to her since that day, + and Staniford never saw her look at him except when Hicks was not looking, + and then with a repulsion which was very curious. Staniford could have + pitied him, and might have interceded so far as to set him nearer right in + her eyes; but he felt that she avoided him, too; there were no more walks + on the deck, no more readings in the cabin; the checker-board, which + professed to be the History of England, In 2 Vols., remained a closed + book. The good companionship of a former time, in which they had so often + seemed like brothers and sister, was gone. “Hicks has smashed our Happy + Family,” Staniford said to Dunham, with little pleasure in his joke. “Upon + my word, I think I had better have left him in the water.” Lydia kept a + great deal in her own room; sometimes when Staniford came down into the + cabin he found her there, talking with Thomas of little things that amuse + children; sometimes when he went on deck in the evening she would be there + in her accustomed seat, and the second mate, with face and figure half + averted, and staying himself by one hand on the shrouds, would be telling + her something to which she listened with lifted chin and attentive eyes. + The mate would go away when Staniford appeared, but that did not help + matters, for then Lydia went too. At table she said very little; she had + the effect of placing herself more and more under the protection of the + captain. The golden age, when they had all laughed and jested so freely + and fearlessly together, under her pretty sovereignty, was past, and they + seemed far dispersed in a common exile. Staniford imagined she grew pale + and thin; he asked Dunham if he did not see it, but Dunham had not + observed. “I think matters have taken a very desirable shape, socially,” + he said. “Miss Blood will reach her friends as fancy-free as she left + home.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Staniford assented vaguely; “that's the great object.” + </p> + <p> + After a while Dunham asked, “She's never said anything to you about your + rescuing Hicks?” + </p> + <p> + “Rescuing? What rescuing? They'd have had him out in another minute, any + way,” said Staniford, fretfully. Then he brooded angrily upon the subject: + “But I can tell you what: considering all the circumstances, she might + very well have said something. It looks obtuse, or it looks hard. She must + have known that it all came about through my trying to keep him away from + her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; she knew that,” said Dunham; “she spoke of it at the time. But I + thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she did! Then I think that it would be very little if she recognized + the mere fact that something had happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you said you hoped she wouldn't. You said it would be embarrassing. + You're hard to please, Staniford.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't choose to have her speak for <i>my</i> pleasure,” Staniford + returned. “But it argues a dullness and coldness in her—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe she's dull; I don't believe she's cold,” said Dunham, + warmly. + </p> + <p> + “What <i>do</i> you believe she is?” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw!” said Staniford. + </p> + <p> + The eve of their arrival at Messina, he discharged one more duty by + telling Hicks that he had better come on to Trieste with them. “Captain + Jenness asked me to speak to you about it,” he said. “He feels a little + awkward, and thought I could open the matter better.” + </p> + <p> + “The captain's all right,” answered Hicks, with unruffled humility, “but + I'd rather stop at Messina. I'm going to get home as soon as I can,—strike + a bee-line.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” said Staniford, laying his hand on his shoulder. “How are you + going to manage for money?” + </p> + <p> + “Monte di Pietà,” replied Hicks. “I've been there before. Used to have + most of my things in the care of the state when I was studying medicine in + Paris. I've got a lot of rings and trinkets that'll carry me through, with + what's left of my watch.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Because you can draw on me, if you're going to be short.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Hicks. “There's something I should like to ask you,” he + added, after a moment. “I see as well as you do that Miss Blood isn't the + same as she was before. I want to know—I can't always be sure + afterwards—whether I did or said anything out of the way in her + presence.” + </p> + <p> + “You were drunk,” said Staniford, frankly, “but beyond that you were + irreproachable, as regarded Miss Blood. You were even exemplary.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Hicks, with a joyless laugh. “Sometimes it takes that + turn. I don't think I could stand it if I had shown her any disrespect. + She's a lady,—a perfect lady; she's the best girl I ever saw.” + </p> + <p> + “Hicks,” said Staniford, presently, “I haven't bored you in regard to that + little foible of yours. Aren't you going to try to do something about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going home to get them to shut me up somewhere,” answered Hicks. “But + I doubt if anything can be done. I've studied the thing; I am a doctor,—or + I would be if I were not a drunkard,—and I've diagnosed the case + pretty thoroughly. For three months or four months, now, I shall be all + right. After that I shall go to the bad for a few weeks; and I'll have to + scramble back the best way I can. Nobody can help me. That was the mistake + this last time. I shouldn't have wanted anything at Gibraltar if I could + have had my spree out at Boston. But I let them take me before it was + over, and ship me off. I thought I'd try it. Well, it was like a burning + fire every minute, all the way. I thought I should die. I tried to get + something from the sailors; I tried to steal Gabriel's cooking-wine. When + I got that brandy in Gibraltar I was wild. Talk about heroism! I tell you + it was superhuman, keeping that canteen corked till night! I was in hopes + I could get through it,—sleep it off,—and nobody be any the + wiser. But it wouldn't work. O Lord, Lord, Lord!” + </p> + <p> + Hicks was as common a soul as could well be. His conception of life was + vulgar, and his experience of it was probably vulgar. He had a good mind + enough, with abundance of that humorous brightness which may hereafter be + found the most national quality of the Americans; but his ideals were + pitiful, and the language of his heart was a drolling slang. Yet his doom + lifted him above his low conditions, and made him tragic; his despair gave + him the dignity of a mysterious expiation, and set him apart with all + those who suffer beyond human help. Without deceiving himself as to the + quality of the man, Staniford felt awed by the darkness of his fate. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you try somehow to stand up against it, and fight it off? You're so + young yet, it can't—” + </p> + <p> + The wretched creature burst into tears. “Oh, try,—try! You don't + know what you're talking about. Don't you suppose I've had reasons for + trying? If you could see how my mother looks when I come out of one of my + drunks,—and my father, poor old man! It's no use; I tell you it's no + use. I shall go just so long, and then I shall want it, and <i>will</i> + have it, unless they shut me up for life. My God, I wish I was dead! + Well!” He rose from the place where they had been sitting together, and + held out his hand to Staniford. “I'm going to be off in the morning before + you're out, and I'll say good-by now. I want you to keep this chair, and + give it to Miss Blood, for me, when you get to Trieste.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, Hicks,” said Staniford, gently. + </p> + <p> + “I want her to know that I was ashamed of myself. I think she'll like to + know it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will say anything to her that you wish,” replied Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing else. If ever you see a man with my complaint fall + overboard again, think twice before you jump after him.” + </p> + <p> + He wrung Staniford's hand, and went below, leaving him with a dull remorse + that he should ever have hated Hicks, and that he could not quite like him + even now. + </p> + <p> + But he did his duty by him to the last. He rose at dawn, and was on deck + when Hicks went over the side into the boat which was to row him to the + steamer for Naples, lying at anchor not far off. He presently returned, to + Staniford's surprise, and scrambled up to the deck of the Aroostook. “The + steamer sails to-night,” he said, “and perhaps I couldn't raise the money + by that time. I wish you'd lend me ten napoleons. I'll send 'em to you + from London. There's my father's address: I'm going to telegraph to him.” + He handed Staniford a card, and the latter went below for the coins. + “Thanks,” said Hicks, when he reappeared with them. “Send 'em to you + where?” + </p> + <p> + “Care Blumenthals', Venice. I'm going to be there some weeks.” + </p> + <p> + In the gray morning light the lurid color of tragedy had faded out of + Hicks. He was merely a baddish-looking young fellow whom Staniford had + lent ten napoleons that he might not see again. Staniford watched the + steamer uneasily, both from the Aroostook and from the shore, where he + strolled languidly about with Dunham part of the day. When she sailed in + the evening, he felt that Hicks's absence was worth twice the money. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + The young men did not come back to the ship at night, but went to a hotel, + for the greater convenience of seeing the city. They had talked of + offering to show Lydia about, but their talk had not ended in anything. + Vexed with himself to be vexed at such a thing, Staniford at the bottom of + his heart still had a soreness which the constant sight of her irritated. + It was in vain that he said there was no occasion, perhaps no opportunity, + for her to speak, yet he was hurt that she seemed to have seen nothing + uncommon in his risking his own life for that of a man like Hicks. He had + set the action low enough in his own speech; but he knew that it was not + ignoble, and it puzzled him that it should be so passed over. She had not + even said a word of congratulation upon his own escape. It might be that + she did not know how, or did not think it was her place to speak. She was + curiously estranged. He felt as if he had been away, and she had grown + from a young girl into womanhood during his absence. This fantastic + conceit was strongest when he met her with Captain Jenness one day. He had + found friends at the hotel, as one always does in Italy, if one's world is + at all wide,—some young ladies, and a lady, now married, with whom + he had once violently flirted. She was willing that he should envy her + husband; that amused him in his embittered mood; he let her drive him + about; and they met Lydia and the captain, walking together. Staniford + started up from his lounging ease, as if her limpid gaze had searched his + conscience, and bowed with an air which did not escape his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Who's that?” she asked, with the boldness which she made pass for + eccentricity. + </p> + <p> + “A lady of my acquaintance,” said Staniford, at his laziest again. + </p> + <p> + “A lady?” said the other, with an inflection that she saw hurt. “Why the + marine animal, then? She bowed very prettily; she blushed prettily, too.” + </p> + <p> + “She's a very pretty girl,” replied Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Charming! But why blush?” + </p> + <p> + “I've heard that there are ladies who blush for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she Italian?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—in voice.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, an American <i>prima donna</i>!” Staniford did not answer. “Who is + she? Where is she from?” + </p> + <p> + “South Bradfield, Mass.” Staniford's eyes twinkled at her pursuit, which + he did not trouble himself to turn aside, but baffled by mere + impenetrability. + </p> + <p> + The party at the hotel suggested that the young men should leave their + ship and go on with them to Naples; Dunham was tempted, for he could have + reached Dresden sooner by land; but Staniford overruled him, and at the + end of four days they went back to the Aroostook. They said it was like + getting home, but in fact they felt the change from the airy heights and + breadths of the hotel to the small cabin and the closets in which they + slept; it was not so great alleviation as Captain Jenness seemed to think + that one of them could now have Hicks's stateroom. But Dunham took + everything sweetly, as his habit was; and, after all, they were meeting + their hardships voluntarily. Some of the ladies came with them in the boat + which rowed them to the Aroostook; the name made them laugh; that lady who + wished Staniford to regret her waved him her hand kerchief as the boat + rowed away again. She had with difficulty been kept from coming on board + by the refusal of the others to come with her. She had contrived to + associate herself with him again in the minds of the others, and this, + perhaps, was all that she desired. But the sense of her frivolity—her + not so much vacant-mindedness as vacant-heartedness—was like a + stain, and he painted in Lydia's face when they first met the reproach + which was in his own breast. + </p> + <p> + Her greeting, however, was frank and cordial; it was a real welcome. + Staniford wondered if it were not more frank and cordial than he quite + liked, and whether she was merely relieved by Hicks's absence, or had + freed herself from that certain subjection in which she had hitherto been + to himself. + </p> + <p> + Yet it was charming to see her again as she had been in the happiest + moments of the past, and to feel that, Hicks being out of her world, her + trust of everybody in it was perfect once more. She treated that interval + of coldness and diffidence as all women know how to treat a thing which + they wish not to have been; and Staniford, a man on whom no pleasing art + of her sex was ever lost, admired and gratefully accepted the effect of + this. He fell luxuriously into the old habits again. They had still almost + the time of a steamer's voyage to Europe before them; it was as if they + were newly setting sail from America. The first night after they left + Messina Staniford found her in her place in the waist of the ship, and sat + down beside her there, and talked; the next night she did not come; the + third she came, and he asked her to walk with him. The elastic touch of + her hand on his arm, the rhythmic movement of her steps beside him, were + things that seemed always to have been. She told him of what she had seen + and done in Messina. This glimpse of Italy had vividly animated her; she + had apparently found a world within herself as well as without. + </p> + <p> + With a suddenly depressing sense of loss, Staniford had a prevision of + splendor in her, when she should have wholly blossomed out in that fervid + air of art and beauty; he would fain have kept her still a wilding rosebud + of the New England wayside. He hated the officers who should wonder at her + when she first came into the Square of St. Mark with her aunt and uncle. + </p> + <p> + Her talk about Messina went on; he was thinking of her, and not of her + talk; but he saw that she was not going to refer to their encounter. “You + make me jealous of the objects of interest in Messina,” he said. “You seem + to remember seeing everything but me, there.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped abruptly. “Yes,” she said, after a deep breath, “I saw you + there;” and she did not offer to go on again. + </p> + <p> + “Where were you going, that morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to the cathedral. Captain Jenness left me there, and I looked all + through it till he came back from the consulate.” + </p> + <p> + “Left you there alone!” cried Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I told him I should not feel lonely, and I should not stir out of it + till he came back. I took one of those little pine chairs and sat down, + when I got tired, and looked at the people coming to worship, and the + strangers with their guide-books.” + </p> + <p> + “Did any of them look at you?” + </p> + <p> + “They stared a good deal. It seems to be the custom in Europe; but I told + Captain Jenness I should probably have to go about by myself in Venice, as + my aunt's an invalid, and I had better get used to it.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, and seemed to be referring the point to Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—oh, yes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Jenness said it was their way, over here,” she resumed; “but he + guessed I had as much right in a church as anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “The captain's common sense is infallible,” answered Staniford. He was + ashamed to know that the beautiful young girl was as improperly alone in + church as she would have been in a café, and he began to hate the European + world for the fact. It seemed better to him that the Aroostook should put + about and sail back to Boston with her, as she was,—better that she + should be going to her aunt in South Bradfield than to her aunt in Venice. + “We shall soon be at our journey's end, now,” he said, after a while. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the captain thinks in about eight days, if we have good weather.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall you be sorry?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I like the sea very well.” + </p> + <p> + “But the new life you are coming to,—doesn't that alarm you + sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it does,” she admitted, with a kind of reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “So much that you would like to turn back from it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she answered quickly. Of course not, Staniford thought; nothing + could be worse than going back to South Bradfield. “I keep thinking about + it,” she added. “You say Venice is such a very strange place. Is it any + use my having seen Messina?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all Italian cities have something in common.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume,” she went on, “that after I get there everything will become + natural. But I don't like to look forward. It—scares me. I can't + form any idea of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be afraid,” said Staniford. “It's only more beautiful than + anything you can imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes; I know,” Lydia answered. + </p> + <p> + “And do you really dread getting there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I dread it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” returned Staniford lightly, “so do I; but it's for a different + reason, I'm afraid. I should like such a voyage as this to go on forever. + Now and then I think it will; it seems always to have gone on. Can you + remember when it began?” + </p> + <p> + “A great while ago,” she answered, humoring his fantasy, “but I can + remember.” She paused a long while. “I don't know,” she said at last, + “whether I can make you understand just how I feel. But it seems to me as + if I had died, and this long voyage was a kind of dream that I was going + to wake up from in another world. I often used to think, when I was a + little girl, that when I got to heaven it would be lonesome—I don't + know whether I can express it. You say that Italy—that Venice—is + so beautiful; but if I don't know any one there—” She stopped, as if + she had gone too far. + </p> + <p> + “But you do know somebody there,” said Staniford. “Your aunt—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl, and looked away. + </p> + <p> + “But the people in this long dream,—you're going to let some of them + appear to you there,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” she said, reflecting his lighter humor, “I shall want to see + them, or I shall not know I am the same person, and I must be sure of + myself, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “And you wouldn't like to go back to earth—to South Bradfield + again?” he asked presently. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered. “All that seems over forever. I couldn't go back there + and be what I was. I could have stayed there, but I couldn't go back.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “I see that it isn't the other world that's got hold of + you! It's <i>this</i> world! I don't believe you'll be unhappy in Italy. + But it's pleasant to think you've been so contented on the Aroostook that + you hate to leave it. I don't believe there's a man on the ship that + wouldn't feel personally flattered to know that you liked being here. Even + that poor fellow who parted from us at Messina was anxious that you should + think as kindly of him as you could. He knew that he had behaved in a way + to shock you, and he was very sorry. He left a message with me for you. He + thought you would like to know that he was ashamed of himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I pitied him,” said Lydia succinctly. It was the first time that she had + referred to Hicks, and Staniford found it in character for her to limit + herself to this sparse comment. Evidently, her compassion was a religious + duty. Staniford's generosity came easy to him. + </p> + <p> + “I feel bound to say that Hicks was not a bad fellow. I disliked him + immensely, and I ought to do him justice, now he's gone. He deserved all + your pity. He's a doomed man; his vice is irreparable; he can't resist + it.” Lydia did not say anything: women do not generalize in these matters; + perhaps they cannot pity the faults of those they do not love. Staniford + only forgave Hicks the more. “I can't say that up to the last moment I + thought him anything but a poor, common little creature; and yet I + certainly did feel a greater kindness for him after—what I—after + what had happened. He left something more than a message for you, Miss + Blood; he left his steamer chair yonder, for you.” + </p> + <p> + “For me?” demanded Lydia. Staniford felt her thrill and grow rigid upon + his arm, with refusal. “I will not have it. He had no right to do so. He—he—was + dreadful! I will give it to you!” she said, suddenly. “He ought to have + given it to you. You did everything for him; you saved his life.” + </p> + <p> + It was clear that she did not sentimentalize Hicks's case; and Staniford + had some doubt as to the value she set upon what he had done, even now she + had recognized it. + </p> + <p> + He said, “I think you overestimate my service to him, possibly. I dare say + the boat could have picked him up in good time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's what the captain and Mr. Watterson and Mr. Mason all said,” + assented Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Staniford was nettled. He would have preferred a devoted belief that but + for him Hicks must have perished. Besides, what she said still gave no + clew to her feeling in regard to himself. He was obliged to go on, but he + went on as indifferently as he could. “However, it was hardly a question + for me at the time whether he could have been got out without my help. If + I had thought about it at all—which I didn't—I suppose I + should have thought that it wouldn't do to take any chances.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Lydia, simply, “you couldn't have done anything less than + you did.” + </p> + <p> + In his heart Staniford had often thought that he could have done very much + less than jump overboard after Hicks, and could very properly have left + him to the ordinary life-saving apparatus of the ship. But if he had been + putting the matter to some lady in society who was aggressively praising + him for his action, he would have said just what Lydia had said for him,—that + he could not have done anything less. He might have said it, however, in + such a way that the lady would have pursued his retreat from her praises + with still fonder applause; whereas this girl seemed to think there was + nothing else to be said. He began to stand in awe of her heroic + simplicity. If she drew every-day breath in that lofty air, what could she + really think of him, who preferred on principle the atmosphere of the + valley? “Do you know, Miss Blood,” he said gravely, “that you pay me a + very high compliment?” + </p> + <p> + “How?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “You rate my maximum as my mean temperature.” He felt that she listened + inquiringly. “I don't think I'm habitually up to a thing of that kind,” he + explained. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” she assented, quietly; “but when he struck at you so, you had to + do everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have the pitiless Puritan conscience that takes the life out of + us all!” cried Staniford, with sudden bitterness. Lydia seemed startled, + shocked, and her hand trembled on his arm, as if she had a mind to take it + away. “I was a long time laboring up to that point. I suppose you are + always there!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” she said, turning her head round with the slow + motion of her beauty, and looking him full in the face. + </p> + <p> + “I can't explain now. I will, by and by,—when we get to Venice,” he + added, with quick lightness. + </p> + <p> + “You put off everything till we get to Venice,” she said, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon. It was you who did it the last time.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it?” She laughed. “So it was! I was thinking it was you.” + </p> + <p> + It consoled him a little that she should have confused them in her + thought, in this way. “What was it you were to tell me in Venice?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I can't think, now.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely something of yourself—or myself. A third person might + say our conversational range was limited.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it is very egotistical?” she asked, in the gay tone which + gave him relief from the sense of oppressive elevation of mind in her. + </p> + <p> + “It is in me,—not in you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't see the difference.” + </p> + <p> + “I will explain sometime.” + </p> + <p> + “When we get to Venice?” + </p> + <p> + They both laughed. It was very nonsensical; but nonsense is sometimes + enough. + </p> + <p> + When they were serious again, “Tell me,” he said, “what you thought of + that lady in Messina, the other day.” + </p> + <p> + She did not affect not to know whom he meant. She merely said, “I only saw + her a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “But you thought something. If we only see people a second we form some + opinion of them.” + </p> + <p> + “She is very fine-appearing,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Staniford smiled at the countrified phrase; he had observed that when she + spoke her mind she used an instinctive good language; when she would not + speak it, she fell into the phraseology of the people with whom she had + lived. “I see you don't wish to say, because you think she is a friend of + mine. But you can speak out freely. We were not friends; we were enemies, + if anything.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford's meaning was clear enough to himself; but Lydia paused, as if + in doubt whether he was jesting or not, before she asked, “Why were you + riding with her then?” + </p> + <p> + “I was driving with her,” he replied, “I suppose, because she asked me.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Asked</i> you!” cried the girl; and he perceived her moral recoil both + from himself and from a woman who could be so unseemly. That lady would + have found it delicious if she could have known that a girl placed like + Lydia was shocked at her behavior. But he was not amused. He was touched + by the simple self-respect that would not let her suffer from what was not + wrong in itself, but that made her shrink from a voluntary semblance of + unwomanliness. It endeared her not only to his pity, but to that sense + which in every man consecrates womanhood, and waits for some woman to be + better than all her sex. Again he felt the pang he had remotely known + before. What would she do with these ideals of hers in that depraved Old + World,—so long past trouble for its sins as to have got a sort of + sweetness and innocence in them,—where her facts would be utterly + irreconcilable with her ideals, and equally incomprehensible? + </p> + <p> + They walked up and down a few turns without speaking again of that lady. + He knew that she grew momently more constrained toward him; that the + pleasure of the time was spoiled for her; that she had lost her trust in + him, and this half amused, half afflicted him. It did not surprise him + when, at their third approach to the cabin gangway, she withdrew her hand + from his arm and said, stiffly, “I think I will go down.” But she did not + go at once. She lingered, and after a certain hesitation she said, without + looking at him, “I didn't express what I wanted to, about Mr. Hicks, and—what + you did. It is what I thought you would do.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Staniford, with sincere humility. He understood how she had + had this in her mind, and how she would not withhold justice from him + because he had fallen in her esteem; how rather she would be the more + resolute to do him justice for that reason. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + He could see that she avoided being alone with him the next day, but he + took it for a sign of relenting, perhaps helpless relenting, that she was + in her usual place on deck in the evening. He went to her, and, “I see + that you haven't forgiven me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Forgiven you?” she echoed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “for letting that lady ask me to drive with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I never said—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! But I knew it, all the same. It was not such a very wicked thing, + as those things go. But I liked your not liking it. Will you let me say + something to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, rather breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “You must think it's rather an odd thing to say, as I ask leave. It is; + and I hardly know how to say it. I want to tell you that I've made bold to + depend a great deal upon your good opinion for my peace of mind, of late, + and that I can't well do without it now.” + </p> + <p> + She stole the quickest of her bird-like glances at him, but did not speak; + and though she seemed, to his anxious fancy, poising for flight, she + remained, and merely looked away, like the bird that will not or cannot + fly. + </p> + <p> + “You don't resent my making you my outer conscience, do you, and my + knowing that you're not quite pleased with me?” + </p> + <p> + She looked down and away with one of those turns of the head, so precious + when one who beholds them is young, and caught at the fringe of her shawl. + “I have no right,” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I give you the right!” he cried, with passionate urgence. “You have + the right. Judge me!” She only looked more grave, and he hurried on. “It + was no great harm of her to ask me; that's common enough; but it was harm + of me to go if I didn't quite respect her,—if I thought her silly, + and was willing to be amused with her. One hasn't any right to do that. I + saw this when I saw you.” She still hung her head, and looked away. “I + want you to tell me something,” he pursued. “Do you remember once—the + second time we talked together—that you said Dunham was in earnest, + and you wouldn't answer when I asked you about myself? Do you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't care, then. I care very much now. You don't think me—you + think I can be in earnest when I will, don't you? And that I can regret—that + I really wish—” He took the hand that played with the shawl-fringe, + but she softly drew it away. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I see!” he said. “You can't believe in me. You don't believe that I + can be a good man—like Dunham!” + </p> + <p> + She answered in the same breathless murmur, “I think you are good.” Her + averted face drooped lower. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you all about it, some day!” he cried, with joyful vehemence. + “Will you let me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, with the swift expulsion of breath that sometimes + comes with tears. She rose quickly and turned away. He did not try to keep + her from leaving him. His heart beat tumultuously; his brain seemed in a + whirl. It all meant nothing, or it meant everything. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with Miss Blood?” asked Dunham, who joined him at this + moment. “I just spoke to her at the foot of the gangway stairs, and she + wouldn't answer me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know about Miss Blood—I don't know what's the matter,” + said Staniford. “Look here, Dunham; I want to talk with you—I want + to tell you something—I want you to advise me—I—There's + only one thing that can explain it, that can excuse it. There's only one + thing that can justify all that I've done and said, and that can not only + justify it, but can make it sacredly and eternally right,—right for + her and right for me. Yes, it's reason for all, and for a thousand times + more. It makes it fair for me to have let her see that I thought her + beautiful and charming, that I delighted to be with her, that I—Dunham,” + cried Staniford, “I'm in love!” + </p> + <p> + Dunham started at the burst in which these ravings ended. “Staniford,” he + faltered, with grave regret, “I <i>hope</i> not!” + </p> + <p> + “You hope not? You—you—What do you mean? How else can I free + myself from the self-reproach of having trifled with her, of—” + </p> + <p> + Dunham shook his head compassionately. “You can't do it that way. Your + only safety is to fight it to the death,—to run from it.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I don't <i>choose</i> to fight it?” shouted Staniford,—“if I + don't <i>choose</i> to run from it? If I—” + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven's sake, hush! The whole ship will hear you, and you oughtn't + to breathe it in the desert. I saw how it was going! I dreaded it; I knew + it; and I longed to speak. I'm to blame for not speaking!” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know what would have authorized you to speak?” demanded + Staniford, haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “Only my regard for you; only what urges me to speak now! You <i>must</i> + fight it, Staniford, whether you choose or not. Think of yourself,—think + of her! Think—you have always been my ideal of honor and truth and + loyalty—think of her husband—” + </p> + <p> + “Her husband!” gasped Staniford. “Whose husband? What the deuce—<i>who</i> + the deuce—are you talking about, Dunham?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Rivers.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Rivers? That flimsy, feather-headed, empty-hearted—eyes-maker! + That frivolous, ridiculous—Pah! And did you think that I was talking + of <i>her</i>? Did you think I was in love with <i>her</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” stammered Dunham, “I supposed—I thought—At Messina, you + know—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Staniford walked the deck's length away. “Well, Dunham,” he said, as + he came back, “you've spoilt a pretty scene with your rot about Mrs. + Rivers. I was going to be romantic! But perhaps I'd better say in ordinary + newspaper English that I've just found out that I'm in love with Miss + Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “With <i>her</i>!” cried Dunham, springing at his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come now! Don't <i>you</i> be romantic, after knocking <i>my</i> + chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, but Staniford!” said Dunham, wringing his hand with a lover's joy in + another's love and his relief that it was not Mrs. Rivers. “I never should + have dreamt of such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Staniford, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the way you talked at first, you know, and—” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose even people who get married have something to take back about + each other,” said Staniford, rather sheepishly. “However,” he added, with + an impulse of frankness, “I don't know that I should have dreamt of it + myself, and I don't blame you. But it's a fact, nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course. It's splendid! Certainly. It's magnificent!” There was + undoubtedly a qualification, a reservation, in Dunham's tone. He might + have thought it right to bring the inequalities of the affair to + Staniford's mind. With all his effusive kindliness of heart and manner, he + had a keen sense of social fitness, a nice feeling for convention. But a + man does not easily suggest to another that the girl with whom he has just + declared himself in love is his inferior. What Dunham finally did say was: + “It jumps with all your ideas—all your old talk about not caring to + marry a society girl—” + </p> + <p> + “Society might be very glad of such a girl!” said Staniford, stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, certainly; but I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know what you mean. It's all right,” said Staniford. “But it isn't + a question of marrying yet. I can't be sure she understood me,—I've + been so long understanding myself. And yet, she must, she must! She must + believe it by this time, or else that I'm the most infamous scoundrel + alive. When I think how I have sought her out, and followed her up, and + asked her judgment, and hung upon her words, I feel that I oughtn't to + lose a moment in being explicit. I don't care for myself; she can take me + or leave me, as she likes; but if she doesn't understand, she mustn't be + left in suspense as to my meaning.” He seemed to be speaking to Dunham, + but he was really thinking aloud, and Dunham waited for some sort of + question before he spoke. “But it's a great satisfaction to have had it + out with myself. I haven't got to pretend any more that I hang about her, + and look at her, and go mooning round after her, for this no-reason and + that; I've got the best reason in the world for playing the fool,—I'm + in love!” He drew a long, deep breath. “It simplifies matters immensely to + have reached the point of acknowledging that. Why, Dunham, those four days + at Messina almost killed me! They settled it. When that woman was in full + fascination it made me gasp. I choked for a breath of fresh air; for a + taste of spring-water; for—Lurella!” It was a long time since + Staniford had used this name, and the sound of it made him laugh. “It's + droll—but I always think of her as Lurella; I wish it <i>was</i> her + name! Why, it was like heaven to see her face when I got back to the ship. + After we met her that day at Messina, Mrs. Rivers tried her best to get + out of me who it was, and where I met her. But I flatter myself that I was + equal to <i>that</i> emergency.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham said nothing, at once. Then, “Staniford,” he faltered, “she got it + out of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell her who Lu—who Miss Blood was?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And how I happened to be acquainted with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And that we were going on to Trieste with her?” + </p> + <p> + “She had it out of me before I knew,” said Dunham. “I didn't realize what + she was after; and I didn't realize how peculiar the situation might seem—” + </p> + <p> + “I see nothing peculiar in the situation,” interrupted Staniford, + haughtily. Then he laughed consciously. “Or, yes, I do; of course I do! + You must know <i>her</i> to appreciate it, though.” He mused a while + before he added: “No wonder Mrs. Rivers was determined to come aboard! I + wish we had let her,—confound her! She'll think I was ashamed of it. + There's nothing to be ashamed of! By Heaven, I should like to hear any one—” + Staniford broke off, and laughed, and then bit his lip, smiling. Suddenly + he burst out again, frowning: “I won't view it in that light. I refuse to + consider it from that point of view. As far as I'm concerned, it's as + regular as anything else in life. It's the same to me as if she were in + her own house, and I had come there to tell her that she has my future in + her hand. She's such a lady by instinct that she's made it all a triumph, + and I thank God that I haven't done or said anything to mar it. Even that + beast of a Hicks didn't; it's no merit. I've made love to her,—I own + it; of course I have, because I was in love with her; and my fault has + been that I haven't made love to her openly, but have gone on fancying + that I was studying her character, or some rubbish of that sort. But the + fault is easily repaired.” He turned about, as if he were going to look + for Lydia at once, and ask her to be his wife. But he halted abruptly, and + sat down. “No; that won't do,” he said. “That won't do at all.” He + remained thinking, and Dunham, unwilling to interrupt his reverie, moved a + few paces off. “Dunham, don't go. I want your advice. Perhaps I don't see + it in the right light.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it you see it, my dear fellow?” asked Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether I've a right to be explicit with her, here. It seems + like taking an advantage. In a few days she will be with her friends—” + </p> + <p> + “You must wait,” said Dunham, decisively. “You can't speak to her before + she is in their care; it wouldn't be the thing. You're quite right about + that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it wouldn't be the thing,” groaned Staniford. “But how is it all to + go on till then?” he demanded desperately. + </p> + <p> + “Why, just as it has before,” answered Dunham, with easy confidence. + </p> + <p> + “But is that fair to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? You mean to say to her at the right time all that a man can. + Till that time comes I haven't the least doubt she understands you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so?” asked Staniford, simply. He had suddenly grown very + subject and meek to Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the other, with the superiority of a betrothed lover; “women + are very quick about those things.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you're right,” sighed Staniford, with nothing of his wonted + arrogant pretension in regard to women's moods and minds, “I suppose + you're right. And you would go on just as before?” + </p> + <p> + “I would, indeed. How could you change without making her unhappy—if + she's interested in you?” + </p> + <p> + “That's true. I could imagine worse things than going on just as before. I + suppose,” he added, “that something more explicit has its charms; but a + mutual understanding is very pleasant,—if it <i>is</i> a mutual + understanding.” He looked inquiringly at Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Why, as to that, of course I don't know. You ought to be the best judge + of that. But I don't believe your impressions would deceive you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yours did, once,” suggested Staniford, in suspense. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I was not in love with her,” explained Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Staniford, with a breath of relief. “And you think—Well, + I must wait!” he concluded, grimly. “But don't—don't mention this + matter, Dunham, unless I do. Don't keep an eye on me, old fellow. Or, yes, + you must! You can't help it. I want to tell you, Dunham, what makes me + think she may be a not wholly uninterested spectator of my—sentiments.” + He made full statement of words and looks and tones. Dunham listened with + the patience which one lover has with another. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. + </h2> + <p> + The few days that yet remained of their voyage were falling in the latter + half of September, and Staniford tried to make the young girl see the + surpassing loveliness of that season under Italian skies; the fierceness + of the summer is then past, and at night, when chiefly they inspected the + firmament, the heaven has begun to assume something of the intense blue it + wears in winter. She said yes, it was very beautiful, but she could not + see that the days were finer, or the skies bluer, than those of September + at home; and he laughed at her loyalty to the American weather. “Don't <i>you</i> + think so, too?” she asked, as if it pained her that he should like Italian + weather better. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,—yes,” he said. Then he turned the talk on her, as he did + whenever he could. “I like your meteorological patriotism. If I were a + woman, I should stand by America in everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you as a man?” she pursued, still anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly,” he answered. “But women owe our continent a double debt + of fidelity. It's the Paradise of women, it's their Promised Land, where + they've been led up out of the Egyptian bondage of Europe. It's the home + of their freedom. It is recognized in America that women have consciences + and souls.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked very grave. “Is it—is it so different with women in + Europe?” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Very,” he replied, and glanced at her half-laughingly, half-tenderly. + </p> + <p> + After a while, “I wish you would tell me,” she said, “just what you mean. + I wish you would tell me what is the difference.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's a long story. I will tell you—when we get to Venice.” The + well-worn jest served its purpose again; she laughed, and he continued: + “By the way, just when will that be? The captain says that if this wind + holds we shall be in Trieste by Friday afternoon. I suppose your friends + will meet you there on Saturday, and that you'll go back with them to + Venice at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I should come on Monday, would that be too soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” she answered. He wondered if she had been vaguely hoping that he + might go directly on with her to Venice. They were together all day, now, + and the long talks went on from early morning, when they met before + breakfast on deck, until late at night, when they parted there, with + blushed and laughed good-nights. Sometimes the trust she put upon his + unspoken promises was terrible; it seemed to condemn his reticence as + fantastic and hazardous. With her, at least, it was clear that this love + was the first; her living and loving were one. He longed to testify the + devotion which he felt, to leave it unmistakable and safe past accident; + he thought of making his will, in which he should give her everything, and + declare her supremely dear; he could only rid himself of this by drawing + up the paper in writing, and then he easily tore it in pieces. + </p> + <p> + They drew nearer together, not only in their talk about each other, but in + what they said of different people in their relation to themselves. But + Staniford's pleasure in the metaphysics of reciprocal appreciation, his + wonder at the quickness with which she divined characters he painfully + analyzed, was not greater than his joy in the pretty hitch of the shoulder + with which she tucked her handkerchief into the back pocket of her sack, + or the picturesqueness with, which she sat facing him, and leant upon the + rail, with her elbow wrapped in her shawl, and the fringe gathered in the + hand which propped her cheek. He scribbled his sketch-book full of her + contours and poses, which sometimes he caught unawares, and which + sometimes she sat for him to draw. One day, as they sat occupied in this, + “I wonder,” he said, “if you have anything of my feeling, nowadays. It + seems to me as if the world had gone on a pleasure excursion, without + taking me along, and I was enjoying myself very much at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” she said, joyously; “do you have that feeling, too?” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what it is makes us feel so,” he ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she returned, “the long voyage.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall hate to have the world come back, I believe,” he said, reverting + to the original figure. “Shall you?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I don't know much about it,” she answered, in lithe evasion, for + which she more than atoned with a conscious look and one of her dark + blushes. Yet he chose, with a curious cruelty, to try how far she was his. + </p> + <p> + “How odd it would be,” he said, “if we never should have a chance to talk + up this voyage of ours when it is over!” + </p> + <p> + She started, in a way that made his heart smite him. “Why, you said you—” + And then she caught herself, and struggled pitifully for the + self-possession she had lost. She turned her head away; his pulse bounded. + </p> + <p> + “Did you think I wouldn't? I am living for that.” He took the hand that + lay in her lap; she seemed to try to free it, but she had not the strength + or will; she could only keep her face turned from him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. + </h2> + <p> + They arrived Friday afternoon in Trieste, and Captain Jenness telegraphed + his arrival to Lydia's uncle as he went up to the consulate with his + ship's papers. The next morning the young men sent their baggage to a + hotel, but they came back for a last dinner on the Aroostook. They all + pretended to be very gay, but everybody was perturbed and distraught. + Staniford and Dunham had paid their way handsomely with the sailors, and + they had returned with remembrances in florid scarfs and jewelry for + Thomas and the captain and the officers. Dunham had thought they ought to + get something to give Lydia as a souvenir of their voyage; it was part of + his devotion to young ladies to offer them little presents; but Staniford + overruled him, and said there should be nothing of the kind. They agreed + to be out of the way when her uncle came, and they said good-by after + dinner. She came on deck to watch them ashore. Staniford would be the last + to take leave. As he looked into her eyes, he saw brave trust of him, but + he thought a sort of troubled wonder, too, as if she could not understand + his reticence, and suffered from it. There was the same latent appeal and + reproach in the pose in which she watched their boat row away. She stood + with one hand resting on the rail, and her slim grace outlined against the + sky. He waved his hand; she answered with a little languid wave of hers; + then she turned away. He felt as if he had forsaken her. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon was very long. Toward night-fall he eluded Dunham, and + wandered back to the ship in the hope that she might still be there. But + she was gone. Already everything was changed. There was bustle and + discomfort; it seemed years since he had been there. Captain Jenness was + ashore somewhere; it was the second mate who told Staniford of her uncle's + coming. + </p> + <p> + “What sort of person was he?” he asked vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well! <i>Dum</i> an Englishman, any way,” said Mason, in a tone of + easy, sociable explanation. + </p> + <p> + The scruple to which Staniford had been holding himself for the past four + or five days seemed the most incredible of follies,—the most + fantastic, the most cruel. He hurried back to the hotel; when he found + Dunham coming out from the <i>table d'hôte</i> he was wild. + </p> + <p> + “I have been the greatest fool in the world, Dunham,” he said. “I have let + a quixotic quibble keep me from speaking when I ought to have spoken.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham looked at him in stupefaction. “Where have you been?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Down to the ship. I was in hopes that she might be still there. But she's + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “The Aroostook <i>gone</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Dunham,” cried Staniford, angrily, “this is the second time + you've done that! If you are merely thick-witted, much can be forgiven to + your infirmity; but if you've a mind to joke, let me tell you you choose + your time badly.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not joking. I don't know what you're talking about. I may be + thick-witted, as you say; or you may be scatter-witted,” said Dunham, + indignantly. “What are you after, any way?” + </p> + <p> + “What was my reason for not being explicit with her; for going away from + her without one honest, manly, downright word; for sneaking off without + telling her that she was more than life to me, and that if she cared for + me as I cared for her I would go on with her to Venice, and meet her + people with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't know,” replied Dunham, vaguely. “We agreed that there would + be a sort of—that she ought to be in their care before—” + </p> + <p> + “Then I can tell you,” interrupted Staniford, “that we agreed upon the + greatest piece of nonsense that ever was. A man can do no more than offer + himself, and if he does less, after he's tried everything to show that + he's in love with a woman, and to make her in love with him, he's a scamp + to refrain from a bad motive, and an ass to refrain from a good one. Why + in the name of Heaven <i>shouldn't</i> I have spoken, instead of leaving + her to eat her heart out in wonder at my delay, and to doubt and suspect + and dread—Oh!” he shouted, in supreme self-contempt. + </p> + <p> + Dunham had nothing to urge in reply. He had fallen in with what he thought + Staniford's own mind in regard to the course he ought to take; since he + had now changed his mind, there seemed never to have been any reason for + that course. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” he said, “it isn't too late yet to see her, I dare say. + Let us go and find what time the trains leave for Venice.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose I can offer myself in the <i>salle d'attente</i>?” sneered + Staniford. But he went with Dunham to the coffee-room, where they found + the Osservatore Triestino and the time-table of the railroad. The last + train left for Venice at ten, and it was now seven; the Austrian Lloyd + steamer for Venice sailed at nine. + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw!” said Staniford, and pushed the paper away. He sat brooding over + the matter before the table on which the journals were scattered, while + Dunham waited for him to speak. At last he said, “I can't stand it; I must + see her. I don't know whether I told her I should come on to-morrow night + or not. If she should be expecting me on Monday morning, and I should be + delayed—Dunham, will you drive round with me to the Austrian Lloyd's + wharf? They may be going by the boat, and if they are they'll have left + their hotel. We'll try the train later. I should like to find out if they + are on board. I don't know that I'll try to speak with them; very likely + not.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go, certainly,” answered Dunham, cordially. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have some dinner first,” said Staniford. “I'm hungry.” + </p> + <p> + It was quite dark when they drove on to the wharf at which the boat for + Venice lay. When they arrived, a plan had occurred to Staniford, through + the timidity which had already succeeded the boldness of his desperation. + “Dunham,” he said, “I want you to go on board, and see if she's there. I + don't think I could stand not finding her. Besides, if she's cheerful and + happy, perhaps I'd better not see her. You can come back and report. + Confound it, you know, I should be so conscious before that infernal uncle + of hers. You understand!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” returned Dunham, eager to serve Staniford in a case like this. + “I'll manage it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Staniford, beginning to doubt the wisdom of either going + aboard, “do it if you think best. I don't know—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know what?” asked Dunham, pausing in the door of the <i>fiacre</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing, nothing! I hope we're not making fools of ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “You're morbid, old fellow!” said Dunham, gayly. He disappeared in the + darkness, and Staniford waited, with set teeth, till he came back. He + seemed a long time gone. When he returned, he stood holding fast to the + open fiacre-door, without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” cried Staniford, with bitter impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Well what?” Dunham asked, in a stupid voice. + </p> + <p> + “Were they there?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I can't tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't tell, man? Did you go to see?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so. I'm not sure.” + </p> + <p> + A heavy sense of calamity descended upon Staniford's heart, but patience + came with it. “What's the matter, Dunham?” he asked, getting out + tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I think I've had a fall, somewhere. Help me in.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford got out and helped him gently to the seat, and then mounted + beside him, giving the order for their return. “Where is your hat?” he + asked, finding that Dunham was bareheaded. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. It doesn't matter. Am I bleeding?” + </p> + <p> + “It's so dark, I can't see.” + </p> + <p> + “Put your hand here.” He carried Staniford's hand to the back of his head. + </p> + <p> + “There's no blood; but you've had an ugly knock there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's it,” said Dunham. “I remember now; I slipped and struck my + head.” He lapsed away in a torpor; Staniford could learn nothing more from + him. + </p> + <p> + The hurt was not what Staniford in his first anxiety had feared, but the + doctor whom they called at the hotel was vague and guarded as to + everything but the time and care which must be given in any event. + Staniford despaired; but there was only one thing to do. He sat down + beside his friend to take care of him. + </p> + <p> + His mind was a turmoil of regrets, of anxieties, of apprehensions; but he + had a superficial calmness that enabled him to meet the emergencies of the + case. He wrote a letter to Lydia which he somehow knew to be rightly + worded, telling her of the accident. In terms which conveyed to her all + that he felt, he said that he should not see her at the time he had hoped, + but promised to come to Venice as soon as he could quit his friend. Then, + with a deep breath, he put that affair away for the time, and seemed to + turn a key upon it. + </p> + <p> + He called a waiter, and charged him to have his letter posted at once. The + man said he would give it to the <i>portier</i>, who was sending out some + other letters. He returned, ten minutes later, with a number of letters + which he said the portier had found for him at the post-office. Staniford + glanced at them. It was no time to read them then, and he put them into + the breast pocket of his coat. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. + </h2> + <p> + At the hotel in Trieste, to which Lydia went with her uncle before taking + the train for Venice, she found an elderly woman, who made her a courtesy, + and, saying something in Italian, startled her by kissing her hand. + </p> + <p> + “It's our Veronica,” her uncle explained; “she wants to know how she can + serve you.” He gave Veronica the wraps and parcels he had been carrying. + “Your aunt thought you might need a maid.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Lydia. “I always help myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I dare say,” returned her uncle. “You American ladies are so—up + to snuff, as you say. But your aunt thought we'd better have her with us, + in any case.” + </p> + <p> + “And she sent her all the way from Venice?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never did!” said Lydia, not lightly, but with something of + contemptuous severity. + </p> + <p> + Her uncle smiled, as if she had said something peculiarly acceptable to + him, and asked, hesitatingly, “When you say you never did, you know, what + is the full phrase?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked at him. “Oh! I suppose I meant I never heard of such a + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, thanks, thanks!” said her uncle. He was a tall, slender man of + fifty-five or sixty, with a straight gray mustache, and not at all the + typical Englishman, but much more English-looking than if he had been. His + bearing toward Lydia blended a fatherly kindness and a colonial British + gallantry, such as one sees in elderly Canadian gentlemen attentive to + quite young Canadian ladies at the provincial watering-places. He had an + air of adventure, and of uncommon pleasure and no small astonishment in + Lydia's beauty. They were already good friends; she was at her ease with + him; she treated him as if he were an old gentleman. At the station, where + Veronica got into the same carriage with them, Lydia found the whole train + very queer-looking, and he made her describe its difference from an + American train. He said, “Oh, yes—yes, engine,” when she mentioned + the locomotive, and he apparently prized beyond its worth the word + cow-catcher, a fixture which Lydia said was wanting to the European + locomotive, and left it very stubby. He asked her if she would allow him + to set it down; and he entered the word in his note-book, with several + other idioms she had used. He said that he amused himself in picking up + these things from his American friends. He wished to know what she called + this and that and the other thing, and was equally pleased whether her + nomenclature agreed or disagreed with his own. Where it differed, he + recorded the fact, with her leave, in his book. He plied her with a + thousand questions about America, with all parts of which he seemed to + think her familiar; and she explained with difficulty how very little of + it she had seen. He begged her not to let him bore her, and to excuse the + curiosity of a Britisher, “As I suppose you'd call me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Lydia lifted her long-lashed lids half-way, and answered, “No, I shouldn't + call you so.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes,” he returned, “the Americans always disown it. But I don't mind + it at all, you know. I like those native expressions.” Where they stopped + for refreshments he observed that one of the dishes, which was flavored to + the national taste, had a pretty tall smell, and seemed disappointed by + Lydia's unresponsive blankness at a word which a countryman of hers—from + Kentucky—had applied to the odor of the Venetian canals. He suffered + in like measure from a like effect in her when he lamented the + complications that had kept him the year before from going to America with + Mrs. Erwin, when she revisited her old stomping-ground. + </p> + <p> + As they rolled along, the warm night which had fallen after the beautiful + day breathed through the half-dropped window in a rich, soft air, as + strange almost as the flying landscape itself. Mr. Erwin began to drowse, + and at last he fell asleep; but Veronica kept her eyes vigilantly fixed + upon Lydia, always smiling when she caught her glance, and offering + service. At the stations, so orderly and yet so noisy, where the + passengers were held in the same meek subjection as at Trieste, people got + in and out of the carriage; and there were officers, at first in white + coats, and after they passed the Italian frontier in blue, who stared at + Lydia. One of the Italians, a handsome young hussar, spoke to her. She + could not know what he said; but when he crossed over to her side of the + carriage, she rose and took her place beside Veronica, where she remained + even after he left the carriage. She was sensible of growing drowsy. Then + she was aware of nothing till she woke up with her head on Veronica's + shoulder, against which she had fallen, and on which she had been + patiently supported for hours. “Ecco Venezia!” cried the old woman, + pointing to a swarm of lights that seemed to float upon an expanse of sea. + Lydia did not understand; she thought she was again on board the + Aroostook, and that the lights she saw were the lights of the shipping in + Boston harbor. The illusion passed, and left her heart sore. She issued + from the glare of the station upon the quay before it, bewildered by the + ghostly beauty of the scene, but shivering in the chill of the dawn, and + stunned by the clamor of the gondoliers. A tortuous course in the shadow + of lofty walls, more deeply darkened from time to time by the arch of a + bridge, and again suddenly pierced by the brilliance of a lamp that shot + its red across the gloom, or plunged it into the black water, brought them + to a palace gate at which they stopped, and where, after a dramatic + ceremony of sliding bolts and the reluctant yielding of broad doors on a + level with the water, she passed through a marble-paved court and up a + stately marble staircase to her uncle's apartment. “You're at home, now, + you know,” he said, in a kindly way, and took her hand, very cold and lax, + in his for welcome. She could not answer, but made haste to follow + Veronica to her room, whither the old woman led the way with a candle. It + was a gloomily spacious chamber, with sombre walls and a lofty ceiling + with a faded splendor of gilded paneling. Some tall, old-fashioned mirrors + and bureaus stood about, with rugs before them on the stone floor; in the + middle of the room was a bed curtained with mosquito-netting. Carved + chairs were pushed here and there against the wall. Lydia dropped into one + of these, too strange and heavy-hearted to go to bed in that vastness and + darkness, in which her candle seemed only to burn a small round hole. She + longed forlornly to be back again in her pretty state-room on the + Aroostook; vanishing glimpses and echoes of the faces and voices grown so + familiar in the past weeks haunted her; the helpless tears ran down her + cheeks. + </p> + <p> + There came a tap at her door, and her aunt's voice called, “Shall I come + in?” and before she could faintly consent, her aunt pushed in, and caught + her in her arms, and kissed her, and broke into a twitter of welcome and + compassion. “You poor child! Did you think I was going to let you go to + sleep without seeing you, after you'd come half round the world to see + me?” Her aunt was dark and slight like Lydia, but not so tall; she was + still a very pretty woman, and she was a very effective presence now in + the long white morning-gown of camel's hair, somewhat fantastically + embroidered in crimson silk, in which she drifted about before Lydia's + bewildered eyes. “Let me see how you look! Are you as handsome as ever?” + She held the candle she carried so as to throw its light full upon Lydia's + face. “Yes!” she sighed. “How pretty you are! And at your age you'll look + even better by daylight! I had begun to despair of you; I thought you + couldn't be all I remembered; but you are,—you're more! I wish I had + you in Rome, instead of Venice; there would be some use in it. There's a + great deal of society there,—<i>English</i> society; but never mind: + I'm going to take you to church with me to-morrow,—the English + service; there are lots of English in Venice now, on their way south for + the winter. I'm crazy to see what dresses you've brought; your aunt Maria + has told me how she fitted you out. I've got two letters from her since + you started, and they're all perfectly well, dear. Your black silk will do + nicely, with bright ribbons, especially; I hope you haven't got it spotted + or anything on the way over.” She did not allow Lydia to answer, nor seem + to expect it. “You've got your mother's eyes, Lydia, but your father had + those straight eyebrows: you're very much like him. Poor Henry! And now + I'm having you get something to eat. I'm not going to risk coffee on you, + for fear it will keep you awake; though you can drink it in this climate + with <i>comparative</i> impunity. Veronica is warming you a bowl of <i>bouillon</i>, + and that's all you're to have till breakfast!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, aunt Josephine,” said the girl, not knowing what bouillon was, and + abashed by the sound of it, “I'm not the least hungry. You oughtn't to + take the trouble—” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be hungry when you begin to eat. I'm so impatient to hear about + your voyage! I am going to introduce you to some very nice people, here,—English + people. There are no Americans living in Venice; and the Americans in + Europe are so queer! You've no idea how droll our customs seem here; and I + much prefer the English. Your poor uncle can never get me to ask + Americans. I tell him I'm American enough, and he'll have to get on + without others. Of course, he's perfectly delighted to get at you. You've + quite taken him by storm, Lydia; he's in raptures about your looks. It's + what I told him before you came; but I couldn't believe it till I took a + look at you. I couldn't have gone to sleep without it. Did Mr. Erwin talk + much with you?” + </p> + <p> + “He was very pleasant. He talked—as long as he was awake,” said + Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he was trying to pick up Americanisms from you; he's always + doing it. I keep him away from Americans as much as I can: but he will get + at them on the cars and at the hotels. He's always asking them such + ridiculous questions, and I know some of them just talk nonsense to him.” + </p> + <p> + Veronica came in with a tray, and a bowl of bouillon on it; and Mrs. Erwin + pulled up a light table, and slid about, serving her, in her cabalistic + dress, like an Oriental sorceress performing her incantations. She volubly + watched Lydia while she ate her supper, and at the end she kissed her + again. “Now you feel better,” she said. “I knew it would cheer you up more + than any one thing. There's nothing like something to eat when you're + homesick. I found that out when I was off at school.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia was hardly kissed so much at home during a year as she had been + since meeting Mrs. Erwin. Her aunt Maria sparely embraced her when she + went and came each week from the Mill Village; anything more than this + would have come of insincerity between them; but it had been agreed that + Mrs. Erwin's demonstrations of affection, of which she had been lavish + during her visit to South Bradfield, might not be so false. Lydia accepted + them submissively, and she said, when Veronica returned for the tray, “I + hate to give you so much trouble. And sending her all the way to Trieste + on my account,—I felt ashamed. There wasn' a thing for her to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course not!” exclaimed her aunt. “But what did you think I was + made of? Did you suppose I was going to have you come on a night-journey + alone with your uncle? It would have been all over Venice; it would have + been ridiculous. I sent Veronica along for a dragon.” + </p> + <p> + “A dragon? I don't understand,” faltered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you will,” said her aunt, putting the palms of her hands against + Lydia's, and so pressing forward to kiss her. “We shall have breakfast at + ten. Go to bed!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. + </h2> + <p> + When Lydia came to breakfast she found her uncle alone in the room, + reading Galignani's Messenger. He put down his paper, and came forward to + take her hand. “You are all right this morning, I see, Miss Lydia,” he + said. “You were quite up a stump, last night, as your countrymen say.” + </p> + <p> + At the same time hands were laid upon her shoulders from behind, and she + was pulled half round, and pushed back, and held at arm's-length. It was + Mrs. Erwin, who, entering after her, first scanned her face, and then, + with one devouring glance, seized every detail of her dress—the + black silk which had already made its effect—before she kissed her. + “You <i>are</i> lovely, my dear! I shall spoil you, I know; but you're + worth it! What lashes you have, child! And your aunt Maria made and fitted + that dress? She's a genius!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lydia,” said Mr. Erwin, as they sat down, “is of the fortunate age + when one rises young every morning.” He looked very fresh himself in his + clean-shaven chin, and his striking evidence of snowy wristbands and + shirt-bosom. “Later in life, you can't do that. She looks as blooming,” he + added, gallantly, “as a basket of chips,—as you say in America.” + </p> + <p> + “Smiling,” said Lydia, mechanically correcting him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! It is? Smiling,—yes; thanks. It's very good either way; very + characteristic. It would be curious to know the origin of a saying like + that. I imagine it goes back to the days of the first settlers. It + suggests a wood-chopping period. Is it—ah—in general use?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it isn't, Henshaw!” said his wife. + </p> + <p> + “You've been a great while out of the country, my dear,” suggested Mr. + Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “Not so long as not to know that your Americanisms are enough to make one + wish we had held our tongues ever since we were discovered, or had never + been discovered at all. I want to ask Lydia about her voyage. I haven't + heard a word yet. Did your aunt Maria come down to Boston with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, grandfather brought me.” + </p> + <p> + “And you had good weather coming over? Mr. Erwin told me you were not + seasick.” + </p> + <p> + “We had one bad storm, before we reached Gibraltar; but I wasn't seasick.” + </p> + <p> + “Were the other passengers?” + </p> + <p> + “One was.” Lydia reddened a little, and then turned somewhat paler than at + first. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Lydia?” her aunt subtly demanded. “Who was the one that was + sick?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a gentleman,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt looked at her keenly, and for whatever reason abruptly left the + subject. “Your silk,” she said, “will do very well for church, Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, now!” cried her husband, “you're not going to make her go to + church to-day!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am! There will be more people there to-day than any other time + this fall. She must go.” + </p> + <p> + “But she's tired to death,—quite tuckered, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm rested, now,” said Lydia. “I shouldn't like to miss going to + church.” + </p> + <p> + “Your silk,” continued her aunt, “will be quite the thing for church.” She + looked hard at the dress, as if it were not quite the thing for breakfast. + Mrs. Erwin herself wore a morning-dress of becoming delicacy, and an airy + French cap; she had a light fall of powder on her face. “What kind of + overthing have you got?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “There's a sack goes with this,” said the girl, suggestively. + </p> + <p> + “That's nice! What is your bonnet?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't any bonnet. But my best hat is nice. I could—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>No</i> one goes to church in a hat! You can't do it. It's simply + impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, my dear,” said her husband, “I saw some very pretty American girls + in hats at church, last Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and everybody <i>knew</i> they were Americans by their hats!” + retorted Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> knew they were Americans by their good looks,” said Mr. Erwin, + “and what you call their stylishness.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all well enough for you to talk. <i>You're</i> an Englishman, + and you could wear a hat, if you liked. It would be set down to character. + But in an American it would be set down to greenness. If you were an + American, you would have to wear a bonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad, then, I'm not an American,” said her husband; “I don't think I + should look well in a bonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stuff, Henshaw! You know what I mean. And I'm not going to have + English people thinking we're ignorant of the common decencies of life. + Lydia shall not go to church in a hat; she had better <i>never</i> go. I + will lend her one of my bonnets. Let me see, <i>which</i> one.” She gazed + at Lydia in critical abstraction. “I wear rather young bonnets,” she mused + aloud, “and we're both rather dark. The only difficulty is I'm so much + more delicate—” She brooded upon the question in a silence, from + which she burst exulting. “The very thing! I can fuss it up in no time. It + won't take two minutes to get it ready. And you'll look just killing in + it.” She turned grave again. “Henshaw,” she said, “I <i>wish</i> you would + go to church this morning!” + </p> + <p> + “I would do almost anything for you, Josephine; but really, you know, you + oughtn't to ask that. I was there last Sunday; I can't go every Sunday. + It's bad enough in England; a man ought to have some relief on the + Continent.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well. I suppose I oughtn't to ask you,” sighed his wife, + “especially as you're going with us to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go to-night, with pleasure,” said Mr. Erwin. He rose when his wife + and Lydia left the table, and opened the door for them with a certain + courtesy he had; it struck even Lydia's uneducated sense as something + peculiarly sweet and fine, and it did not overawe her own simplicity, but + seemed of kind with it. + </p> + <p> + The bonnet, when put to proof, did not turn out to be all that it was + vaunted. It looked a little odd, from the first; and Mrs. Erwin, when she + was herself dressed, ended by taking it off, and putting on Lydia the hat + previously condemned. “You're divine in that,” she said. “And after all, + you are a traveler, and I can say that some of your things were spoiled + coming over,—people always get things ruined in a sea voyage,—and + they'll think it was your bonnet.” + </p> + <p> + “I kept my things very nicely, aunt Josephine,” said Lydia + conscientiously. “I don't believe anything was hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, you can't tell till you've unpacked; and we're not responsible + for what people happen to think, you know. Wait!” her aunt suddenly cried. + She pulled open a drawer, and snatched two ribbons from it, which she + pinned to the sides of Lydia's hat, and tied in a bow under her chin; she + caught out a lace veil, and drew that over the front of the hat, and let + it hang in a loose knot behind. “Now,” she said, pushing her up to a + mirror, that she might see, “it's a bonnet; and I needn't say <i>any</i>thing!” + </p> + <p> + They went in Mrs. Erwin's gondola to the palace in which the English + service was held, and Lydia was silent, as she looked shyly, almost + fearfully, round on the visionary splendors of Venice. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin did not like to be still. “What are you thinking of, Lydia?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I suppose I was thinking that the leaves were beginning to turn in + the sugar orchard,” answered Lydia faithfully. “I was thinking how still + the sun would be in the pastures, there, this morning. I suppose the + stillness here put me in mind of it. One of these bells has the same tone + as our bell at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Erwin. “Everybody finds a familiar bell in Venice. There + are enough of them, goodness knows. I don't see why you call it still, + with all this clashing and banging. I suppose this seems very odd to you, + Lydia,” she continued, indicating the general Venetian effect. “It's an + old story to me, though. The great beauty of Venice is that you get more + for your money here than you can anywhere else in the world. There isn't + much society, however, and you mustn't expect to be very gay.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never been gay,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's no reason you shouldn't be,” returned her aunt. “If you were + in Florence, or Rome, or even Naples, you could have a good time. There! + I'm glad your uncle didn't hear me say that!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Good time; that's an Americanism.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He's perfectly delighted when he catches me in one. I try to break + myself of them, but I don't always know them myself. Sometimes I feel + almost like never talking at all. But you can't do that, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” assented Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “And you have to talk Americanisms if you're an American. You mustn't + think your uncle isn't obliging, Lydia. He is. I oughtn't to have asked + him to go to church,—it bores him so much. I used to feel terribly + about it once, when we were first married. But things have changed very + much of late years, especially with all this scientific talk. In England + it's quite different from what it used to be. Some of the best people in + society are skeptics now, and that makes it quite another thing.” Lydia + looked grave, but she said nothing, and her aunt added, “I wouldn't have + asked him, but I had a little headache, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Josephine,” said Lydia, “I'm afraid you're doing too much for me. + Why didn't you let me come alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Come alone? To church!” Mrs. Erwin addressed her in a sort of whispered + shriek. “It would have been perfectly scandalous.” + </p> + <p> + “To go to church alone?” demanded Lydia, astounded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. A young girl mustn't go <i>any</i>where alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll explain to you, sometime, Lydia; or rather, you'll learn for + yourself. In Italy it's very different from what it is in America.” Mrs. + Erwin suddenly started up and bowed with great impressiveness, as a + gondola swept towards them. The gondoliers wore shirts of blue silk, and + long crimson sashes. On the cushions of the boat, beside a hideous little + man who was sucking the top of an ivory-handled stick, reclined a + beautiful woman, pale, with purplish rings round the large black eyes with + which, faintly smiling, she acknowledged Mrs. Erwin's salutation, and then + stared at Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you may look, and you may look, and you may look!” cried Mrs. Erwin, + under her breath. “You've met more than your match at last! The Countess + Tatocka,” she explained to Lydia. “That was her palace we passed just now,—the + one with the iron balconies. Did you notice the gentleman with her? She + always takes to those monsters. He's a Neapolitan painter, and ever so + talented,—clever, that is. He's dead in love with her, they say.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they engaged?” asked Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Engaged!” exclaimed Mrs. Erwin, with her shriek in dumb show. “Why, + child, she's married!” + </p> + <p> + “To <i>him</i>?” demanded the girl, with a recoil. + </p> + <p> + “No! To her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “To her husband?” gasped Lydia. “And she—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, she isn't quite well seen, even in Venice,” Mrs. Erwin explained. + “But she's rich, and her <i>conversazioni</i> are perfectly brilliant. + She's very artistic, and she writes poetry,—Polish poetry. I <i>wish</i> + she could hear you sing, Lydia! I know she'll be frantic to see you again. + But I don't see how it's to be managed; her house isn't one you can take a + young girl to. And <i>I</i> can't ask her: your uncle detests her.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you go to her house?” Lydia inquired stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, as a foreigner, <i>I</i> can go. Of course, Lydia, you can't be as + particular about everything on the Continent as you are at home.” + </p> + <p> + The former oratory of the Palazzo Grinzelli, which served as the English + chapel, was filled with travelers of both the English-speaking + nationalities, as distinguishable by their dress as by their faces. + Lydia's aunt affected the English style, but some instinctive elegance + betrayed her, and every Englishwoman there knew and hated her for an + American, though she was a precisian in her liturgy, instant in all the + responses and genuflexions. She found opportunity in the course of the + lesson to make Lydia notice every one, and she gave a telegrammic + biography of each person she knew, with a criticism of the costume of all + the strangers, managing so skillfully that by the time the sermon began + she was able to yield the text a statuesquely close attention, and might + have been carved in marble where she sat as a realistic conception of + Worship. + </p> + <p> + The sermon came to an end; the ritual proceeded; the hymn, with the + hemming and hawing of respectable inability, began, and Lydia lifted her + voice with the rest. Few of the people were in their own church; some + turned and stared at her; the bonnets and the back hair of those who did + not look were intent upon her; the long red neck of one elderly + Englishman, restrained by decorum from turning his head toward her, + perspired with curiosity. Mrs. Erwin fidgeted, and dropped her eyes from + the glances which fell to her for explanation of Lydia, and hurried away + with her as soon as the services ended. In the hall on the water-floor of + the palace, where they were kept waiting for their gondola a while, she + seemed to shrink even from the small, surly greetings with which people + whose thoughts are on higher things permit themselves to recognize + fellow-beings of their acquaintance in coming out of church. But an old + lady, who supported herself with a cane, pushed through the crowd to where + they stood aloof, and, without speaking to Mrs. Erwin, put out her hand to + Lydia; she had a strong, undaunted, plain face, in which was expressed the + habit of doing what she liked. “My dear,” she said, “how wonderfully you + sing! Where did you get that heavenly voice? You are an American; I see + that by your beauty. You are Mrs. Erwin's niece, I suppose, whom she + expected. Will you come and sing to me? You must bring her, Mrs. Erwin.” + </p> + <p> + She hobbled away without waiting for an answer, and Lydia and her aunt got + into their gondola. “<i>Oh</i>! How glad I am!” cried Mrs. Erwin, in a + joyful flutter. “She's the very tip-top of the English here; she has a + whole palace, and you meet the very best people at her house. I was afraid + when you were singing, Lydia, that they would think your voice was too + good to be good form,—that's an expression you must get; it means + everything,—it sounded almost professional. I wanted to nudge you to + sing a little lower, or different, or something; but I couldn't, everybody + was looking so. No matter. It's all right now. If <i>she</i> liked it, + nobody else will dare to breathe. You can see that she has taken a fancy + to you; she'll make a great pet of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” asked Lydia, bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Fenleigh. Such a character,—so eccentric! But really, I + suppose, very hard to live with. It must have been quite a release for + poor Sir Fenleigh.” + </p> + <p> + “She didn't seem in mourning,” said Lydia. “Has he been dead long?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he isn't dead at all! He is what you call a grass-widower. The best + soul in the world, everybody says, and very, very fond of her; but she + couldn't stand it; he was <i>too</i> good, don't you understand? They've + lived apart a great many years. She's lived a great deal in Asia Minor,—somewhere. + She likes Venice; but of course there's no telling how long she may stay. + She has another house in Florence, all ready to go and be lived in at a + day's notice. I wish I had presented you! It did go through my head; but + it didn't seem as if I <i>could</i> get the Blood out. It <i>is</i> a + fearful name, Lydia; I always felt it so when I was a girl, and I was <i>so</i> + glad to marry out of it; and it sounds so terribly American. I think you + must take your mother's name, my dear. Latham is rather flattish, but it's + worlds better than Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not ashamed of my father's name,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “But you'll have to change it some day, at any rate,—when you get + married.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia turned away. “I will be called Blood till then. If Lady Fenleigh—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear,” promptly interrupted her aunt, “I know that sort of + independence. I used to have whole Declarations of it. But you'll get over + that, in Europe. There was a time—just after the war—when the + English quite liked our sticking up for ourselves; but that's past now. + They like us to be outlandish, but they don't like us to be independent. + How did you like the sermon? Didn't you think we had a nicely-dressed + congregation?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought the sermon was very short,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's the English way, and I like it. If you get in all the + service, you <i>must</i> make the sermon short.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia did not say anything for a little while. Then she asked, “Is the + service the same at the evening meeting?” + </p> + <p> + “Evening meeting?” repeated Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—the church to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, child, there isn't any church to-night! What <i>are</i> you talking + about?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't uncle—didn't Mr. Erwin say he would go with us to-night?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin seemed about to laugh, and then she looked embarrassed. “Why, + Lydia,” she cried at last, “he didn't mean church; he meant—opera!” + </p> + <p> + “Opera! Sunday night! Aunt Josephine, do you go to the theatre on Sabbath + evening?” + </p> + <p> + There was something appalling in the girl's stern voice. Mrs. Erwin + gathered herself tremulously together for defense. “Why, of course, Lydia, + I don't approve of it, though I never <i>was</i> Orthodox. Your uncle + likes to go; and if everybody's there that you want to see, and they will + give the best operas Sunday night, what are you to do?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia said nothing, but a hard look came into her face, and she shut her + lips tight. + </p> + <p> + “Now you see, Lydia,” resumed her aunt, with an air of deductive reasoning + from the premises, “the advantage of having a bonnet on, even if it's only + a make-believe. I don't believe a soul knew it. All those Americans had + hats. You were the only American girl there with a bonnet. I'm sure that + it had more than half to do with Lady Fenleigh's speaking to you. It + showed that you had been well brought up.” + </p> + <p> + “But I never wore a bonnet to church at home,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “That has nothing to do with it, if they thought you did. And Lydia,” she + continued, “I was thinking while you were singing there that I wouldn't + say anything at once about your coming over to cultivate your voice. + That's got to be such an American thing, now. I'll let it out little by + little,—and after Lady Fenleigh's quite taken you under her wing. + Perhaps we may go to Milan with you, or to Naples,—there's a + conservatory there, too; and we can pull up stakes as easily as not. + Well!” said Mrs. Erwin, interrupting herself, “I'm glad Henshaw wasn't by + to hear <i>that</i> speech. He'd have had it down among his Americanisms + instantly. I don't know whether it <i>is</i> an Americanism; but he puts + down all the outlandish sayings he gets hold of to Americans; he has no + end of English slang in his book. Everything has opened <i>beautifully</i>, + Lydia, and I intend you shall have the <i>best</i> time!” She looked + fondly at her brother's child. “You've no idea how much you remind me of + your poor father. You have his looks exactly. I always thought he would + come out to Europe before he died. We used to be so proud of his looks at + home! I can remember that, though I was the youngest, and he was ten years + older than I. But I always did worship beauty. A perfect Greek, Mr. + Rose-Black calls me: you'll see him; he's an English painter staying here; + he comes a <i>great</i> deal.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Erwin, Mrs. Erwin!” called a lady's voice from a gondola behind + them. The accent was perfectly English, but the voice entirely Italian. + “Where are you running to?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Landini!” retorted Mrs. Erwin, looking back over her shoulder. + “Is that you? Where in the world are <i>you</i> going?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've been to pay a visit to my old English teacher. He's awfully ill + with rheumatism; but awfully! He can't turn in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, poor man! This is my niece whom I told you I was expecting! Arrived + last night! We've been to church!” Mrs. Erwin exclaimed each of the facts. + </p> + <p> + The Italian girl stretched her hand across the gunwales of the boats, + which their respective gondoliers had brought skillfully side by side, and + took Lydia's hand. “I'm glad to see you, my dear. But my God, how + beautiful you Americans are! But you don't look American, you know; you + look Spanish! I shall come a great deal to see you, and practice my + English.” + </p> + <p> + “Come home with, us now, Miss Landini, and have lunch,” said Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear, I can't. My aunt will be raising the devil if I'm not there + to drink coffee with her; and I've been a great while away now. Till + tomorrow!” Miss Landini's gondolier pushed his boat away, and rowed it up + a narrow canal on the right. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” Mrs. Erwin explained, “that she's really her mother,—everybody + says so; but she always calls her aunt. Dear knows who her father was. But + she's a very bright girl, Lydia, and you'll like her. Don't you think she + speaks English wonderfully for a person who's never been out of Venice?” + </p> + <p> + “Why does she swear?” asked Lydia, stonily. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Swear</i>? Oh, I know what you mean. That's the funniest thing about + Miss Landini. Your uncle says it's a shame to correct her; but I do, + whenever I think of it. Why, you know, such words as God and devil don't + sound at all wicked in Italian, and ladies use them quite commonly. She + understands that it isn't good form to do so in English, but when she gets + excited she forgets. Well, you can't say but what <i>she</i> was + impressed, Lydia!” + </p> + <p> + After lunch, various people came to call upon Mrs. Erwin. Several of them + were Italians who were learning English, and they seemed to think it + inoffensive to say that they were glad of the opportunity to practice the + language with Lydia. They talked local gossip with her aunt, and they + spoke of an approaching visit to Venice from the king; it seemed to Lydia + that the king's character was not good. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Rose-Black, the English artist, came. He gave himself the effect of + being in Mrs. Erwin's confidence, apparently without her authority, and he + bestowed a share of this intimacy upon Lydia. He had the manner of a man + who had been taken up by people above him, and the impudence of a talent + which had not justified the expectations formed of it. He softly + reproached Mrs. Erwin for running away after service before he could speak + to her, and told her how much everybody had been enchanted by her niece's + singing. “At least, they said it was your niece.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Mr. Rose-Black, let me introduce you to Miss—” Lydia + looked hard, even to threatening, at her aunt, and Mrs. Erwin added, + “Blood.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Rose-Black, with his picked-up politeness, + “I didn't get the name.” + </p> + <p> + “Blood,” said Mrs. Erwin, more distinctly. + </p> + <p> + “Aöh!” said Mr. Rose-Black, in a cast-off accent of jaded indifferentism, + just touched with displeasure. “Yes,” he added, dreamily, to Lydia, “it + was divine, you know. You might say it needed training; but it had the <i>naïve</i> + sweetness we associate with your countrywomen. They're greatly admired in + England now, you know, for their beauty. Oh, I assure you, it's quite the + thing to admire American ladies. I want to arrange a little lunch at my + studio for Mrs. Erwin and yourself; and I want you to abet me in it, Miss + Blood.” Lydia stared at him, but he was not troubled. “I'm going to ask to + sketch you. Really, you know, there's a poise—something bird-like—a + sort of repose in movement—” He sat in a corner of the sofa, with + his head fallen back, and abandoned to an absent enjoyment of Lydia's + pictorial capabilities. He was very red; his full beard, which started as + straw color, changed to red when it got a little way from his face. He + wore a suit of rough blue, the coat buttoned tightly about him, and he + pulled a glove through his hand as he talked. He was scarcely roused from + his reverie by the entrance of an Italian officer, with his hussar jacket + hanging upon one shoulder, and his sword caught up in his left hand. He + ran swiftly to Mrs. Erwin, and took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my compliments! I come practice my English with you a little. Is it + well said, a little, or do you say a small?” + </p> + <p> + “A little, cavaliere,” answered Mrs. Erwin, amiably. “But you must say a + good deal, in this case.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,—good deal. For what?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me introduce you to my niece. Colonel Pazzelli,” said Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Too much honor, too much honor!” murmured the cavaliere. He brought + his heels together with a click, and drooped towards Lydia till his head + was on a level with his hips. Recovering himself, he caught up his + eye-glasses, and bent them on Lydia. “Very please, very honored, much—” + He stopped, and looked confused, and Lydia turned pale and red. + </p> + <p> + “Now, won't you play that pretty <i>barcarole</i> you played the other + night at Lady Fenleigh's?” entreated Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + Colonel Pazzelli wrenched himself from the fascination of Lydia's + presence, and lavished upon Mrs. Erwin the hoarded English of a week. + “Yes, yes; very nice, very good. With much pleasure. I thank you. Yes, I + play.” He was one of those natives who in all the great Italian cities + haunt English-speaking societies; they try to drink tea without grimacing, + and sing for the ladies of our race, who innocently pet them, finding them + so very like other women in their lady-like sweetness and softness; it is + said they boast among their own countrymen of their triumphs. The + cavaliere unbuckled his sword, and laying it across a chair sat down at + the piano. He played not one but many barcaroles, and seemed loath to + leave the instrument. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Lydia,” said Mrs. Erwin, fondly, “won't you sing us something?” + </p> + <p> + “Do!” called Mr. Rose-Black from the sofa, with the intonation of a + spoiled first-cousin, or half-brother. + </p> + <p> + “I don't feel like singing to-day,” answered Lydia, immovably. Mrs. Erwin + was about to urge her further, but other people came in,—some Jewish + ladies, and then a Russian, whom Lydia took at first for an American. They + all came and went, but Mr. Rose-Black remained in his corner of the sofa, + and never took his eyes from Lydia's face. At last he went, and then Mr. + Erwin looked in. + </p> + <p> + “Is that beast gone?” he asked. “I shall be obliged to show him the door, + yet, Josephine. You ought to snub him. He's worse than his pictures. Well, + you've had a whole raft of folks today,—as your countrymen say.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank Heaven,” cried Mrs. Erwin, “and they're all gone. I don't want + Lydia to think that I let everybody come to see me on Sunday. Thursday is + my day, Lydia, but a few privileged friends understand that they can drop + in Sunday afternoon.” She gave Lydia a sketch of the life and character of + each of these friends. “And now I must tell you that your manner is very + good, Lydia. That reserved way of yours is quite the thing for a young + girl in Europe: I suppose it's a gift; I never could get it, even when I + <i>was</i> a girl. But you mustn't show any <i>hauteur</i>, even when you + dislike people, and you refused to sing with <i>rather</i> too much <i>aplomb</i>. + I don't suppose it was noticed though,—those ladies coming in at the + same time. Really, I thought Mr. Rose-Black and Colonel Pazzelli were + trying to outstare each other! It was certainly amusing. I never saw such + an evident case, Lydia! The poor cavaliere looked as if he had seen you + somewhere before in a dream, and was struggling to make it all out.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia remained impassive. Presently she said she would go to her room, and + write home before dinner. When she went out Mrs. Erwin fetched a deep + sigh, and threw herself upon her husband's sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “She's terribly unresponsive,” she began. “I supposed she'd be in raptures + with the place, at least, but you wouldn't know there was anything at all + remarkable in Venice from anything she's said. We have met ever so many + interesting people to-day,—the Countess Tatocka, and Lady Fenleigh, + and Miss Landini, and everybody, but I don't really think she's said a + word about a soul. She's too queer for anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say she hasn't the experience to be astonished from,” suggested + Mr. Erwin easily. “She's here as if she'd been dropped down from her + village.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's true,” considered his wife. “But it's hard, with Lydia's air + and style and self-possession, to realize that she <i>is</i> merely a + village girl.” + </p> + <p> + “She may be much more impressed than she chooses to show,” Mr. Erwin + continued. “I remember a very curious essay by a French writer about your + countrymen: he contended that they were characterized by a savage stoicism + through their contact with the Indians.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Henshaw! There hasn't been an Indian <i>near</i> South + Bradfield for two hundred years. And besides that, am <i>I</i> stoical?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm bound to say,” replied her husband, “that so far as you go, you're a + complete refutation of the theory.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate to see a young girl so close,” fretted Mrs. Erwin. “But perhaps,” + she added, more cheerfully, “she'll be the easier managed, being so + passive. She doesn't seem at all willful,—that's one comfort.” + </p> + <p> + She went to Lydia's room just before dinner, and found the girl with her + head fallen on her arms upon the table, where she had been writing. She + looked up, and faced her aunt with swollen eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, poor thing!” cried Mrs. Erwin. “What is it, dear? What is it, + Lydia?” she asked, tenderly, and she pulled Lydia's face down upon her + neck. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing,” said Lydia. “I suppose I was a little homesick; writing + home made me.” + </p> + <p> + She somewhat coldly suffered Mrs. Erwin to kiss her and smooth her hair, + while she began to talk with her of her grandfather and her aunt at home. + “But this is going to be home to you now,” said Mrs. Erwin, “and I'm not + going to let you be sick for any other. I want you to treat me just like a + mother, or an older sister. Perhaps I shan't be the wisest mother to you + in the world, but I mean to be one of the best. Come, now, bathe your + eyes, my dear, and let's go to dinner. I don't like to keep your uncle + waiting.” She did not go at once, but showed Lydia the appointments of the + room, and lightly indicated what she had caused to be done, and what she + had done with her own hands, to make the place pretty for her. “And now + shall I take your letter, and have your uncle post it this evening?” She + picked up the letter from the table. “Hadn't you any wax to seal it? You + know they don't generally mucilage their envelopes in Europe.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia blushed. “I left it open for you to read. I thought you ought to + know what I wrote.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin dropped her hands in front of her, with the open letter + stretched between them, and looked at her niece in rapture. “Lydia,” she + cried, “one would suppose you had lived all your days in Europe! Showing + me your letter, this way,—why, it's quite like a Continental girl.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was no more than right you should see what I was writing + home,” said Lydia, unresponsively. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no matter, even if it <i>was</i> right,” replied Mrs. Erwin. “It + comes to the same thing. And now, as you've been quite a European + daughter, I'm going to be a real American mother.” She took up the wax, + and sealed Lydia's letter without looking into it. “There!” she said, + triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + She was very good to Lydia all through dinner, and made her talk of the + simple life at home, and the village characters whom she remembered from + her last summer's visit. That amused Mr. Erwin, who several times, when, + his wife was turning the talk upon Lydia's voyage over, intervened with + some new question about the life of the queer little Yankee hill-town. He + said she must tell Lady Fenleigh about it,—she was fond of picking + up those curios; it would make any one's social fortune who could explain + such a place intelligibly in London; when they got to having typical + villages of the different civilizations at the international expositions,—as + no doubt they would,—somebody must really send South Bradfield over. + He pleased himself vastly with this fancy, till Mrs. Erwin, who had been + eying Lydia critically from time to time, as if making note of her + features and complexion, said she had a white cloak, and that in Venice, + where one need not dress a great deal for the opera, Lydia could wear it + that night. + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked up in astonishment, but she sat passive during her aunt's + discussion of her plans. When they rose from table, she said, at her + stiffest and coldest, “Aunt Josephine, I want you to excuse me from going + with you to-night. I don't feel like going.” + </p> + <p> + “Not feel like going!” exclaimed her aunt in dismay. “Why, your uncle has + taken a box!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia opposed nothing to this argument. She only said, “I would rather not + go.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you <i>will</i>, dear,” coaxed her aunt. “You would enjoy it so + much.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you understood from what I said to-day,” replied Lydia, “that I + could not go.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, I didn't! I knew you objected; but if I thought it was proper + for you to go—” + </p> + <p> + “I should not go at home,” said Lydia, in the same immovable fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. Every place has its customs, and in Venice it has <i>always</i> + been the custom to go to the opera on Sunday night.” This fact had no + visible weight with Lydia, and after a pause her aunt added, “Didn't Paul + himself say to do in Rome as the Romans do?” + </p> + <p> + “No, aunt Josephine,” cried Lydia, indignantly, “he did <i>not</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin turned to her husband with a face of appeal, and he answered, + “Really, my dear, I think you're mistaken. I always had the impression + that the saying was—an Americanism of some sort.” + </p> + <p> + “But it doesn't matter,” interposed Lydia decisively. “I couldn't go, if I + didn't think it was right, whoever said it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” began Mrs. Erwin, “if you wouldn't mind what <i>Paul</i> said—” + She suddenly checked herself, and after a little silence she resumed, + kindly, “I won't try to force you, Lydia. I didn't realize what a very + short time it is since you left home, and how you still have all those + ideas. I wouldn't distress you about them for the world, my dear. I want + you to feel at home with me, and I'll make it as like home for you as I + can in everything. Henshaw, I think you must go alone, this evening. I + will stay with Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no! I couldn't let you; I can't let you! I shall not know what to + do if I keep you at home. Oh, don't leave it that way, please! I shall + feel so badly about it—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we can both stay,” suggested Mr. Erwin, kindly. + </p> + <p> + Lydia's lips trembled and her eyes glistened, and Mrs. Erwin said, “I'll + go with you, Henshaw. I'll be ready in half an hour. I won't dress <i>much</i>.” + She added this as if not to dress a great deal at the opera Sunday night + might somehow be accepted as an observance of the Sabbath. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. + </h2> + <p> + The next morning Veronica brought Lydia a little scrawl from her aunt, + bidding the girl come and breakfast with her in her room at nine. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” her aunt called to her from her pillow, when she + appeared, “you find me flat enough, this morning. If there was anything + wrong about going to the opera last night, I was properly punished for it. + Such wretched stuff as <i>I</i> never heard! And instead of the new ballet + that they promised, they gave an old thing that I had seen till I was sick + of it. You didn't miss much, I can tell you. How fresh and bright you <i>do</i> + look, Lydia!” she sighed. “Did you sleep well? Were you lonesome while we + were gone? Veronica says you were reading the whole evening. Are you fond + of reading?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I am, very,” said Lydia. “It was a book that I began on the + ship. It's a novel.” She hesitated. “I wasn't reading it; I was just + looking at it.” + </p> + <p> + “What a queer child you are! I suppose you were dying to read it, and + wouldn't because it was Sunday. Well!” Mrs. Erwin put her hand under her + pillow, and pulled out a gossamer handkerchief, with which she delicately + touched her complexion here and there, and repaired with an instinctive + rearrangement of powder the envious ravages of a slight rash about her + nose. “I respect your high principles beyond anything, Lydia, and if they + can only be turned in the right direction they will never be any + disadvantage to you.” Veronica came in with the breakfast on a tray, and + Mrs. Erwin added, “Now, pull up that little table, and bring your chair, + my dear, and let us take it easy. I like to talk while I'm breakfasting. + Will you pour out my chocolate? That's it, in the ugly little pot with the + wooden handle; the copper one's for you, with coffee in it. I never could + get that repose which seems to come perfectly natural to you. I was always + inclined to be a little rowdy, my dear, and I've had to fight hard against + it, without any help from <i>either</i> of my husbands; men like it; they + think it's funny. When I was first married, I was very young, and so was + he; it was a real love match; and my husband was very well off, and when I + began to be delicate, nothing would do but he must come to Europe with me. + How little I ever expected to outlive him!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't look very sick now,” began Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Ill,” said her aunt. “You must say ill. Sick is an Americanism.” + </p> + <p> + “It's in the Bible,” said Lydia, gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there are a great many words in the <i>Bible</i> you can't use,” + returned her aunt. “No, I don't look ill now, and I'm worlds better. But I + couldn't live a year in any other climate, I suppose. You seem to take + after your mother's side. Well, as I was saying, the European ways didn't + come natural to me, at all. I used to have a great deal of gayety when I + was a girl, and I liked beaux and attentions; and I had very free ways. I + couldn't get their stiffness here for years and years, and all through my + widowhood it was one wretched failure with me. Do what I would, I was + always violating the most essential rules, and the worst of it was that it + only seemed to make me the more popular. I do believe it was nothing but + my rowdiness that attracted Mr. Erwin; but I determined when I had got an + Englishman I would make one bold strike for the proprieties, and have + them, or die in the attempt. I determined that no Englishwoman I ever saw + should outdo me in strict conformity to all the usages of European + society. So I cut myself off from all the Americans, and went with nobody + but the English.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you like them better?” asked Lydia, with the blunt, child-like + directness that had already more than once startled her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Like</i> them! I detest them! If Mr. Erwin were a real Englishman, I + think I should go crazy; but he's been so little in his own country—all + his life in India, nearly, and the rest on the Continent,—that he's + quite human; and no American husband was ever more patient and indulgent; + and <i>that</i>'s saying a good deal. He would be glad to have nothing but + Americans around; he has an enthusiasm for them,—or for what he + supposes they are. Like the English! You ought to have heard them during + our war; it would have made your blood boil! And then how they came + crawling round after it was all over, and trying to pet us up! Ugh!” + </p> + <p> + “If you feel so about them,” said Lydia, as before, “why do you want to go + with them so much?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” cried her aunt, “<i>to beat them with their own weapons on + their own ground</i>,—to show them that an American can be more + European than any of them, if she chooses! And now you've come here with + looks and temperament and everything just to my hand. You're more + beautiful than any English girl ever dreamt of being; you're very + distinguished-looking; your voice is perfectly divine; and you're colder + than an iceberg. <i>Oh</i>, if I only had one winter with you in Rome, I + think I should die in peace!” Mrs. Erwin paused, and drank her chocolate, + which she had been letting cool in the eagerness of her discourse. “But, + never mind,” she continued, “we will do the best we can here. I've seen + English girls going out two or three together, without protection, in Rome + and Florence; but I mean that you shall be quite Italian in that respect. + The Italians never go out without a chaperone of some sort, and you must + never be seen without me, or your uncle, or Veronica. Now I'll tell you + how you must do at parties, and so on. You must be very retiring; you're + that, any way; but you must always keep close to me. It doesn't do for + young people to talk much together in society; it makes scandal about a + girl. If you dance, you must always hurry back to me. Dear me!” exclaimed + Mrs. Erwin, “I remember how, when I was a girl, I used to hang on to the + young men's arms, and promenade with them after a dance, and go out to + supper with them, and flirt on the stairs,—<i>such</i> times! But + that wouldn't do here, Lydia. It would ruin a girl's reputation; she could + hardly walk arm in arm with a young man if she was engaged to him.” Lydia + blushed darkly red, and then turned paler than usual, while her aunt went + on. “You might do it, perhaps, and have it set down to American + eccentricity or under-breeding, but I'm not going to have that. I intend + you to be just as dull and diffident in society as if you were an Italian, + and <i>more</i> than if you were English. Your voice, of course, is a + difficulty. If you sing, that will make you conspicuous, in spite of + everything. But I don't see why that can't be turned to advantage; it's no + worse than your beauty. Yes, if you're so splendid-looking and so gifted, + and at the same time as stupid as the rest, it's so much clear gain. It + will come easy for you to be shy with men, for I suppose you've hardly + ever talked with any, living up there in that out-of-the-way village; and + your manner is very good. It's reserved, and yet it isn't green. The way,” + continued Mrs. Erwin, “to treat men in Europe is to behave as if they were + guilty till they prove themselves innocent. All you have to do is to + reverse all your American ideas. But here I am, lecturing you as if you + had been just such a girl as I was, with half a dozen love affairs on her + hands at once, and no end of gentlemen friends. Europe won't be hard for + you, my dear, for you haven't got anything to unlearn. But <i>some</i> + girls that come over!—it's perfectly ridiculous, the trouble they + get into, and the time they have getting things straight. They take it for + granted that men in good society are gentlemen,—what we mean by + gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + Lydia had been letting her coffee stand, and had scarcely tasted the + delicious French bread and the sweet Lombard butter of which her aunt ate + so heartily. “Why, child,” said Mrs. Erwin, at last, “where is your + appetite? One would think you were the elderly invalid who had been up + late. Did you find it too exciting to sit at home <i>looking</i> at a + novel? What was it? If it's a new story I should like to see it. But you + didn't bring a novel from South Bradfield with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia, with a husky reluctance. “One of the—passengers + gave it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Had you many passengers? But of course not. That was what made it so + delightful when I came over that way. I was newly married then, and with + spirits—oh dear me!—for anything. It was one adventure, the + whole way; and we got so well acquainted, it was like one family. I + suppose your grandfather put you in charge of some family. I know artists + sometimes come out that way, and people for their health.” + </p> + <p> + “There was no family on our ship,” said Lydia. “My state-room had been + fixed up for the captain's wife—” + </p> + <p> + “Our captain's wife was along, too,” interposed Mrs. Erwin. “She was such + a joke with us. She had been out to Venice on a voyage before, and used to + be always talking about the Du-<i>cal</i> Palace. And did they really turn + out of their state-room for you?” + </p> + <p> + “She was not along,” said Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Not along?” repeated Mrs. Erwin, feebly. “Who—who were the other + passengers?” + </p> + <p> + “There were three gentlemen,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Three gentlemen? Three men? Three—And you—and—” Mrs. + Erwin fell back upon her pillow, and remained gazing at Lydia, with a sort + of remote bewildered pity, as at perdition, not indeed beyond compassion, + but far beyond help. Lydia's color had been coming and going, but now it + settled to a clear white. Mrs. Erwin commanded herself sufficiently to + resume: “And there were—there were—no other ladies?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “And you were—” + </p> + <p> + “I was the only woman on board,” replied Lydia. She rose abruptly, + striking the edge of the table in her movement, and setting its china and + silver jarring. “Oh, I know what you mean, aunt Josephine, but two days + ago I couldn't have dreamt it! From the time the ship sailed till I + reached this wicked place, there wasn't a word said nor a look looked to + make me think I wasn't just as right and safe there as if I had been in my + own room at home. They were never anything but kind and good to me. They + never let me think that they could be my enemies, or that I must suspect + them and be on the watch against them. They were Americans! I had to wait + for one of your Europeans to teach me that,—for that officer who was + here yesterday—” + </p> + <p> + “The cavaliere? Why, where—” + </p> + <p> + “He spoke to me in the cars, when Mr. Erwin was asleep! Had he any right + to do so?” + </p> + <p> + “He would think he had, if he thought you were alone,” said Mrs. Erwin, + plaintively. “I don't see how we could resent it. It was simply a mistake + on his part. And now you see, Lydia—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see how my coming the way I have will seem to all these people!” + cried Lydia, with passionate despair. “I know how it will seem to that + married woman who lets a man be in love with her, and that old woman who + can't live with her husband because he's too good and kind, and that girl + who swears and doesn't know who her father is, and that impudent painter, + and that officer who thinks he has the right to insult women if he finds + them alone! I wonder the sea doesn't swallow up a place where even + Americans go to the theatre on the Sabbath!” + </p> + <p> + “Lydia, Lydia! It isn't so bad as it seems to you,” pleaded her aunt, + thrown upon the defensive by the girl's outburst. “There are ever so many + good and nice people in Venice, and I know them, too,—Italians as + well as foreigners. And even amongst those you saw, Miss Landini is one of + the kindest girls in the world, and she had just been to see her old + teacher when we met her,—she half takes care of him; and Lady + Fenleigh's a perfect mother to the poor; and I never was at the Countess + Tatocka's except in the most distant way, at a ball where everybody went; + and is it better to let your uncle go to the opera alone, or to go with + him? You told me to go with him yourself; and they consider Sunday over, + on the Continent, after morning service, any way!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it makes no difference!” retorted Lydia, wildly. “I am going away. I + am going home. I have money enough to get to Trieste, and the ship is + there, and Captain Jenness will take me back with him. Oh!” she moaned. “<i>He</i> + has been in Europe, too, and I suppose he's like the rest of you; and he + thought because I was alone and helpless he had the right to—Oh, I + see it, I see now that he never meant anything, and—Oh, oh, oh!” She + fell on her knees beside the bed, as if crushed to them by the cruel doubt + that suddenly overwhelmed her, and flung out her arms on Mrs. Erwin's + coverlet—it was of Venetian lace sewed upon silk, a choice bit from + the palace of one of the ducal families—and buried her face in it. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt rose from her pillow, and looked in wonder and trouble at the + beautiful fallen head, and the fair young figure shaken with sobs. “He—who—what + are you talking about, Lydia? Whom do you mean? Did Captain Jenness—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” wailed the girl, “the one that gave me the book.” + </p> + <p> + “The one that gave you the book? The book you were looking at last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” sobbed Lydia, with her voice muffled in the coverlet. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin lay down again with significant deliberation. Her face was + still full of trouble, but of bewilderment no longer. In moments of great + distress the female mind is apt to lay hold of some minor anxiety for its + distraction, and to find a certain relief in it. “Lydia,” said her aunt in + a broken voice, “I wish you wouldn't cry in the coverlet: it doesn't hurt + the lace, but it stains the silk.” Lydia swept her handkerchief under her + face but did not lift it. Her aunt accepted the compromise. “How came he + to give you the book?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. I can't tell. I thought it was because—because—It + was almost at the very beginning. And after that he walked up and down + with me every night, nearly; and he tried to be with me all he could; and + he was always saying things to make me think—Oh dear, oh <i>dear</i>, + oh dear! And he <i>tried</i> to make me care for him! Oh, it was cruel, + cruel!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that he made love to you?” asked her aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—no—I don't know. He tried to make me care for him, and to + make me think he cared for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he say he cared for you? Did he—” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin mused a while before she said, “Yes, it was cruel indeed, poor + child, and it was cowardly, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Cowardly?” Lydia lifted her face, and flashed a glance of tearful fire at + her aunt. “He is the bravest man in the world! And the most generous and + high-minded! He jumped into the sea after that wicked Mr. Hicks, and saved + his life, when he disliked him worse than anything!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Who</i> was Mr. Hicks?” + </p> + <p> + “He was the one that stopped at Messina. He was the one that got some + brandy at Gibraltar, and behaved so dreadfully, and wanted to fight him.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom?” + </p> + <p> + “This one. The one who gave me the book. And don't you see that his being + so good makes it all the worse? Yes; and he pretended to be glad when I + told him I thought he was good,—he got me to say it!” She had her + face down again in her handkerchief. “And I suppose <i>you</i> think it + was horrible, too, for me to take his arm, and talk and walk with him + whenever he asked me!” + </p> + <p> + “No, not for you, Lydia,” said her aunt, gently. “And don't you think + now,” she asked after a pause, “that he cared for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I <i>did</i> think so,—I <i>did</i> believe it; but now, <i>now</i>—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, what?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, I'm afraid that may be he was only playing with me, and putting me + off; and pretending that he had something to tell me when he got to + Venice, and he never meant anything by anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he coming to—” her aunt began, but Lydia broke vehemently out + again. + </p> + <p> + “If he had cared for me, why couldn't he have told me so at once, and not + had me wait till he got to Venice? He <i>knew</i> I—” + </p> + <p> + “There are two ways of explaining it,” said Mrs. Erwin. “He <i>may</i> + have been in earnest, Lydia, and felt that he had no right to be more + explicit till you were in the care of your friends. That would be the + European way which you consider so bad,” said Mrs. Erwin. “Under the + circumstances, it was impossible for him to keep any distance, and all he + could do was to postpone his declaration till there could be something + like good form about it. Yes, it might have been that.” She was silent, + but the troubled look did not leave her face. “I am sorry for you, Lydia,” + she resumed, “but I don't know that I wish he was in earnest.” Lydia + looked up at her in dismay. “It might be far less embarrassing the other + way, however painful. He may not be at all a suitable person.” The tears + stood in Lydia's eyes, and all her face expressed a puzzled suspense. + “Where was he from?” asked Mrs. Erwin, finally; till then she had been + more interested in the lover than the man. + </p> + <p> + “Boston,” mechanically answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “What was his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Staniford,” owned Lydia, with a blush. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt seemed dispirited at the sound. “Yes, I know who they are,” she + sighed. + </p> + <p> + “And aren't they nice? Isn't he—suitable?” asked Lydia, tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, poor child! He's only <i>too</i> suitable. I can't explain to you, + Lydia; but at home he wouldn't have looked at a girl like you. What sort + of looking person is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He's rather—red; and he has—light hair.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be the family I'm thinking of,” said Mrs. Erwin. She had lived + nearly twenty years in Europe, and had seldom revisited her native city; + but at the sound of a Boston name she was all Bostonian again. She rapidly + sketched the history of the family to which she imagined Staniford to + belong. “I remember his sister; I used to see her at school. She must have + been five or six years younger than I; and this boy—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he's twenty-eight years old!” interrupted Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “How came he to tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. He said that he looked thirty-four.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; <i>she</i> was always a forward thing too,—with her freckles,” + said Mrs. Erwin, musingly, as if lost in reminiscences, not wholly + pleasing, of Miss Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “<i>He</i> has freckles,” admitted Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's the one,” said Mrs. Erwin. “He couldn't have known what your + family was from anything you said?” + </p> + <p> + “We never talked about our families.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I dare say! You talked about yourselves?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “All the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty nearly.” + </p> + <p> + “And he didn't try to find out who or what you were?” + </p> + <p> + “He asked a great deal about South Bradfield.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, that was where he thought you had always belonged.” Mrs. Erwin + lay quiescent for a while, in apparent uncertainty as to how she should + next attack the subject. “How did you first meet?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia began with the scene on Lucas Wharf, and little by little told the + whole story up to the moment of their parting at Trieste. There were + lapses and pauses in the story, which her aunt was never at a loss to fill + aright. At the end she said, “If it were not for his promising to come + here and see you, I should say Mr. Staniford had been flirting, and as it + is he may not regard it as anything more than flirtation. Of course, there + was his being jealous of Mr. Dunham and Mr. Hicks, as he certainly was; + and his wanting to explain about that lady at Messina—yes, that + looked peculiar; but he may not have meant anything by it. His parting so + at Trieste with you, that might be either because he was embarrassed at + its having got to be such a serious thing, or because he really felt + badly. Lydia,” she asked at last, “what made <i>you</i> think he cared for + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said the girl; her voice had sunk to a husky whisper. “I + didn't believe it till he said he wanted me to be his—conscience, + and tried to make me say he was good, and—” + </p> + <p> + “That's a certain kind of man's way of flirting. It may mean nothing at + all. I could tell in an instant, if I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “He said he would be here this afternoon,” murmured Lydia, tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “This afternoon!” cried Mrs. Erwin. “I must get up!” + </p> + <p> + At her toilette she had the exaltation and fury of a champion arming for + battle. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Erwin entered about the completion of her preparations, and without + turning round from her glass she said, “I want you to think of the worst + thing you can, Henshaw. I don't see how I'm ever to lift up my head + again.” As if this word had reminded her of her head, she turned it from + side to side, and got the effect in the glass, first of one ear-ring, and + then of the other. Her husband patiently waited, and she now confronted + him. “You may as well know first as last, Henshaw, and I want you to + prepare yourself for it. Nothing can be done, and you will just have to + live through it. Lydia—has come over—on that ship—alone,—with + three young men,—and not the shadow—not the ghost—of + another woman—on board!” Mrs. Erwin gesticulated with her hand-glass + in delivering the words, in a manner at once intensely vivid and intensely + solemn, yet somehow falling short of the due tragic effect. Her husband + stood pulling his mustache straight down, while his wife turned again to + the mirror, and put the final touches to her personal appearance with + hands which she had the effect of having desperately washed of all + responsibility. He stood so long in this meditative mood that she was + obliged to be peremptory with his image in the glass. “Well?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Why, my dear,” said Mr. Erwin, at last, “they were all Americans + together, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “And what difference does that make?” demanded Mrs. Erwin, whirling from + his image to the man again. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, you know, it isn't as if they were—English.” Mrs. + Erwin flung down three hair-pins upon her dressing-case, and visibly + despaired. “Of course you don't expect your countrymen—” His wife's + appearance was here so terrible that he desisted, and resumed by saying, + “Don't be vexed, my dear. I—I rather like it, you know. It strikes + me as a genuine bit of American civilization.” + </p> + <p> + “American civilization! Oh, Henshaw!” wailed Mrs. Erwin, “is it possible + that after all I've said, and done, and lived, you still think that any + one but a girl from the greenest little country place could do such a + thing as that? Well, it is no use trying to enlighten English people. You + like it, do you? Well, I'm not sure that the Englishman who misunderstands + American things and likes them isn't a little worse than the Englishman + who misunderstands them and dislikes them. You <i>all</i> misunderstand + them. And would you like it, if one of the young men had been making love + to Lydia?” + </p> + <p> + The amateur of our civilization hesitated and was serious, but he said at + last, “Why, you know, I'm not surprised. She's so uncommonly pretty. I—I + suppose they're engaged?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + His wife held her peace for scorn. Then she said, “The gentleman is of a + very good Boston family, and would no more think of engaging himself to a + young girl without the knowledge of her friends than you would. Besides, + he's been in Europe a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could meet some Americans who hadn't been in Europe,” said Mr. + Erwin. “I should like to see what you call the simon-pure American. As for + the young man's not engaging himself, it seems to me that he didn't avail + himself of his national privileges. I should certainly have done it in his + place, if I'd been an American.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you'd been an American, you wouldn't,” answered his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because an American would have had too much delicacy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand that.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you don't, Henshaw. And there's where you show yourself an + Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” said her husband, “you're beginning to crow, my dear. Come, I + like that a great deal better than your cringing to the effete despotisms + of the Old World, as your Fourth of July orators have it. It's almost + impossible to get a bit of good honest bounce out of an American, + nowadays,—to get him to spread himself, as you say.” + </p> + <p> + “All that is neither here nor there, Henshaw,” said his wife. “The + question is how to receive Mr. Staniford—that's his name—when + he comes. How are we to regard him? He's coming here to see Lydia, and she + thinks he's coming to propose.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, but how does she regard him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there's no question about that, poor child. She's <i>dead</i> in love + with him, and can't understand why he didn't propose on shipboard.” + </p> + <p> + “And she isn't an Englishman, either!” exulted Mr. Erwin. “It appears that + there are Americans and Americans, and that the men of your nation have + more delicacy than the women like.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly,” said his wife. “Of course, women always think what they + would do in such cases, if they were men; but if men did what women think + they would do if they were men, the women would be disgusted.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Her feeling in the matter is no guide.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know his family?” asked Mr. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “I think I do. Yes, I'm sure I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they nice people?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I told you they were a good Boston family?” + </p> + <p> + “Then upon my word, I don't see that we've to take any attitude at all. I + don't see that we've to regard him in one way or the other. It quite + remains for him to make the first move.” + </p> + <p> + As if they had been talking of nothing but dress before, Mrs. Erwin asked: + “Do you think I look better in this black mexicaine, or would you wear + your écru?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you look very well in this. But why—He isn't going to + propose to you, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “I must have on something decent to receive him in. What time does the + train from Trieste get in?” + </p> + <p> + “At three o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “It's one, now. There's plenty of time, but there isn't any too much. I'll + go and get Lydia ready. Or perhaps you'll tap on her door, Henshaw, and + send her here. Of course, this is the end of her voice,—if it is the + end.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the end of having an extraordinarily pretty girl in the house. I + don't at all like it, you know,—having her whisked away in this + manner.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin refused to let her mind wander from the main point. “He'll be + round as soon as he can, after he arrives. I shall expect him by four, at + the latest.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy he'll stop for his dinner before he comes,” said Mr. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” retorted his wife, haughtily. And with his going out of the + room, she set her face in a resolute cheerfulness, for the task of + heartening Lydia when she should appear; but it only expressed misgiving + when the girl came in with her yachting-dress on. “Why, Lydia, shall you + wear that?” + </p> + <p> + Lydia swept her dress with a downward glance. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I would wear it. I thought he—I should seem—more + natural in it. I wore it all the time on the ship, except Sundays. He said—he + liked it the best.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin shook her head. “It wouldn't do. Everything must be on a new + basis now. He might like it; but it would be too romantic, wouldn't it, + don't you think?” She shook her head still, but less decisively. “Better + wear your silk. Don't you think you'd better wear your silk? This is very + pretty, and the dark blue does become you, awfully. Still, I don't know—<i>I</i> + don't know, either! A great many English wear those careless things in the + house. Well, <i>wear</i> it, Lydia! You <i>do</i> look perfectly killing + in it. I'll tell you: your uncle was going to ask you to go out in his + boat; he's got one he rows himself, and this is a boating costume; and you + know you could time yourselves so as to get back just right, and you could + come in with this on—” + </p> + <p> + Lydia turned pale. “Oughtn't I—oughtn't I—to be here?” she + faltered. + </p> + <p> + Her aunt laughed gayly. “Why, he'll ask for <i>me</i>, Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “For you?” asked Lydia, doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And I can easily keep him till you get back. If you're here by four—” + </p> + <p> + “The train,” said Lydia, “arrives at three.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know?” asked her aunt, keenly. + </p> + <p> + Lydia's eyelids fell even lower than their wont. + </p> + <p> + “I looked it out in that railroad guide in the parlor.” + </p> + <p> + Her aunt kissed her. “And you've thought the whole thing out, dear, + haven't you? I'm glad to see you so happy about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl, with a fluttering breath, “I have thought it out, + and <i>I believe him</i>. I—” She tried to say something more, but + could not. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Erwin rang the bell, and sent for her husband. “He knows about it, + Lydia,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “He's just as much interested as we are, dear, but you needn't be worried. + He's a perfect post for not showing a thing if you don't want him to. He's + really quite superhuman, in that,—equal to a woman. You can talk + Americanisms with him. If we sat here staring at each other till four + o'clock,—he <i>must</i> go to his hotel before he comes here; and I + say four at the earliest; and it's much more likely to be five or six, or + perhaps evening,—I should die!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Erwin's rowing was the wonder of all Venice. There was every reason + why he should fall overboard at each stroke, as he stood to propel the + boat in the gondolier fashion, except that he never yet had done so. It + was sometimes his fortune to be caught on the shallows by the falling + tide; but on that day he safely explored the lagoons, and returned + promptly at four o'clock to the palace. + </p> + <p> + His wife was standing on the balcony, looking out for them, and she smiled + radiantly down into Lydia's anxiously lifted face. But when she met the + girl at the head of the staircase in the great hall, she embraced her, and + said, with the same gay smile, “He hasn't come yet, dear, and of course he + won't come till after dinner. If I hadn't been as silly as you are, Lydia, + I never should have let you expect him sooner. He'll want to go to his + hotel: and no matter how impatient he is, he'll want to dress, and be a + little ceremonious about his call. You know we're strangers to him, + whatever <i>you</i> are.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Lydia, mechanically. She was going to sit down, as she was; of + her own motion she would not have stirred from the place till he came, or + it was certain he would not come; but her aunt would not permit the + despair into which she saw her sinking. + </p> + <p> + She laughed resolutely, and said, “I think we must give up the little + sentimentality of meeting him in that dress, now. Go and change it, Lydia. + Put on your silk,—or wait: let me go with you. I want to try some + little effects with your complexion. We've experimented with the simple + and familiar, and now we'll see what can be done in the way of the + magnificent and unexpected. I'm going to astonish the young man with a + Venetian beauty; you know you look Italian, Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he said so,” answered Lydia. + </p> + <p> + “Did he? That shows he has an eye, and he'll appreciate what we are going + to do.” + </p> + <p> + She took Lydia to her own room, for the greater convenience of her + experiments, and from that moment she did not allow her to be alone; she + scarcely allowed her to be silent; she made her talk, she kept her in + movement. At dinner she permitted no lapse. “Henshaw,” she said, “Lydia + has been telling me about a storm they had just before they reached + Gibraltar. I wish you would tell her of the typhoon you were in when you + first went out to India.” Her husband obeyed; and then recurring to the + days of his civil employment in India, he told stories of tiger-hunts, and + of the Sepoy mutiny. Mrs. Erwin would not let them sit very long at table. + After dinner she asked Lydia to sing, and she suffered her to sing all the + American songs her uncle asked for. At eight o'clock she said with a + knowing little look at Lydia, which included a sub-wink for her husband, + “You may go to your café alone, this evening, Henshaw. Lydia and I are + going to stay at home and talk South Bradfield gossip. I've hardly had a + moment with her yet.” But when he was gone, she took Lydia to her own room + again, and showed her all her jewelry, and passed the time in making + changes in the girl's toilette. + </p> + <p> + It was like the heroic endeavor of the arctic voyager who feels the deadly + chill in his own veins, and keeps himself alive by rousing his comrade + from the torpor stealing over him. They saw in each other's eyes that if + they yielded a moment to the doubt in their hearts they were lost. + </p> + <p> + At ten o'clock Mrs. Erwin said abruptly, “Go to bed, Lydia!” Then the girl + broke down, and abandoned herself in a storm of tears. “Don't cry, dear, + don't cry,” pleaded her aunt. “He will be here in the morning, I know he + will. He has been delayed.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he's not coming,” said Lydia, through her sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened,” urged Mrs. Erwin. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia, as before. Her tears ceased as suddenly as they had + come. She lifted her head, and drying her eyes looked into her aunt's + face. “Are you ashamed of me?” she asked hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “Ashamed of you? Oh, poor child—” + </p> + <p> + “I can't pretend anything. If I had never told you about it at all, I + could have kept it back till I died. But now—But you will never hear + me speak of it again. It's over.” She took up her candle, and stiffly + suffering the compassionate embrace with which her aunt clung to her, she + walked across the great hall in the vain splendor in which she had been + adorned, and shut the door behind her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI. + </h2> + <p> + Dunham lay in a stupor for twenty-four hours, and after that he was + delirious, with dim intervals of reason in which they kept him from + talking, till one morning he woke and looked up at Staniford with a + perfectly clear eye, and said, as if resuming the conservation, “I struck + my head on a pile of chains.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Staniford, with a wan smile, “and you've been out of it + pretty near ever since. You mustn't talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm all right,” said Dunham. “I know about my being hurt. I shall be + cautious. Have you written to Miss Hibbard? I hope you haven't!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have,” replied Staniford. “But I haven't sent the letter,” he + added, in answer to Dunham's look of distress. “I thought you were going + to pull through, in spite of the doctor,—he's wanted to bleed you, + and I could hardly keep his lancet out of you,—and so I wrote, + mentioning the accident and announcing your complete restoration. The + letter merely needs dating and sealing. I'll look it up and have it + posted.” He began a search in the pockets of his coat, and then went to + his portfolio. + </p> + <p> + “What day is this?” asked Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Friday,” said Staniford, rummaging his portfolio. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been in Venice?” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Dunham! If you begin in that way, I can't talk to you. It + shows that you're still out of your head. How could I have been in + Venice?” + </p> + <p> + “But Miss Blood; the Aroostook—” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Blood went to Venice with her uncle last Saturday. The Aroostook is + here in Trieste. The captain has just gone away. He's stood watch and + watch with me, while you were off on business.” + </p> + <p> + “But didn't you go to Venice on Monday?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hardly,” answered Staniford. + </p> + <p> + “No, you stayed with me,—I see,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I wrote to her at once,” said Staniford, huskily, “and + explained the matter as well as I could without making an ado about it. + But now you stop, Dunham. If you excite yourself, there'll be the deuce to + pay again.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not excited,” said Dunham, “but I can't help thinking how + disappointed—But of course you've heard from her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's hardly time, yet,” said Staniford, evasively. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, there is. Perhaps your letter miscarried.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” cried Staniford, in a hollow under-voice, which he broke through + to add, “Go to sleep, now, Dunham, or keep quiet, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + Dunham was silent for a while, and Staniford continued his search, which + he ended by taking the portfolio by one corner, and shaking its contents + out on the table. “I don't seem to find it; but I've put it away + somewhere. I'll get it.” He went to another coat, that hung on the back of + a chair, and fumbled in its pockets. “Hello! Here are those letters they + brought me from the post-office Saturday night,—Murray's, and + Stanton's, and that bore Farrington's. I forgot all about them.” He ran + the unopened letters over in his hand. “Ah, here's my familiar scrawl—” + He stopped suddenly, and walked away to the window, where he stood with + his back to Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Staniford! What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's—it's my letter to <i>her</i>” said Staniford, without looking + round. + </p> + <p> + “Your letter to Miss Blood—not gone?” Staniford, with his face still + from him, silently nodded. “Oh!” moaned Dunham, in self-forgetful + compassion. “How could it have happened?” + </p> + <p> + “I see perfectly well,” said the other, quietly, but he looked round at + Dunham with a face that was haggard. “I sent it out to be posted by the <i>portier</i>, + and he got it mixed up with these letters for me, and brought it back.” + </p> + <p> + The young men were both silent, but the tears stood in Dunham's eyes. “If + it hadn't been for me, it wouldn't have happened,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” gently retorted Staniford, “if it hadn't been for <i>me</i>, it + wouldn't have happened. I made you come from Messina with me, when you + wanted to go on to Naples with those people; if I'd had any sense, I + should have spoken fully to her before we parted; and it was I who sent + you to see if she were on the steamer, when you fell and hurt yourself. I + know who's to blame, Dunham. What day did I tell you this was?” + </p> + <p> + “Friday.” + </p> + <p> + “A week! And I told her to expect me Monday afternoon. A week without a + word or a sign of any kind! Well, I might as well take passage in the + Aroostook, and go back to Boston again.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no!” cried Dunham, “you must take the first train to Venice. Don't + lose an instant. You can explain everything as soon as you see her.” + </p> + <p> + Staniford shook his head. “If all her life had been different, if she were + a woman of the world, it would be different; she would know how to account + for some little misgivings on my part; but as it is she wouldn't know how + to account for even the appearance of them. What she must have suffered + all this week—I can't think of it!” He sat down and turned his face + away. Presently he sprang up again. “But I'm going, Dunham. I guess you + won't die now; but you may die if you like. I would go over your dead + body!” + </p> + <p> + “Now you are talking sense,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + Staniford did not listen; he had got out his railroad guide and was + studying it. “No; there are only those two trains a day. The seven o'clock + has gone; and the next starts at ten to-night. Great heavens! I could walk + it sooner! Dunham,” he asked, “do you think I'd better telegraph?” + </p> + <p> + “What would you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Say that there's been a mistake; that a letter miscarried; that I'll be + there in the morning; that—” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't that be taking her anxiety a little too much for granted?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's true. Well, you've got your wits about you now, Dunham,” + cried Staniford, with illogical bitterness. “Very probably,” he added, + gloomily, “she doesn't care anything for me, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a good frame of mind to go in,” said Dunham. + </p> + <p> + “Why is it?” demanded Staniford. “Did I ever presume upon any supposed + interest in her?” + </p> + <p> + “You did at first,” replied Dunham. + </p> + <p> + Staniford flushed angrily. But you cannot quarrel with a man lying + helpless on his back; besides, what Dunham said was true. + </p> + <p> + The arrangements for Staniford's journey were quickly made,—so + quickly that when he had seen the doctor, and had been down to the + Aroostook and engaged Captain Jenness to come and take his place with + Dunham for the next two nights, he had twelve hours on his hands before + the train for Venice would leave, and he started at last with but one + clear perception,—that at the soonest it must be twelve hours more + before he could see her. + </p> + <p> + He had seemed intolerably slow in arriving on the train, but once arrived + in Venice he wished that he had come by the steamboat, which would not be + in for three hours yet. In despair he went to bed, considering that after + he had tossed there till he could endure it no longer, he would still have + the resource of getting up, which he would not have unless he went to bed. + When he lay down, he found himself drowsy; and while he wondered at this, + he fell asleep, and dreamed a strange dream, so terrible that he woke + himself by groaning in spirit, a thing which, as he reflected, he had + never done before. The sun was piercing the crevice between his shutters, + and a glance at his watch showed him that it was eleven o'clock. + </p> + <p> + The shadow of his dream projected itself into his waking mood, and steeped + it in a gloom which he could not escape. He rose and dressed, and meagrely + breakfasted. Without knowing how he came there, he stood announced in Mrs. + Erwin's parlor, and waited for her to receive him. + </p> + <p> + His card was brought in to her where she lay in bed. After supporting + Lydia through the first sharp shock of disappointment, she had yielded to + the prolonged strain, and the girl was now taking care of her. She gave a + hysterical laugh as she read the name on the card Veronica brought, and + crushing it in her hand, “He's come!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “I will not see him!” said Lydia instantly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” assented her aunt. “It wouldn't be at all the thing. Besides, he's + asked for me. Your uncle might see him, but he's out of the way; of course + he <i>would</i> be out of the way. Now, let me see!” The excitement + inspired her; she rose in bed, and called for the pretty sack in which she + ordinarily breakfasted, and took a look at herself in a hand-glass that + lay on the bed. Lydia did not move; she scarcely seemed to breathe; but a + swift pulse in her neck beat visibly. “If it would be decent to keep him + waiting so long, I could dress, and see him myself. I'm <i>well</i> + enough.” Mrs. Erwin again reflected. “Well,” she said at last, “you must + see him, Lydia.” + </p> + <p> + “I—” began the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you. Some one must. It will be all right. On second thought, I + believe I should send you, even if I were quite ready to go myself. This + affair has been carried on so far on the American plan, and I think I + shall let you finish it without my interference. Yes, as your uncle said + when I told him, you're all Americans together; and you <i>are</i>. Mr. + Staniford has come to see you, though he asks for me. That's perfectly + proper; but I can't see him, and I want you to excuse me to him.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you—what must I—” Lydia began again. + </p> + <p> + “No, Lydia,” interrupted her aunt. “I won't tell you a thing. I might have + advised you when you first came; but now, I—Well, I think I've lived + too long in Europe to be of use in such a case, and I won't have anything + to do with it. I won't tell you how to meet him, or what to say; but oh, + child,”—here the woman's love of loving triumphed in her breast,—“I + wish I was in your place! Go!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia slowly rose, breathless. + </p> + <p> + “Lydia!” cried her aunt. “Look at me!” Lydia turned her head. “Are you + going to be hard with him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what he's coming for,” said Lydia dishonestly. + </p> + <p> + “But if he's coming for what you hope?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't hope for anything.” + </p> + <p> + “But you did. Don't be severe. You're terrible when you're severe.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be just.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you mustn't, my dear. It won't do at all to be <i>just</i> with + men, poor fellows. Kiss me, Lydia!” She pulled her down, and kissed her. + When the girl had got as far as the door, “Lydia, Lydia!” she called after + her. Lydia turned. “Do you realize what dress you've got on?” Lydia looked + down at her robe; it was the blue flannel yachting-suit of the Aroostook, + which she had put on for convenience in taking care of her aunt. “Isn't it + too ridiculous?” Mrs. Erwin meant to praise the coincidence, not to blame + the dress. Lydia smiled faintly for answer, and the next moment she stood + at the parlor door. + </p> + <p> + Staniford, at her entrance, turned from looking out of the window and saw + her as in his dream, with her hand behind her, pushing the door to; but + the face with which she looked at him was not like the dead, sad face of + his dream. It was thrillingly alive, and all passions were blent in it,—love, + doubt, reproach, indignation; the tears stood in her eyes, but a fire + burnt through the tears. With his first headlong impulse to console, + explain, deplore, came a thought that struck him silent at sight of her. + He remembered, as he had not till then remembered, in all his wild longing + and fearing, that there had not yet been anything explicit between them; + that there was no engagement; and that he had upon the face of things, at + least, no right to offer her more than some formal expression of regret + for not having been able to keep his promise to come sooner. While this + stupefying thought gradually filled his whole sense to the exclusion of + all else, he stood looking at her with a dumb and helpless appeal, utterly + stunned and wretched. He felt the life die out of his face and leave it + blank, and when at last she spoke, he knew that it was in pity of him, or + contempt of him. “Mrs. Erwin is not well,” she said, “and she wished me—” + </p> + <p> + But he broke in upon her: “Oh, don't talk to me of Mrs. Erwin! It was you + I wanted to see. Are <i>you</i> well? Are you alive? Do you—” He + stopped as precipitately as he began; and after another hopeless pause, he + went on piteously: “I don't know where to begin. I ought to have been here + five days ago. I don't know what you think of me, or whether you have + thought of me at all; and before I can ask I must tell you why I wanted to + come then, and why I come now, and why I think I must have come back from + the dead to see you. You are all the world to me, and have been ever since + I saw you. It seems a ridiculously unnecessary thing to say, I have been + looking and acting and living it so long; but I say it, because I choose + to have you know it, whether you ever cared for me or not. I thought I was + coming here to explain why I had not come sooner, but I needn't do that + unless—unless—” He looked at her where she still stood aloof, + and he added: “Oh, answer me something, for pity's sake! Don't send me + away without a word. There have been times when you wouldn't have done + that!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I <i>did</i> care for you!” she broke out. “You know I did—” + </p> + <p> + He was instantly across the room, beside her. “Yes, yes, I know it!” But + she shrank away. + </p> + <p> + “You tried to make me believe you cared for me, by everything you could + do. And I did believe you then; and yes, I believed you afterwards, when I + didn't know what to believe. You were the one true thing in the world to + me. But it seems that you didn't believe it yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “That I didn't believe it myself? That I—I don't know what you + mean.” + </p> + <p> + “You took a week to think it over! I have had a week, too, and I have + thought it over, too. You have come too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Too late? You don't, you can't, mean—Listen to me, Lydia; I want to + tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “No, there is nothing you can tell me that would change me. I know it, I + understand it all.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't understand what kept me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't wish to know what made you break your word. I don't care to know. + I couldn't go back and feel as I did to you. Oh, that's gone! It isn't + that you did not come—that you made me wait and suffer; but you knew + how it would be with me after I got here, and all the things I should find + out, and how I should feel! And you stayed away! I don't know whether I + can forgive you, even; oh, I'm afraid I don't; but I can never care for + you again. Nothing but a case of life and death—” + </p> + <p> + “It was a case of life and death!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia stopped in her reproaches, and looked at him with wistful doubt, + changing to a tender fear. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you been hurt? Have you been sick?” she pleaded, in a breaking + voice, and made some unconscious movement toward him. He put out his hand, + and would have caught one of hers, but she clasped them in each other. + </p> + <p> + “No, not I,—Dunham—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Lydia, as if this were not at all enough. + </p> + <p> + “He fell and struck his head, the night you left. I thought he would die.” + Staniford reported his own diagnosis, not the doctor's; but he was perhaps + in the right to do this. “I had made him go down to the wharf with me; I + wanted to see you again, before you started, and I thought we might find + you on the boat.” He could see her face relenting; her hands released each + other. “He was delirious till yesterday. I couldn't leave him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why didn't you write to me?” She ignored Dunham as completely as if + he had never lived. “You knew that I—” Her voice died away, and her + breast rose. + </p> + <p> + “I did write—” + </p> + <p> + “But how,—I never got it.” + </p> + <p> + “No,—it was not posted, through a cruel blunder. And then I thought—I + got to thinking that you didn't care—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the girl. “Could you doubt me?” + </p> + <p> + “You doubted me,” said Staniford, seizing his advantage. “I brought the + letter with me to prove <i>my</i> truth.” She did not look at him, but she + took the letter, and ran it greedily into her pocket. “It's well I did so, + since you don't believe my word.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,—yes, I know it,” she said; “I never doubted it!” Staniford + stood bemazed, though he knew enough to take the hands she yielded him; + but she suddenly caught them away again, and set them against his breast. + “I was very wrong to suspect you ever; I'm sorry I did; but there's + something else. I don't know how to say what I want to say. But it must be + said.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it something disagreeable?” asked Staniford, lightly. + </p> + <p> + “It's right,” answered Lydia, unsmilingly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, don't say it!” he pleaded; “or don't say it now,—not till + you've forgiven me for the anxiety I've caused you; not till you've + praised me for trying to do what I thought the right thing. You can't + imagine how hard it was for one who hasn't the habit!” + </p> + <p> + “I do praise you for it. There's nothing to forgive <i>you</i>; but I + can't let you care for me unless I know—unless”—She stopped, + and then, “Mr. Staniford,” she began firmly, “since I came here, I've been + learning things that I didn't know before. They have changed the whole + world to me, and it can never be the same again.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry for that; but if they haven't changed you, the world may go.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not if we're to live in it,” answered the girl, with the soberer + wisdom women keep at such times. “It will have to be known how we met. + What will people say? They will laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think they will in my presence,” said Staniford, with swelling + nostrils. “They may use their pleasure elsewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “And I shouldn't care for their laughing, either,” said Lydia. “But oh, + why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Why did I come?” + </p> + <p> + “Was it because you felt bound by anything that's happened, and you + wouldn't let me bear the laugh alone? I'm not afraid for myself. I shall + never blame you. You can go perfectly free.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want to go free!” + </p> + <p> + Lydia looked at him with piercing earnestness. “Do you think I'm proud?” + she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think you are,” said Staniford, vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't for myself that I should be proud with other people. But I would + rather die than bring ridicule upon one I—upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “I can believe that,” said Staniford, devoutly, and patiently reverencing + the delay of her scruples. + </p> + <p> + “And if—and—” Her lips trembled, but she steadied her + trembling voice. “If they laughed at you, and thought of me in a slighting + way because—” Staniford gave a sort of roar of grief and pain to + know how her heart must have been wrung before she could come to this. + “You were all so good that you didn't let me think there was anything + strange about it—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good heavens! We only did what it was our precious and sacred + privilege to do! We were all of one mind about it from the first. But + don't torture yourself about it, my darling. It's over now; it's past—no, + it's present, and it will always be, forever, the dearest and best thing + in life Lydia, do you believe that I love you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I must!” + </p> + <p> + “And don't you believe that I'm telling you the truth when I say that I + wouldn't, for all the world can give or take, change anything that's + been?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do believe you. Oh, I haven't said at all what I wanted to say! + There was a great deal that I ought to say. I can't seem to recollect it.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled to see her grieving at this recreance of her memory to her + conscience. “Well, you shall have a whole lifetime to recall it in.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I must try to speak now. And you must tell me the truth now,—no + matter what it costs either of us.” She laid her hands upon his extended + arms, and grasped them intensely. “There's something else. I want to ask + you what <i>you</i> thought when you found me alone on that ship with all + of you.” If she had stopped at this point, Staniford's cause might have + been lost, but she went on: “I want to know whether you were ever ashamed + of me, or despised me for it; whether you ever felt that because I was + helpless and friendless there, you had the right to think less of me than + if you had first met me here in this house.” + </p> + <p> + It was still a terrible question, but it offered a loop-hole of escape, + which Staniford was swift to seize. Let those who will justify the answer + with which he smiled into her solemn eyes: “I will leave you to say.” A + generous uncandor like this goes as far with a magnanimous and + serious-hearted woman as perhaps anything else. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knew it, I knew it!” cried Lydia. And then, as he caught her to him + at last, “Oh—oh—are you <i>sure</i> it's right?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt of it,” answered Staniford. Nor had he any question of + the strategy through which he had triumphed in this crucial test. He may + have thought that there were always explanations that had to be made + afterwards, or he may have believed that he had expiated in what he had + done and suffered for her any slight which he had felt; possibly, he + considered that she had asked more than she had a right to do. It is + certain that he said with every appearance of sincerity, “It began the + moment I saw you on the wharf, there, and when I came to know my mind I + kept it from you only till I could tell you here. But now I wish I hadn't! + Life is too short for such a week as this.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Lydia, “you acted for the best, and you are—good.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll keep that praise till I've earned it,” answered Staniford. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII. + </h2> + <p> + In the Campo Santi Apostoli at Venice there stands, a little apart from + the church of that name, a chapel which has been for many years the place + of worship for the Lutheran congregation. It was in this church that + Staniford and Lydia were married six weeks later, before the altar under + Titian's beautiful picture of Christ breaking bread. + </p> + <p> + The wedding was private, but it was not quite a family affair. Miss + Hibbard had come down with her mother from Dresden, to complete Dunham's + cure, and she was there with him perfectly recovered; he was not quite + content, of course, that the marriage should not take place in the English + chapel, but he was largely consoled by the candles burning on the altar. + The Aroostook had been delayed by repairs which were found necessary at + Trieste, and Captain Jenness was able to come over and represent the ship + at the wedding ceremony, and at the lunch which followed. He reserved till + the moment of parting a supreme expression of good-will. When he had got a + hand of Lydia's and one of Staniford's in each of his, with his wrists + crossed, he said, “Now, I ain't one to tack round, and stand off and on a + great deal, but what I want to say is just this: the Aroostook sails next + week, and if you two are a mind to go back in her, the ship's yours, as I + said to Miss Blood, here,—I mean Mis' Staniford; well, I <i>hain't</i> + had much time to get used to it!—when she first come aboard there at + Boston. I don't mean any pay; I want you to go back as my guests. You can + use the cabin for your parlor; and I promise you I won't take any other + passengers <i>this</i> time. I declare,” said Captain Jenness, lowering + his voice, and now referring to Hicks for the first time since the day of + his escapade, “I did feel dreadful about that fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind,” replied Staniford. “If it hadn't been for Hicks perhaps + I mightn't have been here.” He exchanged glances with his wife, that + showed they had talked all that matter over. + </p> + <p> + The captain grew confidential. “Mr. Mason told me he saw you lending that + chap money. I hope he didn't give you the slip?” + </p> + <p> + “No; it came to me here at Blumenthals' the other day.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's right! It all worked together for good, as you say. Now you + come!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, my dear?” asked Staniford, on whom the poetic fitness of + the captain's proposal had wrought. + </p> + <p> + Women are never blinded by romance, however much they like it in the + abstract. “It's coming winter. Do you think you wouldn't be seasick?” + returned the bride of an hour, with the practical wisdom of a matron. + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed. “She's right, captain. I'm no sailor. I'll get home by + the all-rail route as far as I can.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Jenness threw back his head, and laughed too. “Good! That's about + it.” And he released their hands, so as to place one hairy paw on a + shoulder of each. “You'll get along together, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “But we're just as much obliged to you as if we went, Captain Jenness. And + tell all the crew that I'm homesick for the Aroostook, and thank all for + being so kind to me; and I thank <i>you</i>, Captain Jenness!” Lydia + looked at her husband, and then startled the captain with a kiss. + </p> + <p> + He blushed all over, but carried it off as boldly as he could. “Well, + well,” he said, “that's right! If you change your minds before the + Aroostook sails, you let me know.” + </p> + <p> + This affair made a great deal of talk in Venice, where the common stock of + leisure is so great that each person may without self-reproach devote a + much larger share of attention to the interests of the others than could + be given elsewhere. The decorous fictions in which Mrs. Erwin draped the + singular facts of the acquaintance and courtship of Lydia and Staniford + were what unfailingly astonished and amused him, and he abetted them + without scruple. He found her worldliness as innocent as the unworldliness + of Lydia, and he gave Mrs. Erwin his hearty sympathy when she ingenuously + owned that the effort to throw dust in the eyes of her European + acquaintance was simply killing her. He found endless refreshment in the + contemplation of her attitude towards her burdensome little world, and in + her reasons for enslaving herself to it. He was very good friends with + both of the Erwins. When he could spare the time from Lydia, he went about + with her uncle in his boat, and respected his skill in rowing it without + falling overboard. He could not see why any one should be so much + interested in the American character and dialect as Mr. Erwin was; but he + did not object, and he reflected that after all they were not what their + admirer supposed them. + </p> + <p> + The Erwins came with the Stanifords as far as Paris on their way home, and + afterwards joined them in California, where Staniford bought a ranch, and + found occupation if not profit in its management. Once cut loose from her + European ties, Mrs. Erwin experienced an incomparable repose and comfort + in the life of San Francisco; it was, she declared, the life for which she + had really been adapted, after all; and in the climate of Santa Barbara + she found all that she had left in Italy. In that land of strange and + surprising forms of every sort, her husband has been very happy in the + realization of an America surpassing even his wildest dreams, and he has + richly stored his note-book with philological curiosities. He hears around + him the vigorous and imaginative locutions of the Pike language, in which, + like the late Canon Kingsley, he finds a Scandinavian hugeness; and + pending the publication of his Hand-Book of Americanisms, he is in + confident search of the miner who uses his pronouns cockney-wise. Like + other English observers, friendly and unfriendly, he does not permit the + facts to interfere with his preconceptions. + </p> + <p> + Staniford's choice long remained a mystery to his acquaintances, and was + but partially explained by Mrs. Dunham, when she came home. “Why, I + suppose he fell in love with her,” she said. “Of course, thrown together + that way, as they were, for six weeks, it might have happened to anybody; + but James Staniford was always the most consummate flirt that breathed; + and he never could see a woman, without coming up, in that metaphysical + way of his, and trying to interest her in him. He was always laughing at + women, but there never was a man who cared more for them. From all that I + could learn from Charles, he began by making fun of her, and all at once + he became perfectly infatuated with her. I don't see why. I never could + get Charles to tell me anything remarkable that she said or did. She was + simply a country girl, with country ideas, and no sort of cultivation. + Why, there was <i>nothing</i> to her. He's done the wisest thing he could + by taking her out to California. She never would have gone down, here. I + suppose James Staniford knew that as well as any of us; and if he finds it + worth while to bury himself with her there, we've no reason to complain. + She did <i>sing</i>, wonderfully; that is, her voice was perfectly divine. + But of course that's all over, now. She didn't seem to care much for it; + and she really knew so little of life that I don't believe she could form + the idea of an artistic career, or feel that it was any sacrifice to give + it up. James Staniford was not worth any such sacrifice; but she couldn't + know that either. She was good, I suppose. She was very stiff, and she + hadn't a word to say for herself. I think she was cold. To be sure, she + was a beauty; I really never saw anything like it,—that pale + complexion some brunettes have, with her hair growing low, and such eyes + and lashes!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the beauty had something to do with his falling in love with + her,” suggested a listener. The ladies present tried to look as if this + ought not to be sufficient. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very likely,” said Mrs. Dunham. She added, with an air of being the + wreck of her former self, “But we all know what becomes of <i>beauty</i> + after marriage.” + </p> + <p> + The mind of Lydia's friends had been expressed in regard to her marriage, + when the Stanifords, upon their arrival home from Europe, paid a visit to + South Bradfield. It was in the depths of the winter following their union, + and the hill country, stern and wild even in midsummer, wore an aspect of + savage desolation. It was sheeted in heavy snow, through which here and + there in the pastures, a craggy bowlder lifted its face and frowned, and + along the woods the stunted pines and hemlocks blackened against a + background of leafless oaks and birches. A northwest wind cut shrill + across the white wastes, and from the crests of the billowed drifts drove + a scud of stinging particles in their faces, while the sun, as high as + that of Italy, coldly blazed from a cloudless blue sky. Ezra Perkins, + perched on the seat before them, stiff and silent as if he were frozen + there, drove them from Bradfield Junction to South Bradfield in the long + wagon-body set on bob-sleds, with which he replaced his Concord coach in + winter. At the station he had sparingly greeted Lydia, as if she were just + back from Greenfield, and in the interest of personal independence had + ignored a faint motion of hers to shake hands; at her grandfather's gate, + he set his passengers down without a word, and drove away, leaving + Staniford to get in his trunk as he might. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I declare,” said Miss Maria, who had taken one end of the trunk in + spite of him, and was leading the way up through the path cleanly blocked + out of the snow, “that Ezra Perkins is enough to make you wish he'd <i>stayed</i> + in Dakoty!” + </p> + <p> + Staniford laughed, as he had laughed at everything on the way from the + station, and had probably thus wounded Ezra Perkins's susceptibilities. + The village houses, separated so widely by the one long street, each with + its path neatly tunneled from the roadway to the gate; the meeting-house, + so much vaster than the present needs of worship, and looking blue-cold + with its never-renewed single coat of white paint; the graveyard set in + the midst of the village, and showing, after Ezra Perkins's disappearance, + as many signs of life as any other locality, realized in the most + satisfactory degree his theories of what winter must be in such a place as + South Bradfield. The burning smell of the sheet-iron stove in the parlor, + with its battlemented top of filigree iron work; the grimness of the + horsehair-covered best furniture; the care with which the old-fashioned + fire-places had been walled up, and all accessible character of the period + to which the house belonged had been effaced, gave him an equal pleasure. + He went about with his arm round Lydia's waist, examining these things, + and yielding to the joy they caused him, when they were alone. “Oh, my + darling,” he said, in one of these accesses of delight, “when I think that + it's my privilege to take you away from all this, I begin to feel not so + very unworthy, after all.” + </p> + <p> + But he was very polite, as Miss Maria owned, when Mr. and Mrs. Goodlow + came in during the evening, with two or three unmarried ladies of the + village, and he kept them from falling into the frozen silence which + habitually expresses social enjoyment in South Bradfield when strangers + are present. He talked about the prospects of Italian advancement to an + equal state of intellectual and moral perfection with rural New England, + while Mr. Goodlow listened, rocking himself back and forth in the + hair-cloth arm-chair. Deacon Latham, passing his hand continually along + the stove battlements, now and then let his fingers rest on the sheet-iron + till he burnt them, and then jerked them suddenly away, to put them, back + the next moment, in his absorbing interest. Miss Maria, amidst a murmur of + admiration from the ladies, passed sponge-cake and coffee: she confessed + afterwards that the evening had been so brilliant to her as to seem almost + wicked; and the other ladies, who owned to having lain awake all night on + her coffee, said that if they <i>had</i> enjoyed themselves they were + properly punished for it. + </p> + <p> + When they were gone, and Lydia and Staniford had said good-night, and Miss + Maria, coming in from the kitchen with a hand-lamp for her father, + approached the marble-topped centre-table to blow out the large lamp of + pea-green glass with red woollen wick, which had shed the full radiance of + a sun-burner upon the festival, she faltered at a manifest unreadiness in + the old man to go to bed, though the fire was low, and they had both + resumed the drooping carriage of people in going about cold houses. He + looked excited, and, so far as his unpracticed visage could intimate the + emotion, joyous. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there, Maria!” he said. “You can't say but what he's a master-hand + to converse, any way. I'd know as I ever see Mr. Goodlow more struck up + with any one. He looked as if every word done him good; I presume it put + him in mind of meetin's with brother ministers: I don't suppose but what + he misses it some, here. You can't say but what he's a fine appearin' + young man. I d'know as I see anything wrong in his kind of dressin' up to + the nines, as you may say. As long's he's got the money, I don't see what + harm it is. It's all worked for good, Lyddy's going out that way; though + it did seem a mysterious providence at the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” began Miss Maria. She paused, as if she had been hurried too far + by her feelings, and ought to give them a check before proceeding. “Well, + I don't presume you'd notice it, but she's got a spot on her silk, so't a + whole breadth's got to come out, and be let in again bottom side up. I + guess there's a pair of 'em, for carelessness.” She waited a moment before + continuing: “I d'know as I like to see a husband puttin' his arm round his + wife, even when he don't suppose any one's lookin'; but I d'know but what + it's natural, too. But it's one comfort to see't she ain't the least mite + silly about <i>him</i>. He's dreadful freckled.” Miss Maria again paused + thoughtfully, while her father burnt his fingers on the stove for the last + time, and took them definitively away. “I don't say but what he talked + well enough, as far forth as talkin' <i>goes</i>; Mr. Goodlow said at the + door't he didn't know's he ever passed <i>many</i> such evenin's since + he'd been in South Bradfield, and I d'know as <i>I</i> have. I presume he + has his faults; we ain't any of us perfect; but he <i>does</i> seem + terribly wrapped up in Lyddy. I don't say but what he'll make her a good + husband, if she must <i>have</i> one. I don't suppose but what people + might think, as you may say, 't she'd made out pretty well; and if Lyddy's + suited, I d'know as anybody else has got any call to be over particular.” + </p> + <h3> + THE END. + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Lady of the Aroostook, by William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY OF THE AROOSTOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 7797-h.htm or 7797-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/7/9/7797/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, Earle Beach, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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