MISJUDGED
WE gained the house without encountering anybody. Agneta went upstairs
at once, while I hastened to get her a cup of tea. Entering the
dining-room, I found Alan Faulkner seated there taking tea in solitude.
I started at seeing him, and a hot tide of colour rose in my face.
I would have given anything not to have blushed at that moment. The
belief that my access of colour would be interpreted as a symptom of
inward shame heightened my confusion till I felt that I was crimson to
the roots of my hair.
"Oh," I said stupidly, "are you having tea alone?"
"Yes," he said. "Jenny insisted on bringing me some. She said all the
others were out."
"I hope she made it properly," I said.
"It is very nice," he replied. "Let me give you some?"
"No, thank you, I will not have any just now," I responded awkwardly;
"but I will take a cup for Agneta. She has a headache."
I began to prepare a little tray to carry upstairs, and he helped me
deftly. It had been a surprise to me to discover that such a learned
man could be so handy and practical in everyday matters.
I went upstairs and remained with Agneta until she had taken her tea.
I expected that Mr. Faulkner would have quitted the dining-room ere my
return, but when I came back with the tray, he was still there, doing
nothing more profitable than playing with Sweep.
"I poured out a cup for you, Miss Nan," he said as I entered. "I know
you do not like strong tea, but now I am afraid you will find it cold.
Let me ring for some fresh tea?"
"This will do nicely, thank you," I said constrainedly as I seated
myself at the table.
He had moved to the window, and sat there in such a position that I
only caught a side view of him. Sweep's forepaws were on his knee, and
he was stroking the dog's ears with a regular, even movement, which
appeared to be equally agreeable to them both.
"Why could he not go away and leave me to take my tea in peace?" I
thought, as I waited nervously for him to speak. I tried hard to appear
at my ease as I sipped my tea, but I was far from being so. I longed to
break into careless talk, but somehow I could think of nothing to say.
Gradually I became aware that he was scarcely less embarrassed than I
was. Once or twice, he shot a grave, inquiring glance at me, and seemed
about to speak, but nothing came of it. When at last he spoke, his
words gave me a shock.
"That was Mr. Ralph Marshman whom I saw with you in the wood, Miss Nan."
"It was," was all I could say, while, to my vexation, I felt myself
flushing again.
"He was at Cambridge with me," he said.
"You know him then?" was my reply.
"My acquaintance with him was of the slightest description," he replied
emphatically. "He was in his first year, and I had finished my college
course."
I was silent, for I felt myself in a dilemma. For Agneta's sake I
should have liked to question him concerning Mr. Ralph Marshman; but if
I did so he would imagine that I took a personal interest in the young
man. Indeed, I much feared that already that idea had possession of his
mind. I longed to explain the true state of affairs, but I could not
betray Agneta's secret. I was bound to keep silence, but I realised
with a sinking heart that my promise was likely to cost me dear.
An awkward silence had lasted for some minutes, when Alan Faulkner said
in a low, deep voice, that seemed to vibrate with some subtle emotion:
"I wonder, Miss Nan, if I dare take the privilege of a friend, and
venture to give you a warning."
"Of course, I shall be happy for you to speak to me as a friend," I
said, as he waited for me to reply; "but you are mistaken in supposing
that I need a warning."
"Ah, you do not know," he said quickly; "you are young, Miss Nan, and
may be easily deceived by a specious manner and good appearance. I
hate to speak against people. It seems mean to rake up the errors of a
man's past. If I thought he had reformed, I would not say a word; but
as it is, I think you ought to know that while I was at the University
Ralph Marshman made himself notorious by a course of conduct which
resulted in his being sent down. I—I hardly know how to tell you, but
it was something more than a mad escapade, the outcome of youthful
riot; he acted in a way that showed him to be utterly unprincipled and
dishonourable to a degree. Forgive me if I give you pain."
Of course, he said it with the kindest intention; but his thus taking
it for granted that I was so deeply interested in Ralph Marshman made
me unreasonably angry. His words certainly caused my heart to quiver
with pain; but in a way that he could not understand. At the same time
they kindled within me such a fire of passionate indignation as led me
to exclaim, in a voice unlike my own: "Pain! How can you give me pain,
Mr. Faulkner? I can assure you that is beyond your power; but it amazes
me that you should thus misjudge another."
I paused, for my voice had grown husky. I found myself on the point
of bursting into tears. Alan Faulkner had turned on the window seat,
and was looking at me with eyes full of pain, and with something of
reproach in them too, it seemed to me. The next moment there was the
sound of wheels on the gravel outside, and the wagonette drove up to
the door containing Aunt Patty, Mr. Dicks, and innumerable parcels.
Instantly I sprang up, welcoming the diversion. Choking down my
emotion, I ran out. As I busied myself in helping aunt out and
collecting the parcels, I assumed an animation at which I secretly
marvelled. Was I too becoming an adept at dissimulation? As I chattered
away to Mr. Dicks, or questioned aunt as to what she had done, my heart
was like lead, yet it seemed to me that I played my part well. I did
not deceive Aunt Patty, however. She looked at me more than once with
an intentness that made me uncomfortable, and at last she said:
"What is the matter with you, Nan? You don't seem yourself somehow.
Have you been ministering to Agneta, till you have got a headache from
force of sympathy?"
"Not exactly," I replied, thankful that Mr. Faulkner had taken himself
off ere aunt made this remark: "but the weather is trying, don't you
think? It seems so hot and oppressive this afternoon."
"I have not found it so," said Aunt Patty; "there was a nice breeze
driving."
"If you'd lived in New York, Miss Nan, I guess you wouldn't call this a
hot day," said Josiah Dicks; "I wonder what Pollie would say to it. Do
you know that she is sitting up to-day? I saw her, bless her heart! And
she waved her hand to her old dad from the window."
"Yes, I know. Auntie told me. I am so glad," I said, trying hard to
seem glad, while I secretly felt as if gladness and I had parted
company for ever. Then I went away. My bedroom, unfortunately, was no
longer a place of refuge for me, so I turned into Paulina's deserted
room, which had been thoroughly disinfected after she quitted it. I sat
down, and tried to review the situation calmly; but my thoughts were
like goads, and soon drove me to pacing the floor in a restless anguish
which sought relief in movement. I was angry with Alan Faulkner and
angry with myself. What right had he to leap to the conclusion that
I was attracted by Ralph Marshman? It was intolerable that he should
imagine him to be my lover. My face burned with shame as I thought of
it, and I reproached myself bitterly for the ill-considered action
which had placed me in such a false position. That he should think it
necessary to warn me that the man was unworthy!
My mind found no relief as I recalled all that had passed between us.
I had said not a word that could remove the impression which he had
received. Now that it was too late, I thought of many a neatly-turned,
significant phrase which might have convinced him of his mistake
without revealing my cousin's folly. Why had I dumbly submitted to the
imputation? Why had the few words I had uttered been so passionately
incoherent? Ah! I knew but too well how it was. The discovery that he
had so misunderstood me dealt me a blow which deprived me of the power
to defend myself. No one's good opinion would I less willingly lose
than that of Alan Faulkner. And I had lost it—lost it, as I feared, for
ever, through my own blind folly!
The sound of the dressing-bell roused me from my bitter musings.
Wearily, heavily I went to prepare for dinner. It is no exaggeration
to say that I felt at that hour as if I could never know happiness, or
even comfort, again.
Agneta was already dressed when I entered our room. Her face was
flushed. She looked pretty and excited. Her mood too had changed. She
persisted in discussing all kinds of trifles with me as I made my
toilette, till in my irritation I could hardly refrain from bidding her
hold her tongue. And this was the girl who had seemed broken-hearted
a little while before! I reflected that she could have no depth of
character. Her tears had arisen from mere surface emotion. She could
not really care greatly for Ralph Marshman. And it was for the sake of
such a one that I was stung with sharpest self-reproach and suffered
such a cruel sense of loss. I was far from loving my cousin as I
followed her downstairs that evening.
My head ached, and I had little appetite as I seated myself at the
table. I saw aunt glance at me and then at Agneta, who had quite
regained her spirits, and was chatting with Colonel Hyde. When I
ventured to turn my eyes on Alan Faulkner it struck me that he looked
grave and stern. Beyond making a few remarks to Aunt Patty in a subdued
tone, he contributed little to the conversation. Once I caught a
searching glance from him, beneath which my eyes sank involuntarily.
The next moment an indignant sense of the injustice of his judgment
rallied my spirit. Why should I be ashamed, when I had no true cause
for shame? If I had acted unwisely in meeting Ralph Marshman in the
wood, my intention had been good. I had done nothing that I should fear
to confess to mother. Oh, how I longed for the time when I could tell
her all about it!
With that I lifted my head, and, making a desperate effort to appear
lighthearted, I began to talk with Mr. Dicks. A strange mood took
possession of me, and I laughed and talked with a flippancy of which I
was afterwards heartily ashamed. My liveliness outran Agneta's. I said
such foolish things that aunt looked at me in astonishment. I believe
she thought I had caught Paulina's fever. I could not have acted more
foolishly. I was taking the best means of confirming the ill opinion of
me I believed Alan Faulkner had formed. The cloud on his brow darkened.
He appeared to pay little heed to what was passing about him, yet
instinct told me that he heard every word I uttered. When dessert was
placed on the table, he asked Aunt Patty to excuse him, as he had some
work he wanted to finish. He went away, and the burden of despondency
settled again upon my spirit, more intense than before.
I had never been so wretched as I was that night. I was entangled
in a mesh of adverse circumstances from which I was powerless to
extricate myself. I lay down feeling sure that there could be little
sleep for me. Throughout the hours of the night the same poignant
thoughts tortured me. Yet I was not without hope. Surely the morrow
must bring relief. I determined to make an effort to right myself in
Alan Faulkner's estimation. He had, I knew, accepted Mrs. Canfield's
invitation to her garden party. During the hours we should spend in
those beautiful grounds, I could hope to find an opportunity of saying
a few quiet words to Alan Faulkner, which, without compromising Agneta
would convince him that Ralph Marshman was no friend of mine.
Round this idea my thoughts finally gathered as the weary night passed
away. Agneta's restless movements made me doubt if she were sleeping
much more than I, but I never addressed a word to her. I found it hard
to forgive her for the mischief she had wrought.
Day was dawning ere the first gleam of true comfort visited my soul.
It came with a memory of Holy Writ. "If our heart condemn us, God
is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things." My heart did
condemn me for folly and mistake, but not for the moral ugliness
and dissimulation which I believed were imputed to me. And God knew
all things! However others might misjudge me, there was perfect
comprehension, perfect justice for me with Him. Why had I not carried
my sense of wrong to Him, instead of resenting my injury with weapons
of pride and indignation which had only recoiled against myself? I had
longed for the comfort of mother's sympathy, and all the while there
was a stronger, mightier Love, a Love which knew those hidden recesses
of my heart that I could hardly have laid bare even to her, and the
arms of that love were outstretched to draw me near! Weak, helpless,
crying like a child, I crept into the embrace of that love, and found
rest. As the birds began to chirp beneath the eaves I fell asleep.
When I came into the breakfast-room the next morning, rather later than
usual, Mr. Dicks cheerily congratulated me on its being such a fine day
for the garden party.
"It is just the kind of weather you young ladies like," he said; "fine
and warm enough for you to wear your muslins and laces without a fear.
How my Pollie would have enjoyed it! However, she will enjoy going to
the seaside before long, if all goes well. The doctor says he will soon
give us permission to shift our quarters."
I hardly know how I replied to him, for at the same moment there fell
on my ears the voice of Alan Faulkner saying to Aunt Patty in clear,
incisive tones:
"I must write a note to Mrs. Canfield, and beg her to excuse me this
afternoon. I am obliged to go to town to-day on important business."
"Oh, what a pity!" Aunt Patty exclaimed, with genuine regret in her
tones. "Mrs. Canfield will be so disappointed."
"I think not," he said with a shake of the head. "Out of a hundred
guests she can surely spare one."
"That may be, but not such a one," was aunt's reply. "I know that both
she and the Squire were looking forward to seeing you."
Alan Faulkner smiled incredulously. For a learned professor, he was
wonderfully deficient in a sense of his own importance.
"Is there no help for it?" aunt asked.
"None," he replied. "I must go, and by the first train, too."
My heart sank within me as I realised that the hope to which I
had clung during the wakeful hours of the night was doomed to
disappointment. Not yet was I to be reinstated in the estimation of my
friend. Unconsciously I had cherished many pleasurable anticipations of
the day's festivity. Now I shrank from the thought of it, but I little
foresaw how different from my preconceptions everything would be.