WAITING.
Julia sat alone that evening in an elegantly, and, for that day,
luxuriously furnished room, around which she had many times glanced,
and in which her own hands had several times arranged and re-arranged
the various articles. There was a bed in the room, which was large
and airy, a vase filled with wild and hot-house flowers; yet it was
evidently not a lady's room, and unoccupied save at this moment by the
fair Julia, who with an abundance of color in her cheeks and lips, and
a liquid light in her eyes, was nevertheless pensive and seemingly not
quite at ease. She held two letters in her hands, which she many times
re-read. They ran as follows:
"CHARDON, Wednesday P.M.
"_My Dear Wife_:--Barton reached here on Monday P.M. I did not think
it best to call upon him, and did not see him till yesterday morning
in the court room, when, without looking me in the face save for a
second, he bowed to me. He had so changed that I did not at first
recognize him, and did not acknowledge his bow as I would. Later,
when his case was called and he came to make a remark to the court, he
looked me in the eye, calmly and steadily, and I thought I could see
in his face regret, the shadow of suffering, and a very kindly, but
sad expression, which seemed almost like a revelation.
"He is much changed and improved. The old boyish recklessness and dash
is gone. His face is thinner, has much character, and is disfigured,
as I think, with a moustache, which gives him the look of a foreigner.
He is, of course, well dressed, and has the quiet, high-bred air of a
thorough gentleman.
"Judge Humphrey is immensely taken with him, and he has so far managed
his case admirably, and like an experienced lawyer. We cannot keep our
eyes from him, but watch every word and movement with great interest.
Though Wade and Ford are with him, he tries the case alone, thus far.
"I shall see him--if he will see me--as of course he will, the moment
he is free from his case.
"Of course you will show this to Julia.
"Ever yours, EDWARD."
"CHARDON, Thursday P.M.
"_My Dear Wife:_--I cannot in sober language express my astonishment
and admiration for Barton's masterly speech this forenoon. As much
as I expected from him, I was completely taken by surprise. Judge
Humphrey is unbounded in his praises of him; but I will tell you about
all this when I return.
"At the recess, among others I went to congratulate him, which was
the second time I had been where I could give him my hand. He held out
both of his, and seemed unable to speak. As soon as he could extricate
himself from the ovation, he went with me to Judge Humphrey, who took
him to dine with us. His conversation at the dinner table was more
brilliant than his speech. He ate nothing but a little honey, and
drank a glass of milk. I confess I was a little alarmed at some of his
sallies.
"On our way back to court, I observed he began to grow serious, and
I arranged to see him as soon as his case was at an end. The jury
returned a verdict for Cole, on the coming in after dinner, and that
case, thanks to Bart, is finally ended.
"After this, I left the bench and was joined by Bart. It was difficult
for him to escape from the crowd who followed him out; when he did,
he joined me, and we walked off down the hill toward Newbury. Bart was
evidently depressed. The re-action had come; the great strain of the
last three days was removed, and the poor boy was sad and melancholy.
"We went on in silence, I not knowing just how to commence.
"' Judge Markham,' said he, turning frankly to me, 'you know I am a
born fool, and just now I feel like breaking entirely down, and crying
like a woman. For these last four years I have lived utterly alone,
confiding nothing to any one, and I am too weak to go so, always.'
"Oh, how I wished you had been there, with your sweet woman's heart,
and voice, and tact.
"'My dear boy,' said I, 'if there is anything in the wide world that I
can say and do_ only let me know what it is. I am more anxious to help
you, than you are to be helped, if I only may.'
"'I don't know how I ought to meet you, Judge Markham. You wrote me a
manly letter, full of kindness, and I answered--God knows what--I was
so wretched.'
"'I could not blame you,'I said, 'I am much in fault towards you, but
it was from my not knowing you. I regret it very much.'
"'I don't know,' he answered, 'that you should say that to me. I feel
sorry and hurt that anybody should make apologies to me. Why should
you have known me"? I did not not know myself, and don't now. I know I
can not hate or even dislike anybody, and I always liked you, and I do
now.'
"'Barton,' said I, 'God bless you! you never can have cause of
complaint against me or mine again: only give us your confidence, and
trust us.'
"'I am sure you are very kind,' said he, 'and it is very pleasant
to hear it said. I want to see Mrs. Markham, and in some way say how
grateful I am for her kind expressions towards me, and she and--and
you all, have been very kind to my poor dear mother for the past
year.'
"'You would not let us be kind to you,' said I.
"'No. How could I?' he answered.
"'I don't know,'said I. 'I only hope now that there may be no more
misunderstandings; that you will now let us--will give Julia an
opportunity, at least to express her gratitude to you, and that we may
all unite in so doing.'
"He was silent a moment, and then went on as if thinking aloud:
"'Julia! Good Heavens! how can I ever meet her!--Pardon me; I mean
Miss Markham. I shall certainly call upon the ladies at a very early
day,' he said, coldly. 'The fact is, Judge Markham,' continued he, 'I
have been under a little strain, and I am not used to it. I come back
here near home, and see so many old Newbury people, who make me forget
how they used to dislike me, and all the old, and all the more recent
things, come back upon me so strongly, and I find I am as weak and
boyish and foolish as ever.'
"He did not say much more--he finally asked about you, and after much
hesitation, about Julia. It is so easy to see that his heart is full
of her, that I could not help feeling almost wretched for him. I then
asked him when he was going to Newbury. He thought of going to-morrow
in the stage, but said some parties wanted to see him Friday evening.
He has finally consented to wait and ride down with us on Saturday,
after the term closes.
"Now, my dear wife, come and bring Julia, if you think it best. I
confess I wish that they might meet at an early day--but be governed
by your better judgment in this--and you will show her this letter of
course.
"Ever, with love and kisses to you both,
EDWARD."
"Mother," she said afterwards, "let me suggest that you send up a
carriage to-morrow evening, which Papa Judge may take as an invitation
to come early on Saturday morning. If Mr. Ridgeley sees me, had he not
better find me in my mother's and father's house?"
"_If_ he sees you, Julia?"
"Of course if he wishes to, he will."
And she was not conversational, and wandered about, and if possible
would have been a little pettish.
"Are you not glad, Julia, that he has acquitted himself so well? He
seems to have carried the Court and jury and all by storm."
"Of course he did. Does that surprise you? But it is all so stupid,
staying there to try that pokey old case."
"Julia, what under the sun is the matter?" looking at her in
surprise.
The girl turned and knelt by her mother, and laid her face down in her
lap, and burst into violent sobbings.
On the morrow Julia arose, sweet and composed, with the old light in
her eyes, and her wonted color coming and going with the mysterious
emotions within. She was almost gay and joyous at breakfast, and then
grew fitful and restless, and then became pensive again.
The day was a marvel of the forward spring, and the sun filled the
whole heavens with its wondrous light. The blue bird called down in
his flight, with his trill of gladness, and the robins flooded the
leafless trees and the lawn with gushes of purest melody. Julia could
not remain in the house; she could not remain anywhere; and as the
morning deepened, she took a sudden resolution and ordered Prince to
be saddled at once.
"Mother," said she, "I have the whole of this long, long day. I must
gallop off through the woods, around to Wilder's. I haven't been there
since last fall; and then I will come around by Mrs. Ridgeley's and
tell her, and so home. Don't gay a word, mother; I must go. I cannot
stay here. I'll be back in good time."
So mounting Prince she bounded off. When she felt herself going with
the springy, elastic leap of her splendid steed, she thought she
had found what she most wanted--to go to that little blessed nook of
shelter and repose under the rocks by the running stream, in the
sun. Something seemed to call her, and the day, the rapid motion, the
exhilaration of the atmosphere, as she dashed through it, softened her
excitement, and a calm, elevated, half-religious extasy possessed her;
and the sky and air, and brown, desolate earth, just warming with the
April sun, all glowed with hope. How near to her seemed Heaven and
all holy, sweet influences; and the centre of it all was one radiant,
beautiful face, looking with sad, wistful eyes to her for love and
life which she so wanted to give. She felt and knew that to this
one in some way, she would be fully revealed, and misconception and
absence and doubt would vanish. She should meet him, but just how he
would look, or what he would say, or how she should or could answer
him, she could not shadow out, and would not try. All that, she was
sure, would take care of itself, and he would know and understand her
finally.
Prince seemed fully to appreciate the day, and to be inspired with
its subtle and exhilarating elixir; but after a mile or two of
over-spirit, he sobered down into his long, easy, springy, untiring
gallop. They passed the fields and went along the hard and dry
highway, till she reached the diverging trail that struck off through
the woods toward the settlement on the other side, the nearest house
of which was Wilder's.
On she went among the trees, past recently deserted sugar camps, away
from human habitations, into and through the heart of the forest,
joyous and glad in her beauty and young life and hope, and happy
thoughts; and finally she came to the creek; here she drew up her
still fresh horse, and rode slowly through its clear, rapid waters,
and turned down on its other bank. How glad it seemed, gurgling and
rippling, and swirling, with liquid music and motion! Slowly she rode
down and with a half timid feeling, as somehow doubting if she would
not return. But it was all silent and quiet; the sunshine and the
voice of the stream seemed to re-assure her, and the strange feeling
passed away, as she entered the little nook so dear to her memory.
How silent and empty it was, in the rich, bright light of the
mid-forenoon! She dismounted, and taking her skirt upon her arm, was
about to step under the rude shed, with the thought of the birds who
had reared their young there the year before, when Prince lifted his
head with a forward movement of his ears, and turning her eyes down
the stream, they fell upon Barton, who had just passed around the
lower angle of the rocks, and paused in speechless surprise, within a
few feet of her.
With a little cry of joy, she threw out her hands and sprang towards
him. Her forgotten skirt tripped her, and she would have fallen, but
the quick arms of Barton were about her, and for an exquisite moment
she abandoned herself fully to him.
"Oh, Arthur, you have come to me!"
Their lips found each other, the great mass of dark brown hair almost
overflowed the light brown curls, and their glad tears mingled.
"Julia! I am alive--awake! and you are in my arms! Your kiss has been
on my lips! You love me!"
"With my whole heart and soul!"
"Oh, how blessed to die at this moment!" murmured Bart.
"Would it not be more blessed to live, love?" she whispered.
"And you have always loved me?"
"Always--there--there!" with a touch of her lips at each word.
"I thought--"
"I know you did. You shall never, never think again--there!"
She withdrew from his arms, and adjusted her skirt, and stood by him
in her wondrous beauty, radiant with the great happiness that filled
her heart.
Barton was still confused, and looked with eyes wide open with
amazement, partly at seeing her at all, partly at her marvellous
beauty, which to him was seraphic, and more and most of all, at the
revelation of her great love.
"Oh Julia! How was this? how is this--this coming of Heaven to me;
this marvel of your love?"
"Did you really think, Arthur, that I had no eyes; that I had no ears;
that I had no woman's heart? How could you think so meanly of me, and
so meanly of yourself?"
"But you so scorned me."
"Hush! that was your word: it was not true; you were even then in my
foolish girl's heart. Don't speak of that to me now; surely you must
have known that that was all a mistake."
"And you always loved me? How wonderful that we should meet here and
to-day!" he said, unable to take his eyes from her.
"You know the place and remember the day? Is it more marvellous, than
that we should have been here before? I never knew how you found me
then, and I am as much puzzled about your being here now. Father wrote
us that you would come down with him to-morrow."
"Tell me how _you_ come to be here, to-day, of all the things in the
world?" said Bart.
"Am I to tell first? Well, you see, I wanted to see Mrs. Wilder and
Rose; I have not been to their house since last fall, and so, having
nothing else to do, I rode over, and just thought we would come down
here--didn't we, Prince?"
"And so you call him Prince?" said Bart, who had recognized the horse.
"Yes, and I will sometime tell you why, if you will tell me how you
came here to-day."
"I came on purpose, because I wanted to. Because you had hallowed the
place, I knew that I should find your haunting presence in it. Oh,
when that case was over, and I got out, all the old dreams, and
visions, and memories, and voices came to me. And your face never
absent, not with the old look of scorn that it seemed to wear, but
sweet, and half reproachful, haunted me, and made me half believe
what poor Henry's smitten love said to me of you, when I told her my
story."
"Bless her," murmured Julia.
"And I walked, and mused, and dreamed all the night; and this morning
I sent your kind, good father a note, and came off. I came as directly
here as I could, and now indeed I believe God sent me."
His arm was about her, and he held both her hands. The frank
confession, so sweet to her, had its immediate reward from her lips.
"Arthur," she said, "I, too, came to see this place, with its sweet
and sacred memories. I have been here three times before. You may know
every thought and feeling of my heart. I could not have got through
the day without coming: and how blessed I am for coming. Do you
remember, when you had done all you could for my rest and comfort,
how, on that awful yet precious night, you asked me if I had said a
prayer, and I asked you to pray? Do you know that my mother and I both
believe that that prayer was answered, and that she was impressed
with my safety in answer to it? Oh, how grateful to our Father for his
goodness to us we should be. Arthur, can you thank Him for us, now?"
And they knelt in the forest solitude, with God and his blessed sun
and blue sky, and their two young, pure, loving hearts joined in a
fervent outpouring of gratitude.
"Our Father, for the precious and blessed revelation of our hearts,
each to the other, we thank Thee. Let this love be as pure, and
sacred, and holy, and eternal, as we now feel it to be. Grant, dear
Father, that it may be sanctified by holy marriage; and that through
Thy gracious providence, this union of hearts and souls may ever
be ours. Hear us, thy young, helpless, yet trusting, believing, and
loving children."
And she: "Sweet and blessed Saviour; let Thy precious love and
presence be also about us, to keep us, help us, and bless us; and
Father, let the maiden's voice also join in the prayer that Thou wilt
bless us, as one."
They arose, and turned to each other, with sweet, calm, restful, happy
faces; with souls full of trust and confidence, that was to know no
change or diminution.