THREE WEEKS TOO LATE.
_Qui va à la chasse perd sa place_.
_De la main à la bouche se perd souvent la soupe_.
Distance all value enhances!
When a man's busy, why, leisure
Strikes him as wonderful pleasure.
Faith! and at leisure once is he,
Straightway he wants to be busy.
_R. Browning_.
Two weeks more passed: two weeks that seem to me so many years when I
look back upon them. Many more walks, early and late, many evenings of
music, many accidents of meeting. It is all like a dream. At seventeen
it is so easy to dream! It does not take two weeks for a girl to fall in
love and make her whole life different.
It was Saturday evening, and Richard was expected; Richard and Kilian
and Mr. Eugene Whitney. Ah, Richard was coming just three weeks
too late.
We were all waiting on the piazza for them, in pretty toilettes and
excellent tempers. It was a lovely evening; the sunset was filling the
sky with splendor, and Charlotte and Henrietta had gone to the corner of
the piazza whence the river could be seen, and were murmuring fragments
of verses to each other. They were not so much absorbed, however, but
that they heard the first sound of the wheels inside the gate, and
hurried back to join us by the steps.
Mary Leighton looked absolutely lovely. The blue organdie had seen the
day at last, and she was in such a flutter of delight at the coming of
the gentlemen that she could scarcely be recognized as the pale, flimsy
young person who had moped so unblushingly all the week.
"They are all three there," she exclaimed with suppressed rapture, as
the carriage turned the angle of the road that brought them into sight.
Mrs. Hollenbeck, quite beaming with pleasure, ran down the steps (for
Richard had been away almost two months), and Mary Leighton was at her
side, of course. Charlotte Benson and Henrietta went half-way down the
steps, and I stood on the piazza by the pillar near the door.
I was a little excited by their coming, too, but not nearly as much so
as I might have been three weeks ago. A subject of much greater interest
occupied my mind that very moment, and related to the chances of the
tutor's getting home in time for tea, from one of those long walks that
were so tiresome. I felt as if I hardly needed Richard now. Still, dear
old Richard! It was very nice to see him once again.
The gentlemen all sprang out of the carriage, and a Babel of welcomes
and questions and exclamations arose. Richard kissed his sister, and
answered some of her many questions, then shook hands with the young
ladies, but I could see that his eye was searching for me. I can't tell
why, certainly not because I felt at all shy, I had stepped back, a
little behind the pillar and the vines. In an instant he saw me, and
came quickly up the steps, and stood by me and grasped my hand, and
looked exactly as if he meant to kiss me. I hoped that nobody saw his
look, and I drew back, a little frightened. Of course, I know that he
had not the least intention of kissing me, but his look was so eager and
so unusual,
"It is two months, Pauline," he said; "and are you well?" And though I
only said that I was well and was very glad to see him, I am sure his
sister Sophie thought that it was something more, for she had followed
him up the steps and stood in the doorway looking at us.
The others came up there, and Kilian, as soon as he could get out of the
meshes of the blue organdie, came to me, and tried to out-devotion
Richard.
That is the way with men. He had not taken any trouble to get away from
Mary Leighton till Richard came.
A young woman only needs one lover very much in earnest, to bring about
her several others, not so much, perhaps, in earnest, but very amusing
and instructive. Richard went away very quickly, for I am sure he did
not like that sort of thing.
It was soon necessary for Mr. Kilian to suspend his devotion and go to
his room to get ready for tea.
When we all assembled again, at the table, I found that he had placed
himself beside me, next his sister, little Benny having gone to bed.
"Of course, the head of the table belongs to Richard; I never interfere
there, and as everybody else is placed, this is the only seat that I can
take, following the rose and thorn principle."
"But that principle is not followed strictly," cried Charlotte Benson,
who sat by Mary Leighton. "Here are two roses and no thorn."
"Ah! What a strange oversight," he exclaimed, seating himself
nevertheless. "The only way to remedy it will be to put the tutor in
your place, Miss Benson, and you come opposite Miss Pauline. Quick;
before he comes and refuses to move his Teutonic bones an inch."
Charlotte Benson changed her seat and the vacant one was left between
her and Mary Leighton.
This is the order of our seats, for that and many following happy nights
and days:
Richard,
Mary Leighton, Henrietta,
The Tutor, Mr. Eugene Whitney,
Charlotte Benson, Myself,
Charley, Kilian,
Sophie.
Mary Leighton looked furious and could hardly speak a word all through
the meal. It was particularly hard upon her, as the tutor did not come,
and the chair was empty, and a glaring insult to her all the time.
Kilian had done his part so innocently and so simply that it was hard to
suspect him of any intention to pique her and annoy Richard, but I am
sure he did it with just those two intentions. He was as thorough a
flirt as any woman, and withal very fond of change, and I think my pink
grenadine quite dazzled him as I stood on the piazza. Then came the
brotherly and quite natural desire to outshine Richard and put things
out a little. I liked it all very much, and was charmed to be of so much
consequence, for I saw all this quite plainly. I laughed and talked a
good deal with Kilian; he was delightful to laugh and talk with. Even
Eugene Whitney found me more worth his weak attention than the beautiful
and placid Henrietta.
The amusement was chiefly at our end of the table. But amidst it, I did
not fail to glance often at the door and wonder, uncomfortably, why the
tutor did not come.
As we left the table and lingered for a few moments in the hall, Richard
came up to me and said, as he prepared to light his cigar, "Will you not
come out and walk up and down the path here with me while I smoke?"
I began to make some excuse, for I wanted to do nothing just then but
watch the stairway to see if Mr. Langenau did not come down even then
and go into the dining-room.
But I reflected how ungracious it would seem to refuse this, when he had
just come home, and I followed him out into the path.
There was no moon, but the stars were very bright, and the air was sweet
with the flower-beds in the grass along the path we walked.
The house looked gay and pleasant as we walked up and down before it,
with its many lighted windows, and people with bright dresses moving
about on the piazza. Richard lit his cigar, and said, after a silence
of a few moments, with a sigh, "It is good to be at home again."
"But you've had a pleasant journey?"
"No; the most tiresome that I ever made, and this last detention wore my
patience out. It seemed the longest fortnight. I could not bear to think
of you all here, and I away in such a dismal hole."
"I suppose Uncle Leonard had no pity on you, as long as there was a
penny to be made by staying there."
"No; I spent a great deal of money in telegraphing to him for orders to
come home, but he would not give up."
"And how is Uncle Leonard; did you go to Varick-street?"
"No, indeed; I did not waste any time in town. I only reached there
yesterday."
"I wonder Uncle Leonard let you off so soon."
"He growled a good deal, but I did not stay to listen."
"That's always the best way."
"And now, Pauline, tell me how you like the place."
"Like it! Oh, Richard, I think it is a Paradise," and I clasped my hands
in a young sort of ecstacy.
He was silent, which was a sign that he was satisfied. I went on after
a moment, "I don't wonder that you all love it. I never saw anything
half so beautiful. The dear old house is prettier than any new one that
could be built, and the trees are so grand! And oh, Richard, I think the
garden lying on the hillside there in the beautiful warm sun, with such
royal flowers and fruit, is worth all the grape-houses and
conservatories in the neighborhood. Your sister took us to three or four
of the neighboring places a week or two ago. But I like this a hundred
times the best. I should think you would be sorry every moment that you
have to spend away from it."
"I hope one of these days to live here altogether," he said in a low
tone.
It was so difficult for Richard to be unreserved that it is very likely
this was the first time in his life that he had ever expressed this, the
brightest hope he had.
I could fancy all these few words implied--a wife, children, a happy
home in manhood where he had been a happy child.
"It belongs to Kilian and me, but it is understood I have the right to
it when I am ready for it."
"And your sister--it does not belong at all to her?"
"No, she only keeps house for us. It would make a great change for
Sophie if either of us married. But then I know that it would give her
pleasure, for I am sure that she would not be selfish."
I was not so sure, but, of course, I did not say so. At this moment,
while Richard smoked and I walked silently beside him, a dark figure
struck directly across the path before us. The apparition was so sudden
that I sprang and screamed, and caught Richard by the arm.
"I beg your pardon," said the tutor, with a quick look of surprise at me
and then at Richard, and bowing, strode on into the house.
"That's the German Sophie has taken for the boys, is it?" said Richard,
knitting his brows, and looking after him, with no great approbation. "I
don't half like the idea of his being here: I told Sophie so at
starting. A governess would do as well for two years yet. What kind of a
person does he seem to be?"
"I don't know--that is--I can't tell exactly. I don't know him well
enough," I answered in confusion, which Richard did not see.
"No, of course not. You would not be likely to see him except at the
table. But it is awkward having him here,--so much of the week, no man
about; and one never knows anything about these Germans."
"I thought--your sister said--you knew all about him," I said, in rather
a low voice.
"As much as one needs to know about a mere teacher. But the person you
have in your house all the time is different."
"But he is a gentleman," I put in more firmly.
"I hope he is. He had letters to some friends of ours. But what are
letters? People give them when they're asked for them, and half the time
know nothing of the person for whom they do the favor, besides his name
and general standing. Hardly that, sometimes." Then, as if to put away a
tiresome and unwelcome subject, he began again to talk about the place.
But I had lost my interest in the subject, and thought only of returning
to the house.
"Don't," I said, playfully putting out my hand as he took out another
cigar to light. "You have smoked enough to-night. Do you know, you smoke
a great deal more than is good for you."
"Well, I will not smoke any more to-night if you say so. Only don't go
in the house."
"Oh, yes, you know we only came out to smoke."
He stood in front of the path that led to the piazza and said, in an
affectionate, gentle way, "Stay and walk a little longer. I have not
told you half how glad I am that you are here at last."
"Oh, as for that, you've got a good many weeks to tell me in. Besides,
it's getting chilly," and I gave a little shiver.
"If you're cold, of course," he said, letting me pass and following me,
and added, with a shade of anxiety, "Why didn't you tell me before? I
never thought of it, and you have no shawl."
I felt ashamed of myself as I led the way up the piazza steps.
In the hall, which was quite light, they were all standing, and Mr.
Langenau was in the group. They were petitioning him for music.
"Oh, he has promised that he will sing," said Sophie; "but remember he
has not had his tea. I have ordered it for you, Mr. Langenau; it will be
ready in a moment."
Mr. Langenau bowed and turned to go up the stairs. His eye met mine, as
I came into the light, dazzled a little by it.
He went up the stairs; the others after a few moments, went into the
parlor. I sat down on a sofa beside Mrs. Hollenbeck. Richard was called
away by a person on business. There was a shaded lamp on a bracket above
the sofa where we sat; Mrs. Hollenbeck was reading some letters she had
just received, and I took up the evening paper, reading over and over an
advertisement of books. Presently the servant came to Mrs. Hollenbeck
and said that Mr. Langenau's tea was ready. She was sent up to tell him
so, and in a few moments he came down. When he reached the hall, Sophie
looked up with her most lovely smile.
"You must be famished, Mr. Langenau; pray go immediately to the
dining-room. I am sorry not to make your tea myself, but I hear Benny
waking and must go to him. Will you mind taking my place, Pauline, and
pouring out tea for Mr. Langenau?"
I was bending over the paper; my face turned suddenly from red to pale.
I said something inaudible in reply, and got up and went into the
dining-room, followed by the tutor.
It was several minutes before I looked at him. The servants had not
favored us with much light: there was a branch of wax candles in the
middle of the table. Mr. Langenau's plate was placed just at one side of
the tray, at which I had seated myself. He looked pale, even to his
lips. I began to think of the terrible walks in which he seemed to hunt
himself down, and to wonder what was the motive, though I had often
wondered that before. He took the cup of tea I offered him without
speaking. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, then I said, rather
irresolutely, "I am sure you tire yourself by these long walks."
"Do you think so? No: they rest me."
No doubt I felt more coquettish, and had more confidence than usual,
from the successes of that evening, and from the knowledge that Richard
and Kilian and Eugene Whitney, even, were so delighted to talk to me;
otherwise I could never have said what I said then, by a sudden impulse,
and with a half-laughing voice, "Do not go away again so long; it makes
it so dull and tiresome."
He looked at me and said, "It does not seem to me you miss me very
much." But such a gleam of those dark, dangerous eyes! I looked down,
but my breath came quickly and my face must have shown the agitation
that I felt.
At this moment Richard, released from his engagement in the library,
came through the hall and stopped at the dining-room door. He paused for
a moment at the door, walked away again, then came back and into the
room, with rather a quicker step than usual.
"Pauline," he said, and I started visibly, "They seem to be waiting for
you in the parlor for a game of cards."
His voice indicated anything but satisfaction. I half rose, then sank
back, and said, hesitatingly, "Can I pour you some more tea, Mr.
Langenau?"
"If it is not troubling you too much," he said in a voice that a
moment's time had hardened into sharpness.
Oh, the misery of that cup of tea, with Richard looking at me on one
side flushed and angry, and Mr. Langenau on the other, pale and cynical.
My hands shook so that I could not lift the teakettle, and Richard
angrily leaned down and moved it for me. The alcohol in the lamp flamed
up and scorched my arm.
"Oh Richard, you have burned me," I cried, dropping the cup and wrapping
my handkerchief around my arm. In an instant he was all softness and
kindness, and, I have no doubt, repentance.
"I am very sorry," he said; "Does it hurt you very much? Come with me,
and I will get Sophie to put something on it."
But Mr. Langenau did not move or show any interest in my sufferings. I
was half-crying, but I sat still and tried with the other hand to
replace the cup and fill it. Seeing that I did not make much headway,
and that Richard had stepped back, Mr. Langenau said, "Allow me," and
held the cup while I managed to pour the tea into it. He thanked me
stiffly, and without looking at either of them I got up and went out of
the room, Richard following me.
"Will you wait here while I call Sophie to get something for you?" he
said a little coldly.
"No, I do not want anything; I wish you would not say anything more
about it; it only hurt me for a moment."
"Will you go into the parlor, then?"
"No--yes, that is," I said, and capriciously went, alone, for he did not
follow me.
I was wanted for cards, but I would not play, and sat down by one of the
windows, a little out of the light. This window opened upon the piazza.
After a little while Richard, walking up and down the piazza, stopped by
it, and said to me: "I hope you won't think it unreasonable in me to
ask, Pauline; but how in the world did you happen to be making tea for
that--that man in there?"
"I happened to make tea for Mr. Langenau because your sister asked me
to," I said angrily; "you had better speak to her about it."
"You may be sure I shall," he said, walking away from the window.
Presently the tutor came in from the hall by the door near the piano,
and sat down by it without being asked, and began to play softly, as if
not to interrupt the game of cards. I could not help thinking in what
good taste this was, since he had promised not to wait for any more
importunities. The game at cards soon languished, for Charlotte Benson
really had an enthusiasm for music, and was not happy till she was at
liberty to give her whole attention to it. As soon as the players were
released, Kilian came over and sat beside me. He rather wearied me, for
I wanted to listen to the music, but he was determined not to see that,
and chattered so that more than once Charlotte Benson turned impatiently
and begged us not to talk. Once Mr. Langenau himself turned and looked
at us, but Kilian only paused, and then went on again.
Mary Leighton had fled to the piano and was gazing at the keys in a rapt
manner, hoping, no doubt, to rouse Kilian to jealousy of the tutor.
"Please go away," I said at last, "this is making me seem rude."
"Do not tell me," he exclaimed, "that you are helping Mary Leighton and
Sophie to spoil this German fellow. I really did not look for it in
you. I--"
"I can't stay here and be talked to," I said, getting up in despair.
"Then come on the piazza," he exclaimed, and we were there almost before
I knew what I was doing.
I suppose every one in the room saw us go out: I was in terror when I
thought what an insult it would seem to Mr. Langenau. We walked about
the piazza for some time; I am afraid Mr. Kilian found me rather dull,
for I could only listen to what was going on inside. At last he was
called away by a man from the stable, who brought some alarming account
of his beloved Tom or Jerry. If I had been his bride at the altar, I am
sure he would have left me; being only a new and very faintly-lighted
flame, he hurried off with scarcely an apology.
I sat down in a piazza-chair, just outside the window at which we had
been sitting. I looked in at the window, but no one could see me, from
the position of my chair.
Presently Mr. Langenau left the piano, and Mary Leighton, talking to him
with effusion, walked across the room beside him, and took her seat at
this very window. He did not sit down, but stood before her with his hat
in his hand, as if he only awaited a favorable pause to go away.
"Ah, where did Pauline go?" she said, glancing around. "But I suppose we
must excuse her, for to-night at least, as he has just come home. I
imagine the engagement was no surprise to you?"
"Of what engagement do you speak?" he said.
"Why! Pauline and Richard Vandermarck; you know it is quite a settled
thing. And very good for her, I think. He seems to me just the sort of
man to keep her steady and--well, improve her character, you know. She
seems such a heedless sort of girl. They say her mother ran away and
made some horrid marriage, and, I believe, her uncle has had to keep her
very strict. He is very much pleased, I am told, with marrying her to
Richard, and she herself seems very much in love with him."
All this time he had stood very still and looked at her, but his face
had changed slowly as she spoke. I knew then that what she had said had
not pleased him. She went on in her babbling, soft voice:
"His sister Sophie isn't pleased, of course, so there is nothing said
about it here. It _is_ rather hard for her, for the place belongs to
Richard, and besides, Richard has been very generous to her always. And
then to see him marry just such a sort of person--you know--so young--"
"Yes--so young," said Mr. Langenau, between his teeth, "and of such
charming innocence."
"Oh, as to that," said Mary Leighton, piqued beyond prudence, "we all
have our own views as to that."
The largess due the bearer of good news was not by right the meed of
Mary Leighton. He looked at her as if he hated her.
"Mr. Richard Yandermarck is a fortunate man," he said. "She has rare
beauty, if he has a taste for beauty."
"Men sometimes tire of that; if indeed she has it. Her coloring is her
strong point, and that may not last forever;" and Mary's voice was no
longer silvery.
"You think so?" he said. "I think her grace is her strong point, '_la
grâce encore plus belle que la beauté_,' and longer-lived beside. Few
women move as she does, making it a pleasure to follow her with the
eyes. And her height and suppleness: at twenty-five she will be regal."
"Then, Mr. Langenau," she cried, with sudden spitefulness, "you _do_
admire her very much yourself! Do you know, I thought perhaps you did.
How you must envy Mr. Vandermarck!"
A slight shrug of the shoulders and a slight low laugh; after which, he
said, "No, I think not. I have not the courage that is necessary."
"The courage! why, what do you mean by that?"
"I mean that a man who ventures to love a woman in whom he cannot trust,
has need for courage and for patience; perhaps Mr. Richard Vandermarck
has them both abundantly. For me, I think the pretty Miss Pauline would
be safer as an hour's amusement than as a life's companion."
The words stabbed, killed me. With an ejaculation that could scarcely
have escaped their ears, I sprang up and ran through the hall and up the
stairs. Before I reached the landing-place, I knew that some one was
behind me. I did not look or pause, but flew on through the hall till I
reached my own door. My own door was just at the foot of the third-floor
stairway. I glanced back, and saw that it was Mr. Langenau who was
behind me. I pushed open my door and went half-way in the room; then
with a vehement and sudden impulse came back into the hall and pulled it
shut again and stood with my hand upon the latch, and waited for him to
pass. In an instant more he was near me, but not as if he saw me; he
could not reach the stairway without passing so near me that he must
touch my dress. I waited till he was so near, and said, "Mr. Langenau."
He raised his eyes steadily to mine and bowed low. I almost choked for
one instant, and then I found voice and rushed on vehemently. "What she
has told you is false; every word of it is false. I am not engaged to
Richard Vandermarck; I never thought of such a thing till I came here,
and found they talked about it. They ought to be ashamed, and I will go
away to-morrow. And what she said about my mother is a wicked lie as
well, at least in the way she meant it; and I shall hate her all my
life. I have been motherless and lonely always, but God has cared for
me, and I never knew before what evil thoughts and ways there were. I
am not ashamed that I listened, though I didn't mean to stay at first.
I'm glad I heard it all and know what kind of friends I have. And those
last cruel words you said--I never will forgive you, never--never--never
till I die."
He had put his hand out toward me as if in conciliation, at least I
understood it so. I pushed it passionately away, rushed into my room,
bolted the door, and flung myself upon the bed with a frightful burst of
sobs. I heard his hand upon the latch of the door, and he said my name
several times in a low voice. Then he went slowly up the stairs. And I
think his room must have been directly over mine, for, for hours I heard
some one walking there; indeed, it was the last sound I heard, when,
having cried all my tears and vowed all my vows, I fell asleep and
forgot that I was wretched.