LITTLE ARCADIA.
Four years later, and summer once more. Again it is in a suburban
garden, not a very extensive one, but nicety kept; inclosed by tall
trees and dense shrubbery on every side, and disclosing nothing of
what may stand beyond, but here and there the corner of a chimney
intruding its morsel of red amongst the sunny green of the tree-tops,
and the golden cross on the neighbouring steeple soaring over all, and
shining down its benediction on the peace below.
The grass is as short, soft, and green as constant mowing and
sprinkling and warmth can make it. The flower-beds are masses of
brilliant colour, and in the centre stands the house, a tin-roofed
wooden cottage painted in the whitest white, relieved by vividly green
Venetians; a broad verandah round the whole, windows descending to the
floor, and above, small casements peering out through the shining tin,
each with its Venetian thrown open to admit the breeze which comes up
at the decline of day. The effect is cool, and home-like,
notwithstanding the keenness of the colours, and quite other than that
of the raw-toned packing-boxes in which so many an American is
condemned to pass the night, and from which he is in so great a hurry
to escape in the morning. It may be merely a peculiarity in the pitch
of a French Canadian roof, or it may be some spiritual association
which lingers about the work of these first settlers and oldest
inhabitants; but there is a personality, permanence, and history about
the newest and frailest of their structures which is wanting in the
buildings of their English speaking neighbours, even when they give
permanence to vulgar commonplace by embodying it in brick or stone.
The pillars of the verandah are garlanded with roses--pink, crimson,
white, and creamy yellow--blooming profusely, but, to judge from the
ruin of shed petals scattered on the ground, soon to cease. Already,
however, clematis--white, purple, blue--has begun to appear and will
be ready to catch up the song of the roses, though in a minor key, so
soon as their colour harmonies shall fade out. Butterflies are
fluttering in the scented air, and a humming bird flits here and there
where the flowers are thickest.
In a garden seat is Mary--no longer Herkimer, but Selby, now--and at
her feet is a child, something more than a year old, who rolls and
kicks upon the grass, crowing and babbling the while in a language
which only mothers understand. Mary looks no older than she did in her
brother's sick-room; fresher, perhaps, and fuller of harmonious life,
as well may happen where the desires were reasonable and are all
fulfilled. She is mistress of her own life, and of his in whom she
trusts, as well as of that other at her feet, in whom his and hers are
united and bloom anew; and as for the life, she would not wish it to
be other than it is, even if it were in her power to change it. She is
at work upon some small matter of muslin and lace which busies her
fingers, while it leaves her thoughts free to wander; and their
wanderings are among pleasant places, to judge by her smile and the
big full breath of utter content.
The winter which was coming on when we saw Gerald last proved more
than his enfeebled system could bear up against; he died before it was
out; and Mary, feeling that her duty at home was accomplished, and
seeing no good reason to sacrifice herself to the family prejudices,
took her fate in her own hands and married the man of her choice.
"And it has all turned out so beautifully," she was saying to herself
with a well-pleased sigh, when the click of the gate latch roused her
from her reverie. It was Selby with his roll of music. She rose to
meet him, and they made the round of their domain together, observing
what new buds had opened since yesterday, and telling each other the
events of the day.
"I heard a man down town say that your nephew Ralph is succeeding most
wonderfully since he dropped the law and turned broker."
"I am glad of that, George. Poor Ralph! It was hard upon him the way
Gerald seemed to take him up at first--sending him down to live upon
the property at Natchez, and letting him expect to inherit it--and
then to recall him and drop him so suddenly. He refused to see him
even, when he came home. Judith says it was Colonel Considine set him
against Ralph, to make him leave everything to me. But I do not think
that. I always found Colonel Considine 'very much of a gentleman,' to
use his own expression--a little high-backed and tiresome, no doubt,
but incapable of a shabbiness like that. What good would it have done
him my getting everything, considering how little we saw or cared for
each other?"
"Speak for yourself, Mary. I am not so sure that Considine's interest
in you was slight. From little things you have said I suspect--Nay,
never blush for that, dearest, though the crimson is infinitely
becoming--Having gained the prize I am not churl enough to resent
another's having wished for it. Indeed, knowing as I do now how much
he has missed, I could feel sorry for him, and I cannot but respect
his good taste. I really could not believe that he attempted to
undermine Ralph in his uncle's favour; a thing, by-the-way, which
Ralph, according to those who know him best, is well able to do for
himself; he has so many crooked little ways, and is proud of them, and
careless about concealment, because I suppose it does not strike him
that they can shock people, or are at all out of the way--obtuseness
of moral perception, I fancy, it might be called."
"And yet, George, he was the only one of the family who did not oppose
our marriage, and who has not given me up utterly, even since. Surely
that shows a good heart. I, at least, shall always think kindly of
Ralph for that, if for nothing else."
"My good innocent darling! Do you not see that that man[oe]uvre alone,
if there were nothing else, would stamp the man as selfish and a
schemer? Remember the terms of your brother's will. He names you as
his heiress, but he provides against contingencies which he fears may
arise. He does not leave the property to you, but to Jordan the
notary, and Considine, as trustees. In case you married Considine the
trust was at an end, and everything passed to you at once. If you did
not, all was to be sold and the money invested in Canada bank-stock
and other securities which he named. You were to have the interest
while you remained single or married with the approval of Mr. Jordan,
in accordance with written instructions left in his hands. If you
married contrary to these instructions, however, you were to receive
nothing. The interest and dividends were to be re-invested as they
fell due, and at the end of twenty years from your brother's death the
whole is to be divided among your children, share and share alike; and
in case you have none it is to go to Ralph's boy. Everything is tied
up with only an annuity of a thousand dollars each to his three
sisters and his brother. Now! Do you recognize the true inwardness of
Ralph's amiability?"
"And pray, sir," cried Mary, drawing back with eyes wide open, "How
come you to know all this? I would have bitten my tongue out sooner
than tell you. It seems so ungenerous in Gerald to have treated you
so."
"It shows the generosity of Gerald's sister, and that is all I care
for. But often, I will own it, my conscience has reproached me with
depriving you of your splendid inheritance; only, we are so happy
here; and if love can make up for money--if my love----"
"Hush, George! I have all I want--more, I think sometimes, than should
fall to one woman's share--and I wonder if it can last. But who told
you about the will?"
"Who but your sister Judith!"
"She? I did not think you knew her; and she spoke so unkindly when I
proposed to bring and introduce you. You surprise me."
"Ah! Miss Judy is a woman of surprises--a woman of energy who does not
stick at trifles; and she is a diplomatist. She would not let you
introduce me, that would have been yielding you a point; but she could
find me out for herself when she wished to speak to me. That was on
what she considered business, and did not oblige her to know me next
time we met. It would have forced _me_ to know _her_ afterwards, if
she had wished it; but that is nothing. Where would be the gain in
being a lady, if rules worked both ways? Miss Judy found me out, and
requested a few minutes' private conversation in the most gracious way
possible. She apologized profusely for the intrusion, with quite a
pretty warming of the complexion and an engaging little twitter behind
her glove tips. Ass that I was, I grew red like a lobster all over my
face, and my heart thumped against my ribs like a smithy hammer. I
imagined your family were relenting towards me--that piety and true
principle had overcome in the second Miss Herkimer her disapproval of
our attachment, and that she had come to tell me so. I could have
knelt down and kissed her hand, so overcome was I with grateful joy.
It was well I did not. The group would have been too ridiculous. Miss
Judy appealed to my feelings as a gentleman and a man of honour 'not
to ruin the prospects of her sweet young sister;' that was her phrase,
and she rendered it in a fine adagio manner, accompanied by a tremolo
of her crumpled pocket-handkerchief, which did her artistic instinct
the greatest credit, and really made the little petition seem both
reasonable and affecting. Judy would have succeeded on the stage,
Mary, I do believe, if they had put her in training early."
"George, you are profane. It sounds ribald to speak of serious people
in that way."
"Judy and the playhouse, eh? It _is_ a little incongruous, I admit;
but which has most right to resent the juxtaposition we need not stop
to inquire. Miss Judith told me you had come into a large fortune, and
your family were anxious about your matrimonial prospects, so many
swells were your friends, and you were so highly connected. There was
at least one general officer and a captain of dragoons, besides many
more; but whether they wanted to marry you, or were only your
grandfather's cousins, I did not quite catch. You see my feelings were
a little tumultuous, like those of the man stepping on board a
steamboat to meet his sweetheart, when he misses the plank and drops
into the water. I had a feeling of cold bath all over, and was cross,
I dare say; at least I did not respond to Miss Judy's condescensions
as she had expected. At once she changed her tone, drawing herself up
and looking severely superior. It was scarcely conceivable, she told
me with dignified coldness, that I could seriously have expected
anything more than a little notoriety would result from my appearing
in public conversing with her sister, but if I cherished any delusion
on the subject, it was for my good that she should speak plainly, and
as a Christian she saw it her duty to do so. It was out of the
question, she told me, that you should marry a man in my position, and
one who was not a gentleman. This to me, whose gentlemanly feelings
she had just been appealing to! It sent the blood tingling down to my
fingertips, and revived me after the _douche_ of what she had been
saying before. I told her these were matters I declined to discuss
with a lady whom I had not the honour of being acquainted with, and
that while I enjoyed the privilege of your friendship, none but
yourself should dictate to me the terms. Then she pulled out a paper
which she said was a copy of your brother Gerald's will, and another,
the private instructions he had left with Jordan. She insisted on
reading them both to me, word by word, and was especially emphatic in
her rendering of the instructions in which I am mentioned by name as a
person you were not to marry."
"I know, George; and I think it was cruel in Gerald to make such a
stipulation. However, it does not matter. I did not want the money,
and you do not grudge to earn money for us both; and what do we want
which we have not got?"
"True, my darling; and after all, your dividends which fell due before
you disobeyed your kinsman's commands by marrying me have bought us
this cosey little home, so you did not come to me a penniless bride
after all. Talking of these things, by-the-way, reminds me--Did you
observe Considine's name in the war news this morning? He is a general
now. Why, Mary, you might have been one of their great ladies down
there, if you had chosen!"
"But I did not choose; and I question if a general's lady down there
has much to congratulate herself on. Grant is in Memphis, I see, and
steadily working southwards. The negroes on the plantations are in a
ferment, and Mrs. Dunwiddie, the refugee who is staying with Mrs.
Brown, and called here to-day, says the boxes of silver spoons and
candlesticks the Yankee officers are sending home to their friends by
express are more than the Express Company's car will carry, and they
talk of requisitioning a gunboat to carry their loot North to
Cincinnati. I should not have liked to ride with my plate and
valuables in an ambulance in the rear of even a husband's column. But
is it not fortunate that Gerald's property was realized, and the money
received safely in Canada before these troubles began? You and I may
not be the richer for it, but think of Edith, the little elf; what a
sum it will be when she is old enough to receive it!"
"Over a million of dollars. Far too much for a girl to have. Let us
hope she may have brothers and sisters to share it with. But where, at
the same time, have you left this great heiress? I have not had a
chance yet to give her a kiss."
"I called Lisette to come for her when you came in. Ah! There she is,
among the raspberry bushes--ruining her white frock with berry juice,
I'll be bound, for it is Cato who is carrying her. See how she
clutches his curly wool while he picks fruit for her. Her tugging must
be quite sore, but he seems positively to enjoy it, he is so fond of
her."
"And well he may. Have you forgot Judith's and Ralph's attempt to
'_realize_' him when his master died?--to huddle him over to Buffalo
and sell him into slavery again. Miss Judith thought she could do so
much good with the money, and Ralph encouraged her, and undertook to
arrange the transaction on the American side, when he would quietly
have pocketed the money, I make no doubt. If you had not interfered
and explained things to the poor boy he certainly would have fallen
into their trap, and been disposed of for cash down. He is the only
decent nigger I ever saw, and the only one who could have been so
imposed on. Oh, yes! He would do anything for you or the child."
"Dinner will be on the table almost at once, George. Come in and get
ready."
"Ah, yes! Dinner and something cool, after the long broiling day.
By-and-by, when the candles are lit, and the moths and beetles come
droning in from the darkness to singe their wings in the flame, we
will have music and a little singing. Some of those dear old songs by
the masters we used to revel in long ago. Haydn and the rest. Such as
'Gra-a-aceful partner.'"
"Quite so, your highness. That I may have to respond 'Spouse adorèd,'
my most sovereign lord and master! Ha, ha, ha! What it is to be a lord
of creation! Meanwhile, there is the bell. Hurry to your room."