UNCLE DICK.
The day was drawing to a close. The children’s lessons were over, the
last I was to hear. Their books were piled away awaiting the arrival of
my successor, and at my request I was left in the schoolroom alone—alone
with my grief, which was indeed bitter and hard to bear, for I knew that
injustice had been done me, and most keenly I felt the mortification of
returning home in disgrace. Very beautiful to me seemed that fair south
land of which I had dreamed so oft, and I felt that I could not leave
it.
Through the open window I heard the shouts of the children, but I did
not heed them, nor observe that throughout the entire house there seemed
to be an unusual commotion. An hour went by, and then in the hall I
heard the voice of Jessie, and the words she uttered sent an electric
thrill through my nerves, and brought me to my feet, for they were,
“Come this way, Uncle Dick. I reckon she’s in the schoolroom.”
The next moment he stood before me, the _dark man_, scanning me
curiously, but still without anything like rudeness in his gaze.
“Uncle Dick’s come. This is him,” said Jessie, leading him towards the
spot where I stood.
A bright beautiful smile broke over his strongly marked features, and I
felt as if a gleam of sunlight had shone for an instant over my pathway.
Taking my hand in his, he bade Jessie leave us, as he wished to see me
alone. She started to obey, but ere she reached the door, she turned
back and asking him to stoop down, whispered in his ear, loudly enough
for me to hear, “I want you to like her.”
“Of course I shall,” he replied, and again that smile broke over his
face.
I did not expect him to recognize me, for with the exception of the
night at the theatre he had never fairly seen my features, and still I
was conscious of a feeling of disappointment when I saw that he
evidently had no suspicion of ever having met me before. When I spoke,
however, and he heard the sound my voice, he started and looked me more
fully in the face; but whatever his thoughts might have been, he seemed
to be satisfied that he was mistaken, and seating himself at my side, he
commenced conversing with me as familiarly as if he had known me all my
life. Gradually our conversation turned upon _books_, and ere I was
aware of it I passed through what I now know to have been a pretty
thorough examination of all the branches which Mrs. Lansing had wished
me to teach, but so adroitly was the whole thing managed that it seemed
like a quiet, pleasant talk, though I _did_ wonder at his asking so many
questions. _French_, was the last subject discussed, and here I was at
fault, for my pronunciation I well knew was bad, although Mr. Delafield,
who was himself a fine French scholar, told me it was quite as good as
the majority of the Americans who had neither lived in Paris, nor had
the advantage of a native teacher.
“You play, I believe. I would like to hear you,” he said at last, laying
his hand on my shoulder, as if he would lead me to the parlor.
Instantly the blood rushed to my face, for since the night of my
disgrace I had not touched the piano, neither did I wish to again. So I
tried to excuse myself, and when he insisted, I finally said, with my
eyes full of tears, “Please excuse me, sir, for I can’t play. I failed
before your sister, and I shall do the same before you.”
“No you won’t,” he replied, at the same time drawing my arm within his
and leading me towards the door. “You have nothing to fear, Miss Lee,
and if you acquit yourself half as creditably here as you have
elsewhere, I shall be satisfied.”
A faint perception of the truth began to dawn upon me, and I looked up
at him so earnestly that he stopped and smiling down upon me, said, “You
have taught a district school in New England, I believe?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered.
“And you were examined, of course?”
“Yes, sir, and got a certificate, too,” I said eagerly.
“I presume you did,” he continued, “and if necessary I can give you
another, for I have been doing nothing more or less than trying to find
out how much you know. As I have before hinted, I am perfectly
satisfied, and unless you leave from choice, you will remain at Cedar
Grove.”
He spoke as one having full authority to do as he pleased, and I
instinctively felt that though nominally Mrs. Lansing was mistress
there, _he_, in reality, was the leader, the _head_, whose bidding every
one obeyed. The change from utter despondency to almost perfect
happiness, was too great, and withdrawing my hand from his arm, I sat
down upon the stairs and cried like a child, while he stood, looking
down upon me and thinking, I dare say, that I was a very foolish girl.
At last, when I thought his patience was nearly exhausted, I wiped my
eyes, and starting up, said, “You have made me very happy, Mr.
Delafield, for I could not have borne the disgrace as being sent home as
incompetent. I can play for you now, or for Mrs. Lansing either.”
And the result proved that I was right, for I exceeded my own
expectations, and was astonished at myself.
“Angeline,” said he, in a slightly commanding voice, as that lady looked
curiously in at the door, “Angeline, come here;” and she crossed over to
his side, where he detained her by placing his arm around her waist.
For a moment then I wavered, for though I could not _see_, I could
_feel_ the haughty gaze of the large black eyes, which I knew were bent
upon me.
“You have done well, Miss Lee,” he said, when at last I arose from the
instrument, at the same time playfully touching my cheeks, which were
burning with feverish excitement.
That night, after I had retired to my room, Halbert and Jessie came to
the door, requesting permission to come in. I admitted them, when
Jessie, jumping into my lap, said, “Oh, I’m so glad you are going to
stay. Hal says so.”
“Yes,” put in Hal, “Uncle Dick told me that you mustn’t be sent away,
for you were a heap better scholar than she had represented you to be.”
“Perhaps it will not be as Mr. Delafield says,” I remarked; and Hal
quickly rejoined, “Yes it will; ma does just what he tells her to do;
and then, too, he _pays_ the governess, for I heard him say so, and he
told her if you were dismissed ’twas the last one he’d hire. And he said
she must treat you better than she did Miss Rawson, for you were very
young, and little things hurt your feelings, and when Ada came home, she
mustn’t domineer over you, for he wouldn’t allow it. Oh, I like Uncle
Dick. Don’t you?”
The moonlight was streaming across the floor, but it did not reveal the
blush which deepened on my cheek as I faintly answered “Yes,” bidding
him at the same time not to tell of it, for I began to feel afraid of
the boy’s loquacity. That night I dreamed of “Uncle Dick,” whose name
was the last which sounded in my ears when I fell asleep, and the first
of which I thought when I awoke in the morning. As I was dressing, I
heard little Jessie on the piazza, singing in her childish way, “_I_
love _Uncle_ Dick, I do, and _so_ does _Hal_, and _so_ does _Mis_-ses
Lee!”
“Who told you _that_, Pussy?” asked a voice which I recognized as Mr.
Delafield’s, and very nervously I listened for Jessie’s answer, which
was, “Oh, I know she does. Hal asked her didn’t she like you, and she
said she did.”
“Rather early to avow a preference, I think. I shouldn’t wonder if a
Miss Rawson performance were to be enacted a second time,” said another
voice, which I knew to be that of Mrs. Lansing, who had joined her
brother upon the piazza.
“Angeline,” said Mr. Delafield, somewhat sternly, “don’t be foolish. If
Halbert asked Miss Lee if she liked me, wasn’t it the most natural thing
in the world for her to say ‘Yes.’ I do wish you’d rid yourself of the
impression that every girl who looks at me is in love with me, or that I
am in love with every lady to whom I choose to be polite.”
“Do you think Miss Lee pretty?” asked Mrs. Lansing, without paying any
attention to his last remark.
Up to this point I could not well help overhearing their conversation,
for I was arranging my hair before the mirror which stood near the
window; but now there was no longer any necessity for my remaining
there, and I resolutely walked away, though I would have given much to
have heard his answer. He had gone home when I went down to the
breakfast-room, where I found Mrs. Lansing, who greeted me rather
coldly, and appeared slightly embarrassed. I had purposely donned my
travelling dress, for though Mr. Delafield had said I was to stay, I
felt that she too must do the same ere I had a right to remain. The
sight of my dress seemed to annoy her, for it brought to her cheeks two
bright red spots which grew deeper all the while we were at breakfast.
When it was over, and the children had gone out, I very composedly asked
her “how long before the stage would call for me.”
Turning her flashing black eyes upon me, she said, “Do you mean to
insult me, Miss Lee? The stage has been gone an hour. I supposed you
knew you were to remain.”
“Mr. Delafield intimated as much,” I answered; “but my engagement was
with _you_, not _him_, and until I hear from you that I am expected to
stay, I do not of course feel at liberty to do so.”
She brightened up perceptibly, and after saying something about
Richard’s meddling in _her_ affairs, replied, “I presume you were
embarrassed when you first came, and so could not appear to advantage;
and as my brother thinks you are a tolerably fair scholar, I have
decided to keep you.”
I bowed in acquiescence, and she continued. “There is something,
however, which I must first say to you; but as this is not the proper
place, you will go with me to my room.”
I complied with her request, and closing the door, she began with a long
preamble as to the proper way for a young lady to conduct herself in the
presence of gentlemen, especially those who were every way her
superiors. “For instance,” said she, “there’s my brother Richard, who is
rather noted for his familiar, affectionate manner towards the ladies.
As long as he confines himself to his equals I do not so much mind it,
but when he lavishes his attentions upon my governesses, I think it
wrong, for he might, you know, raise hopes which of course could never
be realized Now, Miss Rawson was a very silly girl who thought herself
beautiful, and ere I was aware of it she was deeply in love with
Richard. Of course, he cared nothing for her, even if he did play with
and caress her. It is his way, and he means nothing by it. Then, too,
Miss Rawson _was_ rather handsome, and Richard has always been a
passionate admirer of beauty. He used to say, when he was younger, that
he never could love a woman who was not beautiful, and I’ve sometimes
thought that the sight of a pretty face completely upset him. For this
reason I prefer having a plain-looking governess. Miss Rawson was far
too pretty, and after my trouble with her I determined to employ none
but ugly ones. This is why I wrote to you concerning your personal
appearance, which is, I am sorry to say, so much more prepossessing than
I had reason to suppose. Still I do not apprehend any difficulty,
provided you are always reserved and distant in Richard’s presence, and
decline any attentions he may occasionally offer you. Miss Montrose, of
whom you have heard us speak, will probably be home this summer, and
then his time will be occupied with her. I do not think he will ever
marry any one, but if he does, it will undoubtedly be Ada. I won’t
detain you longer,” she added, as she saw me try to suppress a yawn; “I
won’t detain you any longer than to warn you once more against being as
silly as Miss Rawson was—the foolish thing—only think of it, my
governess in love with my brother, and _he_ a _Delafield_!”
It _was_ very absurd, I thought; and mentally resolving not to fall into
a like error, I repaired to the schoolroom, where in due time I was
joined by the children, little Jessie bringing me a beautiful bouquet,
which she said “Uncle Dick had arranged for me.”
Feeling anxious to please Mrs. Lansing, my first impulse was to send the
flowers back, but upon second thoughts, I concluded that this would not
come under the head of “attentions,” and so all the morning they stood
in the tiny vase, which Halbert brought to hold them, all except one
rose-bud which Jessie selected from the group, and twined among my
curls. This at the dinner-table attracted the watchful eye of my
employer, who, without any apparent motive, casually remarked upon its
beauty, saying, “It looked like a species of _rose_ which grew in her
brother’s garden,” and adding that “she did not know as there were any
of that kind on her grounds.”
I blushed crimson, while Jessie answered, “It didn’t grow here. _Uncle
Dick_ brought it to her with a heap more.”
Casting upon me a frowning glance, Mrs. Lansing said, “Seems to me you
have forgotten the conditions on which I kept you.”
This was the first I had heard of _conditions_; but so anxious was I to
retain my situation, that I resolved to please her at all hazards, and
stammering out that “Jessie put it in my hair,” I tore it from among my
curls and threw it upon the floor. Then, as soon as dinner was over, I
went up to the schoolroom, and removing the bouquet from the vase, threw
that too, from the window. Very wonderingly, little Jessie looked up in
my face, asking “why I did it,” and if “I didn’t love flowers.”
“Very, very much,” I answered; “but your mother don’t want me to keep
them.”
That afternoon he came to visit us “officially,” he said, and when I saw
his winning manner, and how much of sunshine he brought with him, I did
not wonder that one as susceptible as Miss Rawson was represented to be,
should have fallen in love with him. But with _me_ it was different. _I_
had been warned against his pleasant, affectionate ways; and so, when in
conversing with me and Lina, he threw his arm around her waist and laid
his hand carelessly upon my shoulder, I moved quickly away, while I was
sensible of a deepening flush upon my face. He seemed puzzled, and for
an instant looked inquiringly at me, as if to ask a reason for my
conduct. He was showing Lina a book of engravings, and after a while
called me to look at a picture which he thought was particularly fine. I
complied with his request, and wishing to see more, took a seat at his
side, when either purposely, or from force of habit, he threw his arm
across the back of my chair. The action reminded me of Dr. Clayton, and
I was feeling somewhat annoyed, when looking up, I met the haughty eyes
of Mrs. Lansing, who was passing the door, and had stopped to look in.
This of course embarrassed me, and hardly knowing what I did, I said
rather angrily, “You will oblige me, Mr. Delafield, by taking your arm
from my chair. It does not look well.”
“Certainly,” said he, instantly removing it; “I was not before aware
that it was there,” and a very peculiar smile was perceptible about his
mouth, as he, too, caught sight of his sister, who, with an approving
nod for me, passed on.
I could have cried with vexation, for I feared he would think me very
prudish, and I knew well enough that his familiarity was only the
promptings of an unusually kind and affectionate nature. After staying a
few moments longer, he arose to go, saying as he turned towards me,
“Jessie gave you my flowers, I suppose.”
“Yes sir,” I replied, while my face again grew scarlet. “They were
beautiful, and I thank you very much.”
“I am glad to hear it,” he continued, looking me steadily in my eyes. “I
thought perhaps, you did not like them when I found them on the walk,
withered and dried by the sun.”
I was trying to think what to say by way of apology for thus treating
his gift, when little Jessie came to my relief, by saying, “She didn’t
like to throw ’em away, but ma didn’t want her to keep ’em.”
“Ah, yes. I understand it now,” said he, adding in an undertone, as he
shook my hand, in accordance with the southern custom of bidding
good-bye: “I hope, Miss Lee, you will exercise your own judgment in such
trivial matters as that.”
That night I cried myself to sleep, half wishing I had never come to
Cedar Grove, for I knew Mrs. Lansing would prove an exacting,
unreasonable mistress; and when Ada came home, my situation, I thought,
would be anything but agreeable; while, worse than all the rest, was the
fear that I had displeased Mr. Delafield, and appeared very ridiculous
in his eyes. Supposing he had put his arm on my chair, was that any
reason why I should get angry and speak to him as I did? It was his way,
and as he had said, he was not himself aware of what he was doing. Of
course, then, he would think me very foolish, and would ever after treat
me with coolness and indifference. How then was I surprised, when the
next morning, in the presence of his sister, he handed me a much larger
and handsomer bouquet than the one of the preceding day, saying, as he
did so, “I want you to keep this and not throw it away, as you did my
other one.”
Mrs. Lansing’s face, which had been unusually placid and serene, now
looked cloudy and disturbed; but she said nothing; neither did she ever
again make any allusion to the flowers which so frequently came to me
from Sunny Bank. One reason for this might have been that she was
otherwise perfectly satisfied with the conduct of her brother, which, by
the way, was _not_ wholly satisfactory to me! It is true, he was very
polite, very kind; but there was about him a reserve which I could not
understand, for after that little affair in the schoolroom, he never
treated me with the same familiarity which marked his deportment towards
the other young ladies, who came to the house. He did not like me, I
said, and the thought that I was disagreeable to _him_ made me very
unhappy. To be sure, he was almost constantly at Cedar Grove, where he
spent most of the time in the schoolroom, “superintending us,” he told
his sister, who, believing me rather inefficient, made no objection to
his supposed supervision of Lina’s studies. He did not often talk much
to me, but I frequently met the earnest gaze of his piercing dark eyes,
particularly when little Jessie sat in my lap, listening to my
instructions; and once when Herbert asked him for “a copy,”—something
beginning with “R,” he wrote “Rosa Lee, Meadow Brook, Massachusetts.”
Still he disliked me—I was sure of that; and though I did not then know
why it was, the impression that I was to him an object of aversion made
me unhappy, and almost every day I cried, while Mrs. Lansing more than
once told me that “she did not believe the South agreed with me, for I
was not half so _plump_ and _rosy_ as when I first came.”
About this time, too, a Miss Dean, from the village, who had evinced
quite a liking for me, told me, confidentially, that Mr. Delafield and
Ada were certainly engaged; adding, that “it was sometimes sickening to
see them together”—a fact I could not doubt, knowing him as I did, and
remembering Ada’s demeanor towards Herbert when they were engaged. From
the same source, too, I learned that Mr. Montrose and the elder Mr.
Delafield had been warm friends; and that the latter, who died when both
Mrs. Lansing and Richard were quite young, had committed them to the
care of Mr. Montrose, who was to them the kindest of fathers until the
time of his death, which occurred a few years after Mrs. Lansing’s
marriage, when Richard was just of age. To _his_ guardianship,
therefore, as to that of a brother, had Mr. Montrose left his daughter,
then a beautiful girl of seventeen; and since that time she had lived
with Mrs. Lansing, who, though she appeared to love the young orphan,
still opposed her marriage with her brother; not from any aversion to
Ada, but because she did not wish Richard to marry at all, as in case he
did not, his property would, in all probability, fall to her children,
she being the only heir. When I asked her why Mr. Delafield was worth so
much more than Mrs. Lansing, she replied, that the elder Mr. Delafield,
in his will, had left two-thirds of his property to his son, bequeathing
the other third to his daughter, whose husband had wasted nearly the
whole in his extravagant manner of living. Cedar Grove, too, she said,
was mortgaged to Richard for more than it was worth, and it was wholly
owing to his forbearance and extreme generosity that Mrs. Lansing was
enabled to support her present style of living. This, she said, aside
from Mrs. Lansing’s hope that her children would one day inherit her
brother’s wealth, was a sufficient reason why she wished him to remain a
bachelor, as the presence of a wife at Sunny Bank would, in all
probability, lessen his liberality towards herself. Miss Dean, who
seemed to be well posted, also told me that, in case Mrs. Lansing saw
her brother was determined to marry, she would, of course, prefer that
he should marry Ada, who was quite a favorite, inasmuch as she had money
of her own, and was connected with one of the first families in South
Carolina.
All this I believed, and when I saw how anxious Mrs. Lansing appeared
for Ada’s return, and how much interest Mr. Delafield, too, seemed to
take in her, I felt sure that matters were at last amicably arranged,
and that, for once, rumor was right in saying that Sunny Bank would, in
the autumn, be graced by the presence of a mistress. Latterly, Mr.
Delafield had been making some repairs, and only a few days before, when
I chanced to be there with Jessie, he had taken me through his library
into a little, pleasant, airy room, which he was fitting up with great
elegance.
“This,” said he, laughingly, “I design as the boudoir of _Mrs.
Delafield_, when I shall be fortunate enough to boast such an appendage
to my household; and as a woman’s taste is supposed to be superior to
that of men, I want your opinion. How do you like it? Do you think it
would suit _my wife_, if I had one?”
Of course he meant _Ada_, and in fancy I saw her reclining upon the
luxurious lounges, or gazing out upon the vine-wreathed piazza, and
wealth of flowers, which greeted my view when I looked from the large
bay window. For an instant I dared not trust my voice to speak, and when
at last I did so, I am sure it must have trembled, for he came to my
side and looked me earnestly in the face, while he smiled at my answer.
“It ought to suit her, unless her home heretofore has been Paradise.”
After that I had not the least doubt of his engagement with Ada, and I
began seriously to think of going back to Meadow Brook to take charge of
a select school, which was about to be opened there. I had now been in
Georgia about four months, and one night I went down to the pleasant
summer-house at the foot of the garden. It was a beautiful moonlight
night and the air was almost oppressive with the sweet fragrance of the
flowers. Why I went there I hardly know, only I fancied I could better
make up my mind as to my future course, if I were alone and in the open
air. “Nobody likes me here,” I said to myself, as I took a seat within
the arbor, “nobody but Halbert and Jessie. Mrs. Lansing is freaky and
cross. Lina, selfish and indifferent, while Mr. Delafield thinks only of
Ada’s return, which I so much dread, and to be rid of meeting her, I
will go home before she comes.” So I decided that on the morrow, I would
make known my determination to Mrs. Lansing, who I fancied would be
glad, while Mr. Delafield would not be affected either way. _I_ was
nothing to _him_—_he_ was nothing to _me_—so I reasoned, and then I made
plans for the future, just as other maidens of eighteen have done, when
their heart was aching with a heavy pain, whose cause they did not
understand. I should never marry—_that_ was a settled point—I should
teach school all my days, and by the time I was twenty-five (it seemed a
great way off then) I should have a school of my own, “LEE SEMINARY” I
would call it, and I had just completed the arrangement of the grounds,
which somehow bore a strong resemblance to those of Sunny Bank, when I
was roused from my reverie by the sound of a footstep, and in a moment
Mr. Delafield stood at the entrance of the summer-house. He evidently
did not expect to find me there, for he started back at first, and then,
hoping he did not intrude, came to my side, saying, “A penny for your
thoughts, Miss Lee, provided they are not as gloomy as your face would
indicate.”
“You can have them for nothing,” I returned, elevating my eyebrows, and
drawing down the corners of my mouth as if I felt that in some way he
had injured me.
“You are _blue_ to-night, and have been so for several days. What is the
matter?” he asked, at the same time throwing his arms around my waist
with his olden familiarity.
Quickly remembering himself, however, he withdrew it, saying as he did
so, “I beg your pardon, Miss Lee. I am so in the habit of taking such
liberties, that I forgot myself!” and he moved off a little distance. I
could have cried with vexation, for though it might have been improper,
I was perfectly willing to sit there with his arm around me! It might
have dispelled all idea of the “LEE SEMINARY” of which I was to be
Principal! But he gave me no such opportunity, and folding his arms as
if to keep them in their place, he continued, “But tell me, Miss Lee,
what _is_ the matter. You do not seem yourself?”
It was perfectly proper for me to tell him, I thought, and very
deliberately I unfolded to him my plan of returning home within a week
of Mrs. Lansing were willing, which I was sure she would be, as she had
never been quite satisfied with my acquirements. When I had finished
speaking, I turned towards him, not to see what effect my words had
produced, for I had not the most remote idea that he would care. Great
then was my surprise, when I saw the blank expression of his face, which
looked darker than ever. Starting up, he walked two or three times
rapidly across the little arbor, and then resuming his seat, said
gently, “Have you been unhappy here, Miss Lee?”
I could hardly repress my tears as I told him how much I liked the south
land, and how I should hate to leave it.
“Why then do you do so?” he asked; and I answered “I can do more good at
home; nobody likes me here.”
He came nearer to my side, as he said, “Nobody likes you! oh, Rose,
there is _one_ at least who more than likes”——
It was the first time he had ever called me _Rose_, and it thrilled me
with an indefinable emotion; but so impressed was I with the idea of his
engagement with Ada, that I never dreamed of interpreting his words, as
I now think he meant I should; and ere he could say more, I interrupted
him with, “Yes—little Jessie loves me, I know, and when I think of her,
I would fain stay.”
Still nearer to me he came, as he said, “And think you Jessie is the
only one who loves you?”
If ever Mrs. Lansing’s belief that I was _non compos mentis_ was
verified, it was then; for with the utmost stupidity I answered, “Why,
no; _Halbert_ likes me, but both he and Jessie will forget me when I am
gone, and learn to love another.”
I think he was quite disgusted; for with a slight gesture of impatience
he changed his manner and in a very businesslike way began to reason the
case with me, urging a great many reasons why I should not leave; the
most potent one with me, being the fact that _he_ wanted me to stay—“he
would miss me very much,” he said, “for he liked my society—it was a
pleasure to talk with me, for he was sure I meant what I said; I was
natural—truthful—so different from most of the young ladies (of course
he excepted Ada), and then, too, it seemed as if he had known me always,
or at least, had met me before, for my voice was familiar.”
I could not tell him of our meeting in Boston, but I saw no harm in
reminding him of the night, when for a few hours I was his
travelling-companion, and so to his last remark, I answered, “We have
met before, in the cars between Utica and Albany.”
In some surprise he looked earnestly at me a moment, and then said, “Is
it possible? Why have you never mentioned it before?”
“Because, sir,” I replied, “I did not suppose you would remember me.”
He appeared thoughtful for a time, and then again, looking closely at
me, said, “I did not, I believe, get a glimpse of your features then,
and still it seems as if I had seen them before—or something like them.
At all events, I sometimes dream of a childish face, which must resemble
you as you were a few years ago.”
Once I half determined to remind him of the little girl who fainted at
the theatre; but ere I did so, he continued, “When I met you in the
cars, if I mistake not, you spoke of Miss Montrose. Did you ever see
her? but of course not,” he added, ere I had time to reply. I cannot
tell why I shrank from acknowledging my slight acquaintance with Ada,
but I did, and for a moment I said nothing; then thinking it would be
wrong to give him a false impression, I said, “I can hardly say that I
am acquainted with Miss Montrose; but I have met her several times at my
uncle’s in Boston, where I spent the winter, four years ago.”
Again he bent forward as if to scan my face, while he replied, “Indeed!
Were you in Boston then? It is strange Ada never spoke of you, or you of
her before. Was there a misunderstanding between you?”
“Oh, no,” I answered quickly; “she was a fashionable young lady, and I a
mere school-girl; so, of course, we knew but little of each other.”
“What was your uncle’s name?” he inquired; and I answered “Lee,”
noticing the while, how the shadow which had settled upon his face at
the mention of Boston, passed gradually away.
For a moment he was silent, and then rather abruptly, he asked, “Did you
like her?”
I remembered the time when Dr. Clayton had asked me a similar question
concerning Dell Thompson, and now, as then, I answered evasively, that
“I hardly knew her—she was very beautiful and accomplished.”
Here he interrupted me by saying, “I did not ask if you thought her
_beautiful_. I asked if you liked her.”
I felt a little annoyed, for I thought he had no right thus to question
me, and forgetting that she was to be his wife, I replied, “_No sir, I
did not like her_. Neither do I think she liked me, or my sister who was
with me; and this is one reason why I wish to leave before her return.”
I supposed he would be offended at hearing me speak thus of her, but he
was not; he merely smiled as he answered, “Ada has many faults, I know,
but I do not believe your situation will be less pleasant on account of
her presence. If it is, just state the case to me. I am competent to
manage it, I believe; besides that, it is uncertain how long she will
remain at Cedar Grove.”
He commenced plucking at the green vine-leaves which grew above my head,
while I turned my face away to hide my emotions; for of course, when Ada
left Cedar Grove, it would be as his bride, I thought, and was surprised
when he continued, “The cousin with whom she is travelling in Europe,
has won from her a half promise that she will spend next winter with her
in New Orleans, and if so she will leave in October; so you see, she
can’t annoy you long; and now you must promise me not to leave us unless
she prove perfectly disagreeable.”
There is not, I believe, the least coquetry in my nature, and I replied
frankly that I would stay.
“You have made me very happy, Miss Lee,” said he, rising up and laying
his hand upon my head, just as a _father_ might caress his child, for he
was thirty-one and I was eighteen!
That night I pondered long upon what he had said, recalling every word
and look, and at last, when a ray of light faintly glimmered upon my
_befogged intellect_, I hid my face in the pillow, lest the moonlight,
which shone around me, should read thereon the secret thought which I
scarcely dared to harbor for a moment. Could it be possible that _he_
loved me, and but that for my unaccountably stupid blunder in thrusting
first Jessie and then Halbert in his face, he would have told me so! But
no—it was impossible. He was probably engaged to Ada. _She_ was
beautiful and rich—_I_ was homely and poor. It could not be. And then,
my reader, did I first awake to the consciousness of how much I loved
him; and how, when he was wedded to another, the world would be to me
naught but a dreary blank. Anon, I remembered my former affection for
Dr. Clayton, and then I grew calm. I had outgrown that, I said, and in
all probability I should outlive this, my second heart-trouble. So,
falling back upon the “Lee Seminary” as something which was to comfort
me in my lone pilgrimage, I fell asleep and dreamed that Mr. Delafield’s
children, amounting in all to a _dozen_, were every one placed under my
special charge!