"Where is he?" I asked.
"In the parlor, waiting to know."
"Yes," said Kate, changing color rapidly.
"Stop, stop, Alice! You two give me each a hand, and help me into my
room."
"Charlie," said Kate, "you need not go! you must not go!"
"Ah, my dear sister, I have stood between you and him long enough, I
will do to him as I would be done by. Come, girls, your hands!"
They placed me in my easy-chair, both kissed me with agitated lips,
and left me. Half an hour afterwards Kate and Mr. ---- petitioned for
admittance to my room. Of course I granted it, and immediately proceeded
to a minute scrutiny of my future brother-in-law. He is a fine fellow,
very scientific, clear in thought, decisive in action, quite reserved,
and very good-looking. This reserve is to Kate his strongest
attraction,--her own nature being so entirely destitute of it, and she
so painfully conscious of her want of self-control. Yes,--he is just the
one Kate would most respect, of all the men I ever saw.
Is not this happiness,--to find her future not wrecked, but blessed
doubly? for her conduct has made Walter almost worship her. I _am_ happy
to think I have brought her good, rather than ill; but--selfish being
that I am--I am not contented. I have a sigh in my heart yet!
Bosky Dell. December.
How it happened that this letter did not go I cannot imagine. I have
just found it in Kate's work-basket; and I open it again, to add the
grand climax. I have been so very minute in my accounts of Kate's
love-affairs, that I feel it would not be fair to slur over mine. So,
dear friend, I open my heart to you in this wise.
The rage for recovery which took such violent possession of me I believe
effected my cure. In a month from the time I began to walk, I could
go alone, without even a cane. Kate entreated me to remain as long as
possible in the mountains, as she believed my recovery was attributable
to the pure air and healing waters. It was consequently the first of
this month before we arrived at her cottage, where we found good old
Saide so much "frustrated" by delight as to be quite unable to "fly
roun'." Indeed, she could hardly stand. When I walked up to shake hands
with her, she bashfully looked at me out of the "tail of her eye," as
Ben says. Her delicacy was quite shocked by my size!
"Saide," said I, "you positively look pale!" She really did. You have
seen negroes do so, haven't you?
"Laws, Missr Charles," she answered, with a coquettish and deprecating
twist, "call dat 'ere stove pale,--will yer?"
No sooner was Kate established at home, and I in my Walnut-Street
office, than I undertook a trip to Boston. As I approached Miss
Winston's home, all my courage left me. I walked up and down the Common,
in sight of her door, for hours, thinking what a witless fool I was,
to contemplate presenting my penniless self--with hope--before the
millionnaire's daughter!
At last Mr. Winston came home to dinner and began to go up the steps. I
sprang across the street to him, and my courage came back when I looked
upon his good sensible face. When he recognized me, he seized my hand,
grasped my shoulder, and gave me, with the tears actually in his eyes, a
reception that honors human nature.
Such genuine friendliness, in an old, distinguished man, to a young
fellow like me, shows that man's heart is noble, with all its depravity.
When he had gazed some time, almost in amazement, at my tall
proportions, (he never saw them perpendicular before, you know,) he
said,--
"Come in, come in, my boy! Some one else must see you! But she can't be
more glad than I am, to see you so well,--that is, I don't see how she
can,--for I _am_ glad, I am _glad_, my boy!"
Was not this heart-warming?
When we entered, he stopped before the hat-rack, and told me "just to
walk into the parlor;--his daughter might be there." I could not rush in
impetuously, I had to steady my color. Besides, ought I not to speak to
him first?
Mr. Winston took off his hat,--hung it up; then his overcoat, and
hung it up. I still stood pondering, with my hand upon the door-knob.
Surprised at my tardiness in entering, he turned and looked at me. I
could not face him. He was silent a minute. I felt that he looked right
through me, and saw my daring intentions. He cleared his throat. I
quailed. He began to speak in a low, agitated voice, that I thought very
ominous in tone.
"You want to speak to me, perhaps. I think I see that you do. If so,
speak now. A word will explain enough. No need to defer."
"I want your consent, Sir, to speak to your daughter," I stammered out.
"My dear boy," said he, clapping me on the shoulder, "she is motherless
and brotherless, and I am an old man. Nothing would give me more
pleasure; for I know you well enough to trust her with you. There,--go
in. I hear her touch the piano."
He went up stairs. I entered. My eyes swept the long, dim apartment.
In the confusion of profuse luxury I could not distinguish anything at
first,--but soon saw the grand piano at the extreme end of the rooms. I
impetuously strode the whole length of the two parlors,--and she rose
before me with chilling dignity!
Ah, Mary, that moment's blank dismay! But it was because she thought me
some bold, intruding stranger. When she saw my face, she came to me, and
gave me both her hands, saying,--
"Mr. ----! Is it possible? I am happy that you are so well!"
It was genuine joy; and for a moment we were both simply glad for that
one reason,--that I was well.
"You seem so tall!" she said, with a rather more conscious tone. She
began to infer what my recovery and presence imported to _her_. I felt
thrilling all over me what they were to me!
But I must say something. It is not customary to call upon young
ladies, of whom you have never dared to consider yourself other than
an acquaintance merely, and hold their hands while you listen to their
hearts beating. This I must refrain from doing,--and that instantly.
"Yes," I stammered, "I am well,--I am quite well." Then, losing all
remembrance of etiquette----But you must divine what followed. Truly
"God's gifts put man's best dreams to
shame!"
P.S.--Kate will send you her cards, and Ada ours, together with the
proper ceremonious invitations to the weddings, as soon as things are
arranged.